Read Online Doppelgänger by Sean Munger - Free Book Online Page B

books.
    â€œI’m Mrs. Atherton,” she said. “Thank you for coming. Please forgive the empty shelves in this room. We just moved in not long ago.”
    â€œMy name is Clea Wicks.” The woman thrust an envelope into Anine’s hand. “My references.”
    â€œDo sit down, Mrs. Wicks.”
    â€œIt’s Miss Wicks. I never been married.”
    â€œWell, please sit down, Miss Wicks. Would you like some tea?” Anine pulled the bell cord.
    â€œThank you, ma’am.”
    Clea Wicks sat bolt upright on one of the Queen Anne chairs, her shoulders not touching the back of the chair. She folded her hands neatly in her lap. After Mrs. Hennessy appeared—“Tea for Miss Wicks and myself, please, Mrs. Hennessy”—Anine opened the envelope and read Wicks’s references. She had worked for a long time in the employ of a family called Carter. Anine noticed the address was on Fifth Avenue. “Miss Wicks is well-behaved, clean and obedient enough for a Negress,” said the letter. “In the 11 years she worked here she never stole anything.” That was all the letter said. Anine sensed there was something the Carters had deliberately reserved.
    â€œThis is your only reference?” Anine asked.
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œWhy did you leave the employ of the Carters?”
    Wicks shrugged. “They didn’t want me anymore.”
    â€œDo you know why?”
    â€œNo.”
    Anine sipped from her cup of tea. We’re not starting out very well . “I’m likely to be doing some entertaining, social entertaining. If you worked on Fifth Avenue I assume you’ve handled that sort of thing before?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. I know all about dressing society ladies.”
    â€œCan you read and write?”
    â€œYes, ma’am. I learned when I first came to New York.”
    â€œDo you work well with other servants? We have a cook, Mrs. Hennessey, and my husband is in the process of hiring a valet.” Without thinking about it she added, “They’re white.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” Miss Wicks reached for her teacup. After a sip she said, “Can I ask you a question, ma’am?”
    â€œYes, of course.”
    â€œWhere are you from?”
    Anine smiled self-consciously. “You noticed my accent. I was born in Sweden. I met my husband when he was there on a diplomatic job. I’ve only been in America a short time.” She sipped tea. “Where are you from, Miss Wicks?”
    â€œGeorgia. I got sold to Louisiana”—she pronounced it Loozy-anna —“when I was sixteen. Came to New York after the war ended.”
    So she was a slave , Anine realized. This fascinated her. She’d read about American slavery but it seemed so distant in time and experience, the dusty stuff of history books. Now it was suddenly more real to her—as was this woman herself.
    â€œYou must have found New York overwhelming at first,” said Anine. “I certainly have.”
    â€œSweden’s farther from New York than Louisiana,” Wicks replied, in a deadpan tone and with a curiously knowing stare.
    After this exchange the conversation abruptly died. Anine guessed that was to be expected. A good ladies’ maid didn’t chat much. And now I have to tell her , she thought. Already she found herself hoping against hope that Miss Wicks wouldn’t decline the job when she heard what had happened to her predecessors. It was only in this thought that Anine realized she’d already decided to offer it to her.
    â€œMiss Wicks, there’s something I must tell you.” Anine set her teacup and saucer down. “Perhaps you’ve heard about this house. The, uh… white ladies already seem to know.”
    She looked up. Clea Wicks’s face was as blank and immobile as stone.
    â€œWe’ve had two recent tragedies in this house, both involving servants. My husband hired a