Blake vanished into the crowd of guests.
“Mademoiselle, as I recall you are mine for the next quadrille, ja?” Leopold offered his crooked right arm which Mademoiselle d’Harcourt accepted. Sebastian gave me a nod as Leopold led Evie to the dance floor.
Blake, with his ill-manners, had abandoned beside me an unknown man. The man was broad of shoulder, much like a Rugby player, yet his waist was waspish. I was sure at first glance that whoever he was, this man favored lifting weights as his exercise, for he had honed a fine muscular physique. I snuck a glance at his face and noted that he wore a thick, waxed chestnut brown mustache. His wavy, tousled hair was close cut to the nape and parted to the left with a rebellious curl over his brow—which he seemed to brush away as an affectation. His complexion was apricot as if the man had spent time abroad and caught the sun, or a parent was of Mediterranean origin. I felt rather awkward at the way he observed me with heavy-lidded chocolate brown eyes as if he was tracing my features to imprint my face into his memory. It seems the other man was now aware I had noticed that he was staring as he stood erect and held out a hand.
“Forgive me. Charles Ashe”, the man introduced. I kept my hands clasped behind my back, my stance rigid. I nodded my greeting.
“Benedict Hannan. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Ashe.”
I knew that name, Ashe, was whispered about at my club but I did not know why. I was not privy to much of the scandalous information that passed like bird calls around my clubhouse, and I did not enquire further, as ignorance from such twittering was bliss!
“Ah, the auctioneer. I did wonder.” Charles Ashe said enthusiastically and rubbed his hands together. I saw ink stains on the second finger of his right hand. Was he a writer? I did not know what Ashe had heard about me to become so happy at our meeting.
“Yes, I run Hannan’s Auction House in Fitzrovia.”
“I viewed the items for your sale of Spanish art. It went very well, I hear.”
“It did. Did you make a purchase?” I enquired. I was sure I would have remembered the name Ashe in the account manifest.
“I was not there to make a purchase this time, rather, observe the goods.” Ashe gave a sly smile and a shudder of discomfort ran through me. I was being watched, even in my place of business.
“I have a feeling we will be more than acquaintances soon enough my good man.” He added with a wink.
“Are you a collector?” I said, trying to move the conversation onto safer ground.
“Very much so, very much so. Hand-cuffs are my thing. I have a wonderful collection of hand-cuffs from all over the world. The design and ingenuity that goes into making them has always intrigued me. The mechanisms can be extremely intricate you know!”
“I imagine so”,
“Although, illustration is my calling—much to my father’s displeasure.”
“Do you work for yourself?”
“I’m an artist for the Illustrated Police News.”
“Are you now? That is very interesting.”
“Never a truer word was said! My latest assignment is to put a face to The Dandy Rogue, no less. You know, the sneak-thief who has baffled police all over the country.”
“I have heard of him, yes. How are you getting along?” I asked politely, while secretly delighting that not only did I know the man who had baffled police forces all over Europe, but he was indeed my intimate friend.
“It’s a damnable hard job.” Ashe blustered. “I’ve interviewed ten of his victims to get a first-hand rendering and not one bally description matches with another!”
“Really?” I feigned exasperation. “Sounds like you need all the luck you can get with that assignment.”
“I will not be outfoxed by The Gentleman Thief!” He determined. “The blaggard could be here at this very moment, pilfering and picking pockets.”
The melody of the music swirled and the conversation with Charles Ashe ceased for a time as we observed the quadrille. Leopold and Mademoiselle d’Harcourt were light on their feet and outshone every other couple on the floor. And just as I was hoping to make my escape from Charles Ashe, he leaned to my ear and said,
“Lawrence has told me much about you. He is very impressed to have one so knowledgeable and steadfast assisting with our great cause.”
My brows narrowed, and as the melody of the music rose to a crescendo, Ashe said,
“Welcome brother. Bless-ed is the seed.”
Hearing that phrase again made me shudder inside. I supposed that now I was apparently one of them I was to parrot that phrase in return. I did so and the grin on Ashe’s face became self-satisfied as if he got quite the rush from enjoying a secret in public.
Now I had another name to add to the list. Ashe, Cavendish, Lord Spencer. I needed to identify three more acolytes and work out what the devil they had in common, apart from their predilection and occult fantasies of immortality.
“You are limping!” I exclaimed when I next encountered Baron Leopold and Mademoiselle d’Harcourt.
“These damnable new pumps are pinching,” Leopold grumbled. “I wish I could take them off and dance in my stocking feet. I am permitted to do that at home. But—I am a guest and Britishers are so very stuffy.” He said in a mocking voice. He resigned himself to taking a seat and pulling a giggling Mademoiselle d’Harcourt to sit on his lap.
Blake stood on library steps and with his measured American voice he spoke about the significance of New Year and how,
