were of dark maple with silver fittings. There were two chairs like the ones in the sitting-room, and a huge full- length mirror between them. Another radiator promised that this bedroom would never be cold. The carpet, wall- covering, and curtains were the same as in the sitting-room. The bed, which dominated the room, was absolutely enormous. Amazingly enough, it was of the medieval style she had always secretly favored, with curtains of blue- on-blue brocade, and a matching spread now turned invitingly down to reveal the snowy linens.
But there was more, and light through a third door drew her onward, until she found herself in a bathroom whose opulence matched the rest. This room was tiled in pale grey, pale blue, and silver. A bath was drawn and waiting for her, steaming and fragrant with lavender bath salts. The tub, large enough to recline comfortably in, was of the square, Roman style - a huge marble basin enclosed in a tiled box. There were two sinks, an abundance of mirrors, a lounge and two chairs, a vanity with a framed mirror. The vanity held a wealth of green and silver bottles whose contents she longed to explore. Snowy towels hung from a heated towel-rack, and the 'convenience' was of the most modern flush-type. The bathroom was as large as her bedroom had been at home, and had its own small wardrobe at one end, with the door opened to display a tempting selection of nightgowns and dressing-robes or kimonos.
Rose didn't even hesitate. Much faster than she had ever remembered undressing before, she shed her clothing down to the last stitch-shirtwaist, skirt, underskirts, stockings, corset-cover, corset, vest, drawers-all of them dropped from her body with a speed that was positively magical. She slipped into the hot water with a gasp of delight, and scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed again until she was pink all over. She ran more hot water into the tub and rinsed again, then undid her hair and washed it as well.
She did not go so far as to appropriate any of the lovely night things in the wardrobe, however. She was certain that they must belong to someone else, and had been left there by accident. Instead, she rebraided her hair, wet as it was, wrapped herself in a towel, and went to look for her valise.
The valise wasn't there-but someone had stolen into the bedroom while she was bathing, had drawn the curtains around three sides of the bed and had left a nightgown lying across the pillow, in an obvious invitation.
It was an invitation too tempting to resist especially given that the mere sight of the bed had started her yawning.
She took the gown into the bathroom to change just in case the unknown 'helper' returned. It was silk, a luxury against her skin after the coarse cottons of her traveling clothing that made her dizzy with pleasure. She blew out the lamps in the bathroom and returned to the bedroom, to find that all the other lamps had been extinguished except for the one next to the bed.
She was too tired to be alarmed at the way people kept stealing in and out of the rooms without her noticing. In fact, she was too tired to think of anything other than falling into that wonderful bed-putting her glasses carefully on the bedside table and blowing out the lamp-pulling the bed curtains around to shut out the morning light-and pulling the covers up over her head.
CHAPTER
THREE
Rose woke in darkness, but this time with no sense of disorientation, no fear when she did not recognize her surroundings. She remembered precisely where she was; even if she hadn't, the faint perfume of some unfamiliar flower wafting from her hair would have reminded her.
She was at her destination, the home of Jason Cameron. She was in darkness because she had drawn the heavy velvet bed curtains tightly around the bed, and not even the most persistent sunbeam was going to penetrate both velvet curtain and satin lining.
She stretched luxuriously in the warmth of the bed, taking an animal pleasure in the soft caress of the silk of her borrowed nightdress upon her skin. Tonight, of course, it would be plain cotton weave again, but for now, she could pretend to luxury.
Pretend? It would hardly be pretense, given the luxury of her quarters. While she might be shabby, her surroundings were palatial.
I wonder what time it is? Surely it couldn't be too late in the morning; she'd be expected to take charge of the children immediately, and her employer would probably insist on interviewing her first. Although she wished devoutly that she could wallow in this wonderful bed with a book, her hours were no longer her own. With a reluctant sense of duty she pushed back the curtains to find that oil lamps had again been lit to augment the thin grey daylight coming in through the windows. Without her glasses, that was just about all that she could ascertain.
She reached for her glasses and the room sprang into sharper focus. She sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and found that a pale-pink silk wrapper trimmed in soft lace that matched the lace-trimmed gown had been laid out on a chair beside the bed, ready for her to put on, even though she had not heard anyone come in.
