on the threshold. Seven potential employers had requested interviews based on my letters of application, so I had high hopes of obtaining a position and a place to stay by this evening. Beyond those doors lay my future, and I was ready for it to begin.
I was entirely unprepared for the assault on my senses as I stepped out of the depot onto Forty-Second Street. Horse-drawn carriages and omnibuses and magical horseless carriages clattered up and down the street, their drivers ringing bells, sounding horns, and shouting. Smaller magical roadsters zipped in and out of the traffic, startling the horses. That many horses on the street left a pungent odor that competed with the smell of cooking from nearby restaurants and street stalls and a pall of smoke from coal fires that hung over the city. There were people packed shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalk, all in a great hurry. Scattered through the crowds were the bright scarlet coats of British soldiers.
In spite of my grand ambitions, I now worried if I was up for the challenge. The city was even bigger, more crowded, and noisier than I’d imagined, and I was so very much alone in those crowds. “I fought off a bandit,” I reminded myself as I consulted my map. When I spotted a lull in the traffic I darted across the street in the direction of my first interview.
A few streets away from the depot the traffic and noise were lighter, and once I entered an enclave of fine homes, the stench from horses was gone. Perhaps the city wasn’t so intimidating after all, I thought. This wasn’t too different from the neighborhood where I’d grown up. It was merely grander.
I soon found the first home on my list, the household that most closely met my criteria. According to my research, they were of the magical class but not titled nobility—probably descended from a younger son many generations back. I hoped that meant this family wasn’t so high that they would never consider a relatively inexperienced professor’s daughter as a governess. The house wasn’t all that imposing, a modest brownstone. I could be at home here, I thought.
Feeling confident about my prospects, I boldly climbed the front steps and rang the bell. A moment later, a butler opened the door, and the way he scowled at me sapped my strength. “I’m Miss Verity Newton, here to see Mrs. Upton. We had an appointment. She’s expecting me,” I blurted, all in one breath.
He said, “I’m sorry, but Mrs. Upton instructed me to tell you that the position has been filled,” then closed the door before I could protest.
“But she never even interviewed me,” I whispered plaintively to the closed door. To hide my disappointment, I marched down the steps, my head held high, then strode down the sidewalk with a sense of purpose. This was only the first interview. I still had six more, and none of them could go as badly as this one.
At the next interview, I made it into the house before I was informed that I was far too young to be suitable for the position. That was a slight improvement. The next interview went even better, as I wasn’t rejected outright but rather told that I would be considered. It was only after I left that I realized they would have no way to contact me if they decided to hire me. They had only my New Haven address from my initial letter of application, and no one there would know how to reach me.
I kept ringing bells and smiling my way through interviews until there was just one name left on the list, a Mrs. Talbot who was housekeeper for Lord Henry Lyndon. Although I had never imagined I might be employed in the home of a titled gentleman, Mrs. Talbot’s response to my inquiry had been encouraging. The address was much farther uptown, on Fifth Avenue at Seventy-Seventh Street. I headed toward Fifth Avenue, leaving behind the clean, quiet neighborhood and reentering the clamor of the city.
When I reached the avenue and got my bearings, I realized that my destination was nearly forty blocks away. My feet cried out for mercy at the thought of that long a walk. I saw a horse-drawn omnibus approaching and decided I could spare a few pennies to avoid walking that far.
The bus stopped and I stepped forward and asked the conductor, “Excuse me, but do you go up to Seventy-Seventh Street?”