*
THE ARGYLL ROOMS were the most popular place of entertainment in London, but Hugh had never been there. It would never have occurred to Hugh to visit such a place: although not actually a brothel, it had a low reputation. However, a few days after Florence Stalworthy finally rejected him, Edward casually invited him to join him and Micky for an evening’s debauchery, and he accepted.
Hugh did not spend much time with his cousin. Edward had always been spoiled rotten, a bully and a slacker who got others to do his work. Hugh had long ago been cast in the role of black sheep of the family, following in his father’s footsteps. Edward and he had little in common. But despite that Hugh decided to try the pleasures of dissipation. Low dives and loose women were a way of life for thousands of upper-class Englishmen. Perhaps they knew best: perhaps this, rather than true love, was the way to happiness.
In fact he was not sure whether he had truly been in love with Florence. He was angry that her parents had turned her against him, even more so because the reason was a wicked falsehood about his father. But he found, somewhat shamefully, that he was not heartbroken. He thought about Florence often, but nevertheless he continued to sleep well, eat heartily, and concentrate on his work without difficulty. Did that mean he had never loved her? The girl he liked best in the whole world, apart from his six-year-old sister Dotty, was Rachel Bodwin, and he had toyed with the idea of marrying her Was that love? He did not know. Perhaps he was too young to understand love. Or perhaps it simply had not happened to him yet.
The Argyll Rooms were next door to a church in Great Windmill Street, just off Piccadilly Circus. Edward paid a shilling admission for each of them and they went inside. They wore evening dress: black tailcoats with silk lapels, black trousers with silk braid, low-cut white waistcoats, white shirts and white bow ties. Edward’s suit was new and expensive; Micky’s rather cheaper, but fashionably cut; and Hugh’s had belonged to his father.
The ballroom was an extravagantly gas-lit arena, with huge gilt mirrors intensifying the brilliant light. The dance floor was crowded with couples, and behind an elaborate gold trelliswork screen a half-concealed orchestra was playing a vigorous polka. Some of the men wore evening dress, a sign that they were upper-class people going slumming; but most wore respectable black daytime suits, identifying them as clerks and small businessmen.
Above the ballroom was a shadowed gallery. Edward pointed to it and said to Hugh: “If you make friends with a dollymop, you can pay another shilling and take her up there: plush seats, dim lights, and blind waiters.”
Hugh felt dazzled, not just by the lights but by the possibilities. All around him were girls who had come here for the sole purpose of flirting! Some were with boyfriends but others had come alone, intending to dance with total strangers. And they were all dressed up to the nines, in evening gowns with bustles, many of them cut very low at the neckline, and the most amazing hats. But he noticed that on the dance floor they all modestly wore their cloaks. And Micky and Edward had assured him that they were not prostitutes but ordinary girls, shop assistants and parlormaids and dressmakers.
“How do you meet them?” Hugh asked. “Surely you don’t just accost them like streetwalkers?”
Edward answered him by pointing to a tall, distinguished-looking man in white tie and tails, who wore some kind of badge and appeared to be supervising the dancing. “That’s the master of ceremonies. He’ll effect an introduction, if you tip him.”
