She stared at the family of swans passing near to the bank, slightly jealous of their uncomplicated lives. Was moving into the hotel the right thing to do? Would she find herself a slave to her work, never leaving and developing that wan skin people who never went outside had?
At least she had the park nearby. With its delights so close, how could she find a reason not to venture out every day? She could buy a better coat too, with the money she saved on lodgings. Bert Dadey hadn’t charged too much, but free was better.
All in all, Peter Eyre had treated her well. It wasn’t his fault that this wasn’t the life she’d been raised to expect. Maybe by the time she was thirty-six, half a lifetime past her engagement to Maxim, she’d have forgotten the privileges of her youth.
Instead, she should focus on her neat little room. No longer did she have to stare at that dark blotch on the ceiling in Bert Dadey’s boardinghouse, evidence of water problems on the floor above. No more faint odor of mildew, either. She’d only had time to sit on her new mattress so far, but it had no lumps, and she had a double bed instead of a single. A proper closet, too, with a built-in set of drawers, and for now, she had her own bathroom until someone moved into the room next door. Heaven, really. So modern. The walls were a neat white, ready for art to be hung. The eighth through tenth floors of the Grand Russe were set in from the lower part of the building and were therefore smaller and cozier. The eighth and ninth were being renovated with an eye to becoming convenience apartments, long-term rentals that were able to take advantage of some of the hotel amenities. All the managers had been tasked with deciding how to fill the rest of the tenth. Chambermaid dormitories? Security guard dormitory? Or even space for the secretarial workers. So far, she shared the floor with the Salters, the night and the day managers, and the concierge. The Restaurant’s chef had turned down a suite, as had the hall porter. Plenty of space remained.
Despite these engrossing thoughts, she saw her cousin before he saw her. Konstantin had a nondescript black bowler tilted over his eyes, though he didn’t have his amber glasses on. Why couldn’t he remember to wear them? He didn’t appear to have shaved in the three days since she’d seen him, and red stubble flecked with gray showed on his jawline.
She saw the moment he caught sight of her, just a pause, a hitch in his walk; then he circled a pair of sheep and came down to the bank.
He reached into his pocket and handed her a heel of bread. His lips curved upward slightly, the closest to a smile he ever came. “Thought you’d like to feed the swans.”
How sweet of him to remember. The bread felt stale and rough underneath her mittens. “Wonderful. I never think to bring any myself.”
“I know. Strange, with all that free toast in the Coffee Room at the Grand Russe.”
“How do you know about that?”
He shrugged.
“You really should avoid the place,” she admonished.
“I don’t go in there now, not since they made certain changes on the lower level. I could outsmart them, but I don’t have a reason to as long as you help me.”
She crumbled the bread between her fingers, ignoring his implied threat, and tossed a piece toward the swans. It bounced off the white-feathered back of one. She clapped her hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear.”
Konstantin rolled his eyes as the second swan ducked his bill to pick up the piece. “You didn’t hurt it.”
“Where are you staying now?”
“Nowhere after tomorrow. Rent’s due. Can you lend me some money?”
She sighed. At least she didn’t have to pay her own rent on Monday. “What do you need?”
“Three bob should do me.”
She frowned. “That’s too much.”
“I have to move around. Some weeks are more expensive than others. I’m in a good part of the city this week.”
“If you would change your associations, you wouldn’t need to run.”
“Just give me the money, Cousin.” His eyes had gone hard.
She wondered if this is why he’d left his glasses off, to intimidate her. Knowing as she did how his mood could switch from the sweet person who brought bread to swans to the man who built bombs, it was effective. She wondered, as she often had, what Konstantin’s father had done to exile him to England. The tale varied, but a woman who’d been burned came into the telling every time. She suspected he had plunged an unfaithful mistress’s hand into a samovar. It was the version told by an elderly aunt, and it made sense to her. It also made her afraid of what Konstantin might be capable of doing to her.
“I made very little more than that,” she whispered. “I know rent can be half of salary in London, but three pounds is so much more than that. How am I supposed to live? To eat?”
“Toast.” His eyes bored into hers. “You get all the free toast and tea and champagne you like. Deviled eggs, too. I’ve seen them out in the evenings.”
“I’m the help. I can’t eat in the Coffee Room. I’m not a guest.”
“You can sneak in. You’re a clever girl.” He held out his hand. “The money.”
She straightened her aching shoulders with effort. He’d never asked for so much. Had he calculated what she had and decided to go for every shilling, now that she’d moved into the hotel? A move only as old as an hour ago, and he demanded everything she possessed. She swallowed hard. He was her cousin. She could stand up to him. “No. I need a new coat. My clothes are still what I brought from Russia. Rags, some of them.”
He put his hand on her shoulder and moved his face close to hers. He slowly tightened his hand as he spoke, digging into the already taut muscles along the back of her shoulder. “I need to stay moving. You don’t want me to be arrested, to drag our illustrious name through the mud.”
As she bit back a cry of pain, he tore off her coat. Two buttons fell into the dirt. He pawed through the coat until he found the hidden pocket within another pocket and pulled out her change purse. After he emptied the purse and tucked the contents into his pocket, he let the purse slide from his fingers. She grabbed for it.
Face still impassive, he threw the coat in the dirt at her feet and walked away. When he reached the grass, he started to whistle.
She shivered hard, a full-body rejection of what had just happened. Crouching, she picked up her coat. Her fingers shook too hard to close them around the buttons. She fumbled until her coat was back around her, cupping her shoulders with comforting warmth. Then she picked up the buttons. She tucked them inside her mitten and tightened her hand into a fist around them.
She didn’t feel the peace of the place any longer. The clouds, gray and broad, had lowered in the sky, and the wind swept the trees. She could hear the branches, still bare, fluttering. Turning away, she walked up the low hill, her knee aching, ready to return to the hotel.
“Ya awright, miss?” one of the shepherds called as she walked by the bench where they sat. “Ya needs a hot drink o’ tea.”
“Yar pale, lovey,” said the second man, holding up a sturdy, leather-covered vacuum flask.
She turned to them, her mouth working to say something in anger, and saw their sun-etched faces, their friendly smiles. The hand that wasn’t clutching her precious buttons folded into a point toward the path where Konstantin had disappeared. “Didn’t you see what he did?”
“What did ya do ter him?” the first man asked.
She gritted her teeth and squeezed her hands, feeling the button. The other hand went to pull her coat closed. “Nothing. He wanted my pay.”
“Yer husband has a right to it.”
“He’s not my husband.”
The second man’s mouth worked. She could hear the click of his dentures. “Ya’d best break it off then, lovey. Man like that is as likely to beat ya as kiss ya.”
“He’s my cousin.” Her voice broke on the last word. She put her hands to her face.
“Next time, don’t bring the money,” the first one advised. “Why, he’ll hit ya for it, but if ya hide it good, put it
in a bank or summat, he’ll find a new victim. Listen to what Thomas Sykes say, lovey.”
She clutched her coat more tightly, her heart pounding in her breast. If she didn’t come when Konstantin made contact, he’d find her. He’d be in her room some night, a proper burglar. She’d never bothered with a bank account, but perhaps it was time. Or she could ask Peter to store her earnings in the safe. Maybe it was time she stopped treating him like family, but, oh, he was the only family she had. Her entire being rejected the loss of her one remaining cousin from her life.
The shepherd handed her the flask. She forced a smile, opened the stopper, wiped it with her coat, and took a trembling sip, despite her nausea. The tea was still hot, and sweet.
“It’s perfect,” she said, feeling the sugar coat her tongue. “I’m sorry I can’t pay you.” She closed the flask and handed it back.
“We’re proper knights in armor,” Thomas Sykes said with a chuckle. “Get ya home, girl. I’d be putting the lock on.”
She nodded. What was the point of explaining it wouldn’t stop her cousin?
Chapter 6
“I’ll bring you more towels, my lord.” The blond, buxom young chambermaid bobbed a curtsey and scrambled for the door.
Glass had never seen this chambermaid before. She had a country accent and a naive manner. She’d probably be eaten alive by some of the more autocratic guests on the floor, like the grand dame opera star Ethel Arrathorne, who had moved into the Opal Suite last night. His bedroom wall seemed to share with her bedroom, and he’d been subjected a series of vocal warm-ups that morning that made the hair on his arms lift.
He’d had a glimpse inside the suite that night as porters moved in her trunks. Absolutely stunning, a mix of white and variated blues, building on the opal theme until one might have thought they inhabited the inside of a mineral specimen. He hoped the delicate inlaid tables and mirrors could withstand the force of her singing.
Yawning, he went to the Firebird and made sure it was securely closed. He’d just changed the recording when the chambermaid had knocked. As he pushed the painting flush against the wall, he felt it vibrate as if someone had slammed a heavy trunk against the wall. He frowned. What were the Russians doing?
A knock at the door prevented him from putting on the headphones. He found Olga at the door, fluffy white towels covering her arms.
“Hello, strange princess,” he said. “Haven’t seen you for an age.” He tried to sound flirtatious.
She walked in, and he shut the door behind her to prolong their chat. “You weren’t here when I checked the room on Saturday, and I’m not on duty Sunday.”
“Did you move in upstairs?”
“Yes.” She nodded briskly and moved toward the bathroom.
He stared at her, narrowing his eyes when he saw her limping. What was wrong? He followed her into the bathroom.
She placed hand towels along the sink-side rack and set the rest of them on the rack above the bathtub. When she turned around, he pointed to her leg.
“What happened?”
“Florence happened.” She scrunched up her nose in distaste.
“Is that the new girl?”
“Monica is your new chambermaid, but she’s been with us for a bit, now. Florence had just started last week. Nasty piece, that girl. I had her sacked after she made fun of my accent, then hit me in the knee with a broom, accidentally on purpose.”
“Bloody hell,” he exclaimed.
Princess Olga flinched at his profanity.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “The heat of the moment. Why ever did she do that?”
“She didn’t like my accent.” The princess rubbed her nose and then her eyes.
He could see her fingers came away wet. Concerned, he approached her, placing a gentle hand on her arm. “You’re tougher than this, old girl. What’s troubling you?”
She sniffed.
“Something wrong with your new digs?”
She shook her head. “No, my room is perfect.” She sniffed again and then sobbed, a loud, abrupt barking noise. Her hands went over her face, fingers spread.
Good Lord. He threw caution to the wind and put his arms around her, cradling her head until she rested it against his shoulder. Openly sobbing, she wrapped her arms around his waist and held on.
He let her cry until the sobs settled into an occasional shudder. His shoulder was soaked with her tears. He pulled away just enough to pull his handkerchief from an inner pocket and hand it to her before gathering her back to him.
“I’m sorry Florence was beastly,” he said. “Prejudice is an ugly thing. I’m sure she didn’t know any better. Does your knee ache dreadfully, darling?”
“It’s irritating,” she said and sneezed. She used his handkerchief on her entire face, went to the sink, wrung out the cotton square, and wiped her entire face.
“Then what is so wrong?” he asked when she seemed restored.
Her lips quivered again. He winced, thinking he’d better let her cry on his other shoulder this time. But she took a deep, shuddery breath.
“Not a mind reader,” he said in his gentlest tone.
She stared at him. Her sepia eyes had never seemed so full of secrets. He needed to know the truth, or they could never proceed, either as a courting couple or as friends. “Princess,” he whispered, “let me help you.”
The corners of her mouth jerked, as did her cheeks. She blinked hard. “I have no money.”
“Why not? Did the boardinghouse take all your pay?”
“No, about half, what you’d expect, but my cousin always has a hand out. Yesterday, he tore off my coat when I told him he was asking for too much money and stole my coin purse. I had every shilling I own in my pocket because of my move. I hadn’t decided where to hide my money yet. He took everything.”
He went very still. He hated bullies. “How much?”
“Five pounds. Three months wages minus food, shelter, Christmas presents, and what my cousin has taken.”
That was all? It should have been more like twenty pounds. “I’ll replace the money for you. This is disgusting. Did it happen here at the hotel?”
She shook her head. “No, in the park. That’s where I met him.”
He leaned against the bathroom wall, trying to make himself look casual, like he had no hidden agenda. “This is your English cousin? The one who was raised here?”
“He was my age when he came to England.” She pressed her lips into a thin white line before she spoke again. “Konstantin’s father did something terrible to his mistress just before the war. Burned her or suchlike. He was exiled and came to England with his wife and son. He’s my second cousin.”
“Konstantin.”
“Yes.” Her voice lowered to a thread. “He’s a bad man. I give him money, and he promises to be good, but then something happens. He has evil friends, and when I don’t see him, that’s when I worry most of all.”
“Because he is earning money from evil?”
She nodded. “The shepherds in the park told me never to meet him with money. They said he’d hit me once but then leave me alone. I think he’ll find me here in the hotel, though. He has always had a gift for locks, for secreting his way around. Strange, really. He’s not a small or inconspicuous man.”
“Some have that gift.” He had operatives with astounding criminal talents.
“He’s been here, in the hotel. Spent nights, eaten the food in the Coffee Room. He respects nothing.” She pounded a fist into her palm.
“Please tell me the next time he contacts you. I’ll meet him instead and fix this.”
Her eyes went wide. “No, he’s family. I couldn’t betray him.”
“Don’t you know you mean something special to me?” he asked. “Please, let me take care of this for you.” Little did she know what he had in mind or how much power he had.
“Maybe,” she whispered. She took a step toward him.
Instead of wrapping her into the hug he wanted, he brought her int
o the sitting room and made her put her legs up on the white couch. He took a bar towel and opened the ice bucket. A little ice remained, swimming in a sea of cold water. He wrapped the ice in the towel and put it on her black-stocking-covered knee.
“Poor princess,” he said. “You’ve had a dreadful few days. We’ll make it all better now.”
She sniffed. “How?”
“My father wants to meet you.” He imagined how delighted she’d be to see her paintings installed at St. Martin’s house. Would she come to his father’s next dinner party? Normally he loathed the stuffy formal occasions, but she might adore it.
“Why?”
“I told him about you on Saturday. He was quite taken with the notion of you.”
Her eyes seemed larger than ever as she stared up at him. He leaned forward on the back of the sofa to bring his face closer to hers.
“Really?” she asked.
“Yes. I think he’s going to take a look at your paintings. We know Margery, you understand.”
She nodded. “That’s very nice.” She tilted her face up to him.
He walked around the sofa and sat on the edge of the coffee table. She turned to him, and a long pause ensued while they stared at one another.
“You have beautiful eyes,” he said. “Beautiful everything, really. Stunning.” Without meaning to exactly, he leaned forward, ready to capture her mouth under his.
She arched back against the sofa cushion and sat up straight. “Lord Walling!”
Genuinely confused, he asked, “What? We’ve kissed before.”
“On a date. Not here at the hotel. I’m at work.” She stared down herself, as if suddenly realizing she was reclining with a damp ice pack on her knee. He could see her stockings were already soaked.
“I apologize. The moment, you understand.” He cleared his throat, which had gone tight.
She sat up and spread her skirts back over her knees. “I must return to my duties.”
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