The Curious Steambox Affair by Melissa Macgregor

the idea. (He remained silent, which I know to be his form of acceptance.) I was also given a bottle of brandy to bring home with me, to ward off the chill, which will be greatly appreciated in the nights to come.
    The other interesting bit I learned tonight is that Miss Whitcomb is interviewing one of the girls in my boarding house. One of the horrible MacIntoshes is, apparently, in need of work, and possesses such skills that can be utilized as lady’s maid. She asked my opinion of the girl, but since I have not made acquaintance, I said that I did not have one, but (and here, you must forgive my lie) I did say that the family seemed fine and quality, and that I felt sure that the girl would be worth speaking with on the matter.
    I sincerely hope that you do not take offense at my falsehood. I very rarely lie at all, and I consider myself an honest person. But Hyde was watching me with his strange eyes, his expression expectant. And I decided, then and there, that the MacIntoshes, for all of their annoying and loud habits, were people in need. They were not of the Upper Merchant sort. They, like me, have temporary lodgings. For all I knew, they were awaiting just such an opportunity, and far be it from me to stop it.
    And so, I lied. I vouched for a truly annoying family who possesses poor manners. But Hyde grinned, which was almost as alarming as the falsehood itself.
    I can hear the return of the terrible threesome, back from their night gallivanting around Auld Toon. Mr. Beatie is singing a completely off-key ditty, which means that I must retire for the evening, and hope that a pillow placed against my ear will drown out the horrific sound of his voice.
    Regards.

Chapter Six
    September 17
    Theatre office, Hyde
    My dear Miss Eugenia Campbell,
    I am in possession of your letter, which again pleased me greatly. You have no idea the brightness and light that your words convey in this cold, steam-soaked city. I received it late Friday, and by Monday morning the pages were creased and worn from my innumerable readings. You must know that your letters are the bright spot in an otherwise weary day. They are the only brightness, and I tuck them into my coat pocket, and allow myself the pleasure of rereading them whenever there is a still moment at the office.
    And to send a jar of marmalade! It is like orange gold, certainly worth as much. It and it alone has made breakfast at the boarding house bearable, and I am rationing myself quite strictly with it, to stave off the dreary day when it is gone.
    I am at the office late tonight. Hyde left nearly an hour ago, but I have been too immersed in research to leave at my usual hour. Now that I am finished for the night, I find myself loathe to set out into the chill.
    Instead, my mind is turned to the Highlands. It is focused there. I sit at my worktable, with the instruments cleared away, and write to you. I wonder what you are doing right at this moment. It is twilight out, and I know that sometimes you like to walk about the garden. Perhaps you are sitting before the fire in your father’s parlor. You might be reading a novel.
    If I might be so bold, Miss Eugenia, I would like you to know that tonight, my thoughts are centered very much on the Highlands. On you.
    It was an incredibly taxing day, far too much of it spent in a needless argument with MacDougal and his assistants. It seems that I have come to the bottom of the professional jealousy with regard to Hyde. All the animosity, or at least a very large part of it, stems from Hyde’s continual acquisition of cadavers. Forgive me if this is an indelicate topic, my dear Miss Eugenia, but I have faith in your capacity for tolerance, given your father’s profession. You know that cadavers are used for scientific study. You also know that the Crown is extremely protective of which physicians receive said cadavers and limits their number per year, so that objectively, all doctors are given fair chance at the new