Page 11 of The Gentleman’s Thief

“Quite alright. We shall talk of this later.” He said hurriedly, his voice sounding strangely high-pitched. “Now, we need some polite dining conversation…what shall we discuss?”

I was confused by his behavior and it appeared that there was a great deal to discuss later!

“Hmmm. Okay, you seem to know a lot about me, so, let’s talk about you, ay? You said you were born in India, was your father in the Military? Where did you school?” I suggested.

Cavell refilled his wine glass and sat back. Then he gulped the wine but he did not seem to have heard my question and did not offer a reply. He was far too distracted by eavesdropping on the discussion at the table behind us.

A waiter placed bowls of steaming Beef broth and fresh bread rolls on our table. I said grace, thanking the Lord for our meal and for a companion to share it with me. We ate silently and when the broth and fresh bread rolls were consumed the bowls were removed. The waiter then returned delivering plates of mutton with roasted vegetables and lashings of gravy. The food at my club was hearty fare and always reminded me of the comforting meals of my school days. I hoped there was Spotted Dick for dessert!

Inhaling the scent of the food I realized just how famished I was. I dug in and wolfed down my meal as if I had not eaten for a week. It was most unlike me but I found that since our liaison my appetite was ravenous, and not only for food. The thoughts I’d held back for so many years flooded my mind as if a dam had broken, and they came to my mind at the most inopportune moments. I should not like it. I should refrain from entertaining such illicit thoughts, but my straight-backed pious attitude was waning as if I had taken off a worn-out suit and donned a dazzling new one.

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 molded our great country… it is rather humbling.”

At the top of the stairs, we continued down the hall, past the Smoking Room, and one of the Library rooms. The scent of cigars permeated the air and the sound of raucous laughter echoed. I looked to my side and noticed Sebastian was no longer with me. I turned to see that he was observing the large canvases of gentlemen of merit that lined the hall. He gestured with a shake of the head for me to go on into the room. I understood what he was doing and the fact he wanted to be discrete, even here where what happened behind the closed doors of the club remained secret, charmed me. I fumbled in my dinner jacket pocket and wrapped my fingers around the sturdy cold metal of the key for room four. I came to the door, pushed the key into the keyhole, and twisted. I opened the door and then looked back at Sebastian. Three men exited the Smoking Room deeply involved in a discussion and relocated to the Library. Sebastian met my gaze and nodded.

I entered the bedroom and flicked the switch to turn on the electric light. My nerves buzzed and flamed like they were made of light bulb filaments. Although we had agreed to a private conversation I knew there was only one reason we were meeting in a bedroom like this. I was once again about to commit a mortal sin, and this time I did it with forethought and without the fleeting burn of shame. I would not be surprised by Sebastian’s ardor like I was in Glasgow, oh no. This time I was prepared and I had even pocketed a small bottle containing Oil of Olive in case he wanted to try something more than we had done at the Central Hotel.