Page 16 of The Gentleman’s Thief

My growler paused on the road outside the townhouse at number 50 Grosvenor Place. The front door was open, lamps blazing in the foggy cold night. It appeared from those filing through the entrance that attending Theosophical Society lectures was a thing that the elite was doing these days for entertainment. A doorman, wrapped in a thick greatcoat, scarf, and flat cap stood welcoming men and women who, by their attire, were most definitely from the upper-classes. The doorman also ensured street dwellers did not sidle in for a little warmth and a spree of pick pocketing!

When the carriage in front moved off my carriage took its place. I stepped gingerly onto the path, paid the driver, and then swiftly made my way up the step and into the Society building.

I removed my top hat and greatcoat, handing them to a cloakroom attendant and pocketed my ticket. It appeared that a lecture by Lawrence Blake had attracted a large crowd of wealthy ‘truth seekers’. I gripped my cane and strode toward a room to the left of the foyer. It was a large ballroom where lines of chairs faced a raised dais on which a lectern stood, flanked by candelabra either side. Several of the seats were already occupied by ladies with hats adorned with flowers and feathers, but from the distant cacophony of chatter, I noted that most of the audience for Blake’s lecture mingled in the room on the opposite side of the foyer. I followed the sound of lively discussion and made my way into what would have been a drawing room had there been furniture, and not so many people. I let my eyes scan the crowd for a familiar face.

At midday, I’d sent Sebastian a message telling him where I would be this evening, and that there was a possibility his quarry would also be in attendance. He had not replied and so I was unsure if he had even received the message addressed to Mr. Mountjoy, or if there were more important plans to attend to this evening. No matter, I felt it was my duty to at least look out for the young Baron.

“Goodness me! Benedict Hannan as I live and breathe! You haven’t aged a day!” A man exclaimed. I turned to look down at whoever called my name. A squat bald, rotund man stood before me. He offered his hand and I looked at it, my hackles rising in alarm at the thought of touching him.

“I cannot believe you still have that virile head of black hair. I went bald as a coot as soon as I turned twenty-one!” He guffawed. I stared at the man trying to place him.

“Don’t you remember me old boy? Bowsie Fitzroy, we roomed together at Charterhouse.” He added jovially.

“Ah, yes, good to see you again, Bowsie.” I had not seen the boy we called Fatty Fitzroy in nearly forty years, when not only had he retained a full head of hair but also cultivated a face full of angry pimples the likes of which I have not seen since! I was surprised that he had recognized me after all these years.

“This is quite the gathering is it not?” I said conversationally.

“Are you a follower of Blake’s work? I have heard him speak once before and it was truly enlightening. He is a most passionate orator and recites many intriguing tales of spiritual experiences he witnessed in the Americas. I’d wager the debate tonight after his lecture will be rather lively.” He sniggered as if he had told a joke, but I did not understand.

“Did you see Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is in attendance, as is—“

I spotted a man across the room who wore a full slate grey beard. His hair was grey and worn to the nape. His hazel eyes met mine and he winked at me. That wink was like an arrow. I drowned out Fitzroy’s ceaseless chatter. No matter what facial topiary Sebastian wore I was sure that I would recognize him by those whiskey drenched eyes. His lingering look in my direction was like a shot of pure alcohol to my blood and I was sure my cheeks reddened immediately because at once I felt far too hot in my dapper evening suit. I was privately delighted to know Cavell was prowling among this crowd. I gave a curt, near imperceptible nod of greeting. If there was anything untoward going on I was assured that a man as sharp as Cavell would find out.

A gong sounded and the room fell silent. All turned to look at a woman, who, to my horror was clothed in a gentleman’s suit! She stood at the door and made an announcement in a rather theatrical manner as if she were a music hall performer, her accent broad Cockney. Several members of the crowd laughed as she said,

“Ladies an’ Gentlemen, an’ them that’s not so shu’were…If you’d be so kind as to proceed to the ballroom, our esteemed guest, Mr. Lawrence Blake will begin his lecture in five minutes.” The woman bowed as if she were on the stage at the Palladium Theater.

We streamed out of the room and as I walked I felt a presence by my side. I took a sidelong glance and to my relief, it was Cavell walking with me and not Fatty Fitzroy! I enjoyed a prickle of satisfaction in knowing that Sebastian seemed to be magnetized to me, but I reminded myself that I must retain my unemotional public face. I leaned to him and whispered,

“I see the press has given you a new moniker, Dandy Rogue!”

“It’s rather good isn’t it?” He said approvingly. I gave Sebastian a withering glance and saw the laughter and mischief in his eyes.

We followed the crowd into the ballroom. It was a large rectangular room, with a herringbone timber floor, muted plum coloured walls, and three tall sash windows where heavy forest green velvet drapes blocked out the foggy night and winter chill. Instead of electric light, the ballroom was illuminated by candles which gave me an eerie feeling. It felt somewhat like the setting of the stage for a performance.

The atmosphere turned ever more serious as Cavell and I took our seats. Sebastian sat to my right at the aisle. I nudged him and gestured to the front where on the first row a young man with a head of golden blond curls was seated. He sat beside Lord Spencer and another man I did not recognize. Both men seemed keen to gain Leopold’s attention, their eyes sparkling as they took surreptitious glances at him. I turned to meet Cavell’s eye and saw he was watching the front row like a hawk.

The gong sounded again and the room stilled. We sat in pin-drop silence for a full minute before a door to the left of the dais opened, the incoming rush of chilly air making the candlelight’s dance. I had not attended a lecture of this nature before so I was unsure of the protocol. I learned quickly though! No one clapped as the American made his entrance. He was dressed in a black three-quarter-length tunic over trousers, all of which had a clerical cut, and he held a red book, similar to the one I had received as my mysterious gift. My skepticism was growing, for the man was surely costumed to appear as a man of the cloth. He stepped onto the dais and to the lectern.

Sebastian and I sat with more than two hundred people waiting in anticipation for Blake to speak. I could feel the trembling warmth of Sebastian’s thigh pressed to mine. I eased my leg closer to that indecent pressure and smiled. The silence in the room remained peculiar and visceral.

Lawrence Blake put the red book down on the lectern and placed his hand upon it as if it were a Bible. He was not wearing his blue glass spectacles. Several women in the front row gasped at seeing his heterochromatic eyes.

“I am honored to be invited to address you all this evening.” His distinctive American accent cut a swath through the silence.

“I have resided in your beautiful country for six months now and this, my friends, is the highlight of my stay. I understand that my audience is rather… diverse. We have the traditional, the believers, the skeptics, and those seeking truth. I am not here to convince you that my experiences are the truth. All I can say is that they are my truth. However, as you have kindly taken the time to attend all I would ask is that you approach my lecture with an open mind.”

The man’s voice commanded the attention of the room. He spoke with the confidence of a seasoned orator—an actor who was well-used to addressing large crowds.

“We live in an age of religious uncertainty. Life as we know it has been structured by religious dogma that, as we evolve, becomes outdated and irrelevant to a forward-thinking philosophy. The Great British Empire was built on such an attitude—on progress and the search for betterment of the individual.

The Theosophical Society poses many intriguing and difficult questions, establishing a new dimension of thought which has encouraged the desire for equality within humankind.

At the center of all enquires for the Society are the questions—Where do we come from and we do we go when we pass from this life? Indeed, what is the meaning of life?”

I looked to my left and right and saw the audience their faces reverent with silent awe. Blake had captured this audience in the palm of his hand. The power in his voice and countenance was quite remarkable.

“I hold dear a single core belief, my friends. Everything in the universe originates from one boundless, eternal, unknowable source.” Blake insisted.