The weather was almost perfect, wasn't it? The wind was determined to sheer the hat, and perhaps her head as well, clean off her head. That would have pissed her off. Royally too. The heels on her boots, which had seen better days, clicked clicked clicked as if they were keeping time with the racing of her heart at the prospect of new employment. Having just been dismissed of her duties from the Billings a fortnight ago had been unsettling to say the least and almost made her panic. Almost. Fortunately (Adelia did not believe in luck), she had noticed in the WANT ADS of the Whitby Gazette last evening that two positions were available, ironically, she thought, at the same address, no name had been mentioned which irked Adelia because she now felt as if the resident of 346 Hudson St., Whitby, had something to hide. Of course, she could have overlooked the name, but would never admit it. It would have been helpful if she had remembered to bring the paper with her, but it lay on the small table aside a chair, placed in front of a window of the room she had been “forced” to rent. She did remember to bring all ten (10) references with her, which was the reason the half-smile displayed (with a bit of reluctance) appeared to be more akin to a smirk.

Climbing the steps of 346 Hudson St., Whitby, and before using the knocker to announce her arrival (the umbrella, a spur of the moment decision, aided her in this endeavor caused that half-smile to widen slightly), Adelia tucked errant strands of dark brown hair back under the hat and silently cursed the wind, which had quite abruptly turned into very cool breeze. She stood in the middle of the stoop as it made it easier for her to look up without having to tilt her head back too far to whomever answered the door and smiled. It wasn't any different than the half-smile.

When the door opened Adelia widened that “smile” and without further ado introduced herself, making sure to enunciate each word clearly, the thick Scottish brogue quite evident,

“Good morning, my name ish Adelia Larshon, I am here to apply for the poshition ... rather poshitionsh, of a part-time maid and cook advertished in the Whitby Gazette. I do, of courshe, have referenshesh with me."

Mr. Roberts, the butler, opened the door and looked at the young woman on the porch.   He had been about to greet her when he heard her accent.  His proper expression spread to a smile.  His own accent a strong Scottish deep voice could be heard to hear a smile within it.  He worked to make his accent be less shown, but he allowed more of it to show after hearing someone of their own similar heritage. 

"Well come to the Douglas house, lass.  We have a great need for both here."  He didn't speak out of the Earl's title, as he knew himself preferred not to make it a big deal here when he was there to paint.  "Please come down to the kitchen for a cuppa and a biscuit as we get an interview."  He indicated down the central hall that would go past doors on either side of it.  The kitchen was past the stairs along the side of the hall.

"I will let himself know you are here to interview once I do a few previewing questions."  He explained waiting for her to go forward to close the door behind her.