The Widower (18+) | [Complete]

Four

Later that afternoon, Mildred sat with me in the downstairs sitting room. She had gotten into the habit of showing me around and telling me new things about the house in our downtime, which led us to have our tea time in a new location each time. 

There were one hundred rooms, she told me once. I knew the main rooms well enough, but the secret connections and the old-worldly nomenclature fascinated me; the parlor, the cloakroom, the drawing room. Hidden pathways and stairs, places for servants to move through the house without being seen by the family or guests. Rooms opened to other rooms in the progression of a party's events or, in some cases, the more modern fashion of use. It was a world I would never truly understand.

There was a clear delineation between the staff who tended to the house and those who tended to the family. The two of us were treated as if we were in a higher stature, though it felt like the opposite. In the solitude caused by such passé formalities, I shared Mildred's joy of having a companion. 

"Across there's the ballroom. Behind it's another catering kitchen that connects to the main kitchen on the ground floor," she explained. "Behind that's the Master's Chambers."

As proper as the term was, my ancestors would never allow me to refer to anyone as "master." Calling him by his name was the most anyone should expect from me. "That's Mr. Montgomery's room?"

"No. He hasn't stayed there since . . ." She didn't finish her sentence, but she didn't need to. "He stays in the former guest quarters behind his office."

"And where is the best place to find scissors?"

She laughed, the cheery sound echoing in the room. "The children's workroom most likely. Never look fer somethin' small in this house."

I smiled in response. "Good to know now. I had an awkward run-in with Mr. Montgomery in his office while looking for some last night. I didn't realize I was snooping around outside of his bedroom, too."

She placed her hand on my arm. The intensity behind her eyes confused me. "Mr. Montgomery is a very private man. Always has been," she told me. "He has little tolerance for people drudgin' into his business. Give him half a reason and you'll be out on your arse before you can count to three."

"Haven't you been with him for more than a decade?"

She nodded. "Since Matthew was a wee babe. I know him better than most," she told me, "which is why you'd be good to trust my advice." Her smile lessened the harshness of her words. She took her hand from me.

Last night's mistake gave me plenty of reasons to want to avoid him, but no one who knew me well would classify me as well behaved. "Well, it's easy to stay out of his way considering how often he's gone. Where does he go anyway?"

"He does multi-national business consulting. Don't ask me what that means exactly, but he's always flyin' between Europe, Asia, and the States. Beijing, Paris, LA, London, Rome, Seoul . . ."

"No wonder he's never home."

"Yes. His schedule's gotten so busy, he purchased a loft in SoHo to keep close to the airport."

"He has a place in Manhattan, too?"

"Yes, of course," she said as if it were common knowledge. "He didn't use to travel quite this much. His time away has increased significantly since Mrs. Montgomery passed. Many things haven't been the same since she left us. God rest 'er soul."

With as much as Mildred talked about my parents and how good a fit I was for the Montgomery family, it felt odd to me that she was so tight-lipped about the childrens' mother. "How did she pass?" I asked. Instantly, Mildred's brow creased. She shook her head to signal she couldn't talk about it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."