The Wolf with the Iron Jaw (Elysium #1)

Chapter Four

Booker led Trinket to her room, and though it wasn't as large as the parlour, it was certainly nothing to sneer at. The wallpaper was a cheery peach color with delicate designs of vines and flowers, and heavy green drapes decorated a bay window overlooking the street. It was furnished, too. A washbasin sat atop a nightstand situated beside a cast-iron bed made up with soft, colorful blankets. There was also a standing mirror, a writing desk, a bookcase, and a wardrobe, all of which were covered in dust and cobwebs.

"Feel free to redecorate as you see fit," Booker said, leaning against the doorframe. "If there's anything you need, be sure to ask. I'll have no trouble supplying you with whatever you may require in order to fulfill your duties."

"Do you have any specific duties in mind?" she asked, remembering that she wasn't all that educated in what a servant was expected to do.

Booker furrowed his brow. "Well, I suppose keeping the place neat and orderly would make sense. Answering the door, receiving correspondences. And of course, tea and crumpets."

He gave her a teasing smile.

"When do you normally take your tea?" she asked.

"The morning. And occasionally the evening. And at odd hours during the day. Ah, and I probably should have warned you that there may be times when I'll have late-night visitors. Will you be able to see to them when I call for you?"

Late-night visitors sounded very much like night flowers, but she wasn't one to judge. "Of course. So shall I set about my chores now?"

"No, no, you need to recuperate a bit longer. Breakfast and tea are all you have to worry about for the time being. Once I've determined that your leg has healed properly, then you can go about . . . maiding? Serving?"

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh as he fumbled for the right word.

With a quick shake of his head, he smiled and said, "Anyhow, please, make yourself at home."

He closed the door, leaving her alone to take in the luxuries around her. Breathing in deeply, she lowered herself onto the bed. The mattress seemed to be of horsehair—quite a change from the straw-filled one she'd become so accustomed to. And the blankets were warm and clean, not a stain to be found on them. There was even more than one pillow. Burying her head in the bedding, she let out a content sigh. How had her luck changed so suddenly?

It seemed too good to be true.

~

Apparently the excitement of the morning caught up with her, as she drifted off into a fitful sleep only to be woken by birds chirping outside. She squinted and rolled over to find the rising sun peeking through the window.

With a gasp, she bolted upright. No! Had she actually slept through the entire day? What sort of useless maid was she?

Scrambling off the bed and ignoring the splitting pain in her leg, she moved to rush down to the kitchen when she noticed something hanging over the standing mirror. It looked like a dress. Reaching up to remove a piece of paper attached to it, she found a message from Booker. His handwriting was spiky and messy, as if his words came to him faster than his pen could keep up:

A gentleman such as myself cannot allow his help to suffer in rags.

A smile tugged at her lips as she turned back to the mirror and the fine dress. It seemed extravagant for a maid, but who was she to argue with her new employer?

She glanced down at her filthy palms and then over at the washbasin that Booker had apparently filled while she was asleep. How had she not heard him come in? And why was he doing her job? Nevertheless, she didn't want to sully such a lovely garment with the grime and dirt from Elysium. So, limping over to the nightstand, she rolled up her sleeves and dipped her hands into the cold water.