Page 41 of A Much Maligned Miss

“Now this floor will be gentlemen only,” Ralph elaborated.

Caroline frowned. “I don’t understand. Why are you not extending your egalitarian principles throughout?”

“Egalitarian principles?” Gervaise asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” she insisted, “for you said you would serve all comers downstairs.”

“Oh, that. Yes, that is true enough for the ground floor,” he agreed.

“So, why not up here?”

He sighed. “Because, my dear Caroline, it would not be legal.”

“Not legal,” she echoed, halting in her progress around the room. “But…why?”

Ralph cleared his throat, and Gervaise flashed a warning look at him. “Because deep play will take place in this room,” he explained. “Gambling,” he elaborated when she continued to look at him blankly.

“Oh. Oh. Is it a hell?”

Gervaise shrugged. “It will be entirely legal, so long as it operates along the lines of a private club.”

“I see,” she said thoughtfully. “Yes, I quite see.” She turned away and to hide her awkwardness, made a pretense of being interested in the art. She peered closer at the nearest painting, which was of a buxom-looking woman presenting an armful of jewels to a bearded king sat upon his throne. Although she wasn’t wearing many clothes, she appeared to have a coronet poised atop her abundant head of hair. “Is it the Queen of Sheba’s visit to King Solomon?” Caroline asked.

Ralph coughed. “I couldn’t tell you. I bought most of them in a job lot. I think that one was done by the same artist who will paint our Citadel personified downstairs. Bailey is his name. He’s got a studio in Marylebone. Care to see the third floor?”

Gervaise professed an interest, and they had to walk back down the sumptuous red stairs and into the kitchen to find the actual servant’s stair which led up to the third floor. This floor was not for public access and consisted of two sets of living quarters. The first was a large dormitory-style bedroom which had several mattresses laid down on the floor.

“Some of the workmen dossed down in here,” Ralph explained. “If they had to travel from a great distance. The mosaicist had to come all the way from Bath and the glazers from Bristol.”

“Have you got anyone staying here currently?” Gervaise asked. “If we got broken into now, they could strip the place of every fixture and fitting.”

“Never you fear,” Ralph answered promptly. “I’ve had men here every night guarding the place since there was anything worth guarding. Two since we started stocking up the liquor. They sleep downstairs though, so they would hear anyone breaking in. They set up camp beds in the scullery.”

“Who’s here tonight?”

“Jeb and his cousin Reg.”

Gervaise pulled a face. “Show us where you stayed.”

Ralph patted his pockets until he found a key with which he let them into a second set of living quarters, which proved to be four fair-sized rooms and a bathroom, all of which were sparsely furnished.

Caroline marveled at what Ralph considered “tolerably comfortable,” for they were furnished with little more than a set of drawers with a pitcher and ewer sat atop of it, a bed with a wrought iron frame, an armchair which had clearly seen better days, and a rickety table which still had a pot of ink on it.

“Well, Brown’s hotel, it is not,” Gervaise observed, looking around. “But it will do at a pinch, I suppose.”

Ralph brightened. “Anything I can do to make you both more at home?” he asked, looking from one to the other of them. Caroline noticed he did not look remotely shocked at the idea that “Miss Pomfrey” should remain in Lord Atherton’s company overnight.

“Yes,” said Gervaise. “You can have our bags brought up along with fresh sheets for the bed. The fires need to be lit in here and then you can fetch us some dinner. We haven’t eaten since lunch.”

17

A knock on the door twenty minutes later heralded the arrival of an uncouth individual Gervaise could only suppose was Jeb’s cousin Reg. He had brought along fresh linens for the bed and gawped openly at Caroline, who had removed her bonnet and cloak and was now striving to tidy her hair in a tiny shaving mirror pinned to the wall.

“Got yer luggage here an’ all, milord,” he said, tearing his eyes away from Caroline and setting the cases down all in a heap.

“So, I see.” Gervaise reached into his pocket and retrieved a coin. “Here, for your pains. Reg, isn’t it?”

The other man brightened, closing his meaty fist tightly over the shiny silver coin. “That’s right, milord. I’ll just fetch up some kindlin’ and a bucket of coal for your fire in here. You—er—want the one lit in the bedroom too?”