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Authors: Melissa Macgregor
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and in my sparse amount of spare time, I have begun to research everything I can on that topic. I have looked extensively at the Bible, making notes of any mention of the soul. I have delved into the world of academia, and am particularly fascinated by historyâs take on its existence.
I find myself wondering what Hyde has in mind with the Steambox. What does he wish to do with such power? As I said in my previous letter, the possibilities are endless. Is he political? Is he working on a war machine? Is that why he possesses unlimited freedom from the Crown?
These are the thoughts that keep me awake at night. These are the questions I ponder.
And as I have said, I am very good at observation. I have every faith that I will find my answers. Give me time, Miss Eugenia, and I will.
You also asked details of my fellow boarders. I suppose I should start with those whose quarters are closest to mine. It seems the Mitchells have chosen to bury the bachelors. All of the six rooms on my subterranean floor are occupied by unmarried men. The upper floors comprise the larger rooms, allegedly, and they are commandeered by families and suchlike. I must admit that I am extremely pleased to not be housed near them, since I can hear the caterwaul of continually colicky children every time I step foot into the dining hall.
I made an attempt to offer my services as a physicianâs assistant, offering to aid the ill children. My suggestion was met with harsh rebuke that I should return below stairs where I belonged. Charming family, the MacIntoshes.
And so, I obey. I return below stairs.
Mr. Stuart works in a nearby tavern, so his hours are the opposite of mine own. He seems nice enough when we pass in the hall, but I have yet to visit his place of employment, although he has invited me on several occasions.
Mr. Banbury is a fellow Englishman who has come north in search of work. He is employed at one of the steam mills. He is dour and unpleasant, which makes me match Hydeâs opinion that there is very little I like about the English.
I am smiling again, as I turn my attention to the remaining three on my floor. It is impossible to not write of them in the same breath. They are always together, and even when I am sitting in my room, with the door firmly shut, I can hear them bellowing and laughing among themselves as they return from a night in Auld Toon.
Mr. MacKay. Mr. Wallace. And Mr. Beatie.
They are a friendly bunch, far more pleasant than Banbury, although none of them possess Hydeâs mastery over whisky. They are usually inebriated, no matter what time I happen upon them, either in the early morning when I leave for the Theatre, or late at night when I return. At least they are cheerful. Mrs. Mitchell warned me that they have been forbidden to use candles in their rooms, lest they burn down their quarters again. I assume she is speaking only in jest, but I have been infinitely grateful that the three only use their rooms to sleep off another excessive evening. Their over-whiskied nature requires a collapse into a darkened room, which negates my worries over their misuse of fire.
The bookshop is settling down for the evening, so I must pack away my things and return home. I am intending to post this letter now, to have it possibly catch the late transport ship. I have brought several books home with me tonight, with the greatest of intentions to return to my search for the soul, but I am also eyeing Cooperâs novel. I fear I shall probably escape into the New World for a bit, at least for as long as my eyes will remain open.
But before I leave, let me tell you one good thing. Today was my sixth day working with Hyde, if you count the Sabbath, which I do. I have outlasted even the best of his previous assistants.
Not bad for an unintelligent butcher from London.
Regards.
Chapter Five
September 13
Mitchell Boarding House
Dear Miss Campbell,
I have had, quite possibly, the most extraordinary evening I
I find myself wondering what Hyde has in mind with the Steambox. What does he wish to do with such power? As I said in my previous letter, the possibilities are endless. Is he political? Is he working on a war machine? Is that why he possesses unlimited freedom from the Crown?
These are the thoughts that keep me awake at night. These are the questions I ponder.
And as I have said, I am very good at observation. I have every faith that I will find my answers. Give me time, Miss Eugenia, and I will.
You also asked details of my fellow boarders. I suppose I should start with those whose quarters are closest to mine. It seems the Mitchells have chosen to bury the bachelors. All of the six rooms on my subterranean floor are occupied by unmarried men. The upper floors comprise the larger rooms, allegedly, and they are commandeered by families and suchlike. I must admit that I am extremely pleased to not be housed near them, since I can hear the caterwaul of continually colicky children every time I step foot into the dining hall.
I made an attempt to offer my services as a physicianâs assistant, offering to aid the ill children. My suggestion was met with harsh rebuke that I should return below stairs where I belonged. Charming family, the MacIntoshes.
And so, I obey. I return below stairs.
Mr. Stuart works in a nearby tavern, so his hours are the opposite of mine own. He seems nice enough when we pass in the hall, but I have yet to visit his place of employment, although he has invited me on several occasions.
Mr. Banbury is a fellow Englishman who has come north in search of work. He is employed at one of the steam mills. He is dour and unpleasant, which makes me match Hydeâs opinion that there is very little I like about the English.
I am smiling again, as I turn my attention to the remaining three on my floor. It is impossible to not write of them in the same breath. They are always together, and even when I am sitting in my room, with the door firmly shut, I can hear them bellowing and laughing among themselves as they return from a night in Auld Toon.
Mr. MacKay. Mr. Wallace. And Mr. Beatie.
They are a friendly bunch, far more pleasant than Banbury, although none of them possess Hydeâs mastery over whisky. They are usually inebriated, no matter what time I happen upon them, either in the early morning when I leave for the Theatre, or late at night when I return. At least they are cheerful. Mrs. Mitchell warned me that they have been forbidden to use candles in their rooms, lest they burn down their quarters again. I assume she is speaking only in jest, but I have been infinitely grateful that the three only use their rooms to sleep off another excessive evening. Their over-whiskied nature requires a collapse into a darkened room, which negates my worries over their misuse of fire.
The bookshop is settling down for the evening, so I must pack away my things and return home. I am intending to post this letter now, to have it possibly catch the late transport ship. I have brought several books home with me tonight, with the greatest of intentions to return to my search for the soul, but I am also eyeing Cooperâs novel. I fear I shall probably escape into the New World for a bit, at least for as long as my eyes will remain open.
But before I leave, let me tell you one good thing. Today was my sixth day working with Hyde, if you count the Sabbath, which I do. I have outlasted even the best of his previous assistants.
Not bad for an unintelligent butcher from London.
Regards.
Chapter Five
September 13
Mitchell Boarding House
Dear Miss Campbell,
I have had, quite possibly, the most extraordinary evening I
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