She sighed with a little regret; she had wanted to go exploring unencumbered, but-
But I also don't want to find myself stowed away in the hold of a ship bound for the Orient, either. Tales of white slavery might be lurid and sensational, but there must be some truth in them or they would not persist.
"That's probably the best," she admitted, and Snyder relaxed a bit more. Obviously he had been anticipating resistance on her part.
I can understand that, and I really hope that some day I will know the city well enough to walk about alone-but that time is not now.
She looked her fill, as the carriage-horses labored up and down the hills; poor things, this was not a very heavy conveyance, and they were still toiling in the traces.
Snyder removed a small, leather-bound book from his breast-pocket and consulted it. "Your occulist appointment is in the morning, tomorrow," he told her. "Around nine. Is there anything you'd care to see this afternoon before you dine? There's just time enough before the shops close."
"A bookshop?" she asked hopefully. "A really good bookshop? And a stationer's?"
I can select ancient books from a catalog easily enough, but how can I select contemporary books without browsing?
He nodded, as if that was precisely what he had expected. Perhaps it was, once he knew she was a scholar. "We'll just leave your trunk at the townhouse for Miss Sylvia, the maid, to unpack, and go straight there. It's Master Cameron's favorite store, Miss Hawkins, and the stationery-supply is right next door. We can certainly arrive there before they close." implicit, though not overtly stated, was that for someone connected with Jason Cameron, both stores would gladly remain open long past their ordinary closing-times.
She bit her lip, wondering if she ought to change her mind. If the shop was Cameron's favorite, the selection would be extensive-and expensive.
"You are to put your purchases on Master Cameron's account, of course, at both establishments," Snyder continued, as if it was a matter of course. "He left orders to give you access to his shop accounts, just as Mr. du Mond does."
Another reason why Snyder was uneasy about my position in the household, no doubt.
"He's never seen me in a bookstore," she said wryly. "He may live to regret his generosity."
Snyder looked at her for a moment with open astonishment, then actually unbent enough to laugh, though he would not tell her why.
They stopped at the townhouse just long enough to leave the trunk with a burly fellow who appeared to do all the heavy work about the place, and then proceeded straight on. And the moment that Rose walked through the door of the bookstore, she was in heaven.
The interior of the shop was all of polished wood and brass, a reddish wood she could not immediately identify. The bookshelves, which ran from floor to ceiling, were placed as closely together as possible and still permit passage of customers. It was at least as large as Brentano's in Chicago, and just as well-stocked. There actually were a few "frivolous" writers whose work she admired-Lord Dunsany, for one, though she thought she might die of embarrassment if Cameron actually caught her reading one of his fantasies of the Realms of Faery and if she ever got a chance to read for pleasure instead of research, she wanted to have a few things on hand. For the rest, there were some reference works she thought might come in handy that were not on Cameron's shelves. Then again, there was no real reason why they should be, for ordinarily one did not associate the works with Magick; not hard-headed things like engineering texts from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, nor herbals, nor some of the theological works she wanted.
But there were hints in there, clues to alternate translations, that she thought might be very, very useful. Cameron approached his texts as a pure Magician, but she thought the approach might be aided by attempting to replicate the world the writer was brought up in, and see possible meanings through his eyes. There were shades to the meanings of words and phrases then that might not occur to a modern man-and as for slang, it could be as much of a code as anything devised for the purpose.
She kept finding more books she wanted every time she looked at a new case. She simply gave up the struggle against temptation after a while; she consoled herself with the promise that many of her selections would be remaining in the Cameron library when she left. She collected quite a tidy pile of volumes before she was finished; it took two boys to carry them to the carriage, but Snyder didn't raise a brow over it at all. Evidently Cameron's expeditions to this place yielded similar harvests.
Perhaps that was why he laughed. She thought about the library, and realized that this must look like a perfectly normal shopping expedition to Snyder.
Next door at the stationer's, she purchased several blank, leather-bound books of the sort used for sketching and journals. Those would become her reference books, where she would organize her own gleanings. With them, she gathered up reams of foolscap and boxes of pencils; Cameron had nothing but pens available, and with all the notes she would be taking, she was not going to risk over setting inkwells. Nor was she going to waste good paper on scribblings.
Then, strictly because she saw them and lusted after them, she acquired a supply of soft, colored pencils and watercolors for sketching. They were beautiful - "From Japan," the clerk said. The colors were fabulous, rich and saturated, and she craved them the moment she saw them.
And since color seemed to play a prominent role in Magick, perhaps they might be as useful as anything else she had bought today.
Then, since she had bought the art supplies, she acquired watercolor paper and Bristol board as well. She felt positively giddy as she led the shop-clerk out to the waiting carriage with the brown-paper-wrapped parcels, and settled herself back into her seat, surrounded by wonderful, heavy packages. I haven't spent this much money all at once in-in my life! It was intoxicating as strong drink. The idea, to be able to walk into a shop and order anything one pleased! Even at the best of times, she had never been able to do that!
"Shall I have these taken to the railway carriage, or do you need any of this now, ma'am?" Snyder asked, interrupting her reverie. "Oh-" She rummaged about for two of the novels and one of the reference-works. "This is all I need for now; the rest can go. There's certainly no need to clutter up the house with them when I won't need them until I'm back with Mr. Cameron."
"I'll see to it." Snyder settled back into his seat with the air of a man who has done a good day's work; she clasped her hands over the books in her lap, and did the same.
Already the sun was descending into the sea, surrounded by thin, scarlet-tinged clouds, and the air was growing colder-and damper. She was glad of the fur cape; the dampness of the air made the chill more penetrating.
Snyder handed her out, and stayed to instruct the driver. She went up the steps of the townhouse unescorted, but the door opened before she could reach for the big, brass handle.
For a moment she expected to see a Salamander there, but it was only a perfectly human maid, who must have been watching for them. "Please follow me, miss?" the woman said-she was a little more mature than Rose had expected, actually about middle-age. Rose complied, going up the steps to the second floor, and a little ways down the hall, where the maid opened a door almost immediately at the top of the stairs for her. Behind it lay a very luxurious little bedroom, decorated in chaste blues and whites. The furnishings were neither masculine nor feminine, but struck a neat androgynous balance; it was obviously a guest-room, neatly calculated to make someone of either sex comfortable. There was a bright fire going in the fireplace-But the illumination came from electrical lights on the wall! Rose stared at them as if they were Salamanders. She had not expected that-very few private homes were lit electrically. In fact, neither the bookshop nor the stationer's had been illuminated electrically, although they did have gaslight. Oh, I wish Cameron had these back at the mansion-no flickering, nothing but bright, even light! It would be so much easier to read by these!
But beside each of them, and on the bedside table
and the dresser, was a reminder that electricity was not completely reliable; candles in sconces, and several small boxes of safety-matches.
Although the room was small, it was as comfortable as her suite back in Cameron's mansion. It held a divan placed perfectly for reading, a dressing-table and small chair, a bureau, a wardrobe, the bed and a bedside table. All were covered or upholstered in blue slub-satin that she suspected was raw silk; a deeper blue carpet covered the floor, and the walls were papered in blue and white stripes. A door in the far wall led to a bathroom; she peeked inside and saw it was shared with an identical bedroom on the other side. The maid had already put her things away in the dresser and wardrobe, and was hanging up her cape in the latter when she returned from exploring the bathroom.
"Dinner is at eight, miss, but if you'd like something now, I can bring some tea and something light-?" the maid said, her tone rising in inquiry.
"If it's not too much trouble-" Rose replied, torn between hunger and not wanting to be a bother. "Oh, it's not. I'll bring a tray right up." The maid smiled at her. "There's always a nice pot of tea going. Do you prefer your tea served in the English style?"
"English, definitely, please. And if it would be less trouble, I would really rather have meals in my room." She'd gotten into the habit of taking cream and sugar in her tea because of all the British scholars visiting her father, and had never dropped it. Somehow it always seemed a much more substantial drink that way.
Though I wonder why Cameron's servants always have tea going, when at the mansion he has always sent me coffee at meals?
When the maid brought the promised tray up, she got part of her answer; it was a proper English lady's tea-tea, and tiny watercress and cream-cheese sandwiches, and the tea was "pukkah Khyber," (which, roughly translated, meant "the real, genuine, Khyber tea"), as black as sin without the cream and absolutely impossible to drink without sugar. Only the British ever drank tea like that, fully as powerful as the strongest coffee. Evidently Cameron's cook was from the Empire. Hence, the "Pot of tea."
The sandwiches weren't much, but they were enough to stave off hunger until the promised dinner hour. As she expected, it was less trouble for the servants to make up a tray and bring it to her; that meant they didn't have to set up the dining room for a single person. And when dinner arrived, she knew that the cook was not only British, he-or she-was from India, for the main course was a powerful curried beef dish. And she suspected that it was something of a test, to see how she would react. It was just as well that she and her father had entertained so many British; she had acquired a taste for curry.
"Curried beef!" she exclaimed with pleasure. "And saffron rice! Oh, this is marvelous, I haven't had a good curry in so long!"
The maid actually beamed. "Oh, well, we're alone here so much lately that my Charlie tends to make what we like, and we've all gotten a taste for his curries. Master Cameron, he likes 'em fine, he even brags on Charlie to his guests. Mr. du Mond, though, he's got a tender stomach. He says."
From the tone of her voice and the expression she wore, Rose gathered that Paul du Mond was not beloved in this house.
"Charlie-that would be the cook?" Since the maid was lingering, Rose took the time for a bite. The curry bit back, precisely as it should, and the beef was so tender it practically melted on the fork. She did not have to feign an enthusiastic reaction. "Oh! Oh, this is perfect! This is pukkah curry! Please tell him I haven't had as good a meal since-since Professor Karamjit made curry for Papa with his own hands."
Now the maid blushed, and Rose knew then that she was definitely married to this "Charlie." She confirmed it with her next words. "Charlie's my husband; he's the cook, and he does the heavy lifting and all," she said, answering Rose's first question. "He's the one that brought in your trunk. He was in the Army in India, he was the orderly and cook for an English officer there, but there wasn't much to go home to when his duty was over, so he decided to try his luck as a cook here. It was come here to the States or Australia, and he didn't like the notion of sheepherding."
"Well, I'm glad he's here," Rose responded warmly. "Please tell him not to go to any great trouble about my meals; I'll have whatever you're having, because it's bound to be marvelous."
"Thank you, miss, I'll tell him. That will make things easier on us." The maid positively twinkled as she gathered up the tea-tray and prepared to leave. Her pleasure in Rose's compliments took ten years from her appearance. "Mr. du Mond, he's always so particular about special meals; it's not a lot of trouble when there's Master Cameron and his guests here, but when it's only one-" She shrugged. "If you like, you can leave your tray outside your door when you're done, and I'll be along to collect it when I close up for the night. Would you be having coffee or tea with breakfast?"
Pukkah Khyber was not something she really wished to face first thing in the morning, although it certainly would wake her up! "Coffee, please," she said with an apologetic smile. "I'm American enough to require my daily dose."
"Well, and so am I, though Charlie can't see how we abide it." She smiled as if the two of them were in a conspiracy together. "And if you want coffee, that means I can get my cup, for he'll have to make a pot. I'll be up around seven with your breakfast, miss. Would you like a bath tonight or in the morning?"
"Tonight, but I'm fully capable of drawing a bath, honestly!" she laughed. "Don't go to such trouble over me!"
"If you're sure-then I'll leave you alone, unless you need something." She nodded at the expected satin cord ending in a tassel that hung down beside the bed. "If you need something, just ring."
With that, she left with the tray, leaving Rose to enjoy an excellent-and very, very British-meal. It even ended with a bowl of trifle smothered in whipped cream!
With meals like these, it's a wonder the English can govern their Empire; I should think they wouldn't have the energy to do anything but digest!
She put the tray outside the door when she was done with a sigh of satiation. It's a good thing I'm not staying here long. I would be willing to bet that Charlie puts on a full High Tea, complete with cream-cakes and Bath buns. I would need my corset pulled tight just to get into my dresses after a few of those!
There was more than enough time for a bath and some reading before she slept, although after the "early" start she'd had, she expected that she would sleep like the dead. She was torn between her Dunsany novel and the book on Magick that she had brought with her. Pleasure or duty? Botheration! This is supposed to be a holiday for me!
But her sense of duty was too strong to abandon altogether; she compromised, reading the book on Magick while the bath filled, then taking The King of Elfland's Daughter with her into the bathroom to read.
But her immersion in the Story was not as complete as she would have liked, for her new knowledge that Magick was a real and living force in the world kept intruding on what should have been a tale to escape into. If Magick was real, could elves be pure fantasy? Did Dunsany know that Magick was real?
What he had written certainly sounded as if he did.
So, with regret, she put aside the novel for her Magickal tome to read herself to sleep with. As an aid to slumber, it wasn't too far off from old Wallis Budge; she soon found herself nodding, and put the book on the bedside table, then turned off the unfamiliar electrical light.
If she dreamed, she didn't remember the dreams. Surrounded by the city, with all the night-time sounds she was used to back in Chicago, she slept more deeply than she had in Cameron's mansion. The next thing she knew, the maid was drawing the curtains and it was morning.
After a hearty breakfast-again, typically British, complete with thick oatmeal and cold toast, and she thanked Providence quietly that there were no kippers-she dressed and sat down to make out a list for Snyder of the places she needed to go. They included one that she thought might raise an eyebrow-a Chinese herbalist. That was the main reason why she wanted to go to China-town.
Among her father's many-visitors had been a g
entleman who was both an Oxford graduate and a traditional herbalist, and she had the feeling that if her father had actually followed his friend's advice and taken the medicines he had left, Professor Hawkins might still be alive. If I am going to do as much for Jason as I need to, I am going to have to have more stamina, and it isn't going to come from pukkah Khyber tea and coffee. And there was another problem; she simply could not afford to be incapacitated two or three days out of the month with pain, yet she also could not afford to be giddy with doses of laudanum. That same gentleman had left remedies for her that she had faithfully used, but they were almost gone. A "real" doctor would ascribe her problem to "typical female hysteria" and dose her with opiates; she preferred to see if one Chinese could duplicate the recipe concocted by another.
As for the rest-I've had my bookshop. I still need a regular pharmacy. And a general dry-goods store, and a department store. Perhaps I should ask Snyder to suggest some sights, if there's time. What else did she need? I wonder if I ought to get Jason a Christmas present? But what could she get him? What could she possibly afford that he did not already have twelve of?
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