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Whenever Nicholas Soames pictured his conscience, he saw a thin, stoop-shouldered man with small round glasses, tufts of gray hair sprouting at the sides of his head, and tightly pursed lips.

The man was sitting at a tall clerk’s desk, poring over a thick ledger that contained all of Nick’s wrongdoings.

Nick saw him now. This is a most perfidious deception, Nicholas Soames, he was saying, wagging a bony finger . A vile duplicity .

“Get stuffed, old boy,” Nick told him.

A job needed to be done. Honesty and forthrightness had not accomplished it, so now it was time to see what guile and trickery could do.

A small brass bell tinkled as Nick entered the premises of Thomas M. McTaggart—Painter and Wallpaperer. It was Monday afternoon, and he was hoping to catch McTaggart before he closed for the day.

McTaggart, he soon saw, was all the way at the back of his shop, cleaning brushes in a metal sink.

“Good afternoon, sir!” Nick called to him, fording his way through rolls of wallpaper, bags of paste, and cans of paint .

McTaggart shut off the water and turned around, wiping his hands on his paint-splotched coveralls. “Good afternoon, Mr. Soames. What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I was wondering…could you possibly come paint the shop on Wednesday night instead of tomorrow?”

“But your missus told me to come on Tuesday. She was very clear about it.”

Nick gave the man his most ingratiating smile. “Yes, I know. But there’s been a slight change of plan, you see, and now we need you to come on Wednesday instead.”

McTaggart frowned. He pushed his white cap up and scratched his head.

“Of course, you will be compensated for the inconvenience,” Nick hastily added.

McTaggart grudgingly agreed to Nick’s request, and Nick thanked him. His next stop was Finnegan’s Grocery itself. When he arrived there, he paused at the door for a few seconds to steady himself. He needed to be at his most convincing for this, the next part of his plan.

“Hello, Mary,” he said as he breezed inside. “How are you today?”

Mary’s face broke into a smile when she saw him. “Nicholas! What a lovely surprise! I haven’t seen you for days. What brings you here?”

“I had a meeting nearby,” Nick said lightly. “I finished early and remembered that Fiona asked me to pick up some coffee. Could I get a pound, please?”

“Of course you can. I’ve bags weighed out and ready to go. Let me wrap up a few molasses cookies for Seamie, too. They’re his favorite. ”

“Did you hear about our culinary catastrophe last Saturday?” Nick asked.

“Alec mentioned it, yes,” Mary said, as she handed him his coffee. “It does sound like Fiona tried very hard, though.”

“Yes, she did,” Nick allowed. “And how did your evening go? You went to a sing-a-long, didn’t you? Did you have a nice time?”

“Oh, I had a lovely time,” Mary replied.

Nick’s eyes flicked to Mary’s left hand as she wrapped Seamie’s cookies. It was bare.

Fiona was right. Mary had accepted Milton Duffery’s proposal out of resignation, not love. The realization emboldened Nick. What he was doing…it was a bit more than meddling, if he was being perfectly honest with himself, but it was still the right thing to do. Absolutely.

Mary handed him his goods. He thanked her and asked if Michael was in.

“Yes, I heard him go upstairs a little while ago,” Mary replied. “He’s been out all day. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of him.”

He’s avoiding her , Nick thought. He doesn’t want to see Milton Duffery’s ring on her finger.

“Glad he’s in,” he said. “Need to ask him something.” He started to walk through the doorway between the shop and the building’s vestibule, then suddenly turned around, snapped his fingers, and said, “Oh! I nearly forgot. Fiona asked me to remind you that the painters are coming Tuesday evening…that's tomorrow, isn’t it?…at five-thirty.”

“Yes, I know,” Mary said. “She told me several times. ”

“Well, you know how she is. Likes to double-check things,” Nick said with a stagey chuckle. “But you’ll be here to let them in?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll close at five, and then I have to run upstairs and start the supper, but I can easily be back downstairs by five-thirty.”

“Perfect!” Nick said. “Thank you, Mary.”

And then he was bounding up the stairs to Michael’s flat. “Hello? Anyone home?” he called out cheerily, as he pushed the door open.

“In here!” Michael called back.

Nick followed the sound of Michael’s voice and found him sitting at the kitchen table, hunched over invoices.

At the sight of him, Nick’s smile faltered.

Tall and well-built, Michael always seemed to fill up any room he was in.

But today he looked thinner, the lines in his face deeper, his eyes duller, as if something vital had drained out of him.

Something has , Nick thought sorrowfully, but then he reminded himself that he had a job to do, and propped his smile back up.

“Where’s our darling Nell?” he asked.

“In the yard with Alec,” Michael replied. “What can I do for you?”

“I need a favor,” Nick said, sitting down in the chair next to Michael’s. “I was supposed to give McTaggart the remainder of his payment. But I missed him just now. His shop’s locked up,” he fibbed, pulling an envelope from his breast pocket. “He’s coming tomorrow…Tuesday.”

“Aye, lad. I do know my days of the week. ”

“It never hurts to clarify,” Nick said. “Would you mind meeting him downstairs and giving this to him? At five-thirty?”

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Michael replied. “I have a meeting with my estate agent, but it finishes at five. I should be back in plenty of time.”

“Wonderful! You’ve saved my bacon,” Nick said. He slapped the envelope down on the table, nattered on about the weather, then took his leave.

As he strode east toward his home on Gramercy Park, he couldn’t suppress a smug grin.

Michael and Mary weren’t the only ones who would be at the shop tomorrow.

He would be, too. Not actually in the shop itself, but very close by.

In Whelan’s, at a table by the window, enjoying a cup of coffee and a big piece of Mrs. Whelan’s delicious apple cake.

From that vantage point, he’d be able to see into the window of Finnegan’s Grocery and watch his plan unfold.

He knew everyone’s schedule. Ian played baseball with his team in a nearby ballfield on Tuesday afternoons.

Alec took Nell there in the pram to watch him.

Seamie had his fencing lessons, and Fiona accompanied him.

Nobody would be around to throw a spanner into his carefully calibrated works.

And when Michael and Mary found themselves alone together in the shop, without the noise and commotion that always seemed to attend life at 164 Eighth Avenue, they would at last be able to talk.

Michael had given up. So had Mary. Even Fiona was resigned to the Duffery’s triumph. But he, Nicholas, would persevere and save the day.

“It’s a bold plan, old boy, and a brilliant one,” Nick said to himself. “Tomorrow evening, the pudding will be sent packing and true love will triumph. What could possibly go wrong?”