Page 16 of Infernal Vices

The maids, Anne-Marie and Maud arrived in their best black uniform dresses with bright white aprons one carrying warmed soup bowls and the other a dish with fresh bread rolls upon it. I noticed how they brightened at seeing Birdie seated at the table. I’d venture they too were as smitten with the man, just like Mrs. Twigg…and me! Wilkins followed carrying the steaming tureen of vegetable consommé.

Charles clapped his hands together rather like an excitable child, “It smells like we’re in for quite the feast.”

“Indeed. I was informed that we have steak pudding for the main course. I would walk barefoot over hot coals for Mrs. Twigg’s steak pudding,” Birdie enthused.

Cavell was a masterful actor. This Robins character was charming, gregarious, and delightful company for one as introverted as I. It made me smile to see how Sebastian took on this flamboyant persona as easily as slipping on a coat.

I said grace, and then Wilkins laid the tureen on the table. We were served soup and bread rolls, then as we ate the hearty, flavoursome soup I began polite conversation.

“Charles is an artist for the Illustrated Police News,” I revealed to Sebastian and although Ashe was none the wiser I saw the change in Cavell’s countenance. He understood the game now.

“Ah, I bet you heard about the damnable theft. Ghastly business, just ghastly.” Then Birdie turned to me and said, “Apologies, dear heart. I understand this is not a subject for dining.”

“No, no. It is quite alright. I’m grateful to have two such interesting friends to spend the evening with after such a vexing day. I would otherwise have sat alone and become quite, quite maudlin. The theft is indeed of great interest to Charles, as is the supposed perpetrator.”

Charles laid down his spoon and used his napkin to wipe his mouth and moustache.

“This fellow has caused the police the greatest embuggarance. He’s a master of disguise. I’ve been chasing stories of the blaggard for the past year to chance a likeness for a wanted poster, and I’m yet to find a witness who could attest to his true appearance. It’s damn inconvenient, I can tell you,” he grumbled and flicked the wanton curl from his brow.

“Then I guess you’re in luck this time to know dear Benedict and get a story from the horse’s mouth, so to speak!”

“Indeed I am. I rushed to his side, as any good friend would. Although, sadly, it turns out Benedict was abed, and Mr. Troy did not see the face of the thief. But he was most forthcoming with his description of the events. The rogue wore an opera cloak. Can you believe it? It’s a most dramatic vision, no? I now have an exclusive, the front page of Friday’s edition!” Ashe bragged delightedly.

I near choked on my soup at hearing how Charles was insinuating himself into my life as if we were old school chums. I was at least twenty years his senior, and had known him for weeks and not years.

“Congratulations, that’s quite the scoop!” Birdie encouraged.

We all ate in silence for a minute before Ashe directed a question at Birdie. “So, how did you meet our genial host?” He said this with faux nonchalance, but I was well aware of what a dangerous question that was. Men by our very nature are want to compete. Charles immediately saw Birdie as a rival for my affections; and I was sure an inquisitive man like Charles would attempt to find out all he could about his opponent. I could not quite make a measure of Charles. Was he simply hedonistic and enjoyed the sexual adventure of Blake’s secret society, or was he truly a believer of the great work?

Birdie eased his spoon into his bowl and quietly sipped the vegetable soup then, in a considered way he placed the spoon down beside his bowl and looked directly at Ashe.

“Benedict and I attend the same church,” he informed succinctly. He reached for a bread roll and tore a chunk off of it and, buttered it. “We struck up a conversation after a particularly moving service. We discovered we share many interests.”

“Such as?” Ashe pried, dipping a crust into his vegetable consommé.

“We share a great love…of art and antiques.” Birdie picked up his water glass and took a sip.

“Not to mention, we both have a thirst for a good book,” I added with a grin. The look Cavell and I shared then was, to my mind, a little too revealing but I could not help it. I could not disguise the flare of longing that overtook me when whiskey Sebastian’s eyes met mine. I scolded myself for I must keep my affections private, especially in the company of a man with such hedonistic appetites as Charles Ashe.

“I too share the love of a good book with Benedict,” Ashe smirked. “Have you had a chance to read it yet?” he said to me.

I knew the very book he was talking about, the small red book that all members of Fratres Seminis owned with pages that appeared to be blank. I had yet to discover what the blasted book was all about. I recalled then that Sebastian had a copy too. He had swapped garments with the young German baron during our ruse to return him to his retainer, and the book was in the jacket pocket. So, we had two cracks at discovering the book’s secrets.

“Sadly, I have not found the time to give it the thought it requires.”

Charles smiled knowingly. “That reminds me Benedict. My father‘s having a Temple of the Muses soirée next month. He’s planning to present his latest acquisitions.”

I sat straighter in my seat at hearing this. “How very interesting.”

“He does enjoy giving fellow bibliophiles a chance to inspect the new books. However, I find his friends rather a bore. I’d be delighted if you were available to attend as my guest.”

I immediately recognized the one-upmanship as Ashe used his status to attempt to gain my approval and attention. I must admit though, that the invitation was curious and extremely tempting. The Temple of the Muses was a famous and now lost seventeenth century London bookshop. The invitation-only gatherings were much talked about in antiquarian circles. My competitor auctioneers Sotheby’s, Christies, and Bonhams, and the booksellers, Hatchards and Southerans all retained guaranteed invites. I knew only of the soirées from the society pages of The Times, so to add Hannan's to that esteemed list would be quite the honour. Henry Ashe owned an import business dealing in fine textiles and he travelled to source fabrics from the four corners of the Empire.Ashe senior was also well known for collecting rare books on his global travels. And so, to be invited to a soirée at the Ashe residence was a badge of high esteem. Those invited ranged from authors, publishers, politicians to aristocrats. Henry Ashe was a magnet for society rumour and yet, he appeared to let it wash over him. For instance, it was rumoured that the young princes were confidants of Henry Ashe, and that their tastes ran to books of a…specialist nature. It was also, scandalously rumoured that Ashe senior penned the limited edition diary of an anonymous gentleman’s sexual largesse that was in my private book case upstairs!

“How very kind of you, I would be delighted to accept,” I said. Wilkins then opened the door and stepped back into the room. I gave him a nod to clear the bowls from the table.

“My father recently returned from a tour of the Orient. I’d swear he came back with double the number of trunks that he left with!” Ashe guffawed.

I sat back in my chair, resting my hands across my stomach. Wilkins left the room with the tray of soup bowls and we awaited the arrival of Mrs. Twigg’s famous steak pudding!