AmandaQuick-Affair.txt
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Women reacted to the raw, ugly scars with shock and disgust. Baxter did not entirely blame them. He had never been handsome and the acid lacerations had done nothing to improve his looks. Fortunately, his face had been spared. He was, however, fed up with the inconvenience of having to make certain that the candles were snuffed and the fire banked before he got undressed and climbed into bed with a lady.
On the last such occasion, some six months ago, he had nearly brained himself on the bedpost when he had tripped over his own boot in the inky darkness of the widow's unlit bedchamber. The incident had put a distinct damper on the remainder of the evening.
For the most part, he sought his satisfactions and pleasures in his laboratory. There, surrounded by his gleaming beakers, flasks, retorts, and blowpipes, he could avoid the empty conversations and frivolous pursuits of the Polite World. It was a world he had never enjoyed. A world that did not begin to comprehend him. A world that he found excruciatingly superficial and insipid. A world in Which he had never felt at home.
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Amanda Quick
Baxter schooled his thoughts and forced himself to reason
swiftly. Charlotte had plainly dismissed him as a possible man-of- affairs. A new approach was required if he was to convince her to
employ him. "Miss Arkendale, there seems to be some discrepancy between your view of my nature and the views of virtually everyone else in
the world. May I suggest we resolve the matter by conducting an experiment?"
She went very still. "What sort of experiment?" "I recommend that you summon the members of your household and ask them for their opinions. If the consensus is that I can
successfully go about my duties unnoticed and unremarked, you will employ me. If they concur with your views, I shall take my leave and look elsewhere for a post."
She hesitated, clearly dubious. Then she gave a quick, decisive nod. "Very well, sit. That seems quite logical. We shall conduct the experiment at once. I shall summon my sister and housekeeper. They are both extremely observant."
She reached for the velvet bell pull that hung beside the fireplace and gave it a strong tug. "You agree to abide by the results of this test?" he asked warily. "You have my word on it, sit." She smiled with ill-concealed triumph. "We shall settle the matter at once."
Footsteps sounded in the hall. Baxter adjusted his eyeglasses and sat back in his chair to await the outcome of the experiment.
He was certain that he could safely predict the results. He knew his strong points better than anyone else. No one could top him when it came to appearing as bland and uninteresting as a potato pudding.
@Twenty minutes later, Baxter went down the steps of the Arkendale town house with a sense of quiet exultation. He noted
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that the crisp March breeze, which had been decidedly chilly an
hour earlier, now felt fresh and invigorating,
There was nothing quite like a properly conducted scientific experiment to settle things, he thought as he hailed a passing hackney. it had not been easy but he had finally secured his new post. As he had anticipated, Charlotte Arkendale was the only person in the small household, indeed, very likely the only person in the whole of London, who would ever notice him in a crowd.
He was not sure what her peculiar notions concerning his nature
said about her except that they definitely verified John Marcle's opinion. Charlotte was a very unique sort of female.
Not at all what one would expect in the way of a blackmailer and murderess, Baxter thought.
"I do not know why you are fretting so, Charlotte." ArIel paused to examine a tray of eggs arranged on the sideboard. "Mr. St. Ives appears to be just what you wanted. A man-of-affairs who will not draw attention to himself when he goes about his duties. He also seems to be in excellent physical condition. Not so tall as one
might wish, but quite broad and solid looking about the shoulders. I think that he will serve nicely as a bodyguard should such a
necessity arise. "I thought him sufficiently tall." Charlotte wondered morosely why she felt compelled to defend Baxter's stature. Why did she care
if her sister thought him less than perfect in height? "I had to look
up to meet his eyes. 11
Ariel grinned. "That is because you are a trifle short. In a most
attractive fashion, of course."
Charlotte grimaced. "Of course." "In truth, Mr. St. Ives is not more than an inch above my own height. " "You are very tall for a woman." And graceful and willowy and very, very lovely, Charlotte thought with a rush of sisterly pride. Perhaps it was more in the nature of maternal pride. After all, she
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rerninded herself, she had been responsible for Ariel since the death of their mother.
And Ariel had turned out wonderfully well, Charlotte decided. She was a beautiful young lady of nineteen. Fair haired, blue eyed, and blessed with classical features and, yes, striking stature, she was
the living image of their mother.
Charlotte had had many regrets and doubts in the course of the
past few years. She had been all too well aware that she could never
rnake up for what had been lost. Ariel had been only eleven when their tall, handsome, affectionate father had died. She had been barely thirteen when they had lost their beautiful, vivacious mother.
Then Winterbourne had destroyed the inheritance that would have allowed Ariel freedom of choice in so many things, including mar-
riage.
One of Charlotte's greatest regrets was that she had been unable
to give her sister a Season. With her looks and poise and the education she had received first from their beautiful bluestocking mother and that Charlotte had continued, Ariel would have been a smash-
ing success. What's more, she thought, her sister would have thor-
oughly enjoyed the opera and the theater and the excitement of the
balls and soirees. She had inherited their parents' love of art and
entertainment. She should have had a chance to meet the people who should have been her social equals. She should have had an
opportunity to dance the waltz with a handsome young man.
So many things that should have been Ariel's had been lost. Charlotte pulled herself back to the problem at hand. She forced herself to do what she always did when thoughts of the past threatened to lower her spirits. She concentrated on the future. And right now that future Included Baxter St. Ives. "I wish I could feel as certain about Mr. St. Ives as you do." Charlotte propped her elbow on the morning room table and rested her chin on the heel of one hand. "He is a perfect man-of-affairs," Ariel declared.
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Amanda Quick
Charlotte sighed- It was now quite Clear that she was the only
e in the household who sensed that there was a great deal more to
on e eye. Yesterday Ariet and Mrs. Witty, Baxter St. Ives than met th pronounced themselves well satisfied the housekeeper, had both so convinced of their imwith Marcle's replacement. The two were
pressiOns that Charlotte had almost begun to doubt her own instinc-
tive wariness- ite. She had had a great deal of experience
Almost, but not qu i such matters assessing gentlemen, after all, and her intuition In
rarely failed her. She could not dismiss it out of hand.
But she Was baffled by the fact that the others could not see past
tacles to the truth that blazed there. the lenses of Baxter's spec . chemistry but in her opinion,
He claimed to have an interest in The man had the eyes of an
he was no modern man of science. d with the search
mist, one of those legendary seekers obsesse asily alche the Philosopher's Stone. She could .e for the mystical secrets Of ting experiments envision him hunched over a fiery crucible, concoc
that would enable him to transmute lead into gold.
Intense intelligence@ unrelenting determination@ and a will of
iron burned in the amber depths of his eyes. The same qualities
were etched into his blunt, strong face. She had sensed something else in him, too, something that she could not quite define. A hint
of melancholia perhaps. Which, now that she considered it, was not
unexpected. tistic tradition of depicting that dark, wist-
There was a long ar ful emotion with the emblems of alchemy. Those who engaged in an
endless quest for nature's arcane secrets were no doubt doomed to
experience episodes of despair and disappointment.
Baxter St. Ives was far and away the most interesting man .sh
had ever met, Charlotte admitted to herself. But the same qualities
that made him intriguing could also make a man dangerous. At the
very least) they made him less than pliable. nstructions with-
She required a man-of-affairs. who would take i
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out argument, not one who would demand constant explanations and Justifications. She did not think that Baxter would be easily ordered about. At best, he was likely to prove difficult. "Perhaps now that Mr. St. Ives has a new post, he will be able to afford a new tailor." Ariel chuckled as she carried her plate back to
the table. "His coat certainly did not fit him very well and his waistcoat was quite plain. Did you notice that he was wearing breeches instead of trousers?" "I noticed."
She would have been blind had she failed to observe the manner
in which the snug breeches had revealed the sleekly muscled outline of his thighs, she thought. She summoned up the memory of Baxter as he sat across from her attired in a rumpled blue coat, unpleated linen shirt, and the conservative breeches and unpolished boots. She frowned slightly. "His clothes were of excellent quality." "Yes, but sadly unfashionable, even for a gentleman in his position." Ariel took a bite of sausage. "And his neckcloth was tied in a very mundane manner. I fear our Mr. St. Ives has no sense of style at all. "
"One does not look for style in a man-of-affairs." "Precisely." Ariel winked. "Which only goes to prove that he is just what he appears to be, a gentleman badly in need of a position. Probably a second son from the country. You know how that is."
Charlotte fiddled with her coffee cup. "I suppose so." It was common knowledge that many second and third sons of the country gentry who were not in line for the family farm were obliged to make their livings as men-of-affairs. "Cheer up," Ariel said. "I'm quite sure stodgy old Marcle would not have sent St. Ives to you unless he was suitably qualified."
Charlotte watched as her sister attacked the eggs and sausages on her plate. Her own appetite was normally quite sharp in the mornings but today she was barely able to contemplate the cup of Coffee in front of her.
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Amanda Quick
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Charlotte sighed. It was now quite clear that she was the only one in the household who sensed that there was a great deal more to
Baxter St. Ives than met the eye. Yesterday Ariel and Mrs. Witty, the housekeeper, had both pronounced themselves well satisfied with Marcie's replacement. The two were so convinced of their im-
pressions that Charlotte had almost begun to doubt her own instinc-
tive wariness.
Almost, but not quite. She had had a great deal of experience assessing gentlemen, after all, and her intuition in such matters
rarely failed her. She could not dismiss it out of hand.
But she was baffled by the fact that the others could not see past the lenses of Baxter's spectacles to the truth that blazed there.
He claimed to have an interest in chemistry but in her opinion, he was no modern man of science. The man had the eyes of an alchemist, one of those legendary seekers obsessed with the search for the mystical secrets of the Philosopher's Stone. She could easily envision him hunched over a fiery crucible, concocting experiments that would enable him to transmute lead into gold.
Intense intelligence, unrelenting determination, and a will of
iron burned in the amber depths of his eyes. The same qualities were etched into his blunt, strong face. She had sensed something else in him, too, something that she could not quite define. A hint of melancholia perhaps. Which, now that she considered it, was not unexpected.
There was a long artistic tradition of depicting that dark, wistful emotion with the emblems of alchemy. Those who engaged in an
endless quest for nature's arcane secrets were no doubt doomed to
experience episodes of despair and disappointment.
Baxter St. Ives was far and away the most interesting man she
had ever met, Charlotte admitted to herself. But the same qualities that made him intriguing could also make a man dangerous. At the very least, they made him less than pliable.
She required a man-of-affairs who would take instructions with-
out argument, not one who would demand constant explanations
a
J ifications. She did not think that Baxter would be easily nd 'usti ordered about. At best, he was likely to prove difficult. "Perhaps now that Mr. St. Ives has a new post, he will be able to afford a new tailor." Ariel chuckled as she carried her plate back to
the table. "His coat certainly did not fit him very well and his waistcoat was quite plain. Did you notice that he was wearing breeches instead of trousers?" "I noticed."
She would have been blind had she failed to observe the manner
in which the snug breeches had revealed the sleekly muscled outline of his thighs, she thought. She summoned up the memory of Baxter as he sat across from her attired in a rumpled blue coat, unpleated. linen shirt, and the conservative breeches and unpolished boots. She frowned slightly. "His clothes were of excellent quality." "Yes, but sadly unfashionable, even for a gentleman in his position." Ariel took a bite of sausage. "And his neckcloth was tied in a very mundane manner. I fear our Mr. St. Ives has no sense of style at all. "
"One does not look for style In a man-of-affairs." "Precisely." Ariel winked. "Which only goes to prove that he is just what he appears to be, a gentleman badly in need of a position. Probably a second son from the country. You know how that is."
Charlotte fiddled with her coffee cup. "I suppose so." It was common knowledge that many second and third sons of the country gentry who were not in line for the family farm were obliged to make their livings as men-of-affairs. "Cheer up," Ariel said. "I'm quite sure stodgy old Marcie would not have sent St. Ives to you unless he was suitably qualified."
Charlotte watched as her sister attacked the eggs and sausages on her plate. Her own appetite was normally quite sharp in the mornings but today she was barely able to contemplate the cup of coffee in front of her.
OUNEDIN PUBLIC I Jr.. -.--
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Amanda Quick
"I don't know, Ariel. I just don't know." "Really, Charlotte, this mood of gloom is quite unlike you. You are usually so much more enthusiastic in the mornings. "I did not sleep well last night."
That was not the half of it, Charlotte thought. In truth she had barely slept at all. She had tossed and turned for hours, caught in the grip of a deeply troubling sense of unease. Ariel was right, her mood was indeed dark this morning. "Have you told Mr. St. Ives precisely why you are in need of a
bodyguard?" Ariel asked. "Not yet. I instructed him to return this afternoon so that I
could explain the exact nature of his duties."
Ariel's eyes widened. "You mean he has no notion of why you have employed him?" "No. "
The truth was, she had needed time to think about the situation. Time to be certain that taking on the enigmatic St. Ives was
the right course of action. There was a great deal at stake. But the more contemplation she gave to the matter, the fewer alternatives Charlotte perceived.
She was, in fact, quite desperate. Arie
l put down her fork and gave Charlotte a direct look. "Per-
haps he will not want the position once he learns the details."
Charlotte pondered that. She did not know whether to be
cheered or alarmed by the prospect. "Things might be a good deal simpler if Mr. St. Ives takes to his heels when he learns the true
nature of his responsibilities."
Mrs. Witty hove to in the doorway of the morning room, a fresh pot of coffee in one broad, work-worn fist. "You'd best hope he doesn't run off when he learns what ye want him to do for ye, Miss Charlotte. It's not as if there's any number of gentlemen running about London who would be willing to help ye investigate a murder. "
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"I'm aware of that." Charlotte scowled. "I've agreed to hire St. Ives, have I not?" "Aye, and thank the good Lord. I don't mind tellin' ye, I don't much like this situation. Making inquiries into a bloody murder ain't in our usual line around here." "I'm aware of that as well." Charlotte watched Mrs. Witty pour fresh coffee.
The housekeeper was an imposing woman whose monumental proportions would have done credit to an ancient goddess. In the three years since she had joined the household, Charlotte had had cause to be grateful for her steady nerves. Not many housekeepers would have tolerated an employer engaged in a career such as the one Charlotte had carved out for herself Fewer still would have been willing to provide valuable assistance.
Then again, there were not many housekeepers as well dressed as Mrs. Witty, Charlotte thought. When one required unusual services from one's staff, one naturally paid very well. "She's right." Ariel's expression grew more serious. "What you are proposing to do could prove dangerous, Charlotte." "I have no choice," Charlotte said quietly. "I must discover who killed Drusilla Heskett."
V3axter was in his laboratory unpacking a new shipment of glassware that had been designed to his exacting specifications when the knock came on the door. "What is it, Lambert?" He removed a gleaming new retort from the box and held it up to the light to admire it. "I am occupied at the moment."
The door opened. "Lady Trengloss, sir," Lambert announced in his tomblike accCnts.
Baxter reluctantly put down the retort and looked at Lambert.