Page 19 of The Gentleman’s Thief

“Retrieve them for me please.”

I stood and hurriedly unlocked the drawing room door. The hall outside was frigidly cold and the house silent as my servants were now abed. I rushed to my study and picked up a sheaf of writing paper and a graphite pencil then returned to Sebastian.

My companion had moved a side table to sit between our hearth chairs. I gave him what he had requested and settled in my chair once more. Sebastian then began to jot down notes.

“Okay, I believe we are dealing with some sort of secret cabal. Who do we think is a part of this scheme? And what are their aims?”

“Lawrence Blake for a start. He wears a signet ring that has this exact monogram on it.” I said gesturing to the letter, “And he has a red book”. I reminded, “Also he parroted that strange expression when leaving my office—Bless-ed is the seed”,

“If I recall correctly, that Tory, Benjamin Cavendish said that too?” Cavell reminded.

“Indeed, at the club…so, they must be in cahoots for whatever this business is.” Cavell scrawled the second name onto the list.

“Both of those men were seen with Lord Spencer and young Baron Leopold Von Liebenstein.”

“Add them to a separate column of possible cohorts.”

“I think I’ll add Leo to the list actually. He received a letter with the stamp, and it is no coincidence that he is socializing with Blake and Cavendish.”

“Very well,” I agreed.

“Now. Tell me everything that happened when Blake made a visit to your office.”

“There’s not much to tell really. Blake arrived at my establishment unexpectedly with several silver items that he said were donated after one of his lectures. He wanted me to auction them but I was rather surprised by one particular item, a Dutch spice box in silver, made in the shape of a fish. I purchased the items for my own collection to hurry things along.” I explained. “The man unnerved me.”

“Did anything strange happen?”

“The whole blasted visit was strange,” I said witheringly. “Oh, he gave me a copy of his damnable occult periodical… what’s it called again…yes, The Light.”

“He writes for The Light, now?”

“Yes. From the things he said to me…I did not like the fellow one bit, in fact, he gave me the creeps.”

“What specifically did he speak of?”

“His aim to penetrate the veil and return to tell what is on the other side—he a bloody resurrectionist, you know!” I blustered. I was quite surprised by the lack of response from Sebastian who sat as still as a stone and wore a faraway look in his eyes.

“You need to go to that meeting,” He said with sudden urgency.

“But I don’t want to go. I don’t want anything to do with this business.”

“What if they have the boy, what if they are mistreating him?” Cavell knew how to twist the knife.

“You could speak with him, help him”, Cavell urged. Damn it, he was right. If Leopold was held against his will maybe I could help him.

“Very well.” I conceded, “I will attend this rendezvous at number eleven Adam Street?”

The Growler

Cavell slept in a guest room. Much as I wanted him in my bed I could not let lust cloud my judgment. Also, I would not risk any suspicious talk from my servants about the nature of my new friendship.

The auction of Spanish works was the success I expected. The cream of society attended the event and was in the mood to do battle for the fine works on sale. I was quite in my element standing at the lectern wielding my gavel. I paid extra attention to the audience, perusing the faces that keenly watched me as I conducted the sale. I saw none of the men that Sebastian and I noted as being part of the bizarre cabal, and so, if any secret member was observing me they were very good at their job.

That evening I watched nervously from my drawing room window. Again, I was to venture unwillingly out into a frigid London night. I could have ignored the mysterious invitation, but my fears about the young noble’s safety and my curiosity about who sent me the invitation got the better of me. There was a person or persons who knew something about my private habits, and they were drawing me into their circle. I needed to understand what this peculiar business was all about.

At exactly eight-thirty pm, with its lamps blazing, a Clarence carriage pulled up outside my townhouse. Mr. Wilkins assisted me with my greatcoat, hat, gloves, and cane, and with a pause at the threshold to say a silent prayer I stepped out into the glacial night and rushed down the steps to the carriage.

As I approached the door was opened from within. I removed my top hat and stepped up and into the growler. I settled myself beside my guest then tapped my cane on the ceiling to inform the driver to move on. The Clarence or growler carriage was my preferred mode of transport, not only for comfort sake with its interior of buttoned black leather upholstery, but because the front of the carriage had windows, and when sitting facing the driver, the rear of the carriage was shrouded in darkness. I liked to travel anonymously, and so, even though it was more expensive than taking a Hansom cab, I preferred anonymous comfort over price.