The Woman's Arrival (4)

Martha climbed the stairs, the tray balanced carefully in her hands, her irritation simmering just beneath the surface. The strange woman had unsettled her from the moment she arrived—her boldness, her brazen appearance, and the way she seemed to command the room without saying more than a few words. And then there was Gregory. The old fool could barely keep his tongue in his mouth when that tart was around. Martha shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. Men—always so predictable.

As she approached the woman's room, she paused for a moment outside the door, steadying herself. She wasn't about to let some floozy throw her off her game. She had been running this place long enough to deal with all types of guests, and this one was no different. With a sharp breath, she knocked on the door.

"Come in," came the woman's voice from inside, as languid and disinterested as ever.

Martha pushed the door open and stepped into the room. The woman was lounging on the bed, still in nothing but her bra and panties, a cigarette dangling from her lips. She didn't even bother to sit up as Martha entered, her eyes lazily drifting to the tray in Martha's hands.

"Your dinner, miss," Martha said stiffly, placing the tray on the small table near the fireplace. She straightened, trying to avoid looking too closely at the woman's half-naked form, though it was difficult not to notice the way she casually flaunted her body.

The stranger took a long drag of her cigarette and exhaled a plume of smoke, watching Martha with those sharp, unreadable eyes. "Thanks," she said, though her tone was anything but grateful.

Martha stood rigidly in the room, tray in hand, staring at the strange woman who had just finished lounging around, still in nothing but her undergarments. The dim firelight flickered across her body, giving her an even more exotic and unsettling aura. Gregory's lustful remarks earlier echoed in Martha's head, fueling the quiet resentment simmering in her chest.

"So," Martha said, voice clipped, "what name should we call you by, miss?"

The woman took a lazy drag of her cigarette, her eyes half-lidded, as if she couldn't care less about the conversation. "Lena," she said after a pause, letting the name hang in the air like the smoke she exhaled. "You can call me Lena."

Martha pursed her lips. Lena, so simple and unremarkable for someone so... provocative. But she said nothing, nodding sharply and preparing to leave. The sooner she could get away from this strange woman, the better.

As she turned to exit, Lena's voice, smooth and commanding, stopped her in her tracks. "Wait a second," Lena drawled. "My luggage is still at the station. How do I get it sent here?"

Martha froze, turning back around, meeting Lena's eyes. "The station, miss? Well..." she hesitated, feeling a flicker of satisfaction in having to give disappointing news. "There's no way to get it tonight. It'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Lena's eyebrows lifted in mild amusement. "There's no one to fetch it now?"

Martha shook her head, almost relieved to give her the answer. "No, not tonight. It's dark out, and the road's too dangerous." She tried not to sound smug. "Slippery, wet. Last time someone tried that road after dark, there was an accident. Two men died."

Lena barely reacted, raising one perfectly manicured brow as she lazily flicked the ash from her cigarette. "Oh," was all she said, her tone flat, as if she were hearing about a spilled glass of milk instead of two men losing their lives.

Martha felt her skin prickle with irritation. What a heartless woman, she thought. But she continued, eager to press her point. "That road's a killer, miss. My own brother, poor thing, slipped on that very road one night. It was raining hard, and he was in a rush to get back home." Martha's voice wavered slightly as she recounted the memory. "He lost his footing, and down he went. His arm broke clean in two, right above the elbow. Took months to heal."

She could still remember the terror in her brother's eyes when he came home, pale and drenched, his right arm hanging useless at his side. The look of pain and fear in his face haunted her, as he moaned in agony, waiting for the village doctor to arrive. "He was scared out of his mind," Martha continued, her words tumbling out. "Shaking like a leaf, thought he'd never use his arm again. Had to live off me for months while it mended, and even now, it still aches when the weather turns."

But before she could continue with the story—about how her brother struggled with the chores, how the smallest task brought him to tears—Lena cut her off, her tone sharp and dismissive. "Yeah, I get it, bad road and all. Now, can you get me some cigarettes? And maybe something to wear? My clothes are all in the luggage still sitting at that station."

Martha bristled. The nerve of this woman! Interrupting her story so rudely, as if her brother's suffering was a mere inconvenience to her. She opened her mouth, ready to give Lena a piece of her mind, but then the memory of the money Lena had thrown down when she first arrived flashed in her head. She's paying, Martha. Let it go.

Gritting her teeth, Martha forced herself to nod. "I'll see what I can find," she said stiffly. "As for the cigarettes, I'll fetch some from the village shop if Gregory doesn't have any on him, though it'll take a few minutes. As for the clothes... well, we don't have much here, but I'll see if there's anything in the lost-and-found that might fit."

Lena smirked, clearly amused by Martha's strained politeness. "You're a gem," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "And maybe hurry up with the smokes, huh? I don't like waiting."

Martha stiffened again but held her tongue, choosing instead to focus on leaving the room as quickly as possible. She turned sharply and headed for the door, but just as she reached the threshold, Lena's voice rang out once more.

"Oh, and Martha?" Lena's tone was a mix of arrogance and amusement, like she was toying with her. "Try to find something that isn't too frumpy, will you? I wouldn't want to ruin my aesthetic."

Martha didn't trust herself to speak, so she simply nodded curtly and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her with more force than necessary. She stood there for a moment, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, her hands trembling slightly. Aesthetic? she fumed. Who does she think she is? Waltzing in here like she owns the place, throwing her money around and acting like the world revolves around her.

As she made her way down the stairs and into the small storage room by the kitchen, she muttered under her breath, cursing Lena's name with every step. She saw Gregory approach her but eyed him to not say anything as she rummaged through the lost-and-found box, tossing aside old scarves, mismatched gloves, and forgotten shawls, until she found a simple dress that might just fit the woman's slender frame.

It wasn't frumpy by any means, but it certainly wasn't the kind of attire Lena would typically wear, if her current state of undress was anything to go by. Still, it was the best Martha could offer, and frankly, she took a certain amount of satisfaction in the fact that it wasn't some glamorous outfit.

With the dress in hand, Martha first asked Gregory who was standing near the small storage room if he had any cigarettes on him to which he replied a 'no'. Thus Martha headed for the front door to fetch the cigarettes. The cold air hit her as she stepped outside, and for a moment, she reveled in the sharp, bracing chill. It cleared her mind, offering a brief respite from the oppressive atmosphere Lena had brought into the inn.

The village shop was only a minute away, and thankfully, it was still open. Martha grabbed a couple of packs of cigarettes, paid the shopkeeper, and hurried back, her mind racing the entire time. Who was this woman? Why was she here, and what was she hiding?

By the time she returned to the inn, the questions had multiplied, but Martha knew better than to ask too many. As long as Lena paid her dues and didn't cause any trouble, she could stay. But something told her that this woman was going to be more than just a passing guest.

Back at Lena's door, Martha knocked again, her patience worn thin. When Lena's voice drifted out lazily, telling her to enter, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, the cigarettes and the dress in hand.

"Here's the dress," Martha said shortly, holding it out for Lena to inspect. "And your cigarettes."

Lena eyed the dress with a faint smirk, but took it without comment, reaching for the cigarettes instead. "Thanks," she said, lighting one up immediately. She took a deep drag, her eyes flicking up to Martha's with that same unreadable gaze. "You're a real lifesaver."

Martha said nothing, her lips pressed into a thin line as she turned and left the room without another word.