Read Online Blood Red (9781101637890) by Mercedes Lackey - Free Book Online Page A

keep them out of mischief. These men and women fascinated her. It made her head swim to think that the women would change their clothing four and five times in a day to match whatever social activity they were doing. More than that, if they happened to participate in what passed in their class for “sport.” And they would keep a perfectly good gown for no more than a handful of years before discarding it as “out of fashion” rather than remaking it as Mutti did.
    She eavesdropped on them shamelessly. Most of them were either returning from, or going on, “tours.” She knew what these “tours” were—whirlwind sightseeing trips to major capitols, occasionally taking in some countryside by way of relief. They would whisk in and out of the agreed-upon series of “things worth seeing” without really seeing any of them.
    She wondered why they did it at all. It wasn’t for education. It wasn’t to examine the beauties of these places, for as near as she could tell,
every
place was judged inferior in some way to what they had “at home.”
    Maybe it’s just for something to do.
    Certainly the women, at least, seemed to have very little to occupy them in the intervals between changing clothing. They didn’t tend their own children. They didn’t make their own clothing or cook their own food. They didn’t clean their own homes, and didn’t even direct the people who
did.
That was the job of the housekeeper.
    She could not even begin to imagine living like that. Although it was wonderful being pampered and cared for on this journey, especially when you compared it with the slog that had been the outward half, she knew that too much more of being tended to hand and foot would drive her mad. Living in gowns like the one she was wearing would drive her mad. And above all, not having anything practical to do with her time would drive her mad.
    As she came to that conclusion, a gong sounded softly. This was the signal that they were all to rise in a leisurely fashion, and make their way into the next car—the dining car—which existed for the
sole
purpose of being eaten in, by these people and no others.
    Luncheon, like the other meals she’d had on these trains, was amazing. And it was even more amazing to bear witness to the sheer amount of food that the men, at least, were tucking away. Eight courses! For luncheon! Small wonder those elegant vests strained a little to cover the bellies beneath them.
    Out of deference to her apparent mourning, she was given a table by herself, allowing her to eat as slowly as she liked while she observed those around her.
    Then it was back to the parlor car, where watching her fellow passengers had grown boring enough—and their conversation unvarying enough—that she retreated to her book. She caught some of the women casting curious glances her way, and she suspected that they were surreptitiously trying to read the title. Not that the title would bring any of them any enlightenment. She’d taken it with permission from the Romanian Brotherhood’s library, as they had a second copy, and the Bruderschaft didn’t possess this work; written in Latin, it was a treatise on a subject rather important to her—werewolves and other shape-shifters.
    Tea and coffee and more pastries were served in mid-afternoon; she declined the pastries but accepted the coffee. About the time when she would have been sitting down to supper at the Bruderschaft Lodge, the steward passed through the car, politely informing the passengers in a deferential murmur that they were about to enter Vienna.
    Rosa had felt the nearness of the city for some time. It wasn’t as bad as some German cities she had been forced to pass through; Vienna was well known for its green and growing spaces. But it was uncomfortable, and she was very glad that she would not be staying overnight there. She would be taking another night