Page 34 of Infernal Vices

CHAPTER 16

THE CLUB

I led Charles from the British Museum with the assistance of a small box of safety matches he’d kept in his pocket, which we struck time and time again to light our way. Once outside in the frigid night air we took one of the waiting Clarence carriages. The night watchman opened the gate for us and we exited, travelling through the deserted Bloomsbury streets. The carriage turned and travelled down Shaftsbury Avenue, as theatre goers and the hoi-polloi were well under the influence of alcohol, the revellers singing and dancing on the streets even in such brutally cold weather. Charles was silent, his head lolling with the rhythmic sway of the carriage. We passed through Piccadilly, continued onto St James, and then turned onto Pall Mall. Many gentlemen’s clubs could be found Pall Mall. On the south side, at the corner of Waterloo Place, is my club, the Athenaeum. Beyond this are the Travellers' Club, the Reform Club, and the Carlton Club. As a Conservative Member of Parliament Benjamin Cavendish frequented several clubs on Pall Mall, as well as clubs elsewhere and of course, the subsidised Members Bar in the Houses of Parliament! And so it concerned me just how much exposure Lawrence Blake had been given to the influential men of London society. Of course, some would think his Theosophist ideology was pure poppycock, but there were men of influence, like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, for instance, who was a keen advocate of the Society for Psychical Research, and Blake had garnered a warm reception from that particular circle of scientific and spiritual believers.

The carriage pulled up on Waterloo Placeoutside theneoclassical behemoth that was the Athenaeum Club. After Charles and I stepped down I gave the driver a generous tip and instruction to return to the British Museum.

Charles was in a bad way, leaning on a lamppost and looking, for all intents and purposes, as if the sky had fallen in. His current malaise was partly from overdoing the drink, but most importantly, the heinous discovery we made at the Secretum. I vouched that neither of us could go home until we’d sobered up somewhat and decided what we would do about this revelation. Charles did not know I’d taken the photograph of Nathaniel Everett with Sebastian and kept it as evidence. My paramour had been young and naïve when led astray by the devilish American rogue. I knew that in the photograph I held safely in my pocket, Sebastian had been eighteen and that Everett was his first male lover. He’d seduced, drugged, and abused him, and then attempted to sell Sebastian for use by other men. The fact that there were any such debauched erotic photographs of Sebastian in existence made my blood boil with rage. Sebastian despised what he had become under Everett’s Svengali manipulations and I would ensure he did not suffer more. I would keep the photograph and give it to Sebastian so he could decide what was done with it.

I pushed my top hat securely upon my head, and awkwardly, with my cane stuffed under my armpit, wrapped my arm around Ashe’s waist and near dragged him up the steps and towards the club entrance. I knocked on the glass fronted double door. The night porter saw me standing there, and at first glance he appeared a little worried. I hurriedly searched for a calling card in my pocket and pressed it to the glass. The young man came from behind the reception desk and peered at the card, then returned behind the desk and checked the member’s book. Satisfied, only then did he unlock the door. I staggered in to the warm foyer with my inebriated friend in tow and walked Charles to the marble reception counter. The scents of cigar smoke, coffee, and masculinity that filled my nostrils when entering these hallowed halls always girded my loins and made me feel at home.

“I do beg your pardon Mr. Hannan we’ve had several pretenders putting on airs to gain entrance of late and so the door stays locked after midnight until I can verify identification. The kitchen is closed but the night butler can attend to your wishes,” the servant’s name badge said he was William Salter.

“Thank you, Salter,” I leaned Ashe against the counter and then gave my hat, coat, scarf and cane to the night porter. I helped Charles out of his greatcoat, a task that became rather comical. I do not recall what happened to his top hat, maybe he left it in the Secretum? I asked Salter to add the name of Charles Ashe to the guestbook.

“Is there a room available?”

“Aye sir, room eight,” the night porter replied while in a pleasant hand, he added my guest’s name beside mine.

“Very good, I need to sober my friend before I send him home. Ask the night butler to bring up a carafe of strong coffee and some scones or whatever is at hand to line his stomach!”

“Of course. Very good sir,” the night porter said, handing me the key to room eight. “Would you like me to assist you up the stairs with your guest?”

Ashe was a soporific drunk, but grumbled, “Its fine, I’m not a child, I can waaalk,” while his eyes remained closed and he was held up by the reception counter. I raised my brows in mild disapproval, thanked William, who then rushed away to inform the butler of our requirements.

“Come along, let’s get you upstairs.”

“Oh Beneddiicttt,” he slurred. “Are you game for some backgammon? Will you finally take me to bed and let me have my way with you?” Charles wore a ridiculous grin on his face.

We mounted the stairs. “My friend, even if there was a chance, of which there is not, you cannot stand on your own two feet unaided, so I have grave doubts about the performance of your cockstand.”

Ashe gasped in outrage, and then laughed, his boyish laughter echoing off the vast high ceiling of the stairway. “Hush now, gentlemen are abed!” I scolded. Ashe mimed locking his lips, and then tossed away the imaginary key.

I delivered Charles into room eight without further upset and poured him into a hearthside chair. Then I lit the gas fire and turned on the bedside lamps to give muted illumination.

I used the bathroom, washed my hands and face, and then returned to see Charles sitting staring morosely at the dancing flames. A light knock on the door stole my attention. On opening it and standing aside the night butler pushed a wheeled trolley into the room and set it between the two hearth chairs.

In a low, measured voice, he said, “Good morning sirs, as requested, a carafe of freshly brewed coffee with scones, jam, and cream. Should you require anything else please ask William and it shall be arranged.” I nodded and tipped the night butler before he exited silently and closed the door. I unbuttoned my jacket and sat in the second hearth chair.

“Come along now; let’s get you sobered up so we can have a conversation. How do you take your coffee?”

Charles remained staring into the fire as if he had not heard a word I’d said.

“Charles,” I said sharply and he jumped in his seat.

“Sorry, sorry. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know what to do,” he simpered. “He can ruin us all Benedict! I can’t believe I was such a bally fool to become embroiled in this.” Charles fisted his hair and folded, his head in his hands resting on his knees.

“Come now,” I gentled. “A few cups of coffee and a little something to eat are required. We shall come up with a plan, I assure you.”

Charles raised his head, his eyes looked red and swollen, as if he’d silently been crying.”

“How do you take your coffee?” I asked again.

“Milk with three lumps, please,” Charles sniffed, sitting up and dragging his silk handkerchief from his lapel pocket. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose. “And I must confess I am a little peckish. I didn’t eat much at dinner. That spicy food plays havoc with my digestion.”

“Which is why the claret went to your head! Come now, help yourself,” I invited, to which he did.

By half-past-one in the morning Ashe was wide eyed with a little cream and jam decorating his moustache that I was reluctant to mention because it amused me so.