The Curious Steambox Affair

by Melissa Macgregor

  I was startled to see the younger MacBean’s gaze shift to me. He is similar to his brother, both in features and with regard to the same steely green eyes, but there is a thinness to his frame that is not present in his brother. He wears spectacles. Hamish does not succumb to the jovial merriment of MacBean, either, and his expression is far more guarded and cold than his brother’s usual.

  Is Hamish the Hyde to MacBean’s Trantham? I was afraid that he was.

  This quick but telling glance was no exception. I had the sinking sense that he had overheard me, which was impossible, due to the cheerful din of conversation all around. He had certainly understood me. I was of the very firm opinion that he disliked me.

  Hamish MacBean was in possession of the same styled cane, given out to all the Gentlemen. Not a cheerful observation. I had been hoping that I would not see much of him, but the presence of the cane indicated otherwise. I feel as if I am spending entirely too much time with men who are in possession of those canes. Whether I like to or not, they are unavoidable.

  Lacey was true to her word, and once the pudding was finished and the dishes cleared away, she murmured softly to her husband. MacBean gave a quick nod, then addressed the table.

  “My wife says something about your having a garden, Ian,” he said. “She would like to take a turn around it, with Miss Whitcomb, but only if you act as guide.”

  I could see Trantham, his expression wary as he watched his brother. I could see that Gordon MacBean was giving Hyde the same regard, which made me realize that I was not the only one who was aware of the romantic implications of the evening. MacBean was certainly conscious of the undercurrents, of the sudden tension.

  And Hyde . . . well, judging by the ferocity of his expression, it appeared as if the volcano was about to erupt. And still, a choking silence had descended upon the table. No one spoke. No one moved.

  It became unbearable to me, and before I could stop myself, I voiced my thoughts aloud.

  “Hyde, you must show Miss Whitcomb the forest. I demand it. It is warm out there, Miss Whitcomb, so you will not require your wrap, and I believe it will do you a world of good to see what Hyde has created. His genius is unmistakable,” I continued, realizing I was babbling, that my voice was the only one echoing through the ominously quiet dining room.

  I remembered then, how Hyde had bragged to the Whitcombs about my bravery at the police station. It seemed only right to return the favor, although a glance at Hyde assured me that his fury was only building.

  I was, however, unable to stop, but continued ruthlessly. “Hyde has applied his vast knowledge of science and physics to create a true wonderland, Miss Whitcomb. I think you will be impressed with what he has accomplished and I think you might find it incredibly refreshing to walk amid the trees and observe the flora and birds and such. You will be stunned, I think, to realize that you are acquainted with such a man, a man who can create such a paradise at whim! Why, you might even like it so much that we begin to have our Thursday dinners here. At Hyde’s table. It would be a refreshing change, if we hosted you and your brothers, and afterward, you might find it pleasant to walk around Hyde’s splendid creation and marvel at his handiwork. You might find it infinitely calming. Perhaps Hyde should escort you, and if it pleases him then Mr. MacBean could escort his wife and the four of you could make a grand expedition of it—”

  I was saved by the amused voice of Simon Trantham.

  “I am in full agreement with Mr. Purefoy,” he said. “I believe that you should find my brother’s garden most pleasing, Miss Whitcomb. And I would like very much to show the Misters Whitcomb my wine cellar, and perhaps take advantage of their infinite knowledge of the grape, and discuss suggestions for restocking. Gentlemen, if you please?”

  There was a flurry of activity as we rose from the table. The Whitcombs were delighted to accompany Trantham to his cellars, misinterpreting his invitation as a much-wanted acceptance of their friendship. I could see their canny excitement with regard to an impossible match. I both disliked and pitied their Upper Merchantism.

  In reality (keep in mind, Upper Merchants do not possess the same reality as others) Trantham was interested only in keeping them away from the garden party. He was sacrificing himself to occupy their attentions elsewhere. Trantham made me wish for my own brother, Nigel, who would not hesitate to entertain annoying pests, should it mean I might steal a moment with you.

  To my intense relief, I saw that Hyde had recovered from his fury. His expression was effused with pleasure as Miss Whitcomb readily agreed to the garden excursion. His smile, terrible to see, flickered to life as she took his arm. They were followed to the garden by Gordon MacBean, and Lacey, who gave me a conspiratorial wink.

  Which left me, suddenly, with Hamish MacBean.

  Trantham invited us, of course, to accompany the men to the wine cellars. I was disinclined to agree, finding the company of both the Whitcomb brothers completely tiresome without the soothing presence of their sister. I was intending to excuse myself entirely from the party, now that I had accomplished my goal of sending poor Miss Whitcomb to the garden. But when Hamish MacBean announced that he and I were going to retire to the parlor, for cigars and brandies, I was unable to refuse.

  I took some comfort in the fact that Trantham did not seem alarmed by the request. I contented myself with thinking that Trantham is now my doctoral sponsor. Surely if Hamish intended to wield the cane’s blade against my throat, or make me some sort of target practice, then Trantham would at least sound the alarm.

  Which reminds me . . . forgive me if this is considered crass, but I have yet to tell you that my wages have increased substantially since Trantham assumed financial control of my apprenticeship. I was surprised to learn this, assuming that the educational opportunities and potential for advancement was payment enough. And not to mention the room and board!

  But Hyde and Trantham apparently possess a different opinion than mine own. Forgive me, please, if this is rude, but I would like you to know that I am now quite handsomely paid. Be assured, I am still saving back the majority of my wages. I am determined to create a savings account, so that, once I am fully licensed as an independent physician, I shall be able to implement the rest of my plan for the future.

  Hopefully (and this is my most fervent hope!) that plan involves our future.

  But tonight, I found myself ushered to the Trantham parlor, alongside the eerily quiet Hamish MacBean.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I took comfort in the procurement of brandy, which was very fine indeed. Cigars were offered, and although I am not much of a smoker, it would have been rude to refuse. The parlor was silent, save for the cheerful crackle of the fire. Hamish motioned for me to take one of the overstuffed chairs arranged before the hearth, which I did. He sat in the chair opposite mine own.

  Hamish smiled then, a thin, unwelcoming grin. “You are Alistair Purefoy,” he said, although we had been introduced earlier. “The one who has caused such a furor.”

  “I have not intended to,” I said quickly. I took a fortifying sip of brandy, the liquid burning my throat. “Let me assure you, the matter was completely out of my hands.”

  He surprised me then by asking me a question. I had been so caught up in my nerves, in my fear that I had unwittingly caused trouble, that I scarcely heard him.

  “Mr. Purefoy, please,” he said, his smile turning a little more genuine. He took a long pull off his cigar, his face briefly clouded by his smoky exhale. “Cease the panic immediately, and answer my question.”

  Again, my expression betrayed me.

  “Physician. I asked if you were truly interested in becoming a physician. An independent one.”

  I said yes. Yes, of course! I said that it was my dream, my intention, my every hope. I told him that I was taking Trantham’s advice, that I was exerting myself quite ridiculously
, perusing the necessary texts. I assured him that tonight’s dinner was a rare rest from my studies. Nerves caused me to pontificate a little, to become strident, but I could not stop. I said that I was determined to learn and to learn quickly. I simply had to.

  My earnestness made him laugh, which did much to relax the threatening harshness of his expression.

  “Good, good,” Hamish said. “I was hoping that was true. Hoping you were the man they said you were.”

  “What have they said?” I asked. I took a hesitant puff of cigar, the taste of which blended nicely with the very fine brandy.

  Hamish took a sip of his drink before he answered. “They say that you are a man completely without fear.”

  I laughed then, the ridiculousness of the statement making it impossible to agree.

  “I am completely without fear?” I echoed. “Good God. I assume you know the nature of my horrible months here. I have felt fear every day, practically every moment.”

  “Only a fool would be unafraid in your recent situations,” Hamish replied. “And you, sir, do not appear to be a fool. But I have heard the stories.”

  “The stories?”

  “You were arrested, for hours, clad completely in weapons. You never hesitate to walk into a gruesome murder scene. You face down MacDougal at every turn. And tonight, I witnessed true bravery, when you strong-armed my terrible cousin into making a much-needed advancement in his pathetic courtship. Not many men,” Hamish said, regarding me through another smoky exhale, “are able or willing to face down Ian. And no one possesses the ability to command him. No one save you, Purefoy.”

  Words failed me. How could I possibly respond? I took another pull on the cigar and then exhaled.

  “I think it is more accurate to say that I tend to speak my mind without thinking of the consequences,” I said. “I have also been told that I display my every thought in my expression. Hardly counts as bravery.”

  Hamish laughed. “Although both of those things are true, you cannot convince me of your lack of bravery. Only a brave man would work alongside my cousin. Oh! The idea of not consulting Ian in medical matters!” He sighed expressively. “To not have him involved! It is simply too much to hope for, Purefoy.”

  “I thought that Hyde was, ah, uninvolved with the Gentlemen,” I said, deciding it would be best to start there.

  “Of course he is uninvolved,” Hamish said after another smoky exhale. “We cannot work with him, for obvious reasons, but we still find it damnably necessary to consult him on various matters, from time to time.”

  “What obvious reasons?” I asked after taking a fortifying sip of brandy.

  Hamish grimaced. “You might have noticed my cousin’s dark moods. Purely a Trantham trait, and one that, unfortunately, has been dealt in spades to Ian.”

  “Dark moods keep Hyde from performing his medical duties?” I asked. The idea seemed fantastic. Hyde is nothing but serious when it comes to his work, and I have yet to notice any of his foul tempers getting in the way of research.

  “Occasionally they do,” Hamish admitted, his candor startling me.

  I realized that I had been expecting evasion, and yet here was a man apparently willing to discuss personal topics with regard to his own cousin. Hope shimmered to life within me. Had I finally found the Gentleman who could speak as candidly as I do?

  We sat in companionable silence for a moment, both smoking. I rallied my bravery and pressed on with my line of questioning.

  I decided to begin with Hyde.

  “Are these moods truly an affliction?” I asked. “Is there a cure?”

  “Ian has always been Ian,” Hamish replied. “Ever since we were children, he would become overtaken with what we call The Darkness. I know you have witnessed it, Purefoy. It is impossible to spend as much as ten minutes in his presence without being aware of his troubles. Even when he has his behaviors within his control, The Darkness is still there, a hidden beast, lurking just beneath his surface and begging to be released.”

  It was impossible to not shudder. Impossible to deny that I had, in fact, witnessed The Darkness on many occasions. A strange loyalty, however, made me bite back my agreement, and I remained silent.

  “The intense anger,” Hamish continued, thankfully not requiring a response. “The abject hatefulness. It permeates and infects everything around him, because it oozes out of his every pore. You can imagine my surprise to see you handling him with such fearlessness. I had heard rumor of it, but to witness it for myself!” He held up his glass in salute. “I admit, I held my breath, there at the table. I thought he was going to go for your throat, and probably he would have, if you were not the great and fearless Alistair Purefoy.”

  “You are mocking me,” I said, although his laughter was cheerful and without malice. “I have certainly noticed he is less cheerful at times, but—”

  “But as the only friend my pathetic little cousin has ever possessed, you appear impervious to his constant arrows,” Hamish interrupted. “Well held, Mr. Purefoy! Well held! The Merry Gentlemen have long searched for one with your credentials, with your utter lack of apprehension. It would have been a righteous shame if Ian Trantham had frightened you off.”

  “Trantham?” I echoed. “His surname is, indeed, Trantham?”

  Hamish laughed again. “Oh, I assure you that it is, sir, although there have been many times I know Simon would have liked to claim otherwise. Ian Hyde Trantham. He assumed the use of his middle name as a long-ago insult to his father, over some argument. Their mother was a MacBean, sister to my father.”

  “This explains much,” I said. I frowned with a sudden thought. “Trantham is, however, an English name.”

  “Their father is English. Their mother is Scottish.”

  “Then why does Hyde profess to hate all things English?” I exclaimed. “On our first meeting, he went into quite a bit of detail, shouting over the fact that I hail from London. And when he is half English himself . . .”

  “I warned you of The Darkness,” Hamish said, laughing. “There is little rhyme or reason with Hyde. No explanation can be provided for why he does anything. Which is why we simply cannot rely on him when it comes to Gentlemen business. Certainly, there is no physician finer, in all of Edinburgh or possibly even the world. Ian possesses an undeniably brilliant mind. His diagnosis and medical input is impeccable, but you can understand why we cannot and will not invite him into our business. Not that he would wish to be invited, do not misunderstand me. Hyde does not cooperate well with others, and undeniably, others do not cooperate well with him. You can imagine our surprise that he is willing to work alongside you, and continues to do so without dire consequences.”

  “He warned me that your business was dangerous,” I said, watching Hamish carefully over the rim of my brandy glass. “He said that any interest that was shown in me by the Gentlemen was of some concern.”

  “One could argue that working alongside Ian himself is dangerous,” Hamish countered. “You do not seem the sort, obviously, who avoids danger.”

  “I am committed to avoiding confusion,” I answered. I leaned down, and snuffing the cigar out against the hearth, I left it there to smolder. “Please. I am asking you, sir, to be honest with me. I have many questions that are in desperate need of answer.”

  “Of course,” Hamish said, his quick agreement so startling that, for a moment, my mind was completely and utterly devoid of so much as a sentence.

  Hamish laughed again, and I knew that, once more, my expression had betrayed me.

  “The Merry Gentlemen,” he said, once he had recovered himself enough to speak. “Maybe we should begin by your telling me what you know. Or what you wish to know about us.”

  “The Merry Gentlemen?” I echoed. “What sort of name is that?”

  “A private jest, the gist long forgotten, I am afraid.
But that is the name that my friends and I use for our business venture.”

  “Which is?”

  “We are private investigators,” Hamish said. “We occupy our spare time in conducting investigations as we see fit.”

  Hyde’s earlier warning sifted through my mind. His concern that I find myself their amusement, their hobby. I took a deep drink of brandy.

  “That seems a complicated hobby,” I said.

  “You of all people should understand the importance of protecting the innocent,” Hamish said, his voice a cheerful chiding. “Of avenging wrongs, even when justice appears impossible.”

  “That sounds a little more involved than investigation only,” I said.

  I felt amazed at my rudeness, at my seeming insistence on speaking frankly, and yet, it was as if a floodgate had been unleashed inside me. I do not know if it was the brandy loosening my tongue or if my insane questioning was a result of finally finding someone who was willing to speak on the matters that concern me.

  I felt a wild sense of regret that I might have overstepped my bounds, and would cause Hamish to cease conversation entirely. The truth is, after my tremendous fright at the station, I find myself simply unwilling to move forward when confusion is my primary emotion. This is probably a very bad personality trait for me to assume, considering that my entire livelihood is currently hinged upon the goodwill of these men. But I find I cannot behave otherwise, no matter the consequence.

  To my relief, Hamish smiled. He stood then, and moving to the sideboard, he refreshed his brandy. Bringing over the decanter, he did the same for my own glass, which I took to mean that I had not caused offense.

  “We do, upon occasion, see fit to administer justice, when it has been significantly ignored.” He resumed his chair and then took a thoughtful puff of cigar. “You might have noticed that the Edinburgh police system is not as interested in the protection of its citizens as one might like.”