Authors: Heather Hiestand

If I Had You (27 page)

BOOK: If I Had You

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Chapter One

Outside London, afternoon, January 9, 1925

S
adie Loudon pressed her hands down the sides of her slightly too short uniform skirt when she saw Mrs. Curtis. She'd shortened it to make it saucier, but the above-calf length created problems when she had to bend over. January was no time to have a breeze snaking up her bare thighs. However, the increased tips in this seedy inn where she was a new chambermaid more than made up for the discomfort.

“Clean up that mess in the lobby, ducks,” the housekeeper said, brushing frizzy locks of graying hair behind her ears. “We'll run off our customers.”

Sadie clucked her tongue when she saw the pile of paper in the middle of the small hotel lobby. “Who dumped a pile of rubbish there?”

Mrs. Curtis sighed. “No idea. We're too close to the Richmond train station for comfort.”

Sadie set down her mop and bucket in the corner and went to pick up the papers. Her shoes crunched on a broken tile in the checkerboard pattern as she walked across the floor. She looked back to see Mrs. Curtis wincing at the noise.

As she picked up the first piece of cheap paper, the headline, in large, heavy type, stood out:
UNITE THE WORKERS
! She scanned the text: “Not a penny off the workers' wages, not a penny tax on food!”

None of it meant much to her. She had only started her first proper, paying job on Monday. No paycheck had been issued to her yet. As far as she was concerned, these labor unions trying to create unrest were merely creating labor for her.

“I'll be sorting out the reading room,” Mrs. Curtis called. “Have a tidy in room 301 when you're done in here. They just went to tea.”

Sadie made a face at the floor. Dreadful 301 and their nasty poodles. She hated that foul-smelling room. It took four times longer to clean than any of the others. She clenched her fist, ruffling the leaflets, then bent to gather up the rest.

She heard a slam behind her, as if a guest had opened the upstairs door in a rush. Someone hurtled down the steps. She glanced up to see a bearded man in gray trousers, a baggy black coat, and a Russian
budenovka
hat barreling toward her. Dropping the leaflets, she attempted to stand.

The running man crashed into her. She fell backwards, instinctively cradling her head. Her back hit the tile, legs going up in the air. Pain radiated through her skull and hands. She was too startled to do anything but pant.

More noise on the stairs. More crunching on the tiles. The front door banged open. Steps slowed. Another man looked down at her, this one in a slim, hand-tailored, pinstriped suit. His bowed lips curled when he saw her silver tap pants, exposed by the skirt hovering somewhere around her waist. He was clean shaven and rather young, with gray-blue eyes that regarded her dispassionately, despite the smile.

Sadie pulled her knees together and dropped her feet to the ground. “Help me up!” she begged, cautiously letting go of her head.

The man narrowed his eyes, then glanced toward the door. Without looking back, he ran after the bearded man, his highly polished oxfords gleaming from her floor-level vantage point. He pushed through the door, coatless, running into the cold after his quarry.

Slowly, she put her hands to the tiles and pushed herself up. Her back ached and her head spun. “Well, I like that,” she muttered. “Such cheek.” She pushed her skirt down and stared uneasily at the leaflets.

Bolsheviks were labor agitators, weren't they? And that first man was clearly a Bolshevik, with a hat like that. As much as he had frightened her, it was the complete calm in the second man's eyes that had bothered her the most. She had a sense that nothing could break through his defenses.

Shivering, she rose shakily to her feet and staggered to the battered reception desk. Old Ben, the hall porter, appeared as if from nowhere.

“Sadie, love, what's gotten into you?” Old Ben stepped up to the other side of the desk.

“Nothing,” she said. “I was knocked down.”

“By a guest?” Old Ben stared uneasily at the small lobby.

“They came from upstairs.” She described both men.

“I don't recall either of them,” he said. “I'll have to investigate. Why don't you get a headache powder from Mrs. Curtis and have a lie-down in your room?”

Sadie wanted to say yes, but she wasn't a well-trained vicar's granddaughter for nothing. “I still have work to do. After I clean room 301, perhaps.”

“No, love, have a lie-down first. Half an hour.”

“I will then. I do ache dreadfully.” She smiled and hobbled toward the stairs. When she saw one of the leaflets, which had scattered around the floor with all of the movement in the room, she picked it up and took it with her. She had a vague sense that she needed to be better informed.

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Heather Hiestand
was born in Illinois but her family migrated west before she started school. Since then she has claimed Washington State as home, except for a few years in California. She wrote her first story at age seven and went on to major in creative writing at the University of Washington. Her first published fiction was a mystery short story, but since then it has been all about the many flavors of romance. Heather's first published romance short story was set in the Victorian period and she continues to return, fascinated by the rapid changes of the nineteenth century. The author of many novels, novellas and short stories, she has achieved bestseller status on Amazon's Romance Anthologies list and on Amazon UK's Romance Short Stories list. With her husband and son, she makes her home in a small town and supposedly works out of her tiny office, though she mostly writes in her easy chair in the living room. She's probably sitting there right now!

For more information, visit Heather's website at
www.heatherhiestand.com
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