The Curious Steambox Affair (12 page)

He went on for a bit, complaining bitterly about Hyde's mysterious connection to the Crown. He was angry that, yet again, we had been granted the research cadaver. He implied, quite evilly, that it must be convenient for me to make lowly acquaintances that can so easily be put to good use in Hyde's Operating Theatre.

It was that last horrific comment that made my decision for me. I scarcely remember what else the man said, something about the size of my hands again, but I recall little. Fury and outrage shifted easily into calm determination. I stiffly excused myself mid-tirade, and turning my back upon him, I returned to Hyde's office.

My brother, Nigel (second eldest), is a man of many talents. Although he is deeply ensconced in the butchery business, he decided at an early age to acquaint himself with what he deemed the “useful skills” of a man. He ensured that all of us learned them as well, and so I possess talents and capabilities that are often associated with men from a far rougher crowd than I would ever befriend. I know how to fight like a non-gentleman. I am adept at cards. I can wield any sort of weapon, and can defend myself well from physical attack. The list of such odd talents is long and hardly worth mentioning at all, except for the one that I called into use this morning.

I am quite adept at picking locks.

Hyde was sitting at his desk when I came in. He watched as I picked up the necessary instruments from my worktable, as I unfolded the cloth wrapping of my set of butchering knives. He remained silent as I selected a dictionary from his bookshelf, but I could tell that his curiosity was piqued.

“I will return in a moment,” I said, and without waiting for reply, I went to MacDougal's office.

I knew that the other physicians and their assistants were gone to the Theatre. Dr. Scott was giving a lecture on Anatomy, and it was suggested that everyone attend. Hyde and I, however, are accustomed to being
personae non gratae
and had decided not to go, and we knew that no one would miss our presence. The hallway was empty, and through the inset glass of MacDougal's door, I could see that his office was empty as well.

Forgive me, Miss Campbell, but you must be assured that this drastic measure was necessary. Miss Whitcomb's health lies in the balance, and if you are not too angry with me, I hope that you will understand that it is only for her well-being that I resorted to such a lowly tactic. I picked the lock, and moving swiftly to the bookshelves, I acquainted myself with the vast selection that the horrible MacDougal had gathered for himself.

All useless, unless put to a good use. What are words of healing, if they are not allowed to heal?

And so, I have decided to start my own borrowing system. I select only one book at a time, and put Hyde's dictionary in its place. I am of the very firm belief that the books are meaningless to MacDougal, and are for show and bragging rights only. He will not notice a dictionary holding the place for the borrowed book. He will not see it make its way down the shelf, as I work my way through the texts.

I shut the door behind me, and returning to the office, I placed today's offering in front of a visibly startled Hyde. His eyes widened. He set aside his glass of whisky and carefully opened its crackling pages.

“Alistair Purefoy,” he said after a long exhale. “You never cease to amaze.”

He reached for his stack of parchments and began to make copious notes as he devoured the text. Hours passed as we were lost in research, and it was not until after Hyde left for the night that I found the small note, shoved beneath the open books upon my worktable.

And so, I have to confess that the second included gift to you originates from Hyde. I unfolded the note, and I will relay its terse missive to you, because I simply fear that I would be unable to explain it any better than Hyde himself.

“Purefoy, this is for your Miss Campbell. I have given the matter much thought, as to

what gift would be best to help return you to her esteemed favor. I have, therefore,

arranged for her to sit for a miniature portrait at an Inverness studio, with the express

wish that she send said portrait your way. Perhaps if you carry her image in your

pocket, you will be reminded that ladies of this caliber do not wish to hear the horrors

of a physician's daily life. The arrangements are made, and if you would, please convey

the address and appointment time to your lady, and also send a special request from me

that she forgive you. I cannot work alongside such a dreary personality, and I hold her

responsible for your unfortunate moods.”

And so, I have included that information. I sincerely hope that you will sit for the portrait. That you will smile. The idea of possessing such an image thrills me, and I know that such a glimpse of you will certainly rally me on even the dreariest of days. All postage costs, as usual, will be borne by me. All I need is your time. Your patience in the sitting. And of course, your forgiveness for my terrible conversational choices.

Regards.

Chapter Thirteen

October 18

MacGregor Boarding House

My dearest Miss Campbell,

Four letters arrived from you today! Four letters! You can imagine my delight in discovering them, waiting for me at the Air Station. I have made it a miserable ritual every morning, checking on my empty account box. I feared you hated me, that you never wished to hear from me again, and I can assure you that the past weeks have passed in abject misery.

But not today. Four letters! Most of them dated weeks ago! Immediately, I inquired as to what the delay had been about, but the steward, while apologetic, informed me that this sort of thing happens occasionally, due to air traffic, et cetera. Hardly an excuse, but the joy I felt at seeing the familiar script could not be dampened.

I hastened to the office and began reading. Relief, immense and overwhelming, encompassed me. You do not hate me. You do not mind my conversational choices. You insist upon them. And I am so relieved that Miss Whitcomb is correct . . . that you are truly made of stalwart stuff and all hesitation was postal only.

Your questions with regard to poor Mr. Beatie were astute and pointed. I smiled as I read your outrage at my desire to protect your sensibilities. Your determination to share a discussion frankly and honestly was relieving. How much I have regretted sending those letters, but to hear your demand for more details of the horrific news made me calm for the first time in days.

Miss Eugenia, you enchant me. How can you be real? How are you not a figment of my imagination? A beautiful lady who is in possession of a strong mind. One who wishes to be a confidante in all matters, no matter how terrible. You are fearless and brave, and you cannot know how much you please me.

I am so grateful that you are still here. That you are still with me. Losing you was like walking into a continual winter. There is such little joy here, such little happiness. The loss of you would have been terrible indeed.

I shall endeavor to answer your questions. Your horror and condolences over the loss of my friend were greatly appreciated. I do not know why his vocal chords were taken, nor his tongue, as I do not understand the reasoning behind the brutalities inflicted upon Mr. Banbury. I am of the mind, now that the initial horror has subsided somewhat, that it is merely the work of a madman. One cannot understand or decipher the inner workings of such a man's mind. My friends were simply victims, and despite what Mr. Benge says to the contrary, I am a very firm believer that it is no more than a sick coincidence that the murderer struck in my vicinity.

I have given the matter much thought, and think that perhaps Mr. Beatie made an unfortunate acquaintance on one of his myriad drunken nights out on the town. The pubs and taverns he frequented were of ill repute. Mr. Stuart and I have discussed this possibility many times. Stuart is employed at a tavern of much higher quality, and he told me that the places Beatie frequented are full of the most dastardly and dire criminal elements. Beatie could have met the killer there, and that could have led to the eventual murder of Banbury.

The location of our subterranean accommodations provided an easy hunting ground in many ways, although the access is limited. I have kept in touch with Stuart, who assures me that no one else has been harmed. He has taken it upon himself to insist upon a more strict visiting policy, and now Mitchell refuses entry to anyone who is not in residence.

It is good to make such decisions, such conclusions. Horrors the like of which I have witnessed do not sit well within my mind, and the lack of resolution, I fear, might drive me mad. I am determined, now that I have moved to new quarters, to end my speculation on the subject in an attempt to preserve my own sanity. If I dwell on this pointless speculation, please, dear Miss Campbell, draw my attention to it in that gentle way you have and I shall attempt to cease again.

I have also spoken many times, on my Thursday evenings at the Whitcomb place, to Miss MacIntosh, who was hired as Miss Whitcomb's personal maid, per my hesitant recommendation. It seems that my fears in that hiring were for naught; the girl has taken on famously with Miss Whitcomb, and manages to ease the poor lady's burdens greatly. Miss MacIntosh has been quite conversational, and keeps me abreast of all the comings and goings at the Mitchell house. Her family (the horrid ones) still resides there but she herself has assumed residence at the Whitcomb place.

I am relieved that, out of the atrocious family, there is at least one who is pleasant and cheerful, and I am proud that my faith in the girl was not proven disastrous. Miss MacIntosh is very grateful for my recommendation and takes the time to visit with me, come every Thursday. She assures me that all is well at Mitchell's, and that the fear and horror have subsided greatly.

I was pleased by your demands that I change boarding houses, and am glad to have complied. I have settled in quite nicely at MacGregor's place, and I daresay it is far nicer than Mitchell's could ever hope to be. My bedchamber's window would be luxury enough, as is the additional space, but there is also a nice parlor that I often frequent. The food is indeed heartier, although I scarcely have time for more than breakfast. Most of my hours are spent at the office, but Mrs. MacGregor often keeps a plate of supper for me for when I return late at night.

My fellow boarders are a nice cluster of people. A few bachelors, like myself, but they are employed at more respectable work than my subterranean fellows. There is a hatter's apprentice, a Mr. Robertson, who often has his breakfast at my table. He is polite and pleasant, as are the others I have met. Mr. Frey works as a clerk for a solicitor. Mr. Harris is employed at a bank. And there are the families of course, and they are pleasant and quiet and go about their own business while I conduct mine.

Your additional demand that I forgo Edinburgh entirely and return to the Highlands was very pleasing as well. How I would like to! I was thrilled by the idea of your forcing your father out of his retirement, and imagined how good it would be, instead of posting a letter, to post myself home instead.

If only that were possible!

The fact that you wish me to return means more than I can convey, and yet I am determined to make a go of it here. I am saving back the majority of my wages. I am learning voraciously. I have a plan, my sweet E., and am determined to see it through. That plan involves you, and once I get my situation settled to my liking then you shall hear more of it.

Wait for me. Give me time to arrange things. Wait for me, my magnificent Miss Eugenia.

Your immediate concerns should have been addressed by my change in boarding locations. Rest assured, I am quite safe here. There is a lock on my door, so you must cease worrying. I am also very capable of protecting myself and my only hope is that you will not be so worried about me. . . . Although I am greatly pleased that you are.

I am scanning your letters again, ensuring myself that there is nothing I have missed. How good it is to read your words! I had truly despaired that I would never do so again.

I wish you were not so concerned by my lack of welcome here. I cannot stress enough that these people and their opinions in regard to me mean little. I am here to learn what I can, to forge a life for myself, one that you, hopefully, will find pleasing as well. What opinion those around me possess has little impact on my own goals, so truly, they do not trouble me.

You ask if it has gotten better with my fellow workers. This is difficult to answer. I cannot think that they have ever been pleasant or welcoming, and since the horrific murders, I think things have gotten worse. If you had told me, a month ago, that the lack of welcome could become more evident, I would have laughed, thinking it an impossibility. It has become more evident. There is a distinct chill to the air within the office proper, a tension that is present whenever I share space with either physician or assistant.

I can only assume that this is a reaction to what Mr. Rose has already told me. There is an evil thought that I was somehow involved in the murders. Ridiculous and horrible, but I suppose it is within reason to think that it is possible. I claimed acquaintance with the two men, and my physician received their cadavers to study. I told Hyde about the rumor, and he laughed so richly, calling them all “foolish cows,” that I have not given it much further thought.

And I wish you would not as well. My only distress would be that they cause you upset. They are not worth it, and as I have said previously, they do not fit into the life I am currently toiling to construct.

I will say that things have gotten better around Hyde, although he is still as acerbic and difficult as always. Are we friends? I smile, and have to say no, although we have settled into a comfortable routine that is beneficial to us both. I still keep up my morning routine at the office, still remain silent unless he initiates conversation. We often take luncheon together, but are so immersed in research that the meal is usually accompanied by a vast number of medical tomes and scribbled parchments.

The Whitcomb weekly dinner is the only time that can be classified as a social outing, but even then I spend most of my energies conversing with either Miss Whitcomb or Miss MacIntosh. The second Whitcomb brother has returned from France, and he is of equal stout structure as his brother, and is firmly ensconced in the Upper Merchant echelon. He is a round, dour figure, and I think disapproving of Miss Whitcomb's association with Hyde, but I believe that he is simply too terrified of Hyde to forbid either the acquaintance or the dinners.

Hyde and I have made terrific headway through MacDougal's library. My lending system works perfectly, and is made easier by the fact that I linger in the office far longer than either Rose or MacDougal. Hyde and I are voracious in our studying of the various tomes, and Hyde was pleased that I am fluent in both Greek and Latin. I write down so many notes that my hands cramp with pain, but the idea of something being held within these pages, something that could help Miss Whitcomb grow stronger, keeps both Hyde and me going.

We have worked through the entire first shelf, and have moved on to the other. Hyde has given me a battered thesaurus to use as a second decoy, so we are currently borrowing two texts at a time. At first, Hyde was convinced that I was incapable of taking good enough notes, and insisted that he go over my text himself. As usual, I ignored his caustic insult, which ended abruptly when he saw my research notes, and read the Latin and the Greek I had transcribed.

I had passed yet another test for Hyde. We now work on two separate texts. Today, he amazed me by having me read over his notes, to see if there was anything else I would like to add. Needless to say, I was stunned, and I was not stupid enough to actually add anything, lest I cause offense.

We have moved well on from consumption and are working our way through various fevers. I have managed to get a little more information out of Hyde with regard to Miss Whitcomb's ailments. It seems she was born with a weak constitution, and a weak heart, and this condition has been made even more fragile with the progression of years. Hyde says she suffers from an overwhelming fatigue, and at times a complete loss of appetite. In the past she has sometimes been too ill to attend the Thursday dinners, or has required aid down the stairs.

I have witnessed an occasional loss of concentration during conversation. It is as if her mouth cannot keep up with her mind, or she is simply too exhausted to form words. These times frustrate her no end, which causes a deep flush to stain her skin and serves only to further weaken her. At these times, Hyde is always ready, without hesitation, to continue the conversation, taking it over and steering it into another, giving her an opportunity to calm and recover her strength.

Hyde admits that her condition is a mystery, fitting into no known pattern. There are plenty of fatiguing illnesses, but none that fits her ailments precisely. He has theories he is currently working on, several ideas of a strengthening diet and such, but as yet he has not settled on anything concretely.

Most of our time is spent in this occupation, this search, which is beginning to feel dire. Miss Whitcomb is growing more and more exhausted as I watch. She no longer leaves the house, sending Miss MacIntosh out and about on her various errands. Miss MacIntosh confided to me that even the simplest tasks exhaust the poor lady . . . things such as sitting while her hair is braided result in an immense fatigue.

I have not yet finished
Mohicans
, nor am I as deeply into it as I might wish to be. The search for Miss Whitcomb's cure is all-consuming, and to make matters even more busy, Hyde has seen fit to give me additional assignments. I am to read and study several tomes of Anatomy, as well as one of General Surgery. I was surprised to see the books sitting and waiting for me one morning on my worktable. Hyde's written instructions were as terse and confusing as always.

“Purefoy. Read and learn all of this. As quickly as possible. Know it as well as you know your own name.”

And so, all of my free time when not avidly studying MacDougal's pilfered tomes is spent studying the pages of the Anatomy books. Believe me when I assure you that it is very dry reading, containing none of the verdant pleasure of Cooper's novel.

Hyde also bestowed upon me, just as mysteriously and without explanation, an entire trunk full of journals. Hyde's handwriting was unmistakable, and I realized then that he intended for me to read and learn his physician notes as well.

At first, I assumed that he intended for me to ascertain if he had missed anything in his past, any clue that might aid the recovery of Miss Whitcomb. But as I began to read, it occurred to me that Hyde has another purpose entirely.

Does he intend to train me as a physician? Can that be possible?

I believe that is what he is doing, but I also know better than to make inquiry. Not only would I risk his changing his mind, but I might learn that he only wishes me to keep myself occupied. Hyde is that difficult, but his lack of explanation, I believe, means a very great deal.