A Lady in the Smoke Read Online Free Page A

room to the next delivering towels. I shrank back against the wall to be out of the way of another maid who was carrying an armful of blankets. Behind her shuffled yet another, her face sour as turned milk. She was bearing a tray with three bowls of broth.
    “Excuse me.” I stopped her. “Is the doctor here?”
    She jerked her head toward the stairs at the end of the hall. “ ’E’s down in the scull’ry, tendin’ to those poor souls,” she replied shortly. Her eyes went to my forehead. “What d’you be needin’ with ’im? ’E’s already seen to
you
.”
    I bristled. “I was merely asking.”
    She shot a disparaging look at my silk skirts. “Lady like yerself best be staying in yer bed. Pale as a ghost ye are.” She turned away, muttering, “ ’Allways be crowded enough without people wanderin’ ’bout bloody worse ’n useless.”
    I felt the sting of annoyance as I watched her disappear into one of the rooms. I wasn’t bloody worse than useless when it came to wounds. But never mind.
    I took the back staircase down to the first floor, where a narrow passage led toward the center hallway and the front door. To the right was another staircase, presumably leading down to the kitchen; from the left came the murmur of voices. I followed the sound down the hall and peered into a large dining room full of people who seemed able-bodied but were clearly taking refuge from the accident. On the opposite side of the hallway was a narrow room that was dark and empty; at the front of the hotel was a more spacious parlor whose windows looked out onto the street.
    I returned to the back stairs and descended. The smells of cheap tallow candles, burnt pastry, and boiled onions rose to meet me, along with the scents of singed oil and scorched metal, and as I reached the bottom I realized why. On the floor of the passageway were nearly a dozen injured men and women. Some were sitting up; others were sprawled flat; many had makeshift bandages around their limbs; most appeared to be in pain, although no one made much noise. At the end of the passage were two doors, both closed. No doubt one led to the scullery and the other to the kitchen. I stepped carefully so as not to kick anyone, but when I reached the doors, I paused, suddenly uncertain.
    The maid was right. Lady Elizabeth Fraser, only daughter of Lady Margaret Fraser, The Dowager Countess of Kellham, probably belonged back in her room. Except as I stood there, my fingertips feeling the rough grain of the wood under the paint, I had the strangest feeling, and, though unfamiliar, it wasn’t wholly unpleasant. Tonight, at this hotel, I was just another injured passenger. I turned to look at the people in the hallway. No one was paying the least bit of attention to me. Indeed, no one here even knew me but my mother, and she was fast asleep. For once in my life, I could behave as I chose.
    I pushed gently at the door until the crack was wide enough that I could look in. As I suspected, this was the scullery half of a large split kitchen. Two broad windows near the ceiling would have let in the sunlight had it been day, but now the room was illuminated only by a few lamps whose sallow light caught the metallic shine of cookware on a rack overhead and left the corners in shadow. The tin clock above the twin sinks told that it was nearly one in the morning. The stove was still lit, with a copper pot on the cooking surface, and the air was warm and damp. A young maid was filling a second pot at the sink. Through vents that led to the room next door came the voices of several maids and the clatter of dishes being put on trays.
    I pushed the door open a bit farther. Now I could see that more injured people were lying on the stone floor, towels under their heads like makeshift pillows. Some of them were groaning, others were silent. The maid turned toward me, her eyes large and frightened.
    In the middle of the room stood a large wooden table much like the one we had at