The Curious Steambox Affair (22 page)

Instead, I can only think of kissing you.

I was also going to discuss the very great headache of putting together a dinner party. Last week, we canceled the Whitcomb dinner, due to Trantham's own dinner having occurred the night before. The next dinner (in two nights' time) will be at Hyde's. Which means that we have been lost in a flurry of desperate preparations. What was I thinking, in suggesting a dinner for which we are so dismally incapable? What crazed notion possessed me?

Needless to say, most of our time has not been involved with research. Hyde and I are trying to put together this now dreaded event, which should be the responsibility of his housekeeper and staff. That would be the normal course of action, one would assume, but Hyde is never normal. He is overseeing every detail, and insisting that I do as well, since this infernal evening was all my own idea.

Hyde's housekeeper and staff are ill-equipped for such an evening. I do not know if he has hired poorly, or if they are simply unused to being responsible for something with this import. Certainly, their day-to-day operations run smoothly enough, and our normal meals are exquisite. But for some reason, this encroaching dinner has put them into such a panic, it is as if they can hardly conduct themselves appropriately.

You would think that help could be reached through the assistance of Trantham's housekeeper and staff, but O'Sullivan's assertions that Trantham's hirings have left much to be desired are, unfortunately, accurate. I discussed this problem with him the other day, during our target practice. The Irishman laughed, and said to expect no help from Trantham's household with the dinner. From what he had heard, that housekeeper nearly expired from exhaustion after last week's feast. He said that I was fool enough to suggest the party, a party at a madhouse, so why expect it to be conducted with any semblance of normalcy?

Kiss you, dearest Eugenia. I should have managed to kiss you before I left Inverness. I should have somehow made that happen. When you agreed to accept my letters, I should have created a way for your maid to leave, a distraction, long enough for my lips to touch yours. Perhaps then you would know that there is no other lady for me, but you. No matter how far the distance, there is only you, and I take your agreement to wait for me with the utmost seriousness.

I have asked no other lady to wait for me. I write no other lady. I dream of no one, save you. Madness, Eugenia! Your words have created a frenzy within me!

Hyde has descended to the office, determined to make me return to the awaiting tasks upstairs. He is avidly perusing a menu, and is, as expected, dissatisfied with the offering. He says that this entire fiasco is my fault entirely, and therefore it is my responsibility to oversee the infinite number of tasks to which he is subjecting his household staff. The entire place is to glisten and shine beneath an intense cleaning. The man has actually considered purchasing new furniture! He is currently lounging in my doorway, cursing the day he ever set eyes upon me, and demanding that I cease writing this letter immediately and come lend a hand to my own folly.

I wish you were here. You would know how to manage this dinner. But mostly, You would be here. And I would lack for nothing else.

All my love.

Chapter Twenty-Three

November 9

New Town, my own office

Dear Miss Campbell,

Before I begin this letter proper, I wish to continue our previous conversation, with regard to your anxiety over my romantic intentions. I am in receipt of your next letter, and your charming apology must be addressed. Why would you feel the need to apologize? You said nothing wrong, and I never assumed that you wished Miss Whitcomb ill.

Perhaps I have not been clear enough, E. I was thrilled by your concern, as fantastical and imaginary its cause, and am quite glad for the opportunity to discuss how I feel about you. You need feel no guilt for your words. I am sorry only that I was not clear enough before, that there is no other lady in my mind or in my heart, save you.

How like me you are! How similar! You have no idea how many times I have written the thoughts foremost on my mind, and then regretted them as soon as I sent the missive. Let me assure you that you caused no offense, and I know that you wish only health and happiness to Miss Whitcomb. Your sending of the shawl to her was a thoughtful idea, and I know that you wish for her healing as much as I do.

Miss Whitcomb was thrilled by the gift, and admired its handiwork with great pleasure. I informed her that it was from you, a token of your friendship (as you directed) and that it was the Campbell tartan, which was extended as a sign of goodwill. She loved it, and immediately wrapped it around her shoulders. You were right about it being constructed of warmer material than is usually found in the cities, and she remarked several times that the shawl did wonders to keep the chill away.

She is anticipating meeting you, and believes the two of you will be great friends. She has asked for your address, so that you might begin a correspondence. I am unsure if I wish to share you, even with a friend. (I make no apologies for my own jealousy, E. It is there. It is present. I wish you all to myself.) But Miss Whitcomb laughingly insisted that it would be nice to have a friend to write. She says that ladies like to speak of fashion and such, and she teased me mercilessly over the idea of you two discussing me. I finally promised that I would send on her address, which I have enclosed.

It is with supreme relief that I can tell you that the Hyde/Whitcomb dinner went off last night without a hitch. I think even Hyde enjoyed himself, which is normally impossible. We arranged the table in the garden itself, illuminating the place with candles and by lighting the strange Oriental lanterns. I must admit it was very exotic, and I will also say that having been so heavily involved in the minute details of planning a dinner, I possess no interest in ever conducting one again. How does anyone ever survive the stress of it?

I can only hope that you are interested in such matters. If not, then we will never entertain, which would be fine by me.

For all the enjoyment of the dinner guests, it was difficult for me to remain calm, knowing that Hyde's household and kitchen staff are so near to incompetent that at any moment, our well-planned event could go careening off into disaster.

But it did not. It was a very happy party in attendance. Miss Whitcomb and her two dismal brothers. Mr. MacBean and his wife. Simon Trantham. I was hoping that Hamish would attend, and he was invited, but MacBean informed me that his brother was involved elsewhere and would regrettably not be in attendance.

I found myself disappointed that Hamish was not to be there. I think he is pleasant company, and his willingness to answer my questions is a very likeable trait. I asked MacBean (quietly) if it was Gentlemen business that kept him away, and he told me that indeed it was, but nothing that should be any cause for alarm.

Which instantly alarmed me. It took me awhile to rein in my very active imagination, my supposing of what The Sweeper might be involved with. Had there been more murders? Did this concern the surge of graves plundered and desecrated? Was he on the trail of an important clue, something that might shed light upon the previous terrors? While I had been safely ensconced in the warm splendor of my new abode, had the Merry Gentlemen been investigating? Only Hyde's unsubtle demand that I be an active participant in the dinner made it possible for me to keep my attention from wandering.

Mrs. MacBean (who still insists that I refer to her as Lacey) was very interested in learning about you. She asked a hundred questions, wishing to know how we met and such. Your ears should have been burning last night, sweet, because a great deal of our dinner conversation was in reference to you. Only good things. I admit that, once again, my expression betrayed me, and it only took a few deft questions from Lacey to announce my serious intent, with regard to you.

Gordon MacBean latched on to the conversation with swift voracity. More questions, all good-natured and complimentary. He took a devilish pleasure in my telling expressions; I think he enjoyed finding another so affected by his lady. He teased me mercilessly over my correspondence, at such a pathetic attempt at wooing.

“I think that letters are extremely romantic,” Lacey argued.

“I believe it has been established that Purefoy's are not,” Hyde answered, as the soup course was served. “Unfortunately, my apprentice does not possess even a sliver of a poet's soul.”

“He seems to be managing well,” Miss Whitcomb interjected, fingering the fringes of the shawl. “Miss Campbell would not like to hear the drivel of a poet. She likes hearing of his everyday events and occurrences.”

“How can she possibly?” Hyde said with a sigh. “I fear that his Miss Campbell would be running for the hills, if she were not already there. Ladies do not wish to hear every nuance of dullness that Purefoy must convey.”

“You tell of your everyday occurrences?” MacBean asked, his smile fading a little. He was watching me closely, as was Simon Trantham.

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 have 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.