Eating the meal calmed my anxiety, but I could not stop myself from sending furtive looks at Sebastian as he sat across from me. He was picking at his dinner like a bird eating crumbs.
“Is the dinner not to your liking?” I asked between mouthfuls.
“It is very good fare, but my appetite seems to have escaped me,” Cavell said, his manner no longer so chipper. He did not eat very much of the meal, and I wondered if the fact that his quarry was dining behind him made the man feel unsettled.
“Look, at least you know the boy is alive and well and he seems to have fallen in with some men of means.”
“Yes,” Cavell said sullenly. “But that is indeed the problem!”
Finishing my meal, I placed the cutlery neatly on my plate, and then I did not know where to look or what to do with my hands. I reached into my pocket and drew out the small red book. I found at times of fretfulness I needed something to touch, and since I no longer had my silver cross, holding the book was a comfort of sorts. I laid it on the table and placed my hand atop it. Across the room, I accidentally caught Benjamin Cavendish’s eye. He surreptitiously glanced at the red book and then up at my face. I smiled and nodded in greeting. He met my gaze, returned my smile, and then, good gracious, to my horror he winked at me! I was astounded. Never in my twenty years of membership had I been given the glad-eye by a fellow member or any of the servants. I was not up-to-date with all of the subtleties of communicating in society. Sayings and gestures came and went, and so I did not understand what that wink meant. In my day it was an invitation to follow an interested party to the bathroom. I reached for my wine glass and drained it.
Having finished his meal the Tory tossed the cloth napkin that had lain over his lap onto the plate and addressed Lord Spencer, Blake, and young Baron Von Leibenstein.
“Please excuse me, gentlemen,” he said briskly then rose and left the table. As he passed by my table on his way to the door, Benjamin Cavendish paused at my side. He placed his fingers on my small red book and when I looked up in inquiry he said the words, “Bless-ed is the seed”. Then he continued on his way as if nothing peculiar had happened.
Cavell and I eyed one another.
“What the devil was that all about?” I said.
“I was about to ask you the same thing! Do you know Benjamin Cavendish? Did he send you the book?” He asked suspiciously.
“He is not my friend if that is what you are insinuating. I have spoken with him about foreign affairs two, maybe three times over the years. I have no idea if he sent me this book.” I said, rather scandalized by the connotation in Cavell’s tone. I watched Sebastian and had a deep suspicion he knew more about whatever was going on here than he was telling me.
“Do you know him… or Lord Spencer, or Lawrence Blake?” I spat in retort. At the mention of Blake, Sebastian’s pupils grew large and he seemed to know that his eyes had betrayed him.
“Look, it’s not a subject for fine dining!” He insisted again with a mysterious warning tone.
“Will you be following the boy when he leaves the club?” I had hoped that Sebastian and I could speak privately in the room I had reserved upstairs and secretly I wished to do—other things. If Sebastian was going to rush away on the hunt my plans would be in ruins.
“Oh, no. Now I know the company he keeps I will have no trouble tracking him.” Cavell assured grimly. “And anyway, we need to catch up my friend, do we not?” His mouth curved into a smile, and his eyes twinkled devilishly. A stone weight lodged in my belly, for I knew exactly what he meant, and locked in his steady, unflinching stare I realized I would not deny any of the evening entertainments that fervent look suggested.
Behind Closed Doors
I sauntered down the main hall of the Athenaeum Club with Sebastian at my side. I had downed three glasses of wine with my meal and so I was a little more relaxed. We headed towards the wide Egyptian inspired staircase that led to the upper floor of the large mansion house, and to the suite of bedrooms that were for member usage.
“It often surprises guests to learn that the architect John Wilson Croker was only twenty-four years old when awarded the commission to design this building”, I relayed conversationally as we walked. “Croker was already quite the wunderkind having designed the layout of Hyde Park, and the glorious triumphal arches at the entrance to the park.” Birdie nodded studiously. We came to the foot of the stairs,
“It was here in 1863 that the twelve-year quarrel between Dickens and Thackeray ended. Dickens had been informed that his old friend was not long for this world and so in a kindly gesture, he offered Thackeray his hand to make peace.”
“Goodness. I had no idea. We do walk in the footsteps of many great Englishmen.” Birdie said enthusiastically,
We began to mount the staircase, “Indeed we do. Many members take our clubhouse for granted, but when one thinks about the history of this place, not only the architecture or antiquities within but the members themselves and the way they have
