Read Online The Gentlemen's Club: Volume One in the 'Noire' series by Emmanuelle de Maupassant - Free Book Online Page A

    The only solution, to his
mind, would be to persuade her to become his mistress. Marriage to Mademoiselle
Noire was a ridiculous notion. From what class of people she originated, who
knew? Moreover, her agenda, so ably enacted over recent weeks, hardly marked
her out as a woman in search of a husband.

 
    And yet, knowing all this, he
heard her in every whisper. She occupied the silence and the roar of life.

 
    The next day, after some
hours spent in deep melancholy, closeted in his library, yet reading nothing
beyond the obituaries in The Times (which always cheered him) he accompanied
Cecile, at her request, to the newly reopened Claridge’s Hotel, in Mayfair. Desirous of seeing the grandeur of the new décor, and to
sample the sweet pastries so praised by her friends, she eventually coaxed him
into the carriage, so that they entered the grand hall at 3pm. Cecelia
exclaimed on the beautiful marble of the new flooring and the sweep of the
grand staircase, as they walked through to take their table within the elegant
dining room in which afternoon tea was served. MacCaulay eyed the finger sandwiches, eclairs and cream tarts
with little appetite, although Cecelia was all praise and clearly enjoying their outing. He smiled fondly at her - happy at least that
she was so easily contented.  

 
    Looking about the room, which
was quite full, since his sister was not the only female in aristocratic London
eager to see the hotel in its newly refurbished state, he found himself seeking
out ladies’ hair colour . Only two women boasted locks
approximating in shade to those of Mademoiselle Noire, but neither had the same
rich luster, and their skin lacked luminosity. In fact, there was not a woman
there whom he would have called beautiful (apart from his darling Cecile, of
course).   Several were pretty, but
simpering; most were decidedly plain in his opinion.   Had he always been so choosy?   It hardly mattered now.

 
    Their tea drunk, and Cecile
happy at having seen several ladies of note, the brother and sister returned to
their carriage. However, they had hardly reached Grosvenor Square before MacCaulay’s attention was caught by an upturned face, seen
in the crowd upon the pavement: someone with auburn hair.   He banged immediately on the ceiling, so
that their driver might stop, kissed Cecile lightly upon the brow, offering
profuse apologies, and leapt down onto the pavement, adeptly avoiding the
collected filth of the gutter.

 
    He looked about him, certain
that he had recognized her, but no lady was visible meeting her description. Then,
he saw her again, hair tucked under a cap, but a few locks escaping. She was wearing
the garb of a young working lad: trousers of rough cloth, heavy boots, a
waistcoat, jacket and a wide scarf closely about her neck, so that her face was
barely visible. She was disappearing down Audley Street, weaving between pedestrians, so that he was obliged to quicken his
pace.

 
    He was almost upon her when
she turned and saw him, an expression of surprise and some irritation crossing
her face. She began to run, dodging down Mount Street and almost knocking into
some flower sellers, which brought forth a rich host of expletives. He kept her
in sight, although it was all he could do to keep up with her rapid progress.
She turned left into Park Street, ran a few paces more, and then disappeared
into a smaller alleyway.

 
    MacCaulay was somewhat familiar with the streets hereabouts, as
the Dorchester Hotel was nearby, as was the entrance to Hyde Park, off Park
Lane. He entered the alley, carefully avoiding the
curds of vomit left by a night reveler, but was unable to spot her. He wondered
if she had already exited at the other end back onto Audley Street. He took a few more steps, drawing level with some barrels of ale stacked
against the wall, and there saw her, his Venus, crouched in hiding among
foul-smelling refuse.   Her beauty
was all the more dazzling here – a place so low