Page 78 of Affair

They went carefully down the corridor to the door that guarded the back stairs. Baxter opened it, glanced down, and then nodded.

“There is no one on the staircase. I’ll go first. We must hurry.”

Charlotte did not argue. She followed him quickly down the cramped, twisted stairs. Baxter paused again, briefly, in the small servants’ hall at the bottom. There was no one about. The noise of the gaming room at the front of the house was a dull roar in the distance.

A moment later they were safely outside. Charlotte saw that the fog had grown far more dense during the time that she and Baxter had been inside the club. It shrouded the garden, glowing weirdly with the reflected lights from the windows.

As they passed the mist-shrouded privy, a man’s guttural voice, lifted in bawdy, off-key song, boomed from the interior.

’So I showed her me prick,

and said, ‘Take yer pick.’

The fair lady blushed and stammered and sighed.

“’Tis impossible to choose,

so I’ll take both,” she cried.…”

Charlotte allowed Baxter to haul her out into the alley, where it was almost impossible to see anything at all. The toe of her half boot struck a hard, solid object. She winced and stifled a groan.

“Are you all right?” Baxter asked without slowing the pace.

“Yes. Just a discarded crate, I believe.”

He did not reply. Together they rounded a corner and emerged into the street. Carriages came and went in the fog, their lights gleaming with an unnatural, faerie quality in the mist. Shouts and drunken laughter echoed from the steps of The Green Table.

Charlotte tugged the hood of her cloak more securely around her face. Beside her, Baxter removed his eyeglasses, tilted the brim of his hat, and pulled up the high collar of his greatcoat. The simple adjustments made a remarkable change in his appearance. He led Charlotte across the street.

A moment or two later they were safely seated inside the carriage. Charlotte exhaled deeply and fell against the cushions as the vehicle clattered into motion. She watched Baxter light the carriage lamp.

“What was that all about?” she demanded.

“I believe Hamilton and his friends were about to observe a demonstration of mesmerism.” Baxter finished his task and lounged into the corner.

Charlotte studied him intently. The fiery glow of the lamp created a fierce mask out of his hard features. It glittered on the gold frames of his spectacles and flashed on the lenses. She could almost see him sinking into the vast depths of his own thoughts. Cold intelligence replaced any hint of emotion in his eyes.

“Animal magnetism, do you mean?” she asked.

“Yes. The effects of which were supplemented with some sort of drug in this instance.”

“Of course. The incense.” Charlotte frowned. “I may have inhaled a bit too much of it myself there at the end. It was the oddest thing, but I was overcome with a sudden desire to get a closer look at the pendant the magician used. It was as though I simplyhadto see it.”

“I know,” Baxter said dryly. “You were most insistent.”

She flushed. “Rest assured, it was only a temporary effect. I feel quite restored to my usual self now.”

“Charlotte, my dear, the wordusualcan never be applied to you.”

She did not know how to take that remark, so she allowed it to pass. “About this mesmerism nonsense. I have read accounts of Dr. Mesmer’s work and I’ve studied descriptions of those who claim to use similar techniques to achieve remarkable medical effects. But I have always assumed the whole business to be nothing but the worst sort of quackery.”

“So have I, but the poets are quite taken with it. And so is my butler, Lambert, for that matter. He is receiving treatments for his aching joints from a Dr. Flatt.”

“But what we witnessed tonight had nothing to do with medical treatments.”

“No.” Baxter contemplated the mist-shrouded street through a gap in the curtain. “But there are those, including some followers of a man named de Mainauduc, who are said to experiment with mesmerism as a means of investigating occult matters.”

“Occult?”

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