Chapter Three

When Emma arrived at 108 Mifflin St at 10:04am there was already someone there waiting on the porch. She sidled up, preparing to psych out her competition.

"So, you're here for the job interview too?"

When the other girl turned around and nodded Emma groaned inwardly. The girl was about her own age, blonde, and she looked about 28 months pregnant. It dawned on Emma that she'd seen the girl before, she was pretty sure it was the maid from the B&B.

"Um, I heard that the position has been filled." It was a barefaced lie. But the trick with lying without sounding bogus was to be plausible and not to give away too much.

The sad-looking girl left with a shrug, presumably she would go back to her current job.

"I can't believe that worked." Emma shook her head in amazement. She felt a bit guilty, but dismissed it easily. Growing up in her situation had taught her to grab opportunities when they popped up, you gotta do what you gotta do sometimes.

She knocked on the door right near the gold 108 numbers and waited.

And waited.

When there was no answer for several minutes she knocked again. The house was basically a mansion. It was pretty intimidating actually.

Finally, the door opened to reveal Regina Mills, appearing as impeccable as she had in the park. Emma's voice stuck in her throat. The woman was stunning up close, her delicate features composed politely.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Emma Swan. Uh, I'm here about the maid thingy."

Regina opened the door wide for the young blonde and showed her into the office. Emma perched apprehensively on a chair that was probably worth more than her car and surveyed the room, which was wall-to-wall with books. The mayor's decorating style ran along tasteful and expensive, like the rest of house. Regina took the chair across from her and rested her arms as though sitting on a throne.

"So, Ms Swan. Tell me about yourself."

Emma gulped and suddenly her traitorous brain reminded her of her checkered past and lack of education. "Um, I'm 18. New to Storybrooke. I like um, reading, and hanging out with friends. And I think I could do a good job cleaning up your house."

The mayor smiled but her eyes narrowed. Emma realised what she'd just implied.

"I mean, not that your house is bad! Cos it's not! It's awesome. It's really clean. I don't even know why you need a maid." Emma tried to backtrack inelegantly, managing to dig herself in deeper.

"I mean, of course you probably still need someone to clean it's just that...um, I really want the job." Emma finished with a red face. God, she was completely blowing this.

The mayor merely seemed amused. "Well, Ms Swan. Do you have any experience as a maid in a house of this type? Any references?"

None that you would want to check, Emma thought darkly, picturing the well-bred woman in front of her on the phone to her former warden asking if her scrubbing skills were up to scratch.

"I know I'm young and I don't have experience. But I can do a good job, I promise." Emma schooled her most sincere face. "Maybe you can tell me what you're looking for?"

The mayor rose elegantly and moved to the mantle before answering. "I need someone reliable and dependable. Someone punctual who does her work to an excellent standard, is neat and presentable at all times, and someone who knows how to be discrete."

"Yeah, that sounds like me," said Emma. Internally, she laughed, thinking to herself, 'Lady, you need a genie if you're looking for a housemaid with all that'. There was no way this woman would hire her if she knew her record. But Emma was banking on her not being able to find out.

"Well, as you are the only applicant, I suppose you can start today, Ms Swan. Congratulations."

Emma hauled the bucket of cleaning supplies out of the garage and dragged her wrist across her sweaty forehead. In her mind, she'd pictured that her first task would be flitting about the house in a French maid uniform dusting random antiques. Instead, here she was hauling several loads of dirty baby clothes into the laundry and sorting them by colour. Judging by the amount of laundry, the baby had been wearing multiple sets of new clothes every day since he'd got here.

The mayor had taken the blonde on a quick tour of the downstairs rooms, pointing out what needed to be cleaned and how regularly and which particular cleaning product and process was required. Emma had ignored most of it, she was too busy being awed by the stately wealth of each room. Was this huge palace really occupied by one woman and a tiny baby?

The mayor ended the tour saying that she worked from her home office lately and was not to be disturbed. Emma was to make no noise at all since the baby was sleeping.

"Um, Regina?" Emma had glanced up at the staircase when they'd come full circle into the foyer.

"Ms Mills or Madam Mayor will be fine."

"Right. Sorry. Madam Mayor, what about upstairs? Do you need me to clean the bedrooms?"

Regina had pressed her lips tightly. "You won't be needed upstairs."

Remembering the mayor's clear warning that she stay downstairs, Emma sat on the laundry floor in the centre of three piles of clothes inventing reasons to go upstairs. She was this close to her son, and she wouldn't be foiled easily.

By the end of the week Emma began to resent the prissy statues and vases. Dusting each one carefully had taken her half a day. For days she'd polished banisters that already shone, mopped floors that already gleamed, and cleaned bathrooms that already sparkled. Today she'd decided to give herself a break and do a half-assed job since everything was already so ridiculously clean. But she still had to be present for her allotted hours and after twiddling her idle thumbs for two hours she figured it might be less boring to actually do her job.

Emma flicked the bulbous nose of some bronze dude on a horse. She stopped what she was doing when she heard the baby wailing in a distant nursery upstairs. Henry cried a lot. Usually, within 30 seconds of a cry Emma would hear the office door open and the signature clack of heels in the foyer as Regina trotted upstairs to tend to her son. No matter where she was in the house though, Emma always heard Henry cry. Each time she had to fight the instinct to go to him. It wasn't her responsibility anymore but the sound always stopped her in her tracks.

This time was different. Way more than 30 seconds had passed and the cries just got louder, no matter how Emma tried to ignore them. Where was Regina? Why hadn't she gone to the little boy screaming himself hoarse upstairs? Was she trying out some self-soothing strategy from one of those stupid baby books?

Screw this, thought Emma, dropping the dust cloths on the floor. She couldn't let the kid cry forever and surely the mayor would overlook one breach of the Forbidden Floor as Emma secretly referred to upstairs.

Emma gingerly stepped up the stairs and followed the sound of crying to a beautifully decorated nursery. Her heart leapt seeing her baby's lovely room with it's blue striped wallpaper and matching baby furniture. There was a little bookcase, no doubt already full of nursery rhymes and fairy tales, topped with a selection of stuffed zoo animals. But her eyes were drawn like magnets to the crib where a little red-faced baby in a white onesie cried his heart out.

Emma lifted Henry out of the crib and settled his weight on her shoulder for the first time in so many months. He quietened down and settled as she swayed gently.

"Hey now, kid. What's with the crying? I bet you're just bored up here all by yourself huh? Well, your mom is downstairs working really hard. And I'm …working too. There now, shhh."

Emma patted circles on Henry's back like she used to and inhaled his soft baby scent. She wondered if -

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

Regina stood in the doorway glaring at the pair malevolently.