Infernal Vices (Resurrectionist #3)

CHAPTER 8

THE DINNER PARTY

After the embarrassment of lying to Mr. Troy yet again, I could not bear to call him to assist me to change for dinner, and so I hurriedly changed into a dinner suit without the assistance of my valet. Then I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and made my way downstairs to face my guest.

I saw that Charles was in the parlour and I watched from the doorway as he placed the messy sticks of graphite and charcoal into a tin that had once contained Super Fine Shag tobacco. This was slipped into his inner breast pocket along with a small notebook and pencil. Charles turned and his eyes widened as he noticed my dinner attire. He nodded his approval.

“Ah, there you are dear fellow,” he said with what sounded like forced joviality. I supposed he was ill at ease after having his affections rejected, and, in all honesty I felt a little sorry for him.

“I’ve been reliably informed that tonight’s fare is vegetable consommé, steak pudding, and then brandy and pear trifle. A schoolboy’s dream!” he offered in a speculative stage whisper.

I could not repress a smile. “Indeed. Only three courses, I’m afraid. But, what splendid fare. Mrs. Twigg knows I prefer hearty meals on such miserable winter evenings. Good food feeds the soul, does it not?”

“Never a truer word spoken.”

“Shall we?” I gestured toward the dining room.

Ashe laid his folio beside the couch and accompanied me out of the parlour, up the hall and into the dining room.

I was glad to feel the warmth of a welcoming fire as the rain pummelled down outside with audible ferocity. A formally set table was a pleasing sight, as ordinarily, it would be set simply just for one with no fanfare. But, as I had a rare new dinner guest my servants pulled out all the stops! My best dinner service was on display with the hand-painted gold and white porcelain set I’d commissioned from the Altrohlau pottery works in Austria. Silver cutlery and French crystal glasses were laid, with white tapered candles in gilded candle holders that gave muted light.

Wilkins was standing to attention at the inner right side of the door. He had set a place for me at the head of the large mahogany and rosewood dining table, and a place for Charles opposite me at the foot of the table. I strode to my place and Wilkins moved to assist in seating me. He then seated Ashe. I removed my napkin from the silver ring and laid it across my lap as Wilkins poured water into one glass and claret into another of the fine glasses surrounding my place setting.

“Would you like to take wine, sir?” Wilkins asked my guest who brightened at seeing the vintage of the bottle my houseman presented. “Oh, I never say no!” he beamed.

When the bottle was returned to its silver cradle, I gave Wilkins a nod of permission to begin service. But then my doorbell chimed. Wilkins turned and gave me an ominous look.

“If it’s one of those blasted reporters, get rid of him!” He nodded in understanding and hurried to answer the door. I heard the surprised and pleased tone of Wilkins interaction with whomever was at the door, but I could not make out what they said.

Wilkins returned to the dining room then strode in and spoke softly to my ear. “Mr. Robins has arrived for dinner, sir. He was caught in the rain, so he’s upstairs tidying himself and will be down in a moment.”

Sebastian and I had not made an arrangement to meet tonight. I was used to him vanishing, and in the current circumstances with the Dandy Rogue back on the front page of the newspapers I presumed he’d lay low. But he had come to me and I was grateful he was here. I needed him and I was pleased my servants understood to always treat him as a welcome guest .

“Ah, excellent! Inform Mrs. Twigg that three will be dining this evening. Please make a place setting for our guest.” The houseman bowed, turned to the sideboard, swiftly collected, and then set the flatware, cutlery, and glasses for a new place setting as Ashe watched on in bemusement. When Wilkins had poured water and wine in preparation for our new guest, he left the dining room and an awkward atmosphere came upon us.

“Three for dinner?” Ashe raised an inquiring brow as he sipped claret.

“Of course, apologies. My dear friend, Mr. Foxford Robins will join us,” I explained and immediately I noticed the sour cast of Ashe’s mouth at hearing he would not have my undivided attention this evening.

I heard the sounds of my lover upstairs and I could see that Charles did not seem to like that I had a friend so familiar that my servants treated him as if he also lived here. Ashe could not seem to take his gaze from me. I became anxious and fidgety with his unflinching observation. I fingered my waistcoat pocket then removed and checked my watch even though there was a delightful French Rococo clock on the mantle that kept excellent time.

Cavell was so quite on the stairs that I was surprised when he entered the dining room without a jacket and with his dark auburn hair damp. This time he wore small round brass spectacles that gave him a scholarly appearance.

“Ah, there you are!” I was relieved to break the silence.

In the flamboyant character voice of Birdie, Sebastian said, “Please forgive my lateness. The storm was rather sudden and I find I was ill-prepared. I near got soaked to my undergarments!” he grinned.

I collected my napkin from my lap, rose from my chair, and then moved to greet him, shaking his hand, and giving a meaningful look. My palm felt near electrified when it pressed against my lover’s skin and the wordless communication of our gazes sent a shudder of longing through me.

“In the circumstances you are forgiven. It was a very sudden downpour indeed,” I said and knew by the look he returned and by the squeeze of his fingers that Cavell understood implicitly my need for a connection with him. Sebastian finally loosened his grip and turned to Ashe,

“I do apologize; I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Mr. Charles Ashe, this is my companion, Mr. Foxford Robins,” I introduced. Ashe stood, shook Birdie’s offered hand, and said, “A pleasure Mr. Robins.”

“Likewise, Mr. Ashe. Please, call me Birdie. My friends call me Birdie.”

Ashe seated himself again. “Is that so? I’d wager, as we have dear Benedict in common we shall become fast friends, Birdie. You may call me Charles.” Ashe did not take his eyes off me as he said this, and with the pleasantries done I seated Cavell and then relaxed back into my chair.

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!

“I’ve always dreamed of travelling that far…to the Orient,” I said wistfully, “or even to the Americas. What route did he take?”

“His party travelled through Europe, primarily by train, and then took a ship from Spain which skirted the coast of Africa and finally reached Peking.”

“What was his impression of China?” I asked.

“Well, from all he brought back I’d say he was rather enamoured by the place!”

It was then that Birdie chipped in. “I find it remarkable to think that the Chinese civilization endured and thrived for some two thousand years without western interference. I rather think we should have left them alone.”

It was a most unexpected comment in company. Ashe placed his glass down sharply and I feared for a moment that the stem would crack. There was ice to his voice as he said, “That’s a rather outrageous observation. Are you an anti-imperialist, Mr. Robins?”

“Hmmm,” Birdie tapped his chin as if deep in thought. “I cannot say I agree with colonialism. I grew up in India, you see, so I witnessed it firsthand, for good and ill. To me it appears to be theft on the grandest scale in the name of Queen Victoria, all to profit a mere handful of British elites.” He sat straighter in his chair and recited, “ No nation ever voluntarily gave up the dominion of any province, how troublesome so ever it might be to govern it, and how small so ever the revenue which it afforded might be in proportion to the expense which it occasioned.”

“That’s an Adam Smith quotation. From the book ‘The Wealth of Nations’, yes?” I noted.

“Correct!”

Ashe’s jaw tightened and he seemed angered by Birdie’s opinion. “We have spread our Christian values to the indigenous populations and given them stable governance. So you would what? Dismantle the Empire? Bring our entire military home? Remove Victoria from the throne?” Ashe argued pedantically. I was rather alarmed by his tone.

“Well, where do you stand? What are you, sir?” he challenged.

Birdie did not rise to Charles’s baiting. In a calm, flamboyant voice he said, “You appear to be rather vexed that I don’t believe as you do, that one ruler should decide the greater good for many nations. It is a happenstance of birth and a fallacy that Victoria has the God given right to take the land and riches of other nations by force, for the crown. The world is changing, Charles. It is 1898; we stand on the cusp of a new century that will be filled with technological advancement. Queen Victoria is seventy-nine and nearing the end of her reign. We all have a choice, to be changed or left behind. I am changing with the new world, embracing it, and what was once the status quo must be challenged. I have seen the atrocities men will carry out for wealth and power. If I truly must give myself a label, I would say I’m non-conformist, humanist even, most certainly anti-greed.”

The passion with which Sebastian orated his speech made heat rise as pride burned my cheeks. His comments were unconventional and not in the character of Birdie, but from Sebastian’s heart. I adored how forthright he was in making his charitable beliefs clear. I was attracted to the fact Cavell was mercurial of character and retained friends of all classes. I felt great respect for our dear Queen Victoria, but my feelings on how the Crown had destroyed so many lives in the march for power and wealth did not sit well with my Christian conscience. It never had, but I was too afraid of censure from my peers to make my feelings clear. Cavell was outspoken and appeared fearless and, I must admit, I found this to be rather an aphrodisiac!

“Poppycock!” Charles spat “Idealistic nonsense,” but then before his steam could rise, the dining room door opened and Mr. Wilkins entered carrying a platter with a huge steak pudding displayed upon it. In an instant Charles’ ire evaporated and his eyes moved to follow the procession of the steak pudding!

“I say. That smells scrumptious,” he marvelled.

And soon all was well. Wilkins served slices of the pudding that contained large lumps of braised steak, onions, and mushrooms with a thick unctuous gravy. The maids carried the dishes of root vegetables and stood by each diner as we served ourselves. The way to a man’s heart is most certainly through his stomach because Mrs. Twigg had triumphed, not only with ending a heated argument, but also in filling my guests with pleasing warmth and satisfaction. The desert of brandy and pear trifle was the veritable cherry on top and left me replete, and Ashe slightly dopey with contentment.

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