A Sense of Entitlement by Anna Loan-Wilsey Read Free Book Online Page B

account for this month. You’re to keep track, you see.”
    “Yes, ma’am,” I said. I’d never been responsible for so much money in my life. “Here’s a request for a donation to the Children’s Friend Society.”
    “Oh, you can get rid of that and any others like it.”
    “Ma’am?” I said.
    “Charity requests, Miss Davish, ignore them. Gideon insists we don’t give any money to the poor. He says such people are less fit anyway so why waste good money on them?”
    What kind of man allowed his wife to spend hundreds on flowers but not a penny on a children’s charity? In all my years working for the privileged, I’d never encountered such a callous attitude toward the less fortunate. And yet all I could say to Mrs. Mayhew was, “Yes, ma’am.” I tucked the donation request in my pocket and vowed to send them something myself. It was the least I could do.
    We continued in this way for several hours, the pile on the desk slowly diminishing as the stacks on the floor grew. When we were finally done, or truly when Mrs. Mayhew tired of the activity, the desk was nearly empty. I was able to quickly organize what remained.
    “Ma’am?” I said as Mrs. Mayhew was drifting off to sleep. I placed the stacks from the floor onto the desk.
    “We’re done for today, aren’t we?” she said without opening her eyes.
    “Yes, ma’am, but I found a letter addressed to your husband at the bottom of the pile.”
    Mrs. Mayhew sat up quickly, jostling her cat awake. He mewed in protest as I handed the letter to her. The letter had been delivered days ago by post and was still unopened.
    “Oh, dear. How could this have happened?” She looked up at me and frowned. “Thank goodness I have you now,” she said. “This won’t happen again.” It wasn’t a question.
    “No, ma’am.”
    “Gideon won’t be pleased.” She looked around as if inspiration for the solution to the problem would be found somewhere in the room. Then she turned to me again and handed back the letter. “You must deliver this to him immediately.”
    “Of course, ma’am.” I kept my anxiety out of my voice. The prospect of interacting with Mr. Mayhew again wasn’t appealing. Whether the incident with the trunk proved to be sinister or not, Mr. Mayhew didn’t strike me as a pleasant man. “If you could tell me how to get back to his office, ma’am, I’ll take it to him right now.”
    “Oh, no, Miss Davish,” Mrs. Mayhew said, glancing at the pink and gold gilded porcelain clock on the mantel. “Gideon is done with breakfast and his morning exercise. He’s probably at the Reading Room by now. You’ll have to give it to him there.” Another room I had no idea how to find.
    “I apologize for my ignorance, Mrs. Mayhew, but would you be kind enough to direct me to that room? I assure you I will learn my way around as soon as possible as not to trouble you again.” To my surprise, Mrs. Mayhew laughed.
    “Ha, ha, how deliciously naïve! I do like you, Miss Davish. What a funny idea, the Reading Room in this house! And to think I wouldn’t be allowed to enter it. Ha, ha!” I tried not to blush as the woman laughed at my expense. “Seriously though, Miss Davish, you must acquaint yourself with the important places and people in Newport if you’re to work in this house.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” I knew how I’d spend this night—reading the books in my sitting room.
    “I need to be able to rely on you.”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Very well. The Reading Room, Miss Davish, is an exclusive club in town. Have Davies arrange for Elmer to take you there. Now, take those”—she motioned toward the stacks on the desk—“except the magazines, I want to read those later, and make sure the replies are in this afternoon’s post or hand-delivered when appropriate.”
    “When would you like to sign them, ma’am?” I said, trying to calculate how I was going to personally deliver a letter to Mr. Mayhew somewhere in town while still getting