The woman nodded. “I figured as much. I’m Mrs. Gordon, owner of this here establishment. We’ve the whole place for you tonight. If you like, I can show you up to the second-floor parlor. That’s where I’ve put all you ladies, as it’s far warmer up there.”
“Please,” Lady Rascomb said, gesturing for her to lead the way. Somehow, she was in complete control of all her limbs, whereas Eleanor and the other girls were shivering with the cold. Eleanor had to keep her teeth clamped shut to keep them from chattering.
“I’ve got stew and fresh baked bread at the ready. We’ll get you settled in, and I’ll have Beverly bring up trays.”
The steps were wooden, but a well-worn rug was tacked along them, which Eleanor was grateful for. Her traveling bootswere muddy from the dash in the rain, and the polished floor was slick. Up another staircase was their floor, with a lock on the main parlor, and individual rooms off of that.
The rugs behind them were wet from their passage, a trail of sodden fibers. Eleanor did not envy whoever must clean them.
“The rooms all have keys in them for you, and this door locks from the inside. I have a key to it as well, but no one else. It keeps the gentlemen at bay.” Mrs. Gordon gave them all a sharp look as if any one of them might arrange a clandestine meeting. “Lady Rascomb, I give you the key to the main door, and thus you can be responsible for all your charges.”
Lady Rascomb accepted the large brass key, and Mrs. Gordon eyed Justine, despite the fact they were all wearing full-length sodden traveling gowns. “Not to worry, Mrs. Gordon. I will keep the girls safe.”
“See that you do, if I may be so bold as to give advice. This parlor here is the only one of your rooms with a fire. I have bed warmers for each that I will bring up at nine o’clock on the dot, not a minute later. If I may, I’d suggest you lay out your wet clothes to dry on the racks, and enjoy your dinner out here in your dressing gowns. You’ll warm up faster and won’t be as likely to catch cold.”
Eleanor longed to get out of her wet clothes, take off her sodden boots, and unpin her hair. The day had been long, and while she hadn’t moved her body much, the jolting noise of the train had exhausted her.
“Thank you for the sound advice, Mrs. Gordon. We look forward to the dinner trays.” Lady Rascomb walked Mrs. Gordon toward the door, effectively ending the interaction.
The innkeeper left the room, and with it, all the girls sighed. Immediately Eleanor began picking at the buttons of her traveling costume. Her nails were bluish purple, and not at all adept at getting her free of the wet clothes.
They’d managed to get their wet outer clothing off when there was a knock at the parlor door and the porter delivered their trunks. Lady Rascomb assigned rooms, and the porter pulled the trunks to the appointed doorways. When the man left, Justine flopped onto the settee and pushed off her boots, groaning.
“I love you all very much, and as such, I’m taking off everything,” Justine announced.
“That’s why you have a reputation, Justine. I understand what you mean, but you can’t just say whatever’s in your head,” Ophelia chastised.
Justine groaned again in response. They picked at each other when they were tired, Eleanor noticed. Justine grew more flamboyant, and Ophelia grew more judgmental. What did Eleanor do, she wondered? What was her tic?
Eleanor opened the trunk in her room. They were to stay here for a week, resting, gathering information about weather, obtaining a guide, and arranging for transportation to the Highlands. She wondered if they would get to see some of Edinburgh’s sights, given how much time they had. Would they visit the castle? Holyrood Palace? Surely, for someone like Eleanor, who had not traipsed around France or Italy or America, they might indulge her here in Scotland?
Eleanor was cold in her little room, with its small cot-sized bed, nightstand, and dressing table. She stripped off her dress and her boots and, with relief, peeled off the woolen stockings. There was something immensely freeing in removing those. She took out the pins in her hair, running her fingers along her scalp, finding sensitive spots to gently massage. Digging around in her trunk—which she promised herself she would unpack later—she found her nightdress and dressing gown.
Clean clothes felt like heaven. She finger-combed her hair and walked out into the parlor, braiding it as she went. Prudencewas already there, ensconced in a book. Refreshed in her dry clothes, Eleanor felt the inn was taking on the cozy atmosphere of a vacation. There was a knock at the parlor door, which made Eleanor exchange looks at Prudence. Did they dare risk the wrath of Mrs. Gordon by opening it?
“Dinner,” a young voice on the other side of the door called.
Prudence snickered, and Eleanor hopped up. Why was she so hungry? She hadn’t done hardly anything but sit on a train, and yet she was hungrier than the nights they’d spent out at Berringbone Hold. It was a different sort of hungry after a jostling train ride. One born out of a desire for warmth, for comfort, for ease.
A young woman barely out of childhood bustled in with a large tray. She set down the tray and without a word efficiently put together a table that had been sitting in pieces against the wall. Eleanor hadn’t even noticed it.
Once the table was erected, it was set, complete with linens and proper place settings. Eleanor watched, completely speechless. She’d never seen anything like it in her life. Such efficiency in this little inn.
The expression on Prudence’s face, wide-eyed, with a downturned mouth, conveyed her surprise as well.
“I’ll be back up in a moment with the stew and the bread.” The girl curtsied as efficiently as she’d done everything else and hurried from the room. She must be the Beverly that Mrs. Gordon mentioned.
“Is that dinner?” Justine called, emerging from her room in her shift.
Ophelia drifted out of her room at the same time, then noticed Justine in her shift. “Honestly, Justine. You must put on a dressing gown or at least a wrapper. I can see right through that.”
Justine rolled her eyes. “Who’s going to see me? I didn’t put anything on because no one is around to see but you all, and none of you count against propriety.”
“It isn’t the done thing, Justine,” Ophelia reminded her. Ophelia was wearing a dressing gown that cinched around the waist, making her the picture of nighttime modesty.
Justine groaned. “One of these days, I will do something that actuallyisshocking. Something that really ought to ruin my reputation, and then you’ll see how very modest I’ve been my entire life.” She stomped back into her room.
Lady Rascomb emerged, looking lovely and proper. Her long pale-golden hair was brushed out, cascading over her shoulders. Her loose dressing gown flared at the waist, concealing any nightdress or shift she might be wearing underneath. Even the cane, which she leaned heavily on, did not detract from her regal promenade to the fireplace.
