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Authors: Kage Baker
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“ ‘Wasps Attack Members of the Metropolitan Police. Chartist Plot Suspected.’ ” He lowered
The Times
and glared across his desk at Ludbridge, Bell-Fairfax, Pengrove and Hobson.
“My fault, Greene,” said Ludbridge. “I never told them that creating a distraction wasn’t one of their options.”
“And rightly so, because it
was
one of their options,” said Greene. He considered them sourly. “Perhaps not to the extent of immobilizing five fellow members and causing a public panic that gets into the papers, but an option nonetheless. You do understand, though, don’t you, gentlemen, that our organization prefers to
avoid
drawing attention to its activities, as a general rule?”
“Yes, sir,” said Bell-Fairfax, and Pengrove, and Hobson.
“I am pleased to hear it. I have no doubt you will conduct yourselves with greater discretion in the future. Trusting in your good sense—” Greene reached for his pen and signed the chit Ludbridge had presented. “You shall have your treat after all.”
There was in Westminster a certain dining house, long established, eminently respectable, and frequented by prominent statesmen, being so conveniently situated near Whitehall. Although its public dining room was grand and spacious, it had beside exquisitely appointed private rooms available for those gentlemen of rank willing to pay a membershippremium for their exclusive use. This fact was well known and therefore other diners had no great reason to remark when certain august persons, upon presenting themselves to the headwaiter, were conducted through the door marked MEMBERS ONLY.
Had any importunate visitor opened that door without the headwaiter’s permission, he would have seen beyond only a corridor with four beautifully furnished rooms opening off it. Three of them contained tables, chairs, china, crystal, cutlery, linen napery, all of the finest and most costly sort but otherwise unexceptional. The fourth room was identical to the others save for an immense wine cabinet against one wall.
“Gentlemen.” The headwaiter pressed the concealed switch and the entire wine cabinet swung smoothly outward, revealing the ascending room beyond it. He bowed them in.
“How thrilling,” said Pengrove, as the cabinet closed behind them. The room descended and they watched rough bricks and plaster slide past, before a new view presented itself: an elegant room, dark paneled, thickly carpeted, and rather old-fashioned were it not lit by vacuum lamps behind tinted glass shades.
Beside one of these sat a woman of a certain age. It was plain she had not chosen her chair for its advantage of lamplight; for she wore smoked goggles, and her right hand rested on a cane. She turned her face as a bell rang, signaling the arrival of visitors.
“Welcome to Nell Gwynne’s, gentlemen,” she said. Her accent was that of the lower classes, but she spoke quietly.
“Good evening, Mrs. Corvey,” said Ludbridge. “I have brought three deserving fellows for an evening’s entertainment. May I present to you Mr. Hobson, Mr. Pengrove, and Mr. Bell-Fairfax?” They murmured their compliments.
“Welcome, my dears.” Mrs. Corvey set aside her cane and groped about on the tea table to her right. Finding the tea service there, she deftly poured out four cups. “Please be seated and take a little tea with us, won’t you?”
“We should be delighted, Mrs. Corvey,” said Ludbridge. They took seats on a long divan opposite her chair, shifting about awkwardly, and Ludbridge handed around the teacups and saucers. Hobson and xsPengrove drank, as did Ludbridge; Bell-Fairfax raised his cup to his mouth and halted, staring into it with an expression of consternation.
Mrs. Corvey turned her face in his direction.
“One of you doesn’t care for his tea, I perceive.”
Bell-Fairfax reddened. “I . . . believe someone may have adulterated your tea, ma’am.” She responded with a dry chuckle.
“How keen your senses are, sir,
The Times
and glared across his desk at Ludbridge, Bell-Fairfax, Pengrove and Hobson.
“My fault, Greene,” said Ludbridge. “I never told them that creating a distraction wasn’t one of their options.”
“And rightly so, because it
was
one of their options,” said Greene. He considered them sourly. “Perhaps not to the extent of immobilizing five fellow members and causing a public panic that gets into the papers, but an option nonetheless. You do understand, though, don’t you, gentlemen, that our organization prefers to
avoid
drawing attention to its activities, as a general rule?”
“Yes, sir,” said Bell-Fairfax, and Pengrove, and Hobson.
“I am pleased to hear it. I have no doubt you will conduct yourselves with greater discretion in the future. Trusting in your good sense—” Greene reached for his pen and signed the chit Ludbridge had presented. “You shall have your treat after all.”
There was in Westminster a certain dining house, long established, eminently respectable, and frequented by prominent statesmen, being so conveniently situated near Whitehall. Although its public dining room was grand and spacious, it had beside exquisitely appointed private rooms available for those gentlemen of rank willing to pay a membershippremium for their exclusive use. This fact was well known and therefore other diners had no great reason to remark when certain august persons, upon presenting themselves to the headwaiter, were conducted through the door marked MEMBERS ONLY.
Had any importunate visitor opened that door without the headwaiter’s permission, he would have seen beyond only a corridor with four beautifully furnished rooms opening off it. Three of them contained tables, chairs, china, crystal, cutlery, linen napery, all of the finest and most costly sort but otherwise unexceptional. The fourth room was identical to the others save for an immense wine cabinet against one wall.
“Gentlemen.” The headwaiter pressed the concealed switch and the entire wine cabinet swung smoothly outward, revealing the ascending room beyond it. He bowed them in.
“How thrilling,” said Pengrove, as the cabinet closed behind them. The room descended and they watched rough bricks and plaster slide past, before a new view presented itself: an elegant room, dark paneled, thickly carpeted, and rather old-fashioned were it not lit by vacuum lamps behind tinted glass shades.
Beside one of these sat a woman of a certain age. It was plain she had not chosen her chair for its advantage of lamplight; for she wore smoked goggles, and her right hand rested on a cane. She turned her face as a bell rang, signaling the arrival of visitors.
“Welcome to Nell Gwynne’s, gentlemen,” she said. Her accent was that of the lower classes, but she spoke quietly.
“Good evening, Mrs. Corvey,” said Ludbridge. “I have brought three deserving fellows for an evening’s entertainment. May I present to you Mr. Hobson, Mr. Pengrove, and Mr. Bell-Fairfax?” They murmured their compliments.
“Welcome, my dears.” Mrs. Corvey set aside her cane and groped about on the tea table to her right. Finding the tea service there, she deftly poured out four cups. “Please be seated and take a little tea with us, won’t you?”
“We should be delighted, Mrs. Corvey,” said Ludbridge. They took seats on a long divan opposite her chair, shifting about awkwardly, and Ludbridge handed around the teacups and saucers. Hobson and xsPengrove drank, as did Ludbridge; Bell-Fairfax raised his cup to his mouth and halted, staring into it with an expression of consternation.
Mrs. Corvey turned her face in his direction.
“One of you doesn’t care for his tea, I perceive.”
Bell-Fairfax reddened. “I . . . believe someone may have adulterated your tea, ma’am.” She responded with a dry chuckle.
“How keen your senses are, sir,
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