"This is the drawing room," he said.

"Such a shame to see it in this state," I whispered. Imagine the conversations those walls had been privy to over the years.

We headed past the ghostly furniture and through another door on the other side. It was empty. "This is the ballroom."

"It's magnificent." It was very long, but the dark wood paneling made it feel cozy. I could imagine elegantly dressed ladies and gentlemen dancing and chatting beneath the three enormous chandeliers, their jewels sparkling in the light.

"Have you ever held a ball here?"

"No."

"You should, if only to enjoy such a lovely room."

"I'll keep that in mind for when enjoying ballrooms becomes one of the ministry's primary aims."

We rejoined the corridor. It bent suddenly to the left then stopped at another, narrow staircase. "That leads to the attic and the servants' rooms," he said.

"Is that where Gus, Seth and Cook sleep?"

"Yes."

"Are they the only servants here?"

"Yes."

"But Seth and Gus are more guards than footmen."

He didn't say anything, and I suspected it was because I hadn't posed it as a question.

"You've not thought about employing some maids or a butler? Someone discreet?"

"No." He returned back the way we came and headed down the grand stairs to the ground floor. "You've already seen the dining room, library, and the parlor, which we use instead of the drawing room for visitors."

"Do you get visitors often?"

"Only committee members."

"What about your friends and family?"

He paused on the bottom step, his back to me. "You've also seen the service areas in that direction. Adjoining the dining room is the billiard room."

"Do you play?"

"There's no table."

"What an entertaining household this is. No tennis, no billiards, and no visitors."

"You're not here to be entertained."

"True. But I don't live here, nor am I staying long. You, Seth and Gus, however, need something to do in the evenings."

He indicated I should go first up the stairs. "I told you, they play cards. Most evening they spend with Cook."

"And you? How do you spend your evenings?"

"Reading. Writing correspondence and reports. Scientific experiments. Exercising. Thinking."

I stopped and he stopped beside me. "You mean all you do is work?"

"Sometimes I sleep." He continued past me.

I laughed. "That was a joke. Wasn't it?" I trotted after him. "Tell me you at least read for pleasure. You said you've read my book, so you must."

"On occasion. And yes, I have read your book."

My face heated. "I didn't mean it like that."

We returned to his rooms and I picked up the book. I finished it in the afternoon and spent another hour or so watching him as he mixed liquids together in little bottles and set them over a tiny gas burner. He took copious notes in a complicated scrawl that appeared to be some kind of code. It made no sense to me, but I liked watching the experiments and trying to guess what would happen. He answered my questions when I asked them, but mostly we didn't speak. It didn't feel in the least awkward or strained, and I began to like his quiet company. It made a nice change to the constant, inane chatter of the boys.