Chapter 5: [Hozier]

By six forty-five, I was standing outside a pair of enormous iron gates, wondering whether I had made a terrible mistake.

The address in the email had led me well beyond the busy streets of central London, into an area where the houses seemed to have their own postcodes and the driveways were longer than some roads. 

The property in front of me was no exception. Tall stone pillars supported the gates, security cameras watched from either side, and a small booth stood just inside the entrance.

I checked the address on my phone again. This was definitely the place.

I adjusted the strap of my bag and approached the intercom. A man's voice answered after a few seconds.

"Yes?"

"Good morning. My name is Hozier Pruitt. I'm here for the housekeeping assessment."

There was a brief pause. "Wait there.” Followed by the intercom clicking off.

I stood beside the gates, trying not to look as nervous as I felt. The whole arrangement was rather excessive for a housekeeping interview. 

I had expected a large house, perhaps a long driveway and a few security cameras, but this place looked as though it was protecting something far more valuable than expensive furniture.

A minute later, the gates began to open.

A security guard stepped out of the booth and gave me a quick once-over. His expression remained neutral as he checked my name against a list before directing me towards the house.

"Follow the driveway. Someone will meet you at the entrance."

"Thank you."

I walked up the long drive, my shoes crunching against the gravel. The house grew more imposing with every step. It was a sprawling stone building with tall windows, dark wooden doors and carefully maintained gardens. 

Everything looked expensive, but there was very little warmth to it. Even the flowers seemed arranged with military precision.

I couldn't imagine living somewhere like this.

I had spent the previous night convincing myself that this opportunity was exactly what I needed. A room, meals and a salary would solve several problems at once. I wouldn't have to worry about finding somewhere else to sleep, and I could start putting money aside while I appealed the university's decision.

It sounded almost too good to be true. Standing outside the house, I was beginning to understand why.

A woman in a dark grey uniform opened the front door before I could knock. She appeared to be in her late forties, with her hair pulled neatly into a bun.

"Mr Pruitt?"

"Yes. Good morning."

"I'm Margaret. Please come inside."

The entrance hall was enormous, with a polished marble floor and a chandelier hanging above the staircase. I followed her through a corridor, keeping my eyes forward while taking in the surroundings. 

There were paintings along the walls, several closed doors and enough decorative furniture to furnish an entire apartment building.

"You're early," Margaret observed.

"Only fifteen minutes. I hope that's all right."

"It's fine. The master is expecting you."

The master.

I swallowed the comment that came to mind.

Margaret led me into a sitting room and gestured towards one of the chairs. "Please wait here. He'll be with you shortly."

"Thank you."

She left, closing the door behind her.

I sat down and placed my bag beside my feet. The room was quiet enough for me to hear the ticking of a clock on the mantelpiece. I tried to relax, but my attention kept drifting towards the closed door.

A few minutes later, it opened.

The man who entered was not what I had expected.

He was tall, broad-shouldered and dressed in black trousers with a fitted black shirt. 

His sleeves were buttoned at the wrists, and not a single detail about his appearance seemed accidental. 

His dark hair was neatly styled, his expression unreadable, and his eyes were so cold that I immediately felt as though I had been caught doing something wrong.

"Mr Pruitt?"

I stood. "Yes, sir."

"Sit."

He took the chair opposite me, crossing one leg over the other. His attention settled on me with an intensity that made the room feel smaller.

"I'm told you're applying for the live-in housekeeping position."

"That's correct."

"Why?"

The question caught me off guard. "Because I'm looking for work."

"I can see that. I'm asking why you applied for this particular position."

I hesitated, wondering whether there was a correct answer I had missed in the advertisement.

"The accommodation was part of the offer, and the working arrangement suits my current circumstances. I also have experience with general cleaning and household duties."

"What kind of experience?"

I explained the jobs I had held, the responsibilities I was familiar with and the fact that I was comfortable working independently. He listened without interrupting, though his expression gave me nothing to work with.

When I finished, he glanced at the document in front of him.

"You're a university student."

"Yes."

"How does that fit into a live-in position?"

"My classes are currently affected by an issue with my scholarship. I'm working on an appeal, but I need a steady income in the meantime."

"Convenient."

I frowned slightly. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Your circumstances make you available immediately."

There was something unpleasant about the way he said it, as though my difficulties were a useful detail he had already considered.

"Yes," I replied carefully. "I am available immediately."

He placed the document on the table. "Before we discuss employment, there are rules in this house. I expect them to be followed without argument."

I nodded. "All right."

"You will be downstairs by six every morning. Your duties will be assigned according to the household schedule, and you will complete them before the end of your shift."

"Understood."

"You are not permitted to enter my private study unless I give you permission. You will not touch anything on my desk, rearrange documents or move personal belongings. If something needs cleaning, you will arrange it with Margaret."

"That's reasonable."

"Your telephone must remain silent while you're working. No visitors are permitted on the property, and you will not discuss the household or its occupants with anyone outside these walls."

I nodded again. Those rules were hardly surprising for a private residence. In fact, the confidentiality requirement made sense.

He continued. "You will not ask personal questions about me or my guests. You will not interrupt me when I am occupied, regardless of the reason. After ten in the evening, you will use the service staircase rather than the main one. You will also inform Margaret whenever you leave the property, even on your days off."

I looked at him. "Even on my days off?"