The slave immediately walked away from Lady Ashworth. Stupid woman, thought Calvin. I never thought she’d be here, I need to know where she is. Don’t they teach common civility to folks in Camelot? Or maybe she’s so high up in the King’s court that she didn’t need to show decent manners to common folk.

Well, thought Calvin, let’s see what your manners turn into when I’m through with you.

He could see the slave’s slow-moving heartfire on the back stairs. Calvin walked into the house and found the front stairs, then bounded lightly up to the next floor. The family entertained on this level and the large ballroom had three large French doors opening onto the gallery, where Lady Ashworth was studying a plant, pruning shears in hand.

“That plant needs no pruning,” said Calvin, putting on the sophisticated English voice he had learned in London.

Lady Ashworth turned toward him in shock. “I beg your pardon. You were not admitted here.”

“The doors were open. I heard you tell your servant to send me away. But I could not bear to leave without having seen a lady of such legendary grace and beauty.”

“Your compliments disgust me,” she said, her cavalier drawl lengthening with the fervor of her opinion. “I have no patience with dandies, and as for trespassers, I generally have them killed.”

“There’s no need to have me killed. Your contemptuous gaze has already stopped my heart from beating.”

“Oh, I see, you’re not flattering me, you’re mocking me. Don’t you know this house is full of servants? I’ll have you thrown out.”

“Blacks lay hands on a White man?”

“We always use our servants to take out the trash.”

The banter was not engaging even a tiny fraction of Calvin’s attention. Instead he was using his doodlebug to explore Lady Ashworth’s body. In his peregrinations with Honoré de Balzac, Calvin had watched the Frenchman seduce several dozen women of every social class, and because Calvin was a scientist at heart, he had used his doodlebug to note the changes in a woman’s body as her lust was aroused. There were tiny organs where certain juices were made and released into the blood. It was hard to find them, but once found, they could easily be stimulated. In moments, Calvin had three different glands secreting rather strong doses of the juices of desire, and now it was his eyes, not just his doodlebug, that could see the transformation in Lady Ashworth. Her eyes grew heavy-lidded, her manner more aloof, her voice huskier.

“Compared to your grace and beauty I am trash and nothing more,” Calvin said. “But I am your trash, my lady, to do with as you will. Discard me and I will cease to exist. Save me and I will become whatever you want me to be. A jewel to wear upon your bosom. A fan behind which your beauty may continue unobserved. Or perhaps the glove in which your hand may stay clean and warm.”