Convergence
an excerpt

Walter Botham had a hole in his waistcoat right above a rather intricate bit of embroidery. The hole was big enough for his index finger to fit, but too small for his thumb. Either moths had been in the wardrobe again or Mrs Talbot had been overzealous with her laundry procedure. Walter guessed the former because his plump housemaid was, and always had been, meticulous with her washing, which is why she made such a lovely addition to his staff.

The thought that insects had been in amongst his clothing made Walter shudder with disdain. Fleas, ticks and lice were the sole reason that he, a rather prominent merchant in Falmouth, did not commit himself to the fashion of the day with greased, powdered wigs. The idea that something could be crawling across his scalp made him twitch.

Thus he did not allow such fashion to cross his threshold. Instead he merely lashed back his hair with a piece of cord. There it would remain for a day or so until he felt the overwhelming urge to scrub it clean.

Ignoring the stench outside, the unwashed masses of people who worked for him at the docks or the rotten bilge that collected in the depths of his ships was one thing, but Walter could not abide filth in his own home and the people who worked in the household understood that. There were no lectures on the dangers of bathing and how it could very well cause pneumonia or something worse.

It was this mad obsession with washing that lead to Walter being one of the only person in his circle of friends that had not yet lost most of his teeth, which, at the age of thirty-six, was quite the feat indeed.