by Lee Rowan
“Good evening, gentlemen,” said the man on the other side of the door. “Please wear these at all times. When you have put them on, proceed through the door to your left, and up the stairs. Mr. Scarlet may have informed you, gentlemen: if you should recognize another guest, please do not address him except by his house name.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Carlisle said in a gruff voice.
Three wide strips of black velvet were passed through; Brendan donned his in silence, as did the others. When their faces were covered from brow to nose, they left the normal world and went up a flight of steps to The Arbor, passing through another door into a spacious, well-lighted vestibule with a hallway leading away toward the back of the building and a set of paneled doors to the left. These, Brendan knew, led into the room where Tony had given his alarming performance. From somewhere else down the hall came the faint notes of a piano.
The light thrown by candles on every available surface was dazzling after the dimness of street and vestibule, and Brendan was surprised at the heat of the place, something he had not remembered. He felt strangely disoriented, but Tony seemed quite at home, greeting the masked attendant and asking if Mr. Dee was in this evening.
“Yes, Mr. Scarlet,” the man replied. “He told me to watch for you and your friend. Who’s the other gentleman?”
“Oh, another friend. I’ll introduce him. I told Mr. Dee I might be bringing someone along, you know. Do you need to show us in?”
“I’m afraid I cannot leave my post, sir. Please, gentlemen, help yourselves to refreshments. Mr. Scarlet, do your friends have names?”
“Smith and Jones, they have no imagination.” Tony collected a glass of champagne from a low table beside the entrance. “Come along, gentlemen. If you’re considering membership I must say it’s well worth the extravagant price.”
Brendan followed without availing himself of the champagne. He felt stimulated enough without it, and half-sick with nerves. Major Carlisle showed no sign of anxiety; he merely followed Tony down the short hallway to a paneled door. There was another door just across from it, and from within could be heard a low moan, and then “Oh, yes… harder!”
Tony turned, apparently distracted; Brendan gave him a jab with his elbow and nodded toward the door. As Tony knocked, Brendan darted a glance at Major Carlisle, but his face might have been carved from stone.
Someone called “Come in!” and Tony entered, with Brendan at his heels. Carlisle stayed on the far side of the door, where he could not be seen from within.
“Mister Scarlet,” said the man behind the desk. “So very good to see you again.”
“I brought him,” Tony said, just as he was supposed to.
Brendan was no longer afraid; he was disgusted. So this was Tony’s dragon—a plump little man with a weasel’s smile, his thinning pale hair combed and pomaded into an oily attempt at a Brutus. His office was beautifully furnished with a mahogany desk and a Turkey carpet; heavy draperies hung at the grand window, and stone lions snarled on either side of the fireplace, where a coal fire crackled busily. Handsome surroundings, but their elegance made their inhabitant look even commoner than he was. A bit of Brendan’s pity for Tony’s plight turned to scorn. What made him think he had anything to fear from this scheming scrub?
“And Mr.—?” the scrub went on, looking at Brendan.
“Smith,” Brendan said, not trying to conceal his contempt.
“Yes, that will do well enough for your house name, although there are half a dozen of your kinsmen already among us. But our policy requires you to sign the membership book with your real name.” He made a great show of taking a key from his watch-pocket, unlocking the drawer of his desk, and producing a leather-bound registration book, of the sort used at the better hotels.
“Smith,” Brendan repeated. “Strange as it may seem to you, there are any number of us around. And why should I need to sign your book? I was under the impression that I was not required to become a member until the third visit.”
“Only members may perform,” Dobson said. “Under the circumstances, however—” He glanced up in irritation as a couple stumbled down the hall, grabbing at one another’s clothing. “Shut that door, would you?” he snapped to Tony.
Before Tony could do anything, Brendan stepped around him to the door and pushed it to, but left it open a crack so that Carlisle could still hear what happened inside. “Thank you, I prefer privacy myself.”
“I should think you would. As I was saying, under the circumstances, since Mr. Scarlet says you have no interest in membership, the fee will be waived.”
“How very kind of you.”
“But you must sign the book.”
Brendan shrugged, feigning concession. “Oh, very well. You realize, do you not, that if you were to point to me in court and say, “Ecce homo,” I would call you a damned liar?”
“Court? You wrong me, sir!”
“Of course I do.” Brendan said, mocking the tone of false sincerity.
With a smile so smug Brendan longed to knock it off his face, Dobson put the book on the desk before him and opened it to a page that held only one other name. “If you would just sign here … You will see this page is reserved for you and Mr. Hillyard. Since membership is offered only by invitation from a trusted member, we keep separate pages in the register for gentlemen who are known to one another, so that you can see there is no double-dealing.”
“Such as blackmail?”
Dobson recoiled. “What an ugly word!”
Brendan felt as though he had stumbled onto a stage and into some bizarre melodrama. “Is it not,” he said. He picked up the pen Dobson provided, dipped it in the standish beside the desk, and scratched “Ninian Smith” on the line below Tony’s name. “There you are.”
“Excellent.” Dobson set the book to one side and said, “Very well, Mr. Smith, off with the mask, if you please.”
The sense of unreality increased. Thank God Carlisle had guessed how this strange charade would play out. “I do not please.”
He found himself speaking as he thought Philip Carlisle might speak, from a position of personal authority, and it gave him a strength he did not really feel he possessed. “Mister--do let us call him Scarlet--persuaded me that his life would be ruined if I did not cater to your extortionate demand. As far as I am concerned, he ought to call you out and have done with it.”
“You refuse?”
“I commend your perspicacity. We are at a point of ‘this far, and no farther,’ sir. I will give you one performance, and you will give my friend that page from your infamous ledger, and our association will be at an end.”
Dobson cast an ugly look at Brendan, and turned to Tony. “So this is what you call cooperation?”
“I had no idea he would take this tack!” Tony protested. “I never—”
The door slammed open, and Major Carlisle stormed in. “Tony! Leave this place immediately, or you will be disowned before you are an hour older!”
Tony looked so thunder-struck Brendan wondered if he was about to faint, but he rallied enough to gasp, “Yes, sir!”
He scurried out as though his coat-tails were on fire, and in the few seconds it would have taken him to reach the exit stair, Carlisle lit into the molly-house keeper with all the fury of an outraged father. “You cur! You vile whoremonger!”
Dobson leapt to his feet. “I beg your pardon!”
“As well you should! What right have you to drag my son into this festering cesspit?”
Brendan heard footsteps in the hall. Any place such as this must have a few bravos to keep order… but no, it was just a man in evening-dress, standing in an awkward crouch as he hastily did up his trouser buttons. Another man peered in behind him.
“I do not drag anyone in, sir. This is an exclusive establishment. Your son—if he is your son—came here of his own free will.”
“Perhaps he did, the first time.” Carlisle leaned against the desk, towering over Dobson. “He has done many fo
olish things. But I know he did not come here tonight because he wished to. He was here because you forced him to, with your bloody blackmail!”
A gaggle of masked faces crowded the doorway now, but no one attempted to enter. And Brendan noticed that the first man who’d been there was now gone.
He moved around the edge of the desk a step or two, as though putting distance between himself and this angry intruder. As Carlisle reached across the desk to seize Dobson by the lapels and berate him further, Brendan quietly slid the ledger-book off the edge of the desk and tucked it under his arm inside his coat, holding it tight against his body.
Dobson didn’t notice. He was trying to wrest himself free, sputtering, “But you’re not even his father!”
“No,” Carlisle said softly. He tilted his head slightly, toward the door. “But they don’t know that, do they?” With a fierce grin, he shoved Dobson back into his chair. “Goodbye, and good riddance. Come along, Mr. Smith!”
He did not need to ask twice. As Brendan hurried after the Major, he realized that the entire exchange had taken only a little over a minute. They pushed their way through the growing muddle of men in the hallway, most of whom were also heading for the exit, the air filled with their anxious muttering.
Brendan’s heart leapt into his throat as their way was blocked by two large men whose function in the establishment was obviously that of keeping the peace.
Carlisle did not miss a step. With a backwards jerk of his head, he told the first bravo, “There’s a madman in the office! Better be quick!” Then he reached back and hauled Brendan around in front of him. “You lead the way, you’ve been here before.”
“Yes, sir.” The excitement was racing in his veins. “I have it.”
“I saw. Good work. Now, move!”
They were not alone on the stairway, nor in the alley, and, like most of the other men clattering down the stairs, they did not bother to take off their masks. As soon as they were outdoors, Carlisle motioned him aside, into a doorway of a shop that was closed and shuttered for the night. They stood there for a moment while a dozen men scattered into the darkness. Brendan checked once more to be sure the book was under his arm, and buttoned his coat up tight to keep it there.
When the rush had died away, Carlisle peered out, looked up and down the alley, and ducked back into the shadows long enough to take off the mask and stuff it into his coat pocket.
Brendan did the same. “My God, sir, that was splendid!”
“We’re not clear yet,” Carlisle said. “And we won’t be until that damned book is burnt. I hope your friend had wit enough to find the carriage.” He strode off down the alley, swiftly but not hurrying, and Brendan did the best he could to match his pace.
Edward had the carriage waiting as arranged, the door open and the steps down. Tony’s anxious face appeared around the side of the door.
Edward grinned. “Was the raid successful, sir?”
“Yes, Sergeant. We have the enemy’s flag, and a retreat is in order.” Carlisle vaulted up into the carriage. And as soon as Brendan threw himself into the seat beside him Edward closed the door, and they were soon on their way.
“Did you get it?” Tony asked anxiously.
“Yes.” Brendan patted his coat. “And not just the page with your signature, but the entire book! Safe and sound, until we’re able to destroy the damned thing.”
“All the names? Let me see!”
He reached toward Brendan; Major Carlisle brushed his hand aside. “You can’t see anything in this light, Mr. Hillyard,” he said. “And it would be better if you do not.”
“But—”
“No. We shall drive you to your lodgings and bid you goodnight. You may trust Mr. Townsend to witness the object’s destruction.”
Tony snorted. “Oh, so you will know the names of Society’s sodomites, but I am not to be so privileged?”
Brendan could hardly believe his effrontery. “Tony! This expedition was to save your good name, not to endanger other—”
“Just why do you wish to see the names, Mr. Hillyard?” Carlisle interrupted, his voice cool. “What is it to you?”
After a moment’s silence, Tony said, with unconvincing indifference, “Oh, mere curiosity, I suppose.”
Carlisle laughed. “That is not a good enough reason. Forgive my want of nicety, but this foray was made necessary by your inability to exercise discretion. I think it would be a great mistake to allow you to acquaint yourself with the names inscribed in that ledger.” He spoke in a mild, almost humorous tone, an odd contrast to what he actually said.
Tony shifted in his seat. “I should leave you now and find my own way home! What gives you the right to order me about?”
This was no time for Tony to throw a temperament. Brendan bit his tongue, knowing the Major would handle the situation better than he could.
Carlisle let the silence draw out long enough to take the momentum out of Tony’s demand. When he finally spoke, the humor was gone. “You were willing enough to take my orders when it was your reputation at stake. You were willing to demand that your friend—who offers you a loyalty you do not deserve—debase himself to protect a good reputation which you also clearly do not deserve. I have the right to order you about, Mr. Hillyard, because I just saved your sorry neck—and because if someone did not tell you what to do, you would resurrect a scandal we have just contrived to bury. Damn you for a reckless, stupid fool—do you wish to hang?”
Somehow, the reprimand got through to Tony where all Brendan’s exhortations did not. Tony hung his head. “No. No. I apologize. And…” he pursed his lips as though the words tasted sour, “I thank you for helping me.”
Brendan closed his eyes and allowed himself to breathe once more.
“Every name in this register,” Major Carlisle said, “belongs to a man whose very life depends upon his identity being kept secret. I do not intend to let you read them, nor will Mr. Townsend, nor I myself. I will not so much as open this book. It will go directly into the fire, and stay there until I can pound the ashes into an unreadable powder. And I shall ask Mr. Townsend to witness that I do exactly that.”
“It must be that way, Tony,” Brendan agreed. “That book could harm too many people—destroy dozens of families.”
“In any case,” Carlisle said, “he will have no further need of the membership list. Not after tonight. This will finish him.”
“What do you mean?” Tony asked. “You may have the book, but he still has the club—and the mollyhouse downstairs.”
“Does he, indeed? You did not see the number of gentlemen who gathered round to hear what I had to tell your Mr. Dobson. In a day or two, the word will have spread, and every man Jack of them will realize that he’s been patronizing a ‘safe haven’ run by a rogue who has been blackmailing one of their number. Very soon, they will begin to wonder what would prevent him from doing the same to any of them. No, Mr. Hillyard. He may still keep the tavern, though he’d be wise to change the nature of its clientele, as the place has already acquired a smoky reputation in legal circles. But I should be amazed if The Arbor is still in operation by the month’s end.”
“Rolled him up, horse, foot, and guns!” Brendan exulted.
“I certainly hope so.” The carriage drew to a halt, and joggled as Edward climbed down to open the door. Carlisle moved the curtain aside to peer out. “It seems you are home safe and sound, Mr. Hillyard. Of course you will speak of this evening’s events to no one.”
“Of course not! Do you think I’m an idiot?”
Carlisle did not answer that loaded question. “Goodnight, then,” he said, “and pleasant dreams.”
Tony stormed out, as much as one could storm on a wobbly set of carriage steps, and stalked into the York without looking back.
“Gratitude is not his strong suit, is it?” Carlisle remarked.
Brendan laughed. “No, sir, but at least he’s gone. And I thank you with all my heart, even if he did not.”
CHAPTER
13
Philip Carlisle was pleased to see the back of Tony Hillyard. The only thing that did not please him was that Hillyard’s departure meant he was left alone in the carriage with Brendan. The younger man was fairly bursting with enthusiasm and what Carlisle clearly recognized as hero-worship, but there was a warmth in his voice that made Carlisle worry that the sentiment might be something even stronger.
He would not have been so uneasy if not for his own excess of feeling. He had been wound up to a pre-battle pitch when they entered the club, and his vigil outside Dobson’s door, waiting for the conversation to reach a cue for his entrance, had only turned the screw a little tighter. That was nothing; he had expected it, had used that tension to fuel his tirade at the club-owner.
But he had not expected the two men, slightly foxed, who had wandered down the hallway toward what Carlisle knew were bedrooms. He had not expected himself to be stirred by the sounds of their amorous fumbling, or brought to the point of painful arousal when they had given up attempting to open the door and simply began embracing and clutching at one another against the door itself.
And he had not expected to find himself now in a state where he had so often seen men after a battle—still at a high pitch of excitement, relieved to be alive and uncaptured, and desperate to find a willing partner and sexual release.
He suspected—No, he knew—that Brendan would be willing. And he could not permit him to offer. But it was very difficult to have the young man sitting there beside him, close enough to notice the scent of his cologne, and not wish to touch him.
It was Brendan himself who broke the tension. “Thank God that’s over!” he said, in such an annoyed tone that Carlisle was able to laugh. Then Brendan added, “You were brilliant, sir!”
“I must say the same of your performance, though I never expected anything less from you. I was quite relieved, even surprised, that Mr. Hillyard found himself able to follow the program.”
