“Damn. I wish there was someone to talk to.” She clicked off the little machine and put it down on the sideboard, frowning. Whether or not Erasmus Burgeson was trustworthy was an interesting question. Probably he was, up to a point—as long as he could sniff a way to put one over on the cops who were enforcing his unwilling cooperation. But he was most clearly a bachelor, and there was something uncomfortable, slightly strained about him when she was in his presence. He’s not used to dealing with women, other than customers in his shop, she decided. That’s probably it.

In any event, her head ached and she was feeling tired. Think I’ll leave the dining room for another day, she decided. The bed seemed to beckon. Tomorrow would be a fresh start…

Gold Bugs

The following morning, Miriam awakened early. It was still semi-dark outside. She yawned at her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she brushed her hair. “Hmm. They wear it long here, don’t they?” It would just have to do, she thought, as she dressed in yesterday’s clothes once more. She carefully sorted through her shoulder bag to make sure there was nothing too obtrusively alien in it, then pulled her boots on.

She paused at the foot of the main staircase, poised above the polished marble floor next to the front desk. “Can I help you, ma’am?” a bellhop offered eagerly.

She smiled wanly. “Breakfast. Where is it?” The realization that she’d missed both lunch and dinner crashed down on her. Abruptly she felt almost weak from hunger.

“This way, please!” He guided her toward two huge mahogany-and-glass doors set at one side of the foyer, then ushered her to a seat at a small table, topped in spotless linen. “I shall just fetch the waiter.”

Miriam angled her chair around to take in the other diners as discreetly as possible. It’s like a historical movie! she thought. One set in a really exclusive Victorian hotel, except the Victorians hadn’t had a thing for vivid turquoise and purple wallpaper and the costumes were messed up beyond recognition. Men in Nehru suits with cutaway waists, women in long skirts or trousers and wing-collared shirts. Waiters with white aprons bearing plates of—fish? And bread rolls? The one familiar aspect was the newspaper. “Can you fetch me a paper?” she asked after the bellhop.

“Surely, ma’am!” he answered, and was off like a shot. He was back in a second and Miriam fumbled for a tip, before starting methodically on the front page.