Mercedes Lackey - The Fire Rose

On the whole, living here would be rather like living in a palace. She had heard that these western rail-barons had built themselves manors to rival the Medicis, and now she was certain this was nothing less than the truth. Why, the expense in lamp-oil alone must rival the total of all of the household bills of any normal household put together!

She hurried her steps as she turned back towards her own suite; the place was so empty it seemed haunted, and just at the moment she wanted the cozy walls of her own domain around her. Obviously Cameron did not ask the servants to keep his hours; they must all have retired for the night. Perhaps there was a separate building as servants' quarters. That might be where Paul du Mond resided.

When she entered her own rooms again, she heaved a sigh of relief, both because she had not encountered du Mond on the way, and because after the huge and lifeless rooms below, this suite seemed a very haven of warmth and welcome.

There were two additions immediately visible; a striking clock on the mantlepiece, between two silver candlesticks, and one of the domed serving-trays. She seated herself at her little table with alacrity as her stomach had the bad manners to growl, hoping that she had not tarried too long.

Either she had somehow missed du Mond and the servants by mere minutes, or Cameron's delving into alchemical processes had uncovered some arcane way of keeping food perfect and piping hot for hours. And perhaps he had divined that with a "masculine" mind her culinary preferences were "masculine" as well. This was no dainty lady's dinner of toast and lobster-salad; a savory and hearty platter of rare roast beef, new potatoes, and mixed grilled vegetables awaited her appetite, with caramel flan and a good red wine as accompaniments. There were also a pot of tea, sugar-bowl and a cream-pitcher waiting at the fire, presumably for the ease of her throat, later.

It occurred to her, as she finished her meal, that it was just as well that she was in the habit of taking hearty exercise. If she continued to eat like this without those long walks, she would soon resemble the plumply upholstered sofa!

Now would have been a pleasant time to settle in with a good history and read for leisure-but her duty called, and she would be reading in any case, though it was not what she would have chosen. She covered the remains of the meal with the domed lid and returned to her station.

But with the books, she found another new addition, so small she had initially overlooked it. There was a red Morocco leather box on the table, and when she opened it, she found a lady's chatelaine watch within, complete with neckchain. Both were unique, and clearly from a fine jeweler's stock; the yellow-gold case of the watch was inlaid in white- and rose-gold, in a lovely pattern of climbing roses; the chain was a triple-strand of braided rose-gold, yellow-gold, and white-gold. This was no "gold-filled bargain" from Sears, Roebuck; it was an expensive piece of fine jewelry.

For a moment, she was inclined to tell Cameron that she could not accept the gift-oh, why not? It wasn't inscribed with a sentiment; there was no note with it. For all I know, this is the kind of thing he gives his housekeeper for her birthday. Why balk at a trifle like a watch, when he had already given her an entire new wardrobe?

She picked up the next book in the pile-the ones she had already read were gone-and spoke into the silence. "Mr. Cameron?"

"Miss Hawkins?" the answer came, promptly. "I trust you enjoyed your explorations."

"Very much so. Your home is-is stunning beyond words," she replied honestly. "I cannot imagine that anyone in this area has anything to rival it."

A chuckle. "Oh, there are other homes in San Francisco that are larger-but I flatter myself to think that mine is in better taste. You would not believe the incredible pile my partner Crocker has constructed. I hope you will forgive the watch-I know it is a bit ostentatious, but I happened to have it on hand and could not resist the play on your Christian name. If you would rather have something plainer I shall have to have Paul look further in the safe-but this does suit your new wardrobe, you will have to admit."

"You have me at a disadvantage, for I must agree with you." Oh, she was enjoying fencing with words with this man! He was probably unprincipled in many ways, possibly without morals to speak of, but he was witty and intelligent, and he gave her the accolade of treating her as equal in intelligence. "There; now you know another weakness of mine, I am vain, and I fear, greedy as a child for pretty things. Greedy enough to accept your ostentatious gift. Thank you." There. I have said it, so you cannot assume superiority.

"You are welcome." Another chuckle. "It is very refreshing to find someone who knows when blunt and plain speaking can be as clever a weapon as dissimulation. Touche. Now, if you are ready to begin?"

"I am," she said, with a chuckle of her own, and resumed her task, pouring herself a cup of tea and adding cream and sugar in the English style, to ease her voice.

It was past one by both the watch and the clock when she finished, and she was suppressing yawns as she closed the last book. "Miss Hawkins, you give me cause to rejoice that you accepted my offer," came the harsh voice from the speaking-tube. "And now, I shall leave you to your virtuous rest. Good night."

"Good night, Mr. Cameron," she replied, as she drank the last of her tea. "I am looking forward with curiosity to see what you shall have unearthed for me to read to you tomorrow."

If he chuckled at that sally, she did not hear it; she had already moved to blow out the lamps and leave the fire to burn itself out.

Once again, a silk nightdress had been laid out for her on the invitingly-turned-down bed. She wavered between bed and bath, and finally her yawns overcame her. I can bathe in the morning, she told herself, as she stepped out of her clothing and left it lying, neatly folded, on the chair beside her bed. The cool silk of the nightdress against her skin only confirmed the rightness of her decision in her own mind.

This might have been a mistake-but she didn't think so. If Jason Cameron happened to be slightly crazed, well, then so were thousands of others, who went to Spiritualist meetings and flocked to hear Madame Blavatsky. What harm was there in his seeking some redress for an intolerable situation? And what harm was there in her aiding and abetting that search? Clearly, she amused him, and that in and of itself was healthy for him. Better that he should take amusement in her audacity than that he should sink into apathy and despair.

With that comforting thought, she fell asleep, with the bed curtains drawn securely about her and the watch ticking quietly away beside her glasses on the nightstand.

CHAPTER

FOUR

Cameron the Firemaster watched his newest acquisition in his mirror as she read to him, unaware she was being observed. Here in his own domain he had no need of the Salamander's aid to watch whomever he chose; the mirrors were his eyes, mirrors formed in the white-heat of his furnaces and enchanted before they cooled. Needless to say, he had mirrors everywhere, though he chose not to activate the ones in her bathroom. He was no voyeur, at least not of innocents.

And she was innocent, despite her intellect and all her reading. He found that both charming and touching. How like the Tarot card she was, of the Wise Fool, full of knowledge and utterly unworldly! How easily she could be led to a fall, unaware and unwary of the precipice, of the void gaping beneath her feet!

The Salamander watched her too, dancing above its volcanic mirror as he watched her in the mirror of man-made glass. "She is more attractive, properly dressed," it said, sounding surprised. "Even with the glasses."