[Vox]

Travis smiled and took a step back. "This is the only bag I've got," he said, meaning his backpack, "and I can handle it. Lead the way." Rimes bowed slightly - bowed! and took him out of the room they were in, down a corridor hung with landscapes and portraits, and into a more lavish room that must have been the front lobby, hung with more paintings, including a 10-foot high one of a woman in a narrow black dress, her silvery hair curled and twisted up into a flat bun. The woman smiled, but with a bitterness to her expression. There was a car in the background, which Travis recognized as a 1920s Aston Martin.

"Who's the lady?" he asked.

"That's Mrs. Rinauld." Rimes offered no further explanation and the American didn't ask. They went up a wide staircase and finally reached a hallway with ornately carved, heavy oak doors. Rimes paused in front of one of them and knocked. Hearing no answer, he opened the door and gestured Travis inside.

"Your room is in there, sir. If you need anything, press that button by the door, and someone will be round shortly." He closed the door.

Inside was a small sort of sitting room, with a sofa and table, and a doorway to a bedroom with a bath en suite. That was nice. Unfortunately, there was no en suite toilet, and he did not like wandering strange halls in the middle of the night looking for the john.

He decided that if worst came to worst in the middle of the night, he could just go in the tub.

The bed was king-size and a four-poster. There was cloth wrapped around the posts, tied down, which suggested it was a canopied bed. He had always thought canopied beds were for girls. There was a big fireplace, and light fixtures that were like the ones he'd seen in a Scottish building: lights that worked by gas or by electricity, so if one power source failed, the other was theoretically available.

He put his backpack on the bed, pulled out a butterfly knife, and started flicking it open and shut. The rhythm helped him concentrate. He thought about the weirdness of the situation downstairs.

His good-natured attempt to include Rimes had been rebuffed, without question. Travis had been firmly put in his place, and while it hadn't shown in his fixed grin, he cringed on the inside. For the first time in his UK trip, he devoutly wished he were home.

Being led up the front staircase allowed the maid Julia time to prepare the room, but it also emphasized that he was not intended to use the servants' stairs, which he found unsettling. He had never considered himself "above" any working people, and apparent snobbery from "below" was just wrong.

Screw it, he thought, putting away the knife. I'm gone in the morning and back home in a few days!

There were towels and soap thoughtfully provided in the bathroom. He washed and shaved, and was brushing his hair when there came a knock on the door.