The Curious Steambox Affair

by Melissa Macgregor

  I thought fast, E., and you must forgive me, but I told one of my rare lies. As I have said before, I do not profess a fondness for lying, and yet you are aware of my predicament, my assumption that the Merry Gentlemen would not like their existence mentioned in a letter.

  “Of course I do not,” I said, meeting MacBean’s gaze squarely. “Of that, I can assure you. I made the infernal mistake of telling her a bit too much detail about the first murder, and I feared I would lose her forever. Now, I stay within the bounds of propriety. She does hear, I fear, far too much about my endless study of General Surgeries.”

  MacBean’s expression lightened. Whatever he viewed in my expression satisfied him, and his grin returned in full force.

  “Good God,” he said, laughing. “You spoke of the murder?”

  “The first one,” I admitted, omitting so very much more! I was aware of Hyde watching me, with his strange, strange eyes, but he had the grace to remain silent.

  “Dismal conversationalist,” Trantham said with a laugh. “I knew I liked you, Purefoy.”

  “Yes, well, I learned my lesson early,” I said, relieved beyond measure that they both believed me. “And while I certainly am no poet, I can hardly excuse my own stupidity for discussing murder with a lady I am attempting to court.”

  “I think that is fine,” Miss Whitcomb said. “If it were I, I should very much like to know if my sweetheart had been through such an experience! You would certainly wish to, correct?” she asked, turning to Lacey.

  “Of course I would,” Lacey agreed, which resulted in much laughter from MacBean.

  “Ah, but I would never tell you of it,” he said, tweaking her nose fondly between his thumb and index finger. “And no amount of righteous indignation can convince me otherwise! Good God, Purefoy! You are lucky you have not killed the lady yourself with your dismal letters. Murder, followed by General Surgeries.” He laughed. “Hardly the stuff of romance.”

  “You must send on my address as well,” Lacey said firmly. “She and I simply must write and become friends.”

  “Better that she consider visiting us at Yuletide,” MacBean said.

  “Oh, yes!” Lacey said excitedly. “That would be wonderful.”

  “Then I insist that she come,” MacBean answered, obviously enjoying Lacey’s enthusiasm. “God only knows how long she will be willing to accept your pathetic letters, Purefoy, without so much as a visit. I refuse for you to lose the interest of such a lady due to your dismally boring talk!”

  “Miss Whitcomb and I will ensure that all conversation is interesting,” Lacey said. She gave my hand a fond pat. “Leave it in our hands, dear Mr. Purefoy. I am a wonderful matchmaker. She will see your merit before the visit is finished.”

  And so, I am enclosing the address of Mrs. MacBean, who instantly insisted that any lady of mine refer to her by the nickname. I assure you again that this oddity is a compliment. Lacey wishes for you to write, so that she may extend invitation to you and your maid to visit at Christmas.

  The idea, I will admit, pleased me beyond words. To have you here, in Edinburgh, in only a month’s time! To see you! Well, you simply must consider it. Tell your father that you and your maid will be quite safe, lodged in a Chevalier’s home. I would like nothing more than to have you here, to show you the sights of the city. You could acquaint yourself with what I hope will eventually be your home. And I would be able to see you, every day that you are here.

  How I hope you will come! I am longing for it. If you would like, I can write your father, and make the necessary request. I can have MacBean write him, assuring him of your comfort and safety. If you are willing to visit, then I will also arrange air transport, and any other arrangements that you require.

  Miss Eugenia! To have you in Edinburgh! Well, I certainly could wish for nothing more this Yule.

  Instantly, dinner conversation turned to the excited chatter of Miss Whitcomb and Lacey, who are ardently planning your much-hoped-for visit. They made great fuss about what they wished to do, should you be able to come, hosting teas and parties and such, and I finally complained that I should like at least a modicum of your time while you were here. Which resulted in rich laughter, indeed.

  “Poor Purefoy,” MacBean said with a sigh. “You are only now becoming accustomed to having your entire life arranged by your lady. Teas and parties are endlessly in your future, my friend,” he said, hoisting his wineglass in salute. “And very little time of your own.”

  “Hold fast, Purefoy,” Simon Trantham said, laughing. “Continue on with your dull letters! Do not allow these two,” he said, motioning toward Lacey and Miss Whitcomb, “to make acquaintance with your lady, or else we shall lose you entirely to suppers and recitals.”

  Let me be clear, E. I would be very happy to be lost to suppers and recitals, should you be involved. And also let me reiterate that after the pressure of last night’s dinner party, I will only become lost to such events if you are responsible for them. Not I.

  Come to Edinburgh! Write soon and let me know that there is hope!

  Hyde was incredibly appreciative of the shortbread you sent him. I gave it to him this morning, because I knew he would be loathe to share it with our guests. I did as you requested, and informed him that the gift was from you, as thanks for all that he has done for me, of his standing by me in my time of trouble, and in bestowing the apprenticeship.

  He tried to silence me with a wave of his hand, but I ignored him and read out the paragraph from your letter, the one where you praised his friendship and such, and at the end of it, the impossible happened. Hyde blushed and smiled his terrible smile, and said that I in no way deserved a lady who was in possession of such superior baking skills.

  I also wish to thank you for your very astute insights into my newfound friendships. The Gentlemen do, indeed, seem dangerous, and I want to assure you that I am being cautious in all my dealings with them. I also agree with you that they seem to be describing an incredible work opportunity, and I am pleased that you see the merits in accepting any such posting, should it be offered.

  The opportunities they seem to have at their fingertips are well beyond what I would normally deem possible. And if my newly granted wages are any sign of what Trantham and his friends are capable of, then we might find ourselves advantageously arranged, indeed.

  As usual, you and I are of one mind.

  The MacBeans would like to fulfill the role of host, should you be able to visit in December. I think that would be a fine opportunity for you to acquaint yourself with them, and maybe the remainder of the Gentlemen. I would trust any insight you might glean from that meeting. I think they are offering us a good thing, but again, I assure you that I am proceeding with great care.

  It occurred to me that you might be nervous over visiting, considering the traumas and tribulations that I have faced. Please do not be worried, sweetest E. Your safety is assured, not only by me, but by the Merry Gentlemen. You and your maid fall under their protection, and you must know that these are among the most powerful men in Edinburgh. I know firsthand the strength of their acceptance, the security provided! As guest of the MacBeans, you will be protected at all times, by me and the others within my newfound social circle. I would hate for recent events to make you unwilling to come, and I wish to assure you that I, as well as the Gentlemen, will see to it that your visit is nothing but pleasurable.

  And as for the murders and such atrocities . . . I would demand that you not give them a thought. The Merry Gentlemen are on the case, so it is only a matter of time before the identity of the murderer is discovered. It is of no concern to you, really no concern to me, and I refuse for such evil to ruin what would be the greatest Yule of my life.

  Which brings me to the brooch I have enclosed with this letter.

  I hope that you will like it, this luckenbooth. I purchased it weeks ago, and h
ave been waiting for the right moment to give it to you. I hope that moment is now. A luckenbooth is a sign of intense affection, which I certainly possess. If you would, please, accept this as a promise for our future.

  I spotted it through a shop window, on one of my many treks through the twisting closes. The window was crammed full of display, rings and brooches and odd bits. The brooch caught my eye, sitting amid the glittering haul. I recognized an eerily similar motif from my own cane handle, the one Smithson had given me. I stared at it, and then looked again at the pin.

  A delicate initial, the letter M, inset against a silver heart, and topped with a crown. I stared down at my cane, noticing the distinct similarity, and opened the shop door without further hesitation.

  The owner was pleased to answer my questions, complimenting my exquisite taste. He explained the history of the luckenbooth, how it was given as a token to one’s beloved, a symbol of fidelity. The M represents Mary, Queen of Scots, as does the crown, but the sentimentality is love and complete devotion. I wish you to have it, want you to wear it. My request that you destroy my letters leaves me with an even more dismal courtship than I had expected, and I hope that this luckenbooth does much to remedy that.

  I want you to come to Edinburgh. I wish for you to make acquaintance with the Gentlemen, so that you can discuss their offers with me. But I am also very aware that the majority of them are bachelors. They have already reached the comfort of situation to which I am striving, and I am very aware of their allegedly “dashing” qualities. The idea of your forming attachments to any of them troubles me, and it is only too easy to imagine them all falling desperately in love with you. Your beauty, as I have assured you, is beyond comprehension, and I know without a doubt that my newfound friends will notice. And I do not trust them enough to not act upon it.

  So, I ask you to wear the brooch. I ask you to choose me.

  The household has settled itself back into normalcy, now that the dinner is completed. I think that we have arranged for next week’s event to be back at the Whitcomb table (thank God) but followed by a visit to Hyde’s gardens. Miss Whitcomb professed a great sense of comfort amid the trees, and found the humidity bolstering enough to take a few leisurely turns along the picturesque pathways. The tropical climate, coupled with your shawl, did much to strengthen her, and Hyde was extremely pleased with the success.

  I am extremely pleased that there is no future dinner to plan.

  I have received word from Mr. Stuart, who is one of my original subterranean boarders, back at Mitchell’s house. He wishes to meet, to catch up on the past few weeks, and has invited me to come to the tavern where he works, tomorrow night.

  I thought it odd, mostly because those days spent underground seem very far away. I always liked Stuart. He was the one who sent word to me when Banbury was murdered. He was always pleasant to speak to, and I decided it might be nice to hear from him if there has been anymore trouble from the terrible crimes.

  I did, however, pay attention to your warnings to be careful. I am also not interested in visiting with anyone from that time period, without at least notifying one of the Gentlemen. Why return to the Underworld, without their so much as knowing that I was there? Perhaps it was an overreaction on my part, but now that I am firmly ensconced aboveground, I find myself unwilling to venture back.

  And so, I contacted Dog Benge. He seemed the most pleasant companion on an outing, and also the least likely to find me ridiculous for suggesting he come along, should it prove unnecessary. I sent him a note and was pleased by the quick response in return.

  He said that he would definitely be interested in visiting with Mr. Stuart, and complimented my instinctive decision to contact him. He wrote that there is no need to trust anyone at this point, particularly anyone associated with that dreadful subterranean floor. He suggested we start with a late dinner at that strange restaurant with the little windows, and then make our way to Stuart’s tavern.

  He also suggested that I take the weapons, which chilled me and took any enjoyment out of the evening entirely. But I will wear them. O’Sullivan has already lectured me several times (during our pistol practice) on my penchant for forgetting the leather harness. I finally told him that surely I have worn them enough, and that after sitting for hours in the police station with them under my coat, I feel unwilling to ever wear them again.

  He laughed and said that the hours in the station should have made me more comfortable with them. That they became a part of me. That I should wear them every day. (Which seems stupid, considering I work in Hyde’s town house, as well as live there. Can you imagine showing up to breakfast, sans coat, and displaying the arsenal?)

  But I will wear them tomorrow night. And strangely, I feel at ease, knowing that they will be there. I have no intention of needing them. Mr. Stuart was once a friend, but I know his tavern is in Auld Toon, and I am unsure I will ever return there without the strange weaponry attached.

  Please put the brooch on, E. And consider visiting Edinburgh.

  All my love . . .

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  November 12

  New Town

  Dear Miss Campbell,

  I am hoping that this letter finds you well. Things have been extremely busy here. Hyde had another delivery of a cadaver early this morning. (Thankfully not a murder victim! This one was a criminal, who admitted to many counts of theft, and was sentenced to death by the Courts.) I was surprised to be summoned from my early-morning perch, high above the streets in the camera obscura. When I learned that there was to be a cadaver delivered, I did what can only be expected. I turned the camera’s lens to the street below and waited and watched for its arrival.

  Hyde sighed expressively when he found me there, commenting that it was a very useless location, considering that there was much to be done in the operating room. I replied that there was not anything needing to be done, that the room was arranged just as it always was, and that I knew full well that the footmen and various other members of the household staff would simply unload the body, as directed, and that my presence was not currently required.

  I handed him the usual bottle of whisky and offered him the periscope, which he took with a muttered growl.

  It is always this way with Hyde. One must ignore his constant rudeness, his Darkness, and behave as if he were spouting pleasantries instead of curses. A good bottle of spirits does help, softening his mood considerably. He too enjoyed the sight of seeing the body delivered, which is a change from the usual passing traffic.

  We spent the morning and into the late afternoon conducting our research. I was pleased to see the reemergence of the Steambox, which was employed, as usual, in detecting any remaining evidence of soul residue. Hyde appeared satisfied with the result, although he refused to answer any of my questions. I could see that I was beginning to annoy him, so I found more whisky, which again did much to improve his temperament.

  I was able to watch him, however, with far greater ability than I was ever able to do in the Operating Theatre. After employing the Steambox, Hyde insisted that I begin our less supernatural studies, the more physical ones. Specifically, I was to acquaint myself with the internal arrangement and structure of the cadaver. I have done this numerous times as a physician’s assistant, but Hyde wanted me to do so again, after the immense amount of Anatomy I have been studying.

  I was to learn everything necessary, apparently, by viewing this cadaver. No specific mention of any tests he wanted conducted, so once more I was left to my own devices. I assumed he wished me a visual method of study, and so I dutifully hauled out my Anatomy text, and made great show of flipping through the pages.

  It was ridiculous, really. I have worked on numerous cadavers, and know the precise location of organs and such. What I need to know is how to manage live patients, how to ferret out the source of illnesses and then administer the cure
. Handing me a body like this and telling me to observe it is rather the same as handing me a reading primer and asking me to learn my letters.

  But I am very aware that this is Hyde’s apprenticeship. He obviously wants me to begin at the beginning, to cast aside all of my already developed ideas and look at my studies freshly. I was aware that this was likely his idea of teaching. Let me clarify that Hyde did not say as much, but I have begun to interpret his glowering silences, understanding them as well as if he were actually speaking.

  Strangely enough, it was a completely different experience than expected, having the cadaver to myself. I did appreciate the opportunity to view a body, without being involved in a physician’s particular parameters of study.

  Knowing that there was an intense shortage of research cadavers made it seem a decadent luxury for me to have one simply for my own research purposes, as I saw fit. I could imagine the shrieks of outrage drifting from the hallowed halls of the Doctoral Council, should they know that a precious cadaver was granted to a lowly London butcher.

  All of my petulance disappeared, and I immediately became lost in study, matching reality with the Anatomy sketches. I could see the ravages of various illnesses this man had suffered throughout his life, and I began to understand how a physician can read a man’s story, simply by viewing the evidence remaining on his various internal organs. That story is as compelling as any literature, and I found myself taking out a journal and making copious notes.

  And utilizing my knives! What a joy it was to not wait upon a physician’s directive, to wield my blades as I saw fit. Knowing that this was my research, that there was no specific pattern to follow, provided me great freedoms. I was able to dissect the chest, opening up that great cavity. I was afforded time to perfect my incisions, to form what I consider my own operating style. Certainly, I have used my knives before and I am quite adept at handling them, in even the most delicate of situations, surgery-wise, but to have the opportunity to cut as I wished!