He’d started in the libraries and government offices, simply gathering as much data as he could on the former occupants of the house, who had been born there, who had worked there, who had died there. This was surprisingly difficult information to obtain: property records, tax records, and census reports accounted for some years and some classes, but in between census years it was very difficult find out who the servants had been, let alone what their lives there had been like. He’d come across the woman he was about to visit, one Magda Kay, in the 1840 census listed as a scullery maid.

The second boot came off, and he looked down at his watch. Twenty-three seconds! That was forty-six seconds per pair of boots. Assuming it would take approximately the same amount of time to lace them up—an assumption he only barely restrained himself from testing right then—and only one cycle per day, which was conservative, since there were plenty of days in which you’d need to take your shoes off in the middle of the day for some reason, that amounted to over four and a half hours a year. Sam blinked down at the offending boots and took out his notebook. Perhaps a device that did the lacing and unlacing for you … or perhaps it would be better to simply redesign the shoe itself.…

“Professor Moore?” the voice came from above him, a little hesitant.

“Hmm?”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but Mrs. Kay wondered whether you might like to come inside, it being so cold out here.”

Was it cold? Sam wiggled his sock-clad toes and realized they were slightly numb. “All right,” he said, pushing his muddy boots neatly to the side before standing.

The voice belonged to a young maid, her arms crossed over her chest as if to trap her remaining warmth. Realizing he was the reason she was standing out in the cold, he quickly ducked through the open door, smiling apologetically at her as he went. Her cheeks went a little pink, and she let out a small sigh, no doubt pleased to be back inside.

She led him to a room right off the narrow hall they’d entered, a sitting room so tidy it looked as though it were only barely tolerating human occupancy. A plump woman in her early fifties stood as he entered, smiling at him cheerfully.

“Professor Moore,” she said, her brown eyes sparkling up at him. “What an honor. I’ll be the queen of the neighborhood for the next six months.”

He grinned at her. “Mrs. Kay, if you’re not already the queen of your neighborhood, I’ll profess myself shocked.”

“Hah! A flirt, too. Sit, sit.” She waved him into a chair by the fire and turned to her maid. “Alice, we’ll have tea, the cookies as well.”