The Curious Steambox Affair by Melissa Macgregor Page B

hands-on capacity. As much as I love the written word (and truly, my dear Miss E., I do), I also enjoy a more active science. I can only assume that this is further study into our quest for the consumption cure, although I am at a complete loss as to why a dead body would be needed, considering most of the remedies I have been cataloguing involve living, breathing people. Still, it is Hyde so I have grown accustomed to the absurd.
    The angry group arranged outside our office door was absurd in its own way. Too many days spent with my conversational attempts ignored did not endear any of them to me. I can hardly see why I should succumb to their demands now. Even if I agreed with their indignation, I should hardly behave in accordance with their wishes.
    I am obstinate, I fear, upon occasion. I hope that does not trouble you. I like to think that I am slow to form an opinion about a person’s character. I endeavor to provide ample opportunity for someone to reveal his true nature, without prejudicing him with my own thoughts. But, unfortunately, once my good opinion is lost, I find that it is almost impossible to regain it. I am sure that it is a terrible shortcoming, but I find no help for the matter at all.
    I very resolutely shut the door against the rabble, and took care to lose myself in my usual morning routine. The noise of complaint could be heard quite clearly though the door’s inset pane of frosted glass. Under more normal circumstances, I would never have behaved so rudely, but I felt assured that Hyde’s notorious temperament would be a strange ally in this matter. He could hardly blame me for ignoring them, and I think he would have taken a perverse pleasure in witnessing my rudeness, if he had bothered to present himself at a timely morning hour.
    How Edinburgh has changed me!
    My disappointment, then, at finding the office cadaver-less was . . .
    I break, my Miss E. It seems Hyde has returned to the office tonight.
    Forgive me for my strange, broken thoughts, but Hyde has come back unexpectedly. At first, he was viciously adamant that I was still here involved in some strange sabotage of his office. I apologized profusely, and was quite horrified to notice the lateness of the hour. Twilight is long gone. I can hardly blame him for being suspicious (which he is, by nature, anyway). I quite lost myself in my letter to you, and I hurried to tell him that I was, still, untouched and uninterested in any of the so-called factions of the Doctoral Council. There is no sabotage, and I invited him to take a cursory tour of the office, to reassure himself that all was as it should be. He did so, and appeared to satisfy himself that I had not strayed from my worktable and chair. His anger receded when it became apparent that I had not betrayed him and his research.
    I was bold enough to chastise him for even suggesting that I would be in league with those abominable people who had shouted insults beyond the door this morning. I had neglected to tell Hyde of the event at all, being so lost in my research. I then regaled him with the details of the terrible morning. He laughed, which was a surprise, and was keenly interested in my diatribe against all things Council related.
    I then spoke of you. I showed him your letter (rest assured, I did not show him its contents) and explained that I was merely enjoying the peace and tranquility as an opportunity to write a response. I said that, had he paid any attention at all during the day, he would have noticed that I had taken several moments to reread bits of your letter, when not occupied with my research. Hyde snidely replied that I had taken more than several moments, and that he certainly noticed that my mood had improved considerably after such readings.
    Bad tone aside, Hyde was convinced of my innocence. He insisted that I finish my letter. He asked me a great many questions about you, and I feel sure you would have blushed beneath the mountain of