Affair

Two

"Why are you afraid Kathleen?'

Kershielee paused to look at the tray of eggs on the sideboard. "Mr. St. Ives seems to be what you wanted. A man-of-affairs who doesn't seem to attract attention to himself when he goes about to his duties. He also seems to be in excellent physical condition. Not so tall, as one may wish, but quite broad and solid looking about the shoulders. I think he will serve nicely as a bodyguard should such a necessity arise."

"I thought him sufficiently tall." Kathleen wondered morosely why she felt compelled to defend Edgar'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."

Kershielee grinned. "That is because you are short. In a most attractive fashion, of course."

Kathleen grimmaced. "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, Kathleen thought with a rush of sisterly pride. After all, she reminded herself, she had been responsible for Kershielee since the death of their mother.

And Kershielee had turned out wonderfully well, Kathleen decided. She was a beautiful young lady in nineteen. Fair haired, blue eyed, and blessed with classical features and, yes, striking stature, she was the living image of their mother.

Kathleen had many regrets and doubts in the course of these past few years. She had been all too well aware that she can never make up for what had been lost. Kershielee was only eleven when their father had died. She had been barely thirteen when they had lost their beautiful, vivacious mother. Then Melchor had destroyed the inheritance that would have allowed Kershielee freedom of choice in so many things, including marriage.

One of Kathleen's greatest regrets was that she had been unable to give her sister a Season. With her looks and poise and the education she received from their beautiful mother and that Kathleen had continued, Kershielee would have been a smashing success.

What's more, she thought her sister would have thoroughly enjoyed the opera and theater and the excitement of balls and soirees. She had inherited their parent's love for entertainment. She should have had the chance to meet people who should have been her social equals. She should have had the opportunity to dance the waltz with a handsome young men.

Kathleen pulled herself together to the recent problem on her hand.

She forced to do what she always did when thoughts of the past threatened to lower her spirit. She concentrated on the future. And right now that future includes Mr. St. Ives.

"I wish I could feel certain about Mr. St. Ives as you do." Kathleen 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." Kershielee said.

Kathleen sighed. It was now only clear that she is the only one in the household who sensed that there was a great deal more to Edgar St. Ives that meet the eye. Yesterday, Kershielee and Mrs. Witty, the housekeeper, had both been satisfied with Mr. Marcle's replacement. Those two were so convinced that Kathleen had almost begun to doubt her own instinctive wariness.

He claimed to have 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 of the mystical secrets of the Philosopher's Stone. She could envision him concocting experiments that could enable him to turn lead into gold.

Intense intelligence, determination and a will of iron burned in the amber depths of his eyes. She sensed something else in him too. She required a man-of-affairs who would take orders without any argument, not one who would demand constant explanations and justifications. At best, Edgar would prove difficult to handle.

"Cheer up." Kershielee said. "I'm quite stodgy old Marcle would not have sent Mr. St. Ives if he's not suitably qualified."

Kathleen watched ask 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 contemplate the cup of coffee in front of her.

“ I don’t know, Kershielee. I just don’t know.”

“ Really Kathleen, this mood of gloom is really not you. You are usually more enthusiastic in the mornings.”

“I did not sleep well last night.”

That was not the half of it, Kathleen thought. In truth she had barely slept at all. She tossed and turned for hours, caught in the grip of a deeply troubled sense of unease. Kershielee was right, her mood was indeed dark this morning.

“Have you phone Mr St. Ives precise while you are in need of a bodyguard?” Kershielee asked.

“Not yet. I instructed him to return this afternoon so that I could explain the exact nature of his duties.”

Kershielee’s eyes widened. “You mean he has no notion why you have employed him?”

“No.”

The truth was, she had needed time to think about the situation. Taking on the enigmatic Mr. St. Ives was the right course of action. There was a great deal at stake. But the more contemplation to the matter, the fewer alternatives Kathleen perceived.

She was, in fact, quite desperate.

Edgar was in his laboratory unpacking a new shipment glassware that has been designed his exacting specifications when the knock came on the door.

“ What is it Lambert?” he removed a gleaming new resort from the box and held it up to the light to admire it. “I am occupied by the moment.”

The door opened.

Edgar reluctantly put down the retort and looked down at Lambert. His butler had a pained expression on his pinched face but that was nothing new. Lambert always looked pained. He was 66 of his age, well past the time when most men in his position retired with their pensions.

The years have taken their toll. He suffered greatly from painful joints. His hands are swollen and his movements had been slower in these past years.