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 gentleman 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.
