Matthew was still engrossed in studying the diagrams when a knock at the door almost gave him no use this morning for a chamberpot. He answered the knock by cracking the door open and found it was another servant with a bowl of water so hot that gloves were necessary for the handling. Matthew decided he would brave getting his fingers scorched for the opportunity to shave and clean up with the items on the washstand. The servant cautioned him not to do it, but Matthew explained about the “sleeping beauties” in the bedroom and took the bowl, instantly wishing he had not because the damned thing felt straight off the coals. The servant asked him for the return of last night’s hot water bowl, which Matthew returned to him with numbed fingers and then closed and relatched the door once again.

He put the five sheets of parchment back into the satchel but left the arrangement of pockets out so as to show Julian what he’d found. Before he began the task of washing his face and shaving, he angled the handmirror so he could see the closet behind him where the dead men were stacked. It just made him feel better. He used the cake of soap and the razor that was offered by the inn, and lastly he soaked a handtowel in the wonderfully hot water and just let it rest on his face while he reclined on the sofa and listened to the whine of wind beyond the glass.

He was hungry and thirsty and yearned for at least a piece of toasted bread and a thimbleful of tea, but going down to the tavern was at the moment out of the question. He decided to take the opportunity to go through the belongings of the recently murdered, and so he began with the largest trunk.

Suits, blouses and stockings in colors that assaulted the eyeballs lay before him. He’d thought Prussians of the noble class would be more austere, given to blacks and grays, but the owner of this fashion festival knew no restraint. Matthew plucked out a robin’s red breast of a jacket and tried it on, finding that it fit rather tightly around the shoulders but the length was ample enough and the sleeves would allow the puffs of lace cuffs to explode forth. He held up a pair of yellow corduroy breeches against himself. The leg length looked all right but he wasn’t sure about the waist; he declined to try them on, thinking that new breeches might need to be purchased before tomorrow night. The same with the two pairs of boots in the trunk, being too small for comfort. He found another huge wig and a teakwood makeup case full of jars of white cream, red and purple paints, sundry powders, black eyeliner and applicators for all of it and he knew he was rummaging around in Baron Brux’s dandified atmosphere.