tad larger than the ones currently in the hinge plate, then used them to replace the loose ones. After testing the door several times, he cleaned up his mess and started to slam out of the bedroom when raised voices made him pause.
It couldn’t be guests. There weren’t any in attendance. Was it the Vanderbilts? He had no idea. Easing the door open just a crack, he listened.
“Floor polish? You’re using floor polish to clean my boots?”
“I been running from pillar to post all day and still ain’t close to finishin’.” The youthful voice cracked, jumping an octave before returning back to normal. “I was just thinkin’ to save a little elbow grease, is all.”
Mack slowly widened the door and peered out. A liveried footman he’d seen during meals but had never met hovered over a tweenie by the name of Harvey.
The footman held up a pair of reddish brown boots. “They’re ruined. Ruined . What am I to tell the head footman?”
“I don’t care whatcha tell him.” Harvey’s cheeks had turned as red as his hair. “I ain’t supposed to be polishin’ yer boots anyways.”
The footman shoved Harvey, pressing him against the wall with his forearm.
Mack didn’t even remember moving, yet suddenly he was lifting the footman in the air and tossing him backward.
The boy’s eyes widened.
“You all right?” Mack asked.
“Look out!” He pointed.
Whirling, Mack thrust one arm up in protection, blocking the footman’s attempt to strike him from behind with the boots. With his other arm, Mack fisted his hand and made a solid connection with the man’s jaw.
The footman dropped to the ground.
“Land o’ Goshen,” Harvey gasped. “You done laid him out flat.”
Mack didn’t even spare the fellow a glance. “You all right?”
“I am now.”
“This fellow been bothering you?”
The boy gave a noncommittal shrug.
“If he or anybody else gives you any more trouble, you let me know.” Mack scanned the gleaming floor, stepped over the footman, and picked up one of the boots for a closer look. “You used floor polish?”
Harvey bristled. “So?”
“Pretty industrious, I’d say.”
The boy narrowed his eyes. “I ain’t neither. I’m smart. Ever’body says so.”
Mack suppressed a smile. “Nevertheless, you better get going. I’ll make sure this fellow is taken care of.”
With a quick nod and a thanks, the boy grabbed the boots and shot across the hall toward the servants’ corridor.
Bending over, Mack tapped the footman’s cheek. Still out cold.
Mack rolled his eyes. He’d barely touched him, but he doubted Mr. Sterling would believe that. Even so, he’d been taught to defend the afflicted. He just hoped it wouldn’t cost him his job.
Returning to the Louis XV room, he pushed Butler’s Pantry , then headed to the servants’ area. Help would arrive soon enough for the bully he’d left behind.
Back in his workroom, he hung up his boot-leg bag and settled on the hip stool. Picking up the lampshade holder, he slipped the ring portion inside the burner tines and squeezed the edges.
A high-pitched jangle sounded in the room. He didn’t jump this time, nor did he answer its call.
It sounded again. He placed both hands flat on the table. It sounded again.
Lurching to his feet, he grabbed the earpiece. “What!”
A pause. “Mr. Sterling wants to see you in his office.”
“I’m busy.” He slammed down the receiver and returned to his project, resolutely ignoring the rings which followed. Finally, they ceased.
He’d finished all assembly other than the actual shade when footsteps sounded in the corridor. Reaching over, he swung his door shut.
Seconds later, someone knocked, then opened the door without waiting for permission.
Allan Reese surveyed the room. “Looks great in here. How’d you manage to get it in order so quickly?”
Mack picked up the white globe that would serve as the lamp’s shade.
Slipping his hands into his pockets, Allan leaned against the
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