The Morning After

A gentle shaking woke me from my sleep. I opened my eyes to see Thomas standing over me. He looked concerned. Memories of last night came rushing to me. I tried to leap up, but he pressed me to the bed by my shoulders. A wave of fear filled me.

He must have seen the fear in my eyes because he raised one hand and put a finger to his lips, a signal for me to be silent. He pointed over my shoulder. It was at that moment I realized Mr. Weston was sleeping with his arm still around me.

Thomas leaned in close to me and whispered, "Try not to wake Mr. Weston unnecessarily when you get up. Consider this the beginning of your training. Come downstairs when you are dressed and ready. You have much to learn today."

With that Thomas released my shoulders and quietly left. In the silence, I became all too clearly reminded of what had happened last night. Shame filled me. What was I thinking? I should have immediately woken Mr. Weston. If not by shaking, then by screaming or fighting or something. Would he remember when he woke? Did he even realize it had happened? How would I explain myself?

I could have spent the whole morning pondering these questions and more, but Thomas was right. I did have a lot of training today and I needed to get ready. Luckily, Mr. Weston's grip was much looser than last night. I was able to carefully slide myself to the edge of the bed and out of his reach. I went to the closet to get ready. 

Thomas had never mentioned a specific dress code, but the last thing I wanted to do was give Mr. Weston the wrong impression. I was here to be a caretaker. Nothing more.

I chose a knee-length blue dress. It fit me well, but wasn’t too short or showing off too much skin. Very "work-appropriate," I thought. I was careful not to make any noise when exiting the closet and closed the door gently as I left the room. Thomas was waiting for me downstairs.

"Your first instruction is that Mr. Weston should never be woken,” he started. “He keeps his own schedule so it is not necessary, and doing so may worsen one of his episodes. Which, of course, will only make more work for you.

The next is that, as you have seen, we have no real staff here at Weston Manor. Considering how hard it is to find a caretaker you must surely understand how difficult it would be to find a regular staff. There is a team of housekeepers that come every Monday, Thursday, and Saturday. It is your job to inspect their work before allowing them to leave. The rooms must be dusted, the floors swept and vacuumed, and the laundry washed. A group of gardeners will come the same days to care for the lawn and garden. There is a personal chef we hire from the town nearby. He will come at eight, noon, and six to prepare meals, but leaves immediately after. You are responsible for any light snacks Mr. Weston requests in between these times.

Besides this, you will be completely alone in the house with Mr. Weston. You are solely responsible for his health, safety, entertainment, and overall happiness. Do you have any questions?"

I stood there in a daze. It took me a long time to respond as I processed the wealth of information just given. Questions?

"What about groceries?" I asked finally.

"The chef puts in an order and receives the deliveries himself once a week. If Mr. Weston has a request or there is anything you desire, tell the chef so he can place the order. Other than that, it’s not your concern," he answered.

"The staff's pay?"

"Automatic transfer. If there is a problem at any time, you have the authority to contact the bank."

"That emergency phone-"

"Located in the study on the second floor, just to the left of the staircase” he responded, cutting me off. “There is also a first aid kit and an emergency supply kit there."

"What if I-"

"Though I am officially retiring, I do understand the difficulty of this job. I will leave you a detailed list of what to do in various scenarios, as well as a way to contact me if you are truly at a loss."

I wasn’t sure if I was more amazed by Thomas or sorry for him. He answered my questions so easily. He didn’t even need the full question. How many times must he have gone through this speech with applicants to have his answers at a nearly psychic level?

"Come, Ms. Walton. I’ll show you several facilities that will be of great use to you," he said, gesturing down the hall.

Thomas started by showing me around the kitchen. He gave me a brief tour of the wine cellar, as well as where I could find certain appliances I may need. As we were touring, I saw the chef preparing breakfast. Thomas cleared his throat. The chef glanced our way.

“Phillip, this is Ms. Walton. She’ll be taking over soon,” Thomas stated.

The chef only grunted in acknowledgment and went back to preparing breakfast. Thomas led me back towards the dining room.

"Please, excuse him if he seemed a bit rude,” Thomas mumbled apologetically. “He's had these introductions quite a few times by now, and I think he's begun to find it tiring to learn all these names only to have them disappear in a few days’ time."

I began to feel bad for all of the staff at Weston Manor. Though not full-time, they did work here frequently. Thomas had kept operations running smoothly for nearly two decades. Would I really be able to fill his place?

Next on our tour, Thomas showed me around the many bathrooms of the home. They were the only thing that had really been updated in the house. Modern plumbing, rainfall showers, and a jacuzzi bath in each one. Finally, he showed me the libraries, galleries, and the garden. According to Thomas, Mr. Weston was very fond of these places especially. As we were coming in from the garden, I heard the sound of footsteps echoing from down the hall.

Thomas suddenly turned to me with a serious look on his face.

"There is one more detail that is very important, Ms. Walton,” he warned. “You must only address him as "Mr. Weston" or "Sir" unless he asks otherwise. I do this not out of professionalism, but because it can cause problems. We have no way of knowing who Mr. Weston will be when he wakes up. If you disrupt his fantasy by insisting he is someone else, it could throw him into a fit that is nearly impossible to pull him back from. Do you understand?"

Though spoken quietly, the intensity in his voice made me unable to answer back. All I could do was nod.

"Good,” he said simply, “now prepare yourself for anything that might come through the door."

The way he spoke made it sound as if the devil himself might walk through that door, and for all I knew, he was. I took a deep breath to try to calm myself. I stood up straight with my hands held in front of me respectfully. A proper servant. I hoped. 

As Mr. Weston rounded the corner, my body went numb. Here he was. The man Thomas had been warning me about. The man who had run off some of the world’s best caretakers in less than a week. The man I was supposed to watch over and care for. And I had no clue who he was.