Page 81 of Affair

A thump and a loud voice out in the front hall interrupted his thoughts.

“Get out of me way, you clumsy oaf. Ye cannot stop me. Move, damn yer bloody hide.”

Baxter sighed. The new housekeeper had a mouth on her that would have done justice to a dock laborer. On the positive side, at least she was an early riser. The last one had often slept through breakfast.

Another thud sounded from the hall.

“I ain’t hanging about another moment. I’d have left yesterday if me sister had been able to give me a bed for the night.”

“If you would perhaps give it another fortnight, Mrs. Pearson.” Lambert’s pleading tones were muffled by the wall. “It is so difficult to find staff. And Mr. St. Ives does pay well, you know.”

“I don’t care how much that madman is willing to pay his staff. All those strange goings-on in that laboratory of his. And right in the middle of the day, too. A lady shrieking as if she was bein’ fiendishly tortured. I won’t tolerate that sort of thing. Get away from the door, ye doddering old fool.”

There was another short murmur of protest from Lambert, a loud exclamation, and a very final-sounding thump. The front door slammed with sufficient force to shake the wall.

Silence fell.

A soft knock on the library door a moment later made Baxter close his eyes in bleak anticipation.

“What is it, Lambert?” He turned slowly to face the door.

Lambert hovered anxiously in the opening. Apparently he had been roused from his bed and had not had time to finish dressing. His sparse gray hair stood straight out from his head. His jacket was unbuttoned and he was wearing only one shoe. He managed to clear his throat with great dignity.

“Begging your pardon, sir, the new housekeeper just gave notice.”

“Bloody hell. There have been no untimely explosions, no flashes of light, no electricity experiments. What went wrong this time?”

“Among other things, Mrs. Pearson was apparently overset by the, uh, incident in the laboratory yesterday.”

“What incident? I was not performing any experiments yesterday.” Baxter broke off abruptly as he recalled just what he had been doing in the laboratory. Fiendishly torturing a lady. He felt a curious sensation of heat in his face. Good God. He was turning red.

“The lady’s scream,” he muttered.

“Aye, sir.” Lambert shifted awkwardly. “The lady’s scream.”

Baxter scowled. “I was merely demonstrating the most effective technique for the operation of the blowpipe. My fiancée is interested in scientific matters. She became quite enthusiastic when she witnessed the lively fire that was produced.”

“Indeed, sir.” Lambert looked wistful. “It must be rather pleasant to be able to operate one’s blowpipe effectively. My own has been giving me trouble for some years now.”

“Yes, well, why are you standing about, Lambert? Get yourself some breakfast and then take yourself off to the agencies as soon as they open for business. We must find ourselves a new housekeeper.”

“Aye, sir.” Lambert bowed his head. “Shall I prepare some eggs and toast for you, Mr. St. Ives?”

“Not necessary.” Baxter idly massaged the back of his neck. “I’m going to sleep for a few hours. I had a long night.”

“Very well.”

“Oh, one more thing.” Baxter went around behind his desk and opened a drawer. He removed a sheet of foolscap, picked up a quill, and scrawled quickly. “Please have this message carried to Esherton’s house as soon as possible.”

“Of course, sir.” Lambert frowned as if a thought had struck him. “Speaking of messages, sir, did you see the one I left in the salver on the hall table? It arrived last evening while you were out.”

“No, I did not get it.”

“From your aunt, I believe.” Lambert hobbled across the hall to the table and plucked a folded note from the silver tray. He carried it slowly into the library.

Baxter glanced at the note from Rosalind while he waited for the ink on his own message to dry.

Dear Baxter:

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