“Leaving no elbow room for the Germans,” Melville said.
Adele gave up. She pushed the fingered piece of shortbread into Melville’s hand and saw him out, then closed down her house and travelled to the train station. Her heart had not completely steadied since then, and the King’s chancy temper had not improved the matter.
But she would not admit to Pureton that in Berlin, Melville had been close by if things should go wrong. In every assignment Melville had given her since she had met him, he or Daniel had been on hand, even if at a distance.
Pureton was very old-school. He believed women were quite unable to think for themselves. She knew he tolerated her presence near the King, because Edward liked her. Quite likely, he believed the rumors that the King was having an affair with her, too, for in Pureton’s regard, women were fit for little else.
Adele would not support his belief by admitting the source of her fear. Instead, she straightened and pulled the fur more firmly around her throat. “If the King is to remain aboard tonight, I believe I will find a hotel…if that suits you, Sir Godfrey?”
His smile was knowing. “With the Queen aboard, I do not believe your absence will be noticed. By all means, find your hotel, Lady Adelaide.”
She seethed, but made herself smile. “Is there an establishment you would recommend?”
“Indeed. The Shelbourne Hotel is highly respectable, frequented by most of the upper class.” He stood and touched the brim of his hat. “We shall see you at the Exhibition tomorrow, then.”
Adele brushed passed him and went to repack her trunk.
THE CAB DROPPED HER IN front of the Shelbourne Hotel, on Baggot Street. While two of the staff hurried to remove her trunk and take it into the hotel, Adele paid the cab driver and lingered upon the pavement to study the park across the road. It looked like a very pleasant place.
The clouds had grown tattered and were blowing away, letting the sun play upon green leaves and grass, and a pretty wrought iron fence separating the park from strollers upon the footpath. Adele glimpsed statuary and flowers inside the fence.
A footman cleared his throat, next to her. “Shall I show you t’ front desk, m’lady?” His accent was charming.
She gave him a smile. “Please, yes. Lead on.”
The interior of the hotel was as grand as Pureton’s recommendation had implied. White marble dominated—on square columns, arches, round columns and the roof. The floor was also white marble, with a thick carpet muffling footsteps. The tops of the columns and the vaults of the ceiling were gilded. Tall vases of freshly cut blooms perfumed the air, and the chandelier overhead glowed with a steadiness that told her it was powered by electricity. It was a modern touch that pleased her.
She moved over to the front desk, taking off her gloves. The clerk behind the desk gave her a smooth nod. “M’lady.”
“I require a room for three nights, thank you.”
The clerk pulled the heavy registrar over in front of him, plucked his pen out of the inkwell and tapped it off. “Is m’lady accompanied by her husband?”
Irritation bit her. “I am a widow,” she said coldly.
“Unaccompanied,” the clerk pronounced, as he wrote.
“I am Lady Adelaide Azalea Margaret de Morville, Mrs. Hugh Becket,” she told him. “I am part of King Edward’s royal party and will be accompanying the King to the Exhibition tomorrow and Thursday.”
The man’s shoulders straightened. He glanced at her, and she saw surprise in his eyes, although his features remained quite fixed. “Lady Adelaide,” he said, his head bowing once more. He turned and plucked a key from the board behind him and held it out to a footman. “Please let me know if there is anything I can do to assist you while you are our guest.”
“I would like some fresh fruit in my room, please.”
“Of course, my lady.”
She glanced around the long, narrow entrance hall and nodded toward an archway opposite the desk. “Is that the dining room? Is lunch still being served?”
“Alas, I regret that the dining room is closed until this evening, my lady.” The clerk didn’t sound all that upset about it.
“Then please have a roast beef sandwich delivered to my room, too.” Adele turned and followed the footman up the narrow stairs to the third floor. It could have been worse—she might have been relegated to a room on the next and highest level. Her trunk hung between two more footmen, who hurried ahead of them.
The room was unlocked and her trunk placed upon a stand which appeared to be made just for that purpose, while she removed her hat, stole and coat and moved over to the large window and looked down upon the park which lay on the other side of the cobblestoned road.
“Is the park a public park?” she asked the footman, as he placed her key upon the chest of drawers by the door.
“It is, m’lady. St. Stephen’s Park.”
“Thank you.”
He gave a jerky bow and left, closing the door behind him. Her sandwich and fruit arrived upon a trolley, with white linen napkins and a silver dome, a short while later. Adele ate, ravenous now that she was warm, once more. She glanced at the six books she had placed upon the bedside table, but the bright sunlight streaming through the window drew her attention, instead.
After her small meal was finished, she changed into an afternoon gown—this one had the very modern hemline that came as high as her ankle and revealed her boots. She wasn’t sure what to make of the high hemlines that were fashionable for daywear, but they did make walking very convenient. She didn’t have to lift her skirts out of the way of puddles or gutters. But she still did not have the courage to wear anything but floor-length hems in the presence of the King, or Queen Alexandra, who was very traditional, too.
With a feeling of relief,
