Chapter Five
The next daywas Christmas Eve. Mel slept late, but not as late as most of the brothers. She spent some time writing in her notebook, but she also played a game of chess with Lord Francis, listened to Donald reading aloud to an audience of her, Gerard, Hudson, and Zero the cat—who slept throughout. She also praised Cornelius’s painting, Ernest’s poem, and Jerome’s and Isaac’s performance of a nocturne that turned out to be by Jerome. In other words, she did her best to seem a non-threatening but trustworthy companion.
She helped the brothers decorate the tower with greenery and ribbons that appeared as if by magic, and they sang some Christmas carols while they worked.
As the afternoon progressed, she moved from one brother or group of brothers to another—stopping to chat—doing her best to be always friendly, charming, companionable.
By now, they had become accustomed to her seemingly innocent questions and her intent interest. No doubt the brothers were suspicious—she was, after all, being paid by the marquess to ferret out their secrets. But nonetheless, most of them, especially the younger ones, confided in Mel.
Nothing that touched on the tower’s secret hideaways and exits, or their work at the club. Nothing to trigger the intervention of the watchful Lord Kemble. But still, it was tellingthat they trusted her enough to tell her about their hopes, their dreams, and more.
For example, Lord Francis enthused about the beauty and intelligence of Lady Andromeda, though he did not say where he had met her. “I never expected to meet a lady who loved the stars as much as I do,” he said. “If only I could go to balls and other Society events, and court her as a gentleman should.”
Winifred’s interest is returned.But what prevented Lord Francis from courting his lady?
“Does the marquess not let you out for Society events?” Mel asked.
“Not I,” sighed Lord Francis. “Not Jerome either. Not since he lamed us.”
Lord Kemble interrupted. “He finds physical deformity embarrassing. Even when he caused it himself.”
“I suppose he thinks his sons are a reflection of himself,” Mel suggested. “Nothing but perfection will do. And yet he does not see the goodness within you, Lord Francis, nor the corruption and infirmity of his own soul.”
“I do not think the marquess believes in the existence of the soul,” Lord Kemble declared.
At dinner time, she pulled the same trick of substituting the bowl and mug. She dressed in a simple round gown—it and a soft cloth bonnet were the only items of women’s clothing she had with her—and lay down on the bed, the sheets pulled up over her in case one of the brothers came to check.
They didn’t, but she heard some of them talking as they passed her room and went down the stairs. Cautiously, she crept out to watch. Then, after the brothers left the tower, she picked up her warm cloak and made her own way down the tunnel, diverting to explore the two side tunnels she’d noticed the previous night.
The barred gate at the end of the first led to a courtyard beyond which was a quiet residential square lined with tidy townhouses. She was viewing the courtyard from a different angle, but she was reasonably certain that it was part of the grounds of the marquess’s mansion. All her skills at lock picking did not open the gate, and she did not want to be caught on the marquess’s ground, in any case.
The second tunnel let out into a seedy-looking alley with warehouses and tenement buildings as far as she could see through the sleet-striped dark, and tiny dingy shops at street level. Another barred gate was as impenetrable as the first. She was not getting through it without the key.
She had a long night ahead of her, and could waste no more time on lost causes. With the brothers no doubt somewhere out on the Thames, she did not have to be as cautious as when they were ahead of her in the tunnel. She and her lamp soon made it to the riverbank, where she found the waiting boatman. She apologized for not needing him this time, and paid him for his lost time, and another sum to wait for her on the other side at four in the morning.
“Wait for half an hour,” she instructed him. If she did not make it back to Southwark, she did not want him waiting all night.
With rising excitement, she hurried up the street from the riverbank to where the hackney that had taken her back to the tower last night waited as previously arranged. She had offered him the princely sum of ten shillings to be at her disposal from ten o’clock, with half paid up front, risking that he would not keep his promise, but hopeful that he’d turn out to get the other five shillings.
Or perhaps he was just an honest man. Either way, they were on their way to Marylebone, where Mel’s sister had her home, and where the keeper of Mel’s heart lived.
*
On Christmas Eve,the club was packed, and all the employees were near running to keep up with demand. Allan had to press Frank into service again, this time to manage one of the gaming tables.
“Jerome can spell you when Lady Andromeda wants you,” Allan told him.
Frank shook his head. “She will not be here tonight. She has a family thing. It’s fine, Allan. I can manage the table.”
Baldwin, Cornelius, and Donald were each engaged in a private session with a regular client for the night. Baldwin and Donald were single, but Allan was uncomfortable about Cornelius, who was a married man, even if he did not know where his wife was. When he raised the topic with Cornelius, though, he was firmly told to mind his own business. Which was fair enough. All three brothers were adults, and could make their own decisions.
Ernest and Gerard were also worrying Allan. They had both been available for private rooms when they first began working at the Golden Adonis, but recently they had asked to change duties.
Both had their eye on women employees of the club. Ernest and the club’s official hostess, Thalia, were smelling of April and May. Perhaps it would pass. If it did not, and if she was still available and interested when they were finally free, it might be possible. She was clearly a gentlewoman by birth, and after all, Ernest was unlikely to ever be marquess.
Gerard, though, was enamored of a girl known at the Golden Adonis as Aedas. She worked in the ladies’ retiring room, mending hems, pinning up curls, and otherwise repairing appearances. A lady’s maid, and one whose employment history had such a disreputable entry as the club, was hardly a fit matchfor a marquess’s son, even one eight steps from the title and without a penny to his name.
This was all on Allan’s mind as he took his turn on the dance floor, resolved a dispute in the gaming room, packed a very drunk baroness off home in her carriage, helped the substitute cashier fix a discrepancy in the cash box, sent for another crate of wine and ten dozen more oysters, and otherwise kept things running as smoothly as was possible on such a busy night.
