It took her a moment to realize that she had just been through an earthquake, and it was not her knowledge of the present that allowed her to identify what it was, but her knowledge of the past. Vesuvius. Pompeii. There had been Roman accounts of Pompeii, Herculaneum—
For a moment, her imagination took over. At least, she thought it was her imagination. The blue blur of the room vanished; she saw fires, people fleeing, screaming, and fire everywhere; for that moment, she even felt the flames hot on her own skin.
She saw herself on her knees beside victim after helpless victim, some crushed, some burned beyond recognition; saw herself trying desperately to help those who were beyond aid, or who perished beneath her hands. She felt the terrible despair of one who knows what she does is futile, and yet cannot, in the face of such pathos and need, stay her attempts to do something.
But no matter what she did, her actions were as chaff in the whirlwind. The destruction about her was too great, and her two hands too few. Still, defiant in the cause of life, she continued to try as the flames bore down upon her and those still trapped, screaming, in the ruins.
There are no volcanoes here, she chided herself. I am not about to find myself in a hail of cinders! It was only an earthquake, and there are earthquakes here all the time. This is not ancient Rome! In this modern age, our buildings are proof against the worst that Nature can send.
But there was a hollow place where her stomach should have been, and for long moments more, as she seized her glasses and settled them carefully on her face, her hands trembled.
But when she entered her sitting room to find breakfast waiting for her, she had regained her composure, and her knees no longer felt like water. She was looking forward to exploring the house and grounds further, especially the grounds, and to that end had donned a smart walkingsuit of sapphire-blue silk-broadcloth, a pale blue silk waist with a hunting-stock tied about the neck, and low-heeled walking shoes. Beside the tray holding her meal were the pile of book-catalogs that Cameron had promised her, and a map showing the grounds. Beside the table was a basket just large enough to hold a picnic luncheon for one.
Just as he had promised.
A quick glance at her new watch told her that there would be plenty of time to explore before Cameron needed her services. The only question was—inside, or out? There was a great deal about the house she had only glimpsed last night; she would like to see it all in daylight.
But the sun shining warmly outside her window made up her mind immediately. If all she had heard was true, bright, sunny days were not all that frequent in this season. She should take advantage of this one. Tomorrow it might ram; she could explore the mansion then.
She hurried through her breakfast and took up the basket. The map showed her a side entrance not far from the staircase on the first floor, letting out near the stables for the benefit of those who wanted to take an early-morning ride; she would take that. She felt shy about confronting any more of Cameron's strange servants—people who could slip in and out of a room without her even hearing a footfall or people like Paul du Mond.
Especially people like Paul du Mond.
A breeze of no particular direction swirled around her as she stepped out into the sunshine, tugging her skirt around her ankles. She smiled and kicked free, turning at the same time to her right as movement attracted her attention.
The stable lay to her left, a building that could well have been mistaken for a fine home, painted in the traditional red with white trim and surrounded by white-painted fences. Behind it lay a forest of dark green trees, through which wind played, bringing her the scent of the woodland. In the middle of a lushly green field attached to the stable, surrounded by a wooden fence painted so pure a white that it hurt the eyes, a horse reared and danced with the breeze. Rose was not familiar enough with horses to know what kind he was, but it was clear to even the amateur eye that this was a stallion, and an extremely expensive one. His coat gleamed a pure copper, his mane and tail a fiery bronze; his muscles rippled beneath the shining coat with every move he made, and he was more alive than any other horse she had ever seen. He reared again, pawing playfully at the breeze, then glanced at her as she drew nearer the fence, attracted by his vibrant vitality. His dark eyes flashed, and she could have sworn he was laughing as he settled again on four hooves and whirled, neck curved in a perfect arch and tail flagged, turning towards her.
Fascinated and entranced by the beautiful stallion, she did not realize that she was walking towards the fence until she actually ran into it. The horse danced sideways towards her, as daintily as any ballet dancer, stopping just out of reach, where he posed as if perfectly well aware how lovely he was, and intending to show off for his appreciative audience.
"That's Sunset," said a dry tenor behind her. "Or, strictly speaking, 'Cameron's Fiery Sunset,' a pure Arab from a line that reaches back farther than your lineage and mine put together, imported at immense expense from somewhere near Mecca. Pampered beyond belief. Only Jason can ride him, of course."
She did not have to turn to know that Paul du Mond had once again approached her without her realizing it. Her shoulders tensed, and her hands clenched on the wicker handle of the basket. She did not know why she was developing such an aversion to the man, but every time she encountered him, that distaste grew more pronounced. "Oh?" she replied, without turning. "I wouldn't know an Arab stallion from a plowhorse, but even I can tell he's beautiful."
The horse stared at a point behind her, and gave a snort that sounded disgusted, although she would not ordinarily have attributed an emotion to an animal. He kicked up his heels and pranced away to the far side of the enclosure, where he resumed his dance with the breeze, glancing from time to time at her and ignoring Paul du Mond disdainfully.
Du Mond laughed, a sound with no humor in it. "He doesn't like me, and I'm afraid it's mutual. He was a gift from some Arabian chieftain, or whatever they call themselves. He was escorted here by a half a dozen of the nastiest-looking barbarians you ever could imagine, bedecked with flowing robes and great, curved swords, and evil expressions. While they were here, they lived in a tent on the lawn and took time out for praying to Mecca ten times a day. I'm told the horse had his own cabin on the boat that brought him to New York; he certainly had his own special car on the train that took him from there to here. Walnut and redwood interior, special spring-water to drink, and every strand of hay and oat he was fed examined by his entourage before he was given it."
"Really." If Cameron went to all that trouble for a mere horse—well, now she had some notion of her position in the scheme of things. Oddly enough, that was comforting. The less extraordinary Cameron's attentions, the better she liked the situation.
I am a pair of eyes and a voice, and that is all he needs of me. Good. She had rather be an object of utility than of interest. The one thing she did not want was for Cameron to take her for anything other than—say—a colleague.
Du Mond finally came up beside her and leaned on the fence, ostensibly watching the horse. "There are hundreds of children in the city that have less spent on their welfare than Sunset—and all for a horse that no one can ride since Jason's... accident." He cast a sardonic glance at Rose. "Jason is like that; if something benefits him personally, then he spares no expense on it, but if it's for anyone else's well-being, unless their welfare helps him in some way—well, that's just too bad." The man shrugged. "He's peculiar in other ways, too; he has odd interests and odder habits. He's got some notions many people would find unsettling. And some would say that he is dangerous."