“Oh yes, it was frightful. There was a theft, arson, and Lord Euan was left in a state of great anxiety.”
“Goodness that is shocking! I don’t know what the world is coming to!” I blustered.
“Indeed. I heard that a master thief stole the infamous Tipu Sultan’s tiger head ornament from right under Lord Euan’s nose! I don’t know who this fellow is but, my God, he’s got some stones, don’t you think!” He informed rather admiringly.
“Well, I am sure the police are on his tail. I will keep a lookout for the tiger head in case the vagabond tries to sell it within my circle of business contacts!” I reassured.
“Indeed, indeed, that is most wise.” Faraday agreed excitably, stroking his bearded chin. Then I heard the boisterous baying and shouting of the men debating passionately with the American. We both turned towards the din.
“Goodness is that Lawrence Blake?” Faraday ejaculated.
“Who?”
“He is a very famous American theosophist. I have heard his views are… rather challenging to the church. Some say he’s a theatrical illusionist who specializes in phantasmagoria; others believe that he really can contact the departed and conjure spirits.”
“Goodness!” I was quite appalled at the idea of spiritualism; however, Faraday looked hungrily over at the men debating with Blake and licked his lips in anticipation. It was clear he wanted to join the audience and listen in.
“I look forward to attending your first auction of the season, Mr. Hannan! Happy New Year!” Faraday said distractedly, he bowed and hurried across the room to join the debate with the infamous American.
I was intrigued by the information Faraday had imparted about Euan’s theft. This was indeed a curious twist. Sebastian told me that the tiger head ornament was counterfeit and he no longer had any interest in it. I believed it was sold to the French collector, Mr. Philippe. Did Euan tell the police that the tiger head was stolen, when in fact it was the phallic Staff of Asklepios or did Cavell take both objects? I supposed it would have made the new Lord Ardmillan quite the laughing stock to have an image of the phallic staff on the front pages of the national newspapers!
“Excuse me, sir.” The gravelly voice of the old servant, Mr. Johns, pulled me from my thoughts “Your guest has arrived”.
I looked up and set eyes on Cavell and all I can say is that it felt like time slowed and someone ignited a firework inside me. His eyes met mine and I felt I was illuminated from within. My chest tightened and even though I could have been going into cardiac arrest; I could not repress a smile.
“Ah, there you are Mr. Hannan, good evening!” The chirpy effeminate voice of Mr. Foxford Robins made me smile wider before I caught myself and realized that it was out of character for me to be so expressive. All here knew of my gruff, occasionally rude exterior.
“Thank you, my good man,” Cavell said to Johns palming him a coin as a tip.
I stood, all too aware of how my pulse had quickened with nerves and my face had heated as I observed Cavell in his finery. I pulled myself from my daze and gestured for my guest to sit on the chair opposite me. Sebastian was attired in a well-tailored black dinner suit with a white shirt and a flamboyant cravat. His waistcoat was hand-embroidered turquoise and gold. It was lovely and fitted his frame snugly.
“Glad you could make it Birdie, it’s quite the pea-souper out there tonight!” I said as we sat admiring one another, trying not to.
“Indeed. I was concerned my coachman would take me straight into the Thames!” He guffawed.
I noticed a few heads turn and beady eyes roamed over me and my guest. It was an unusual occurrence for me to entertain at the club. I dined alone or with club members and in the twenty years of membership I had not invited a non-member to dine with me.
“This is all so exciting.” Birdie said with youthful enthusiasm, his eyes twinkling. He turned and waved at the onlookers like a precocious child. I blanched and hoped Cavell had not set out to make us a spectacle.
“I’m very interested in the history of the building. Will you give me a tour after dinner?”
“Oh, of course. The Athenaeum has a fascinating, colourful history, an exquisite art collection, and no less than three libraries!” I informed, but before we could enter into a prolonged conversation Mr. Johns blessedly returned and relayed that our table in the dining room was ready.
My stomach twisted and knotted with nerves. I preferred to be inconspicuous and avoided becoming an exhibition at all cost, however, I was dining with a dashing younger man who appeared to turn heads wherever he went.
I felt stiff and awkward sitting in public with Sebastian; however, I tried to disguise my discomfiture. Gods, I should have known better than to agree to dine with him at my club. In hindsight, it was like inviting a wolf into the sheep's pen. I took a sip of red wine and apprehensively looked around at the parties of men who were also dining. I noted that there were politicians, aristocracy, and members of the establishment, all of whom who would be rich pickings for a light-fingered man like Cavell. What had I done introducing him to my place of safety?
The Coffee House restaurant had a set daily menu and so like boys in the refectory at school, we ate what we were given. A cluster of men laughed raucously and paranoia made my heart judder. I looked up and they glanced
