The Tutor, Part Twenty

Trixie didn’t seem surprised in the slightest when I returned to the servant’s quarters.

I wasn’t sure if that was the technically correct term for the modern mansion’s back hallway, but it rolled off my mental tongue better than ‘back hallway.’ Since I had walked past the laundry room back there a few times at this point, it was simple enough to find my way there after Annabelle dismissed me with a vague gesture towards the way I came from. Unless there were other laundry machines somewhere else in the house, I figured this would be the spot. A place where maids like Trixie could work invisibly.

Annabelle was no longer in sight, and yet I still felt the need to do as she had firmly suggested. I had signed up to tutor her for free, so it’s not like there would be any harm in simply leaving and never looking back. Aside from Bridget getting the job in my place, of course, but how far was I really willing to go to prevent that? A little hazy about whether I was doing this to cling to my volunteer tutoring job or merely feeling compelled to do it because Annabelle said so, I turned right instead of left and joined Trixie in the laundry room.

“Here to help?” the young blonde asked. Her question was rhetorical, apparently, as she moved on without waiting for me to reply. “Start with that dryer. Mr. Alodia’s dress clothes go on the brown hangers. Fold the rest, and then I will inspect your work.”

“Umm,” I hesitated. Just now taking in the room for the first time, I felt overwhelmed right away. There were two of each machine, similar to my apartment building, but the rest of the room was more spacious and sophisticated. Drying racks lined an entire wall, and the whole perimeter of the room was set up with metal bars and a variety of classy looking hangers. High enough to hang up the clothes without getting in the way of the machines below; a nearby step stool answered my question about how to reach them.

“Now, Ms. Moore. On the double.”

Lightly blushing from how I was distracted by yet another room in Annabelle’s impressive house, I crossed the threshold and followed Trixie’s gesture to the machine in the corner.

The dress shirts were manageable enough, even though I hadn’t spent much time with mens’ clothes before. It was actually a bit refreshing to hang everything up in the exact same way, which wasn’t at all the case when it came to my outfit tops. One by one, I either folded or hung everything in the dryer. The only part of the job that felt awkward to me was handling the silk boxers. Less because of the material, and more because I was holding the underwear of someone I didn’t even know. The fact that the undergarments belonged to the opposite gender didn’t help, either. Still, I worked quietly and without complaint, not wanting Trixie to judge me or berate me like she did when I helped her in the kitchen the other day.

When the task was done, Trixie paused what she was doing and took a minute to make sure my work was up to her standards. I was relieved when her biggest complaint was that a number of the items on the hangers were askew, but that would be pointless to fix before we took them upstairs. With the machine now free, I stepped aside to let her transfer everything from one of the washers over. I offered to help, but she said she knew both the clothes and the machines better than me. Which was valid.

I had falsely presumed that something like laundry would be quick and painless, especially with two people working together. After all, my experience with this chore was mostly ‘start washer, transfer to dryer, fold.’ The first two steps took no time at all; it was only the last step that was tedious and time consuming. Since I had just folded a bunch of clothes, my hope was that I could return to Annabelle and start our evening’s tutoring session. Instead, Trixie took me on a laundry journey that was a lot more involved than I had initially expected.

For starters, this was more than just my personal laundry. We were doing this for three different people, and my next task informed me that it wouldn’t be as simple as using the machines. While Trixie took as much as she could carry of Mr. Alodia’s clothes, I was to get started on hand washing everything in the basket next to the sink. Following her instructions for water temperature and cleaning methods, I got to work in the solitude of the laundry room.

Rather than returning empty handed, Trixie had returned with an armful of used sheets from what I assumed was Mr. and Mrs. Alodia’s room. I hadn’t seen Annabelle’s bed, of course, but it made sense that Trixie would do all the work of one room before moving onto the next. Washing bedding was the least of my concerns, as my newest train of thought made me realize something a lot more daunting–nothing in the laundry room belonged to Annabelle, unless I was grossly mistaken about her fashion sense compared to her mother’s. Would that be part of the job, too?

This wasn’t like our first session, on a Saturday. This was Wednesday evening, which meant I only had so much time before I head to head home and prepare for tomorrow’s classes.

I decided not to bring it up. Though Trixie looked to be around my age, and nothing like the cliché gray haired maids I’d seen in the movies, she had proved to be pretty thorough and diligent. At least, that was the sense I got from the brief time I had known her so far. There was a good chance Annabelle’s clothes and bedding would already be on her mind, but I didn’t want to be like the student reminding a teacher that she hadn’t collected the homework yet.

Trixie and I worked together quietly for the most part, save for when she corrected the way I draped an article of clothing or two over one of the drying racks. Hand washing took forever, so I was left to attend to that while she folded a new round of clothes and made another transfer. With wet, soapy hands and no clock on the wall, I had to rely on my natural sense of time to make a stab at how long it had been since I entered the laundry room. Twenty minutes? Thirty? Although my experience with Trixie in the kitchen proved that time could fly when you were focused on the task at hand.

Maybe I could take a ‘bathroom break’ to check my phone? No, the best way to get this done in the least amount of time possible was to stick with it.

By the time I finished hand washing every single item in the basket, I found a towel and turned towards Trixie and the rest of the room. Letting out an internal sigh of relief when I saw that nothing else was staged to go in one of the washers, I asked, “Do you think you can handle the rest, Trixie? I’m sure Annabelle is ready to get started by now.”

“Hmm. Why don’t you go ask her yourself, Ms. Moore? If she has anything that needs to be washed, you’ll bring it down. Otherwise, yes. I can do the rest myself.”

After thanking her, belatedly realizing that she should have been thanking me for the help instead, I went to find Annabelle. What if I just didn’t ask? Maybe if I could get back into tutor mode, I could find enough authority as the older girl to officially start our session. Even if she had dirty clothes, that was literally Trixie’s job. Not mine. Right? Or was there still a chance I’d get paid for chores, even if I volunteered my mathematics knowledge for free?

There were just too many thoughts swirling around my mind as I made my way up to Annabelle’s room. I couldn’t pin a single one down by the time I arrived at the slightly ajar door to her suite. Lightly knocking twice, I was greeted by “Come, Mere” almost immediately.

How did she know it was me? My footsteps, or my knocking pattern? Would Trixie have texted ahead, to keep her bosses’ daughter informed? Also, not even ‘come in?’ Her version sounded more like how you’d call to a dog, though it was too quiet and casual for me to jump to any kind of actual conclusion about the words.

Again, too many thoughts to process.

I pushed the door open and took a step inside. Relief washed through me when I saw that Annabelle was fully clothed, unlike last time. Before I could greet her in response, she gave me a soft smile and patted the spot next to her on the sofa.

“Over here,” she said, “We need to talk.”