Read Online Blood Red (9781101637890) by Mercedes Lackey - Free Book Online
Authors: Mercedes Lackey
Ads: Link
iron engines of the trains, belching smoke and steam, did not trouble her much, but crowded together in the station they made her feel ill. She could scarcely feel the Earth beneath all the stone and cement, and what she felt was unhappy. There might have been some Elementals here, but they were none of them
good.
They were not the sort she would ever attempt to contact.
She was only too happy when it came time to take her place on board the Budapest to Vienna train, although she really couldnât enjoy the lovely parlor car until the train was well into the countryside. She did not have a private compartment for this leg of the journey, but rather had a seat in the first class parlor car. The porter had taken her silence for shyness, or perhaps griefâshe was, after all, wearing black and her ticket listed her as âFrauâ von Schwarzwald. He had assiduously seated her in her own plush red chair in the back of the parlor car, with her own little table, set away from the groupings of identical chairs and settees that would encourage socializing. She was glad he had, and glad that her veil allowed her to study the car and her fellow passengers with a degree of anonymity.
Paneled in highly polished wood, carpeted in real Turkish carpets, with red plush curtains at every window and stained glass skylights inset into the roof, she imagined that the parlor car must be a reflection of what the parlors of the very wealthy looked like. She was glad that she was wearing what she had chosen for this journey, even though she had picked it for its imperviousness to travel and not for any other consideration. Her simple, sober gown of black had been lovingly stitched by Mutti after the fashion plates in her beloved magazines out of the very finest of alpaca and delicate linen. As Rosa covertly studied the women around her, it occurred to her with no little astonishment that Muttiâs handiwork not only equaled that of the fashionable ateliers whose creations were worn by the well-to-do around her, it surpassed them. No one was giving her a second glance, because she fit in with the rest of the folk in this car so perfectly.
She had worn this selfsame gown on the journey to Romania as well, but it was likely that amid the crowding and the wailing of unhappy children and the general weariness of all of the travelers in second and third class, no one had paid any attention to its quality.
Or they assumed I was a servant that had been gifted a cast-off from my mistress.
That happened quite a bit, actually, and not only in well-to-do families. In her home village, servant girls often got old clothing as an added benefit from a generous mistress.
She breathed a little thanks to Mutti, for without this gown, she would certainly have found herself embarrassed back to the second or third class carriages where she belonged.
A waiter and waitress moved easily among the tables, offering coffee and tea and plates of pastries. Now that they were well into the countryside, Rosaâs appetite was back and she gratefully accepted both. But she watched carefully how the ladies about her ate, and copied them, cutting the pastries into tiny bites and eating delicately, rather than picking the good things up in an ungloved hand and biting straight into them.
The car seemed to be full of a mix of Hungarian and German speakers. The porter had put her portmanteau in a rack above her head, but after the little waitress in her black uniform dress and stiffly starched white apron had cleared away the plate and cup, the girl offered Rosa a selection of fashionable magazines, so there was no need of the book in her bag. She feigned studying the stories and the fashion plates as she actually studied her fellow passengers.
Some of her fellow Foresters had seen peopleâwell, menâof this class up close in the past, but Rosa never had. Wealthy men often came to the Schwarzwald to hunt, and the Bruderschaft sometimes acted as guides to
good.
They were not the sort she would ever attempt to contact.
She was only too happy when it came time to take her place on board the Budapest to Vienna train, although she really couldnât enjoy the lovely parlor car until the train was well into the countryside. She did not have a private compartment for this leg of the journey, but rather had a seat in the first class parlor car. The porter had taken her silence for shyness, or perhaps griefâshe was, after all, wearing black and her ticket listed her as âFrauâ von Schwarzwald. He had assiduously seated her in her own plush red chair in the back of the parlor car, with her own little table, set away from the groupings of identical chairs and settees that would encourage socializing. She was glad he had, and glad that her veil allowed her to study the car and her fellow passengers with a degree of anonymity.
Paneled in highly polished wood, carpeted in real Turkish carpets, with red plush curtains at every window and stained glass skylights inset into the roof, she imagined that the parlor car must be a reflection of what the parlors of the very wealthy looked like. She was glad that she was wearing what she had chosen for this journey, even though she had picked it for its imperviousness to travel and not for any other consideration. Her simple, sober gown of black had been lovingly stitched by Mutti after the fashion plates in her beloved magazines out of the very finest of alpaca and delicate linen. As Rosa covertly studied the women around her, it occurred to her with no little astonishment that Muttiâs handiwork not only equaled that of the fashionable ateliers whose creations were worn by the well-to-do around her, it surpassed them. No one was giving her a second glance, because she fit in with the rest of the folk in this car so perfectly.
She had worn this selfsame gown on the journey to Romania as well, but it was likely that amid the crowding and the wailing of unhappy children and the general weariness of all of the travelers in second and third class, no one had paid any attention to its quality.
Or they assumed I was a servant that had been gifted a cast-off from my mistress.
That happened quite a bit, actually, and not only in well-to-do families. In her home village, servant girls often got old clothing as an added benefit from a generous mistress.
She breathed a little thanks to Mutti, for without this gown, she would certainly have found herself embarrassed back to the second or third class carriages where she belonged.
A waiter and waitress moved easily among the tables, offering coffee and tea and plates of pastries. Now that they were well into the countryside, Rosaâs appetite was back and she gratefully accepted both. But she watched carefully how the ladies about her ate, and copied them, cutting the pastries into tiny bites and eating delicately, rather than picking the good things up in an ungloved hand and biting straight into them.
The car seemed to be full of a mix of Hungarian and German speakers. The porter had put her portmanteau in a rack above her head, but after the little waitress in her black uniform dress and stiffly starched white apron had cleared away the plate and cup, the girl offered Rosa a selection of fashionable magazines, so there was no need of the book in her bag. She feigned studying the stories and the fashion plates as she actually studied her fellow passengers.
Some of her fellow Foresters had seen peopleâwell, menâof this class up close in the past, but Rosa never had. Wealthy men often came to the Schwarzwald to hunt, and the Bruderschaft sometimes acted as guides to
Similar Books
