No Proper Lady Read Online Free PDF Page A

anyone competent, Mrs. Edgar.” Simon took a step forward, lowering his voice. “But I can’t…Well…I don’t think she’s in any state for such an examination.”
    Mrs. Edgar put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, you poor dear—”
    “I don’t remember anything,” Joan said. “My head hurt for a while, but it’s stopped now.”
    Everyone was staring at her. She was aware of everything that Simon’s coat concealed: her ludicrous dress, her tattoos, and the long-healed scars from past battles. Joan folded her arms across her chest.
    “Food and rest are what’s needed, I think,” said Simon. “And privacy.”
    “Very good, sir,” said Mrs. Edgar. “If you’ll follow me, miss—”
    “MacArthur, wasn’t it?” Simon offered.
    At least it mostly kept her father’s name. “Yes—I think so. It sounds familiar.”
    “Very good. I’ve had Rose light a fire in one of the guest rooms, and we should be able to make you quite comfortable. This way, miss.”
    Joan followed, wincing at first when her shoes made squelching noises on the marble. Then she stopped thinking about it because she had too much else to take in. The staircase itself was a marvel with a dark wood railing carved with roses, a thick, tan carpet on the stairs, and small windows made of red and blue glass on each landing. You didn’t have windows back home unless you had to. Windows broke.
    The upstairs room into which Mrs. Edgar led Joan had blue walls and a large fireplace. The fire was starting to blaze now, and a young blonde woman in a pale dress and white apron was rising from her knees in front of it.
    “This is Rose,” said Mrs. Edgar. “She’ll be in again shortly to draw you a bath and bring some food. If that’s all right, miss?”
    The question was an afterthought. The woman had clearly put Joan into whatever mental category she used for children and invalids. That meant less trouble for Joan, but it was still vaguely insulting.
    “Fine,” Joan said. “Thank you.”
    She looked around. The room was vast. The bed was vast. Joan’s briefing had covered at least a little about this time’s weird morals, or she would have asked where the other two people were. A tall dark cabinet stood in one corner, a chest of drawers with a mirror over it opposite the bed, and a desk by one of the windows. Thick blue drapes covered the windows, and a blue and gold rope hung down by the canopied bed.
    Joan watched the other women leave, waited until they’d closed the door, and then dumped Simon’s coat onto the floor. She shrugged her knapsack off on top of it, flicked the bag open, and swiftly unpacked its contents into the desk. The flashgun and the knives went into the bottom of one drawer, and she set two wrist sheaths full of poisoned darts over them. Then there were a small metal flask with a sigil on it, in case anything poisoned her , and a thin wire garrote coated in silver, because you never knew, plus a first-aid kit, a case of lock picks, and two sticks of camouflage face paint. Finally, there was another metal flask, this one smaller and with a different sigil, containing liquid fire. The priests back home had enchanted it.
    On top of everything, including the knapsack itself, she laid the black clothing she’d brought: leather pants, shirt, gloves, and soft-soled shoes. With everything piled right, the drawer appeared to contain nothing but a mass of black cloth. Now only her tattoos and the magic-sensitive patch behind her right ear would show that she wasn’t from this time, and the sensor was almost invisible even when she was naked. She closed the drawer and stepped back just as someone tapped on the door.
    “Come in,” Joan said.
    “I’ve come to run your bath, miss.” Rose was carrying towels and a clean white nightgown over her arm. Her eyes widened for a second when she saw Joan’s dress, but she didn’t say anything. Not waiting for a response from Joan, she opened the door on the far wall, revealing a small