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to get Peachey to cool
down and even longer to have him see the comic side of Uncle
Seamus’s prank. Robert was never far from a bowl of macaroons. Some
wags at court referred to the firm as Macaroon and Sullivan. That
its seal, its “coat of arms,” should include the macaroon could
well be seen as both fitting and funny.
    “That’s all very well, Marc, but we’ve got a
business to run. While the two Roberts are off playing politics,
it’s me here and you in court who keep the firm solvent. Tell
Seamus Baldwin for me that I don’t intend to let any frivolous
prankster loose in here amongst my papers and files. I do have a
sense of humour, but it has no place in a law office!”
    That may be the most appropriate place for
it , was Marc’s thought, but he said, “I just heard Robert go
down to his chamber. Uncle Seamus may be with him. I’ll sort this
matter out right now.”
    Marc left Peachey picking macaroon shards off
the company seal and started down towards Robert’s office.
    “What the Sam hell!” It was Robert, his voice
raised to an unaccustomed level. He never swore, but was obviously
coming close to doing so.
    Robert’s outcry was followed by a huge
guffaw.
    Marc stepped into the room to find Robert
with his wooden macaroon bowl clinging, it appeared, to all five of
the outstretched fingers of his left hand.
    “Gotcha!” Uncle Seamus roared, and clapped
his hands to his belly. The old gentleman was impeccably turned out
in his finest suit. Extra pomade and a centre-part had brought his
sheaf of grey-white hair close to respectability. His boots had
been polished till they bled. But nothing could really be done to
disguise the gnome’s body or the impish dance of his blue eyes. The
deep wrinkles of his troll-like features were contorted now into a
most unlawyerly grin.
    “Molasses!” Robert sputtered at Marc. “He’s
stuck my macaroons to the bowl and poured molasses around them!
They’re ruined!”
    “It’s just a jest,” Uncle Seamus said when
his laughter had subsided somewhat. “How many times have I seen you
reach into your bowl blindly with your left hand? The temptation
was just too great, nephew. You’ll have to excuse an old man’s
fancy, eh?”
    “I’ll have one of the girls bring you a towel
and some water,” Marc said.
    “Thanks, Marc. Otherwise I’d have to go next
door and clean up.”
    “ You can see the humour of it, can’t
you, Edwards?”
    Marc could, but felt it impolitic to say
so.
    “Was that a cry of woe and despair I heard
coming from Solicitor Peachey’s abode?” Uncle Seamus said, the
impish grin unfaded.
    “I’m afraid that Clement did not see the
humour in the defacement of his seal,” Marc said.
    “Good grief, Uncle, what have you done to
Peachey?”
    “More macaroons, I’m afraid,” Marc said.
    “Spare me the details.” Robert looked up
severely at Uncle Seamus. “You promised father you’d behave,” he
said as if he were speaking to a mischievous child. “We do need
your expertise in Clement’s office, you know. And your
experience.”
    “Ah, don’t fret, Robbie. ‘Tis only the first
day. I thought I’d introduce myself with a parlour trick or two.
And you’ve got to admit, I pulled them off splendidly.”
    “I’d better be careful where I put my
fingers,” Marc said, letting his amusement show.
    Uncle Seamus laughed, “I never repeat myself,
lad.”
    “I want you to promise, Uncle, that there
will be no repeats of any sort.”
    “I don’t make promises I can’t keep. But I
did promise to shoulder my weight in here, and I shall.”
    “That’s all I can ask of you, then,” Robert
said. Having removed the bowl from his fingertips, he was now
holding his sticky digits aloft and brushing the air with them.
    “I’ll escort you down to meet Mr. Peachey,”
Marc said. “You may need my protection.”
    “I heard you were once a dashing young
soldier,” Uncle Seamus said, “so I’ll feel more than safe with you
at my