The Curious Steambox Affair (17 page)

“Agreed.” Smithson looked at me, head cocked to the side, his gaze regarding my profile. “I think that even the Venetian would be impressed with such bravado.”

“You lied for me,” I said, struggling to remain calm. “All of you lied for me. Why?”

“It is what we do,” Benge said with a shrug. “We have all been in scrapes from time to time, Purefoy. The benefit of having friends is always having an alibi, when required.”

“But what makes you so sure that I am innocent?” I asked, wishing violently that I had not spoken the words aloud. The horror of what I was implying made me shudder, and yet I could not stop myself from asking. “What makes you believe I am not the murderer?”

Benge laughed. “Are you?”

“Of course I am not!” I cried, a renewed fear churning through me. “I have never murdered a man in my life! I never would, and the idea of anyone thinking that is—”

“Then you are innocent,” Benge interrupted. He smiled at Smithson. “His expressions, truly, are remarkable.”

“His honesty is remarkable,” Smithson said with a sigh. “We will have to work on that, Benge. Mr. Purefoy, please, let me assure you that it is glaringly obvious that you are innocent. Cease the righteous indignation, please.”

“And even if you were not innocent . . .” Benge smiled in response to my sharp cry of protest. “Well. As I said, we have all been in our scrapes from time to time. Best if you cease worrying, Purefoy. All is well. You are among friends.”

Miss Eugenia, you must know that my mind was racing a hundred miles a minute. There were simply too many questions to ask, too many things I did not understand. I was also exhausted and depleted from fright and terror. I realized that I was ravenously hungry.

“I hope you do not mind, but we have taken it upon ourselves to secure you better lodging,” Smithson said. “All of your belongings have been fetched, Purefoy, so you need not bother with the MacGregors any longer. Ah, here we are,” he said, drawing my attention to the carriage window. I saw that we were shuddering to a halt.

We were outside Hyde's town house. I could see him waiting impatiently on the front steps, looking ferociously cross and glaring toward our carriage. He was shouting something as the footman descended, but we were unable to understand the nature of his words.

“I am unsure if this is considered better lodging,” Smithson murmured. “But Hyde insisted that you be moved here. If it gets too bad, which it probably will, knowing Hyde, then Trantham says that you are to move into one of his guest rooms.”

I was rendered speechless by their generosity. The enormity of it was overwhelming, and I very nearly collapsed beneath the weight of it. Far too many emotions had coursed through me. This morning, I had lost everything, and to have it so easily restored . . .

“Good Lord, Purefoy,” Hyde bellowed as the three of us alighted from the carriage. “It took you long enough! There are stacks of work to go through. Texts to translate. This little excursion of yours has set us back quite substantially.”

“Thank you,” I said simply, looking at Smithson and Benge and finally, Hyde. “Thank you so very much for saving me.”

And so I find myself quite comfortably situated, Miss Eugenia. I am writing you from the splendid comforts of my own suite of rooms, located on the second floor of the town house. Not only have I been given a bedchamber, but I have my own sitting room as well. My desk is arranged before a large window that looks down upon that queer jungle garden. As I write, I am immensely comforted by the view.

There is a fireplace, stoked into a near bonfire. The furnishings are magnificent, large and finely carved. I have several chairs at my command, as well as a nice selection of books. I have been fed like a king, and Hyde ordered that tea be sent up to my suite, so that I might have sustenance while I write you.

Such a far cry from this morning.

I must apologize for the nature of this letter. Looking at it now, I am horrified by its abject sensationalism. In many ways, I fear that I should journal my thoughts instead of heralding them to you with such wild abandon. Forgive me, sweet Miss E., but be assured that I am well and safe and it appears as if everything in my world has righted itself. That is what I should have begun this letter with, assurances that I am fine, despite the terrible tale I had to confess.

There is simply no room to add that sentiment to the beginning of this letter, so I will hope you see the words I have scribbled beneath your address, telling you that all is well.

In spite of the myriad warnings I have received, Hyde has proven to be an excellent host. I spent most of supper informing both him and Trantham of the details of my morning. I was then ushered to this suite, with strict instructions to rest and to resume my duties at the office tomorrow.

My belongings are here. All of your letters have been placed back in my writing cabinet. The bothy is spread across my bed. And my butchering knives are here. Once Hyde alerted his brother of my arrest, he went immediately to the office and took anything he thought might cause me difficulty, should the police search there.

Hyde was indeed a friend to me today. Without his interference, his quick action, I know that I would still be in that horrible station.

And to think of the miserable hours I spent, desperate and alone and fearing the worst!

I am exhausted, and so am finishing the letter. I have yet to explore my new dwelling, but I plan on doing so soon. I will describe the rooms (and hopefully, the strange tower) to you as soon as possible.

I miss you, more than you probably realize.

Regards.

Chapter Eighteen

October 24

Desk overlooking Hyde's garden

Dear Miss Campbell,

It has been yet another extraordinary day.

I feel I should begin this letter better than the previous. Please be assured that I am well. I am safe. Hyde's accommodations are far superior to either boarding house, and the night passed uneventfully. I admit that I slept better than I have since my arrival to the city, the combination of warmth and good food having helped put me at ease. I awoke early, having no idea of my location, and it took me a very great while to realize that I was now in residence at Hyde's town house.

This luxury is unlike anything I have ever known. Hyde's home is as splendidly appointed as his brother's, and although I have yet to truly explore, I have been impressed with his aesthetic taste. Once I was convinced that I was indeed far from the horrors of yesterday, I decided to begin my day as if it was any other. I dressed quickly (forgoing the weaponry holster; I am unsure when I will be willing to wear it again). I managed to find my way downstairs, to find a sumptuous breakfast awaiting me. I ate more than I probably should have, and was then informed that a carriage was available to take me to the office.

A carriage! No more long, cold walks to the Theatre! I felt dazed, and when I instructed the driver to make my usual stop at the Air Station, in order to mail you my dreadful missive, I was stunned that he cheerfully agreed.

It was still early, and I knew Hyde well enough to know that he would not make his appearance at work until at least an hour later. I spotted a coffee stall near the Station and got my usual order, making sure to procure a cup for Hyde as well. The luxury of returning to the carriage, to avoid the streaming pedestrian traffic, was so foreign to me that I was beginning to believe that all of this was no more than a dream.

The dream soured the moment I stepped foot into the Doctoral offices. A note was affixed to Hyde's door, addressed to me. I recognized the writing as MacDougal's, and since he had never seen fit to write me before, I had a sense that this was not to be a pleasant note.

It was not. I was ordered to appear, immediately upon my arrival, in the Operating Theatre. I was not to wait for the arrival of Hyde. This was to be a mandatory meeting involving me, and Hyde's presence was not required.

The trauma of yesterday filled my mind. I had no desire to go, and yet I knew that I must. It is one thing to ignore MacDougal when Hyde is present, quite another when it is only I. I was an employee of the Doctoral Council, officially, and a mandate such as this could not be ignored. Not if I wished to retain my position.

I paused only to set the coffees down upon our worktables. I did not begin my morning routine, although I did take pleasure in the sight of my strangely clean work surface. Hyde had clearly tidied up all of my notes and books, hiding them from a possible police search. My scalpels and medical reticule were hidden beneath his own desk. I was touched by his determination to protect me. Hyde's actions, coupled with those of the Gentlemen, gave me a sense of hope, and I did my best to retain that emotion as I made my way grudgingly to the Theatre.

It was unusual for an assistant to be summoned in this manner, and as I walked, I knew it could only be for one purpose. They probably wished to question me with regard to the murders. I knew that the police had, in all likelihood, discussed the events of yesterday with the Council, and I feared that this meeting was a direct result.

August Smithson had been very clear to me, yesterday, that I was to discuss the details of the situation with no one. I was to never speak to a policeman without his being present. I assumed that this directive extended to my employer, but I was unsure of how to contact my solicitor. Would he even wish to be present, in spite of the fact that it was my employer who wished to conduct the questioning? I decided that he would, and turning on my heel, I immediately returned to Hyde's office.

If yesterday taught me anything at all, it was to be cautious. I decided to believe the nagging sense of unease that filled me. Better for Smithson to know that I was being summoned, and decide for himself not to attend, than not know at all.

I wrote a quick note to Trantham, informing him of this turn of events. I made sure to warn him that it might be a meaningless precaution on my part, but until I heard otherwise, I was not planning on saying anything until my solicitor arrived, or provided further instructions. I caught the attention of a runner (we employ several, and use them to deliver medical supplies or pass messages from one office to another and throughout the city, as needed). I gave him strict instructions to deliver this immediately, and promised double payment, to ensure its priority.

I felt better as I once again walked to the Operating Theatre.

That good mood evaporated entirely when I reached the operating floor and saw the large number of physicians and assistants awaiting me in the gallery. It appeared that everyone, save Hyde, was there, filling the seats and conversing among themselves. I saw Mr. Rose, scowling from the first level. He was the first to see my emergence onto the floor, and he gave such a shout that, in an instant, all attention was focused on me.

I felt tired then. So very, very tired. After all I had suffered the day before, the horror of finding a friend murdered, followed by the fear of a false accusation and arrest, weighed heavily upon my shoulders. I could see the anger and outrage filling the expressions of those nearest. I could hear the babble of angry words as I stepped across the floor.

MacDougal stood on the first gallery. His aged face was set in a determined scowl. I took a fiendish pleasure in the fact that they all had been awaiting me, that my tardiness and return to Hyde's office had not pleased them. After all I had been through, it pleased me greatly that these horrible men should be forced to wait.

This was obviously not a good meeting. I could see the diabolical restlessness, could feel the tension of a waiting attack. There was one hard-backed chair arranged on the floor. I knew then that, at best, this was to be an inquisition.

How different the floor looked, without the examining table! How difficult to remember the Steambox being here. It felt a lifetime ago.

The galleries were lined with a mob, a restless, seething group that was obviously fueling their tempers with conversation. I could feel the hatred and frenzy beginning to build. I could see it on the expressions that surrounded me.

I was of half a mind to turn around entirely, to turn my back on the proceedings, but I knew the folly of such a decision. I feared that even Hyde would be unable to prevent my release from service here. I want nothing more than to be a physician, and if they tossed me onto the street, then I knew that the dream would be forever gone.

Best if I faced the music, and somehow, miraculously, managed to disarm the attack.

And then the shouts began. “Murderer!” “Criminal!” “Let him hang!”

I knew then, at that point, that this was a hopeless situation. There was to be no good outcome. No unexpected salvation. Something terrible had been put into motion, and no amount of reasoning or explanation would make it any different.

“Alistair Purefoy,” MacDougal intoned, his heavy voice silencing the crowd in an instant. “You have been brought before us, the fellows of the Doctoral Council, on a very grave matter. I suggest that you sit down, sir,” he said, motioning to the awaiting chair.

Exhaustion became heavier. Something deep within me began to rebel. Something snapped within my mind. I understood instinctively that this was not going to go easy for me, that this could not turn out well. That knowledge, coupled with a reaction to yesterday's terror, resulted in a strange and unusual unwillingness for me to comply with their every whim.

Politeness would serve me no favors here.

I met MacDougal's gaze squarely, which seemed to startle him.

“No, sir,” I said, my voice echoing through the Theatre. “I believe that I would prefer to stand.”

Surprise rippled through the crowd. MacDougal scowled.

“Insolent whelp!” he rasped. “I suppose that there is no need to beat about the bush. We have brought you here in response to a police inquiry and wish—”

“There is no police inquiry,” I answered, cutting him off midsentence. My interruption was clearly startling. You must understand that MacDougal is feared by all. As leader of the Doctoral Council, he is treated with such respect that no one dares to interrupt him, should he be speaking. Until today, I would never have thought myself capable of such disrespect.

“No police inquiry,” MacDougal echoed, staring down at me from his higher perch. “I beg to differ, Mr. Purefoy. I have it on unmistakable authority that you were indeed arrested yesterday morning, in suspicion of several brutal murders.”

I could hear the furor of the galleries, shouted outrage. I could see Mr. Rose, glaring down at me with unmasked disgust. The noise was growing greater now, as the mob was gathering its hurricane force.

“Monster!” “Butcher!” “Criminal!”

Again, something happened, deep within me. Some rebellious streak, some unwillingness to face such injustice, once again overtook me. I reacted without thinking of the consequences.

I shouted for silence.

It descended upon the galleries, so swiftly and absolutely that suddenly it seemed as if all the air had been extracted from the Theatre. Shock was evident. Even MacDougal was too surprised to speak, and he stood above me with his mouth hanging open.

I did not allow time for recovery and forced myself to speak first.

“The police are no longer interested in me, and I am unsure why this meeting has been called at all.”

“It has been called,” MacDougal said, his cheeks reddening so violently that I was reminded of Detective Drummond, “because I wished it to be called, Mr. Purefoy! What insolence is this? The Doctoral Council is an institution independent of the police. We retain the right to know the details of any situation that involves one of our workers, and I demand to know your opinion of why you were arrested.”

“I was arrested under false pretenses,” I said. “I was found innocent.”

“Your opinion, sir!” MacDougal shouted. “I wish to know it.”

My mouth was dry, my heartbeat quick, but I had started down a road that was impossible to vacate. I forced myself to ignore anyone other than MacDougal. I kept my gaze linked with his.

“I have been instructed,” I said, hoping desperately that I was correct, “to discuss this only with my solicitor present. If you wish to question me, then I must insist that Mr. August Smithson be in attendance.”

Again, there was the ripple through the crowd. It became apparent to me that Smithson's name was as feared here, among the physicians, as it was with Detective Drummond.

“August Smithson?” MacDougal's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Do you mean to tell me that August Smithson is your solicitor? How can that even be possible? A man of that stature defending a mere butcher?”

An unfortunate laughter surrounded me. I was being mocked. This was simply too much for me to bear, and I was unable to stop myself from descending into temper.

“Mr. Smithson is indeed my solicitor, and is determined to defend my innocence,” I said. “I would be happy to answer any question he deemed appropriate, but I must insist that he be present at my inquisition.”

“We care nothing for your solicitor,” MacDougal snarled. “We are an independent institution. I do not care what the police say. What Mr. Smithson says. You are found guilty of murder, Mr. Purefoy. Guilty before us!”

“Guilty!” I shouted, my voice barely heard above the answering roar of the crowd. “How is that possible? I am innocent!”

MacDougal shouted for silence, waiting to speak until the hubbub had evaporated. His smile upon me was chilling.

“We are a noble profession, Mr. Purefoy, and are disinterested in employing anyone who is remotely associated with such treachery. In our eyes, you are a murderer.”

“Impossible!” I shouted, desperation and anger overtaking me. “This is madness! I am innocent of any crime!”

MacDougal's smile was treacherous. “You are released from service, effective immediately. You must pack your belongings and vacate the premises without hesitation. You are a murderer, Mr. Purefoy, whether or not you are ever charged by the police. You are a murderer before our Council, and we will not allow further association with us.”

Although I had realized the result of this terrible meeting the moment I had stepped foot onto the operating floor, I was still sickened to hear the inevitable proclamation. A cold disappointment blended with my outrage. My dream of being a physician crumbled before my eyes, beneath the sneering grins of MacDougal and Rose and all the rest of them.

“This means that you are no longer gainfully employed by the City of Edinburgh. We have already contacted the Foreign Office, sir. Your temporary citizenship has been revoked. You are now a fugitive from enemy territory, and as such, will be retained again by the police. If they cannot see fit to charge you for the murders, Purefoy, then they will certainly see you rot as an enemy of the State!”

“Ridiculous.”

The single word, laced with disgust, shot through the room with the speed of a pistol shot. It cut into my despair, and caused me to switch attention to the gallery staircase. I realized then that it was Hyde, that he was making his way down the steps and onto the operating floor. His presence here caused another bout of furious outrage to drift through the galleries, but Hyde appeared unaffected by the reaction.

He was drinking coffee as he came to stand beside me. “You overstep your boundaries,” Hyde said, his glare settled upon MacDougal. “Not even you can punish an innocent man.”

“I can and will do as I wish!” MacDougal shouted. “In all things, Hyde. And not even you can stop me! Your assistant is released from service, sir, and is to vacate the Theatre immediately!”