the cat as if she were a lifeline, but the tabby wanted no part of her. She leaped onto the window seat and settled in the sunlight. Berkeley stood up slowly, suddenly adrift.
Grey felt her uncertainty keenly. Until that moment he hadn't been entirely sure that she was alone. Now he knew.
Berkeley made a visible effort to shrug off her self-pity. There was nothing to be gained, and she doubted Grey would be moved by it. She didn't want him to feel sorry for her anyway. She could hardly prove her independence if she somehow became his responsibility.
"Mr. Janeway?" The call came from another room.
Grey turned toward the parlor. "In here."
Shawn Kelly appeared carrying an armload of books. "From your tent, sir. Where should I put them?" He looked around, became aware he was standing in Grey's small library, and offered, "What about on one of these shelves, Mr. Janeway?"
"That would be fine, Shawn. Don't bother to sort them."
"Oh, I wouldn't know how," Shawn said. "Never learned to read more than enough to get by." He pushed the books onto one of the shelves. "You'd better show us where you want the rest of your things. No sense moving more than once."
It was then Berkeley became aware of the approach of heavy footsteps in the hallway. She followed Grey back into the parlor in time to see a parade of workmen enter with canvas, poles, cots, trunks, blankets, cooking utensils, a pitcher, a basin, and a chair. Just when she thought no one else could fit into the room, two men hoisting a large wooden washtub on their shoulders walked in. Grey raised his hand, pointed in the direction of the dressing room, and the sea of men parted soundlessly. Berkeley jumped out of the way as they squeezed themselves and the washtub through.
"The canvas and poles have to go to the storage room," Grey told the men. "I'm not setting up a tent here. Cooking supplies to the kitchen. Leave the chair here; everything else in the bedroom."
Moving into a shadowed corner of the parlor, Berkeley watched the workmen move with choreographed simplicity. There was not even the slightest misstep as the belongings were distributed to their proper place in a matter of minutes. The men who had not gone to the kitchen and the storage room congregated back in the parlor. Grey struck a careless, casual pose that was becoming familiar to her as he hitched one hip on the edge of his desk and stretched a leg out to the side.
"Can I have a few volunteers to heat water and carry it back up here?" he asked. "I'll need buckets of it, I'm afraid. The Phoenix's first guest will require a considerable amount of scrubbing before she's fit to take a room."
Berkeley realized the shadows in her corner weren't nearly deep enough as the men turned in unison toward her. Cheeks aflame with humiliation, Berkeley tried to make herself invisible by staring at her feet and closing her eyes. She thought some of the men must have given Grey a silent indication they would help because no one volunteered aloud.
"Good," Grey said. "You can go. Oh, and if at any time you see Sam loitering in the hall downstairs, send him up." Grey waited until the men shuffled out and the door was closed before he addressed Berkeley. "You can come out now."
She didn't move.
"Or not," he said, shrugging as if it were of no importance. When she remained exactly as she was for longer than a minute Grey's patience came to an end. "I'm not going to apologize each time I trample your tender feelings. I expect I'll be doing it quite often."
Berkeley dragged the rumpled hat from her head and clutched it between her hands. More of her pale hair fell forward across her shoulders. She lifted her face a few degrees but still did not look at Grey. "I won't get used to it," she said softly. "I won't let myself."
"My God," Grey said under his breath. "How the hell have you managed to survive on your own?"
"By disguising myself as a boy." Now she looked at him straight on. "And you took that defense away from me
Grey felt her uncertainty keenly. Until that moment he hadn't been entirely sure that she was alone. Now he knew.
Berkeley made a visible effort to shrug off her self-pity. There was nothing to be gained, and she doubted Grey would be moved by it. She didn't want him to feel sorry for her anyway. She could hardly prove her independence if she somehow became his responsibility.
"Mr. Janeway?" The call came from another room.
Grey turned toward the parlor. "In here."
Shawn Kelly appeared carrying an armload of books. "From your tent, sir. Where should I put them?" He looked around, became aware he was standing in Grey's small library, and offered, "What about on one of these shelves, Mr. Janeway?"
"That would be fine, Shawn. Don't bother to sort them."
"Oh, I wouldn't know how," Shawn said. "Never learned to read more than enough to get by." He pushed the books onto one of the shelves. "You'd better show us where you want the rest of your things. No sense moving more than once."
It was then Berkeley became aware of the approach of heavy footsteps in the hallway. She followed Grey back into the parlor in time to see a parade of workmen enter with canvas, poles, cots, trunks, blankets, cooking utensils, a pitcher, a basin, and a chair. Just when she thought no one else could fit into the room, two men hoisting a large wooden washtub on their shoulders walked in. Grey raised his hand, pointed in the direction of the dressing room, and the sea of men parted soundlessly. Berkeley jumped out of the way as they squeezed themselves and the washtub through.
"The canvas and poles have to go to the storage room," Grey told the men. "I'm not setting up a tent here. Cooking supplies to the kitchen. Leave the chair here; everything else in the bedroom."
Moving into a shadowed corner of the parlor, Berkeley watched the workmen move with choreographed simplicity. There was not even the slightest misstep as the belongings were distributed to their proper place in a matter of minutes. The men who had not gone to the kitchen and the storage room congregated back in the parlor. Grey struck a careless, casual pose that was becoming familiar to her as he hitched one hip on the edge of his desk and stretched a leg out to the side.
"Can I have a few volunteers to heat water and carry it back up here?" he asked. "I'll need buckets of it, I'm afraid. The Phoenix's first guest will require a considerable amount of scrubbing before she's fit to take a room."
Berkeley realized the shadows in her corner weren't nearly deep enough as the men turned in unison toward her. Cheeks aflame with humiliation, Berkeley tried to make herself invisible by staring at her feet and closing her eyes. She thought some of the men must have given Grey a silent indication they would help because no one volunteered aloud.
"Good," Grey said. "You can go. Oh, and if at any time you see Sam loitering in the hall downstairs, send him up." Grey waited until the men shuffled out and the door was closed before he addressed Berkeley. "You can come out now."
She didn't move.
"Or not," he said, shrugging as if it were of no importance. When she remained exactly as she was for longer than a minute Grey's patience came to an end. "I'm not going to apologize each time I trample your tender feelings. I expect I'll be doing it quite often."
Berkeley dragged the rumpled hat from her head and clutched it between her hands. More of her pale hair fell forward across her shoulders. She lifted her face a few degrees but still did not look at Grey. "I won't get used to it," she said softly. "I won't let myself."
"My God," Grey said under his breath. "How the hell have you managed to survive on your own?"
"By disguising myself as a boy." Now she looked at him straight on. "And you took that defense away from me
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