Page 8 of Affair

“The usual reasons. I’m in need of employment.”

“Yes, yes, I understand. But there must be other positions available.”

Baxter decided to embroider his story a bit. He assumed what he hoped was a confidential air. “We both know how mundane most such posts are. Instructions to solicitors and various agents. Arrangements for the buying and selling of properties. Banking matters. All very uninspiring.”

“After five years as Miss Arkendale’s man-of-affairs, I can assure you that there is much to be said for the routine and the uninspiring.”

“I am eager for something a bit different,” Baxter said earnestly. “This post sounds as if it will be somewhat out of the ordinary. Indeed, I sense that it will offer me a certain challenge.”

“Challenge?” Marcle closed his eyes. “I doubt that you know the meaning of the word yet, sir.”

“I have been told that I am in a rut. It has been suggested that I add an element of excitement to my life, sir. I am hoping that this post will afford me the opportunity to do that.”

Marcle’s eyes snapped open in alarm. “You say you seek excitement?”

“Indeed, sir. A man of my nature gets very little of that commodity in the normal course of events.” Baxter hoped he was not overdoing it. “I have always lived a quiet life.”

And what was more, he much preferred his peaceful existence, he thought glumly. This damnable mission that his aunt had begged him to undertake was an unwelcome interruption in his placid routine.

The only reason he had allowed himself to be talked into it was because he knew Rosalind well. She had a flair for the dramatic—her greatest regret was that she had never gone on the stage—but she was not given to foolish fancies and feverish imaginings.

Rosalind was genuinely concerned about the circumstances surrounding the murder of her friend, Drusilla Heskett. The authorities had declared that the woman had been shot by a housebreaker. Rosalind suspected that the killer was none other than Charlotte Arkendale.

Baxter had agreed to look into the situation on his aunt’s behalf.

A discreet inquiry had turned up the information that the mysterious Miss Arkendale happened to be in need of a new man-of-affairs. Baxter had seized the opportunity to apply for the post.

He reasoned that if he could talk his way into the position he would be ideally situated to conduct his investigation. With any luck he would resolve the matter in short order and be able to return to the calm refuge of his laboratory.

Marcle exhaled heavily. “It’s true that working for Miss Arkendale can sometimes produce an element of excitement, but I am not altogether certain it is the type of adventure you would enjoy, Mr. St. Ives.”

“I shall be the judge of that.”

“Believe me, sir, if it’s excitement you crave, you would do better to take yourself off to a gaming hell.”

“I don’t enjoy games of chance.”

Marcle grimaced. “I assure you, a lively hell would be infinitely less maddening than embroiling yourself in Miss Arkendale’s affairs.”

Baxter had not considered the possibility that Charlotte Arkendale was a candidate for Bedlam. “You believe her to be mad?”

“How many ladies of your acquaintance require a man-of-affairs who can also undertake the duties of a bodyguard, sir?”

An excellent question, Baxter thought ruefully. The entire matter sounded more bizarre by the moment. “Nevertheless, I wish to apply for the post. It is obvious why she needs a new man-of-affairs. You are retiring, after all, and she must replace you. But perhaps you would be good enough to explain why Miss Arkendale is in need of a bodyguard?”

“How the devil should I know the answer to that?” Marcle tossed aside his pen. “Miss Arkendale is a most peculiar female. I have served as her man-of-affairs since the death of her stepfather, Lord Winterbourne. I can assure you, these past five years have been the longest years of my life.”

Baxter eyed him curiously. “If you disliked your post, why did you continue in it?”

Marcle sighed. “She pays extraordinarily well.”

“I see.”

“But I must confess that whenever I received a letter of instruction from her, I trembled in my shoes. I never knew what strange demand she would make next. And that was before she took a notion to add the duties of a bodyguard to the post.”

“What sort of demands does she make in the normal course of affairs?”

Marcle groaned. “She has sent me to make inquiries of the oddest people. I have gone haring off to the North in order to obtain information on a certain gentleman. I have interviewed the managers of the most appalling hells and brothels on her behalf. I have inquired into the financial affairs of any number of men who would be shocked to learn of her interest.”

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