Murder in Burnt Orange Read Online Free PDF Page A

She had seen some of their homes, not very far away from her own. Hilda could understand the fierce compulsion to better one’s lot in life, to force employers into treating their workers like human beings.
    Now, of course, having married Patrick, with his good job and fine paycheck, Hilda had no money worries. She even had servants of her own.
    A thought struck her. She took a damp handkerchief out of her sleeve, wiped her brow, and reached for the bell-pull. When Eileen appeared, Hilda gestured for her to sit down.
    Warily, Eileen sat, on the very edge of a hard chair.
    â€œEileen, do you get enough to eat?”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” The girl’s voice was questioning.
    â€œAnd does Mrs. O’Rourke let you get enough sleep?” The cook, Hilda knew, was something of a tyrant.
    â€œYes, ma’am. ’Cept these last few nights, it’s been too hot to sleep.”
    Hilda slapped the arm of the chair. “Hot! Of course! I should have thought. I will ask Mr. Cavanaugh to buy another electric fan and put it in your room.”
    â€œThere’s no need for that, ma’am. I’m ascared o’ them electric contraptions.”
    â€œThey are quite safe, Eileen, although they are noisy. But if you put cotton in your ears, you can sleep well. And you must get your sleep. You work very hard. Is the work too hard, Eileen? Do you need help?”
    â€œI can do the work, ma’am! Is Mrs. O’Rourke sayin’ I’m shirkin’? ’Cause it’s a lie, if she is.” Color was rising in the maid’s face.
    Hilda realized she had gone about this the wrong way. “No, Eileen. I am sorry. I did not mean to worry you. It is just that I have been reading about all these strikes, and I wondered if I am good enough to the people who work here. I know what it is to be a servant.”
    Eileen’s anxiety found relief in tears. “Oh, ma’am, you’re the best mistress in town. Leastways, now you’re back to yourself. You took me away from that awful job I had before, and you treat me like I was your own daughter, and I’d niver want to go noplace else.”
    â€œAnyplace else, Eileen. Well, then, bring some lemonade for both of us. I want to talk to you about these strikes.”
    â€œMrs. O’Rourke needs me, ma’am, to do the vegetables. But I’ll bring you the lemonade, and welcome.”
    â€œVery well. But tell Mrs. O’Rourke—ask Mrs. O’Rourke to come in for a minute when she can.”
    Time was when Hilda would have marched into the kitchen to get her own lemonade and speak to the cook. She knew better now. Mrs. O’Rourke was an excellent cook and housekeeper, but was very protective of her domain. The master and mistress of the house invaded it at their peril.
    Hilda sat and waited for the lemonade and the cook to arrive.

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    ALL WATCH GOMPERS
    Both Sides in Strike Have Eyes on Leader
    â€”South Bend Tribune, May 17, 1905
    Yes, ma’am?” Mrs. O’Rourke’s face wore what was nearly a scowl, and her voice said clearly what her words did not: that she was in the middle of preparations for supper, that the kitchen was hot and she was tired, and that she certainly had no time for a talk with the lady of the house.
    Hilda heard all of the unspoken dialogue. “Mrs. O’Rourke, I know you are busy, and I am sorry to take you away from your work. I wanted to ask, would you and Mr. O’Rourke like an electric fan in your bedroom? And perhaps in the kitchen? I will ask Mr. Cavanaugh to get them, if you wish.”
    The cook hesitated. She disliked accepting favors from Hilda, who was, in her opinion, still just a housemaid pretending to be a grand lady. But this heat wave had gone on forever, it seemed. The kitchen was hot and she, Mrs. O’Rourke, was neither as young nor as thin as she used to be. “Not in the bedroom, ma’am. Mr. O’Rourke can’t abide a draft. But in the