Page 19 of The Butler and the Bluestocking
“Yes, I must have my hat, and my coat for that matter. The evening is chilly this time of year.” He rushed to the bedchamber connecting to the far side of the sitting room.
“Brother what are you about?” James called to Mal through the bedchamber door.
Hat and cloak in hand, Mal reappeared from the bedroom, hurried through the sitting room, and flung wide the door into the corridor beyond.
“Mal?”
He paused on the threshold. “I intend to give Bess her heart’s desire.” Then he was gone.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” James whispered to the air. “Women are mysterious creatures, and I’ve yet to meet a man who guessed correctly as to what even one woman wanted.”
Mal hurried down the stairs to the lobby. “I need a hackney,” he shouted to the room at large.
The person behind the innkeeper’s desk waved over one of the porters who approached Mal. He told the man what he needed as they rushed outside. Within minutes, he was ensconced in a hackney, heading toward York’s neighborhood of neat middle-class homes.
As the driver pulled up. Mal leapt out and tossed a coin to him. “Two more of those if you’ll wait for me.”
The man tipped his hat. “Aye, sur, I be waitin’.”
Mal rushed up the steps of a townhouse and hammered on the door.
A butler opened up, frowning in displeasure. “Master Nedhelm is at dinner, sir. He asks that you return tomorrow during calling hours.”
Mal shoved his hat into the butler’s hands and brushed past him. “I’m very sorry, but I need to speak with Mr. Nedhelm now!”
“Corwin, what is all this fuss? I told you to tell . . .” The white-haired gentleman who stepped from what was probably the dining room, pulled a serviette from where he’d tucked it in his neckcloth. “Is that you, Marr?”
“Yes, indeed, Nedhelm. I regret having to disturb your supper in so unseemly a manner, but I have urgent need of your help.”
Nedhelm peered beyond Mal. to his butler. “Close the door. We need not announce our business to the entire street.”
The butler closed the door. “Yes sir. I’m sorry sir.”
Nedhelm waved him off. “Go see if cook has the syllabub ready to serve. Will you join me for dessert, Marr? Cook’s syllabub really is quite good. I’ve an excellent port for afterwards.”
Nedhelm was turning back toward the dining room.
“Thank you,” replied Malcolm. He could wait through dessert and port to make his request. A couple of glasses of port might make Nedhelm more amenable to what Mal had in mind.
Soon, they were seated at the table with a dish of syllabub each, and the maid who had brought it in closed the door as she left.
“What is so urgent that you must interrupt a man at table?” asked Nedhelm.
Mal swallowed his mouthful of the sweet cream laced with white wine and a hint of lemon. All right, he wouldn’t wait. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Anything, my dear man. I owe you for your help identifying the provenance of those Roman artifacts found last year.” He popped a spoonful of the dessert into his mouth.
“I had planned to wait until we were at our port, because once you hear what I ask of you, you may not be quite so amenable.” Mal pushed his plate a way. The syllabub was good, but a tad too sweet for his tastes.
“Nonsense, Marr.” Nedhelm gobbled another spoonful. “I cannot imagine anything you would ask that I would refuse.”
“I need you to send an invitation to a fellow scholar to speak at the antiquarian society meeting next week. Probably the last day, April twenty-fifth, would be best to allow preparation time.”
“But our speaker slate is full. The program has already been sent to the printer.”
“We could have announcement cards printed then inserted into the program, and the additional speaker could be announced as a surprise benefit for attendees only.”
“You want to add a last-minute speaker for a closed session of the meeting? Who is this paragon of scholarship?”
