The Derring-Do Club and the Empire of the Dead

by David Wake

  She must concentrate, she thought, to remember it all, so that she and her Arthur could talk about it in the years to come, but the Chaplain’s words were a buzz: Adam and Eve, the touching duty of a wife to her husband. Arthur had to love her, the two of them shall be one flesh, he was to honour her as unto the weaker vessel.

  And Saint Paul had advice for her: she was to submit herself to her husband. She wanted to, but she wasn’t precisely sure what was meant. They could hold hands now, she knew that, and walk side–by–side in the park without a chaperone. Indeed, they didn’t need to be separated at night, which was simply an astonishing thought.

  “…and are not afraid with any amazement,” the Chaplain said: “And, to finish, may I be the first to say: you did it without a single stutter – well done, Merry.”

  He held out his hand, which Arthur shook, and the congregation with their deep voices, all said: “Well done, Merry.”

  “Yee ha!” McKendry whooped, which suited the mood perfectly.

  Miss Charlotte

  Charlotte had been allowed champagne, which was fizzy but nothing like lemonade at all. The officers at the reception had been tall and smart with wonderful uniforms, and she’d caught the hiccups.

  All too soon all the cake was gone, and everyone was waving the happy couple off. They were only going to a hotel, but it was the Savoy.

  “I’ll be fine,” said Georgina as she held Charlotte’s hand. “I know what to do.”

  “Hmmm,” Charlotte mumbled.

  Uncle Jeremiah bade her farewell, holding her hand in both of his.

  “My dear,” he said. “You know about the birds and the bees?”

  “Oh yes,” Georgina replied. “I’ve studied: ornithology, entomology and lepidoptera – I have an excellent butterfly collection.”

  “Excellent, excellent,” said Uncle Jeremiah, who, as usual, was not really listening.

  Merryweather joined them having escaped from his colleagues. He held the carriage’s door open and helped his new wife, Mrs Arthur Merryweather – just imagine, her sister married – up the steps. With a last wave, they were away clattering down the street.

  Caruthers hailed a hansom cab for Charlotte and another for Uncle Jeremiah. The old man had insisted she take the first.

  Charlotte was happy and content as she turned into Zebediah Row and saw the sycamore trees that she remembered so well. The road had been named after Samson Zebediah, who was famous for having a road named after him and nothing else. It would be remembered now for the road on which the Deering–Dolittle Sisters lived. Omnibuses would bring nosey visitors to the street who would point and buy souvenirs from street hawkers. Their house was on the odd side of the street: 12b, and the gate creaked open to welcome her home.

  Charlotte pulled the cord to ring the doorbell. Through the mottled glass, she saw a shadow loom towards the door. Cook would let her in, and after she’d refused more cake from the woman, she’d have a lie down. The strange shape opened the door and became Earnestine.

  “Ness!”

  “Charlotte, what time do you call this?”

  “Ness! You’re here.”

  “Evidently I’m going to get no sense out of you. Where’s your chaperone, I’d like a word with her. Lottie, out of the way!”

  Earnestine pushed past into the empty pathway, tut–tutted and then opened the little gate with its angry creak and went onto the pavement. She looked right and left, right and left again, and then came back.

  “Where is your chaperone?”

  “I didn’t have one,” said Charlotte.

  Earnestine did that startled tic with her eyes, blinking, and then her lips narrowed: “I see,” she said.

  Earnestine went inside leaving Charlotte in the porch. Charlotte followed and saw that Earnestine had gone into the drawing room, the room that was sealed from the dust for special occasions. When she went in, Earnestine was standing by the fireplace, her hands held together in front of her and a stern expression on her face.

  Charlotte waited: she knew there was no point in saying anything.

  “Well,” said Earnestine. “I’m waiting for an explanation.”

  “I caught a cab home from the Regimental Club–”

  “Regimental Club?!”

  “We had ham with little… and then cake, wedding cake, and–”

  “Wedding cake?!”

  “Fruit cake with marzipan and icing with–”

  “I know what wedding cake is.”

  She wants an explanation, but she won’t let me finish a sentence, Charlotte thought.

  “Go on,” said Earnestine.

  “I had champagne and it made me burp.”

  “Charlotte Deering–Dolittle, you are–”

  “Gina let me.”

  “I will have to have words with Georgina Deering–Dolittle as well.”

  “Well, you can’t, she’s married.”

  “We’ll see about that… Charlotte! It’s bad enough that you’ve been gallivanting without having to make up lies about it.”

  “She is married.”

  “Don’t be absurd: Georgina is the middle sister, she simply wouldn’t get married before her elder sister. I am the eldest, I am not married, ergo: she is not married.”

  “She is.”

  “Why would she do that? Pray tell me. Although why I humour you, I don’t know.”

  “She’s in love.”

  Earnestine blinked, her lips practically disappeared: “I see.”

  “She thought you were dead, so… that made her the elder sister, so it’s all right really.”

  “All right really!? I’m here, aren’t I?” Earnestine put her hand on her bosom as if Charlotte didn’t know who Earnestine was. “I’m alive, therefore she is not the elder sister, therefore she has no right to get married.”

  “Georgina was lovely and the service was lovely and everyone was so nice and you are so horrid… just because you’re an old maid.”

  “I am not an old maid.”

  “You’re twenty!”

  “Listen–”

  But Charlotte didn’t listen: she talked: “Georgina was the eldest for a couple of days and she got married, whereas you’ve been the eldest for simply years and years and years and haven’t got married once. And there are girls who are grandmothers at your age.”

  “Don’t exaggerate,” Earnestine said. “Where is Georgina now?”

  Charlotte kept quiet.

  Earnestine stepped forward, grabbed Charlotte by her ear and twisted. Charlotte yelped.

  “Where?”

  “I’m not telling – ah, ah – the Savoy.”

  Earnestine let go.

  Charlotte refused to rub her ear: she wasn’t going to give Earnestine the satisfaction, but it hurt so much.

  Earnestine went back to her pose by the fireplace, blinked and her lips tightened: “The Savoy, you say.”

  “Yes.”

  “Right!” Earnestine announced and she went for the door.

  Charlotte tried to get in her way, but nothing could stop Earnestine once her mind was made up and she marched down the path to the road. The gate squeaked in protest as it closed.

  Earnestine shouted, her hand aloft: “Cab!”

  When people wanted a cab, there never was one, but now that Charlotte wanted them to stay away, one was passing. It turned and sidled back to the pavement.

  Charlotte intercepted Earnestine.

  “You can’t go there!” Charlotte threw her arms wide, physically barring the way to the hansom. Earnestine took a step forward forcing Charlotte back until the youngest reached the door itself, her hands gripping the frame on either side

  “You can’t!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because… I don’t know… it’s her special night.”

  “Special night? What are you prattling about?”

  “She thought you were dead.”

  “So, she’ll want to know I’m alive straight away.”

  “I think she�
��d prefer to know in the morning.”

  “Nonsense.” Earnestine prised Charlotte’s fingers from the frame and wrenched her away. “And, Lottie, we’ll have to have words about your attitude.”

  “On your head be it,” Charlotte whined.

  “On my head be what?”

  Earnestine grabbed the door handle, pulled and–

  “I told you, I keep telling you, but you don’t listen.”

  Earnestine stepped back: “I beg your pardon?”

  “She got married in a chapel and everything, and now she’s gone to the Savoy with her new husband.”

  For a moment, Earnestine was speechless, but only for a moment: “I see.”

  “Yes, she thought you were dead and–”

  “She thought I was dead and so the first thing she did was fling herself at the nearest man.”

  Charlotte beamed: “He’s a Captain.”

  “I might have known,” said Earnestine. “I caught her hanging around with one on the Continent and now… she’s far too forward. She’ll get a reputation.”

  “He’s a Gentleman Adventurer.”

  “An adventurer? What sort of profession is that to look after Georgina?”

  “He’s a good man and–”

  “Charlotte – go to your room!”

  That was that: Charlotte went to her room.

  Chapter XVIII

  Miss Deering-Dolittle

  The doorman of the Savoy didn’t want ladies of her sort, he said, so Earnestine tore him down a strip. She assured him that she was not a lady of any sort! Once he was on the back foot and in his place, she stormed up to the front desk.

  “Tell me at once which room Mister and Mrs…”

  There was a long pause.

  “Miss?”

  “The newlyweds?”

  “Captain and Mrs Merryweather–”

  “Merryweather!”

  She might have guessed. It was the man she’d caught her sister with under that tarpaulin before anything happened. And now, anything could have happened or be happening.

  “They are in Room 802, which has a private bathroom and, like the rest of the hotel, is fully lit by electricity.”

  “I see.”

  “You can take the all–electric lift to the eighth floor,” the clerk explained, and he pointed.

  The all–electric lift soon deposited Earnestine on the eighth floor. Room 802 was very nearby and Earnestine marched to the door, turned the knob and went straight in.

  The cosy bedroom had a huge bed, a few other pieces of furniture beside the bed, and there were flowers on the bedside cabinet and the bed was made up with fresh, white bed–linen along with bedding, and a man’s pyjamas on one side of the bed and a woman’s night attire on the other side of the bed. What was her sister thinking: being alone in a room with a man and a bed?

  It was indeed lit by electricity and the lights were on, but there was no–one home.

  Perhaps, she thought, they might be–

  The latch opened on another door and a deep male voice preceded a figure.

  Earnestine did the only thing she could do and hid in the wardrobe.

  “So, erm…”

  It was Captain Merryweather: clearly he had survived capture in Strasburg and managed to reach England.

  “Yes, dearest,” Georgina replied. Dearest indeed, Earnestine thought.

  “Darling, I could… do you want…”

  Earnestine was incensed: now a ‘darling’ from him.

  “Whatever you think is best, dearest.”

  “Oh. Right. Erm…”

  “Dearest?”

  “I’ll… erm… wait outside for a short while.”

  “Don’t be too long.”

  Earnestine heard the main door open and Merryweather leave, followed by that irritating humming that Georgina did when she was happy. Now was the time to emerge and tell Georgina exactly what Earnestine thought of this outrageous… only Earnestine wasn’t at all sure what she thought, exactly.

  There was a rustle of bedclothes.

  Silence.

  Well, she wasn’t going to stay in the wardrobe all night. She’d spent far too much time in confining wooden boxes recently and… best not think about that.

  A knock at the door: rat–a–tat–tat.

  “Come in, dearest.”

  The door creaked, much as Earnestine’s curled–up knees threatened to echo.

  “Ah yes, erm…” Merryweather said. “Darling.”

  There was some… what was that?

  The famous electric illumination of the Savoy went out. It was dark at first, but then Earnestine saw that the slice of light from the gap between the doors had simply changed colour: no longer the bright and unearthly orange but a softer bluish tone caused by light from the window.

  “Dearest, may I look?” Georgina said gently.

  “Darling… erm… of course.”

  “Oh, my word.”

  There was something sharp sticking up in Earnestine’s back: an umbrella or a parasol.

  “Good heavens, is it supposed to do that?” Georgina asked.

  “Perhaps we should start with a kiss, darling.”

  “Of course!”

  “I meant on your lips rather than your hand.”

  “Oh, sorry, dearest.”

  That was it! Earnestine was going to – ow, that was sharp – if she could get up and… because they weren’t even engaged. They were married.

  “You can take your hand down, dear.”

  “Sorry, dearest, there.”

  They probably were allowed to kiss on the lips. But they hardly knew each other, which made little difference, but even so… perhaps she could offer to be their chaperone?

  “Darling, I’ll just…”

  “Of course, oh!”

  The issue, perhaps – and Earnestine felt guilty about this – was that she’d kissed Pieter on the lips. Well, he’d kissed her, but she’d let him. Or rather she hadn’t stopped him, but then she hadn’t known what he was going to do so, until it was too late, and he had. So, in effect she’d missed it, which was doubly cruel of him.

  “Dearest,” Georgina simpered. “Could you perhaps stop being so gentle and do… whatever it is you are supposed to do?”

  “Sorry, darling.”

  “Surrey.”

  Her sister was slurring her words now. She’d probably drunk a lot of wine thinking she was a proper adult now she was married, but she was only seventeen.

  Georgina started again: “Kent, Surrey.”

  “Sorry?”

  “No, Surrey.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Kent, Surrey, Dorset, Essex, Sus – ah – sex, Middle – oh – sex…”

  “What are you doing?”

  “The Home Counties.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I thought I’d start with the Home Counties… why have you stopped?”

  “It’s a little distracting.”

  “Really?”

  “A little… darling.”

  “I thought… well, dearest, I mean to say.”

  “I don’t suppose you could explain why?”

  “We were told to… lie back and think of England.”

  “I see.”

  “So I thought I’d start with the Home Counties.”

  “Ah. Darling, do you have to do it aloud?”

  “No, I don’t suppose so.”

  Earnestine decided she’d have nothing to do with gentlemen: they were nothing but trouble. She saw no purpose in turning out the lights to play I, Spy or Geography games… or whatever. Georgina had married the first man she’d come across and was currently doing whatever it was that she was doing, and silly Charlotte… well, the less said about her predilection for cadets the better. No, Earnestine had fallen in love with Pieter and–

  Earnestine sat bolt upright.

  “Arthur! What was that?”

  “Nothing darling.”

  “Oh dearest.”

  “I thoug
ht I heard something too.”

  “Please, Arthur, I’m working up the Pennines.”

  She’d gone and fallen in love with Pieter. It was stunningly obvious. Of all the stupid things for her to have gone and done.

  “Nor– folk, Suf– f– folk. Folk.”

  “You’re doing it again, darling.”

  “Staffordshire… Rut – rut – land.”

  “Ah!”

  “Riding! Riding!”

  “Yes, yes.”

  “Cum… bria!”

  What she needed to do was–

  What on Earth had those two just done?

  What had she just missed?

  The two on the bed let out long sighs and there was the ruffling of bedclothes. Perhaps, thought Earnestine, she could wait until they’d fallen asleep and then sneak out quietly.

  “Arthur dearest.”

  “Yes, my darling.”

  “I’ve just thought of some more counties, mostly in the Midlands, so would you mind, my love.”

  “Of course, dear, if you’d give me a few moments to recruit myself.”

  Mrs Arthur Merryweather

  In the morning, Georgina found herself thinking of Earnestine, which was understandable as she missed her sister, and dreaming about her dear Arthur. She found it hard not to compare the two. Usually newly married brides - she smiled - who had looked up to their fathers, now looked up to their husbands. They were their new guardians after all. This change of regime obviously brought new freedoms and curtailed others.

  However, as her own father had never really been present and Earnestine had so powerfully filled that dominant niche in her life, it was therefore Earnestine she compared to Arthur. Her sister was like a low pitched grating sound: whereas whenever she thought of Arthur it was with a sigh. He was a very handsome husband, and caring too. He’d gone down to breakfast early to leave her time to get ready, and... but there was this growling sensation, a constant reminder somehow of Earnestine. Perhaps it was the new-fangled electric light? Did they snort? She’d no idea, but, by stopping to look at the strange bulb in the centre of the room, she herself was no longer bustling around the room, and, as she was silent, the noise seemed louder. It was a buzz and a snort as if the gas phutted and popped? She expected the Savoy to have thicker walls.

  She went back to sorting out her clothes, folding some in the chest of drawers, which was by the window, and the longer dresses, which she turned to the wardrobe to deposit–