“This way, gentlemen.” The burly man allowed us to enter after I showed him the card and paid the lift fee.
As we rose smoothly above the ground, I couldn’t help but gawk at the sight. The ornate brassworks that created the sides of the lift allowed an excellent view of the buildings as we passed by. The higher we went, the fancier the storefronts became. When we reached the top and stepped out of the platform, we found ourselves on a terrace-like balcony overlooking the city. For a moment, the three of us simply stared at the ragged array of rooftops in row upon row upon row below us, as far as the eye could see. We were higher than any other building in the vicinity; the only structures taller than us were the distant white face of Big Ben and the jutting black spires of the Oligary Building.
Even the sky-anchors danced and buffeted below us, moored to the cornices of buildings built too tall and narrow to keep from swaying at the top. The sky-anchors were large balloons meant to keep the tall, spindly buildings from crashing into their nearby neighbor.
The sun had sunk beyond the rooftops in the west, and the sunset left a spectacular red-pink color in its wake. Even the ever-present fog clouding our city didn’t seem to be present at this height. Behind me, to the east, the sky had turned dark and I could see the beginning of a glitter of stars, and in the distance . . .
Was that an airship? I felt the tiniest shiver. Was it the same one Pix and I had seen twice? The one that portended something bad? The eerie, shadowy thing that slid silently through the night like evil? Blooming fish, was I getting poetic!
Still . . . I couldn’t drag my eyes away from the oblong shape that could very well be an airship. It was too far away to fully recognize, and the sky was too dark.
“Shall we?” Mina broke into my thoughts.
I saw the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. If we were recognized inside a gentlemen’s club—especially with Princess Lurelia—not only would our reputations be ruined, but surely Princess Alix and Miss Adler would be beyond furious. I couldn’t imagine how much trouble Mina and I would be in. It would be an international incident.
But I had to obtain one of Pix’s devices. We needed to find out what exactly it was, and he’d taken back the one I had stolen from him. And this was also our chance to learn what we could about his mysterious customer—whether it was indeed the Ankh or not.
And besides . . . it would be an adventure. I couldn’t imagine doing anything more exciting than mingling elbow to elbow with gentlemen in their private club. I could hardly wait to see what they got to do!
Females didn’t have any place similar to these clubs. We were restricted to sitting politely at tea and making nice conversation, or being chaperoned to within an inch of our lives at highly regulated dances. We couldn’t visit pubs or fighting clubs or music halls or even the pleasure gardens like New Vauxhall without a proper chaperone. And our bodies were just as restricted—by corsets and stays and layers of petticoats.
Hmm. Perhaps that was the Ankh’s point all those months ago, when she railed on about society and its restrictions against women.
And poor Lurelia . . . destined to marry an older man who was boring and had bad breath. She was owed a little bit of fun.
Without another thought, I breezed toward the door.
The words “Bridge & Stokes” glowed in soft yellow light, somehow fashioned out of a long slender lamp forming the script. The door opened as we approached. I remembered to speak in a deep voice, and to act imperiously, as if I and my companions had every right to be accepted inside.
And, miraculously, we were.
Sir Mycroft’s card—which, I admit, had been Mina’s brilliant idea to forge—seemed to be the magic key. Not only did we gain entrance, but the butler called a porter to give us a tour of the club so we would know where we wished to spend our time.
I glanced at Mina, giving her a smile of success. She didn’t smile back. In fact, she appeared more than a little uncomfortable. Lurelia, on the other hand, seemed just as enthusiastic as I felt—at least, as far as I could see behind all the facial hair. My last bit of nervousness evaporated. No one would recognize the Betrovian princess; Mina had done an excellent job with her disguise. And aside from that, who would even believe it if they thought they saw her here?
As we were led down the corridor, I noticed the plush, royal blue carpeting beneath our feet. It felt as if I was walking on a goose-down mattress. The ceiling was high, and the walls were stained dark brown. Ornate brass and copper cogworks decorated the intersection of every corridor along with the upper framework of every doorway. Large brass fixtures spanned the ceiling from one wall to the other, and oblong gas lamps hung suspended from them at regular intervals. Massive pictures in thick gold and silver frames depicted things like The Hunt at Dawn or Two Mechanized Engines.
The porter pointed out “The Brandy Room,” “The Poker Room,” “The Whist Room,” “The Library,” and “The Smoking Terrace”—and advised us that we could, of course, order food, drink, or cigars in any of the chambers regardless of their name. As we trooped up a flight of stairs, it occurred to me to wonder how on earth Pix gained entrance to such an exclusive establishment.
Surely he must need to come here regularly to retrieve his orders. He didn’t strike me as someone who would trust another person to collect and deliver them.
But how?
As we passed by on our tour, we encountered several gentlemen of the peerage along with some wealthy businessmen—many of whom I’d met. No one seemed to take notice of us, for they were either deep in conversation, card-playing in their armchairs, or otherwise occupied. Several of the bachelors Lurelia and I had danced with at the Midnight Palace were present. I thought if anyone were to recognize us, it would surely be one of them. But no one did.
“And this chamber is known as the Founders’ Room,” said the porter as he stopped at the largest and most ornate door yet. He pushed a button, and the brass and copper cogworks along the top of the entrance clicked to life. The double doors swung gracefully inward. I looked inside to see a comfortable, luxurious chamber decorated in rich blues and browns.
A large fireplace graced one wall. Overstuffed leather chairs studded with metal pins were arranged around low tables. Soft wall lighting gave the place a pleasant glow. The place was just as I would have imagined a gentlemen’s club to look.
“The portraits of our three founders can be found on the wall adjoining the cigar table. And there in the cabinet beneath them is an original copy of the Domesday Book. Feel free to page through it, gentlemen. The Keeper will be pleased to open the case for you.”
My pulse spiked. There it was—a book in a case. It had to be the place I was to submit my order. I’d already written it out, with Mina’s help, and I tried not to appear too eager as the three of us entered the chamber.
As we made our way to an empty table and group of chairs, I looked over at the glass-front cabinet. Wasn’t the Domesday Book an important artifact? It had all the history of England written in it, or something like that, from medieval times. Had someone really cut out some of the pages in order to accept orders? Miss Adler would be devastated. Mina would be compelled to lecture. Then I nearly stumbled over my walking stick. I’d looked up from the book’s case and recognized the portrait directly over the cabinet.
It was of the one and only Mr. Martin VanderBleeth. His name was emblazoned in large type on a plaque below it.
Blooming fish.
“I suppose the founders visit the club on occasion?” I asked the porter innocently. This explained a lot of things . . . but also raised many more questions. “Such as Mr. VanderBleeth there?” I nudged Mina, and she looked over. Her eyes widened in comprehension, then narrowed with irritation. I could almost read her thoughts: that dratted, disreputable Mr. Pix!
“Oh, no,” said the very proper porter, rearing back as if I’d insulted him. “Mr. VanderBleeth has long been deceased. I believe he passed on in 1875, only two years after the opening of Bridge & S
tokes in this location. He did, however, provide all of the original glass for the windows.”
“Oh.” I frowned. Then, I figured it out, for the portrait wasn’t of Pix arrayed in mustaches, but of a man who resembled the way he’d been disguised. “His son, then? Surely he visits the club on occasion.”
“Indeed not, unless he were to fly across the Atlantic every month or so—which is, of course, impossible.” The man looked as if I’d suggested he himself sprout wings and do the same. “The grandson, however, makes an appearance now and again. Apparently he has been touring the Continent.”
The so-called grandson, also known as Pix. How very convenient.
“Is the junior Mr. VanderBleeth expected tonight?” I ventured.
The porter lifted his nose. “I don’t presume to know the gentleman’s schedule, nor his intentions. Might I remind you, this is a private club, and the gentlemen who are members expect the utmost in discretion and privacy. Perhaps you and your guests would like to select a cigar? Or choose from the food menu? The prime rib of beef is excellent.”
I do believe that was the first time I’d ever been set down by a servant. However, I was hungry. “That sounds quite excellent. I shall have the prime rib of beef.”
Mina gave me a “What are you doing ordering food/Are you never not hungry/We can’t just sit here forever” look, but I ignored it. And, thankfully, Lurelia did as well—or perhaps it was just that Mina didn’t dare glower at the princess. Regardless, Lurelia ordered the roasted chicken, which came with whipped potatoes. I immediately began to second-guess my choice of beef with turnips.
However, I rose and sauntered over to the cabinet, which held the Domesday Book. As I approached, a small, wizened man who could only be the book’s Keeper, appeared. He was hardly tall enough to look over the top of the cabinet.
“I should like to peruse the book,” I said in my fake male voice. I hoped Bilbo hadn’t forgotten to tell me anything—like a password or some other signal.
“Of course, my lord.” The tiny man, who was no larger than an eleven-year-old boy, produced a delicate metal implement. He slipped it inside the back of the case, and then, with a soft, continual whir, the glass doors atop the cabinet rose and then slowly split open. The book lifted inside the cabinet on its own platform as I watched with interest.
“I suppose Mr. VanderBleeth finds this book quite fascinating.” I felt as if I were fishing around in a murky, muddy puddle with my bare hand, hoping to come across something other than slime.
“Oh, yes. Of course.”
That was helpful. But not really. “As well as many others.” Perhaps a woman dressed as a man, wearing a single diamond earbob? But of course even I knew I couldn’t ask such a question. When the Keeper remained silent, I indicated the massive volume. “May I?”
“Please.”
The moment I lifted the book from its display, I realized it wasn’t really a copy of the Domesday Book. It was actually a small box, made to look like a book. I felt much better about flipping it open to the back, and yes indeed, where the last fifty or sixty pages would have been, there had been a hole cut into the papers. A small box—currently empty—fit into the space. I glanced at the Keeper (who had turned away to adjust the wall lamp), then placed my folded-up order into the box.
I felt as if I’d accomplished something significant when I handed the book back to its Keeper—much less carefully than I had retrieved it, now that I knew it wasn’t a priceless artifact.
“May I interest you in a cigar, my lord?”
I turned to what the porter had called the cigar table, and looked down at the long, glass-covered expanse. Inside the display table were rows of cigars, arranged alphabetically by whatever it is cigars are categorized. The type of tobacco? The geographic location of origin? I had no idea.
I didn’t even like the smell of cigars. And of course, I’d never tried one.
A little bubble of daring rumbled up through me.
Tonight I was a gentleman for all intents and purposes. Why shouldn’t I see what a cigar was like? I didn’t have to actually smoke it . . .
“What do you recommend?” I asked in a deep voice that sounded ridiculously fake to me.
“Do you prefer a more floral, herbal taste, or a spicy, chocolatey one? Or perhaps one with the flavor of citrus?”
“Er . . . floral sounds about right.”
“Very good, my lord. Perhaps you might take your pick from one of these.” The cigar-keeper began to push some buttons on a small panel at the back of the case.
The glass top lifted up and back toward him. Then, seven different cigars located randomly throughout the case ascended from their slots. I realized each was on a curved brass holder that cradled the cigar.
I wasn’t certain what to do next. “Er . . . that one looks excellent.” I laughed gruffly as I pointed to one of them.
“Would you care to smell it first? Or shall I clip it for you?”
I had no idea what he was talking about. Bram didn’t smoke cigars, and the only time I was ever exposed to them—which was never, for gentlemen didn’t smoke in polite company—was if I caught a peek of the men in the study after dinner. “Of course.”
Fortunately, the cigar-keeper asked no further questions. Using tongs, he took the cigar I’d identified and placed it on a small machine flanking one side of the cabinet. There was a sharp little snip and one pointy end fell away. Then he put it on a small silver tray and offered it to me.
“Very good. Thank you,” I said, picking it up. The outside was leathery and papery at the same time. I lifted it to my nose and sniffed. The smell was musty and faintly like dried roses, but not particularly pleasant—at least to me. I turned to rejoin Mina and Lurelia.
“Shall I light it for you, my lord?”
Argh. I turned back. “Er . . . not at this time. Perhaps after my dinner.”
“Very good, my lord.” The cigar-keeper bowed, and I fled to my seat.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing, Evaline?” Mina said from between gritted teeth. “You aren’t actually going to light that thing, are you?”
“I might.” But I slipped it into an inner pocket of my coat.
We glared at each other, then looked away. I decided Mina’s bad mood was due to worry that we’d be discovered.
“Do many men wear ear-studs like yours, Mina?” Lurelia said suddenly.
My head—and Mina’s—spun to look at her so quickly I feared I might have left some of my brain behind.
“Pardon me?” Mina said.
“I just noticed the diamond ear-stud you’re wearing; it must have been too shadowy in the carriage and you were wearing a hat. I’ve never seen earbobs on a man before, and since I arrived, I’ve seen it twice. Is it an English fashion?”
“No.” Mina’s voice sounded strangled. “Where else have you seen a gentleman wearing earbobs?”
“I don’t recall where it was. Perhaps when I was shopping yesterday? Or at Westminster Abbey? The gentleman did have a tiny diamond in his ear; I noticed him because I thought it was unusual.”
“That is excellent information, Lurelia. Thank you for mentioning it.” She looked meaningfully at me—as if I hadn’t realized the importance of the princess’s comment.
I considered taking out my cigar just to needle Mina. I didn’t know why she was so tightly wound. No one had even looked twice at us—even with her being dressed in the style of the Ankh. That likely was a disappointment to her.
And I supposed most of the reason she was nervous was because Lurelia was with us. Perhaps she’d be less irritable if the princess wasn’t tagging along.
No. Probably not.
Regardless, I was beginning to feel bored. Somehow, I thought being in a gentlemen’s club would be more interesting. But we were just sitting there, waiting for our dinners to arrive. I’d done what I had to do, and now there was nothing to keep my interest.
I considered ordering a brandy. Just to see what it tasted like. N
ot that I couldn’t sneak a sample from Bram’s liquor cabinet. But there was the added danger here of getting noticed. Maybe I’d go join the table of young bachelors playing whist in the next chamber. Some of them had seen me in a gown only three days ago, and one had even waxed rhapsodic over my—what had he called them? Oh, yes—“lips like crushed, velvety rose petals.” I shuddered at the memory. I wondered if any of them would recognize me. It was a good thing Mr. Dancy wasn’t here. He of all of them would be the one to see through my disguise.
I rose from my chair.
“Where are you going?” Mina demanded.
“Just need to—er—freshen up,” I lied.
“Freshen up?” Her eyes goggled. “Where on earth are you going to freshen up? There are no ladies’ lounges here!” She spit the words from between gritted teeth.
“Then I shall be required to use the gentlemen’s retiring room, won’t I? After all, I am in trousers!” Goodness, didn’t the woman have a sense of humor? I glanced at Lurelia, but she had risen and walked over to the cigar-keeper’s cabinet. I wondered if Mina would berate her if she chose to light a cigar.
My partner might have said something else, but just then I felt the subtle rush of chill over the back of my neck and shoulders. Had someone opened a door? Perhaps onto the Smoking Terrace? My hair was pinned up so high and tight that any change in the air was immediately noticeable on my exposed skin.
I sank back into my seat, heart pounding. Would the draft dissipate? Or did it mean UnDead were present? I’d been uncertain in the past . . .
“What is it?” Mina’s voice was less demanding than before. Maybe she noticed my expression.
The eerie chill remained like little prickles of ice above the collar of my shirt. The nape of my neck felt as if a cold hand rested there, curling around me.
There was no mistaking it. And—oh, blast it! I hadn’t thought to bring a stake with me tonight. Blasted, blooming, pickled fish! How could I be so stupid? I’d been so concerned about looking like a man, and getting dressed at Mina’s house, that it hadn’t occurred to me to include one in my disguise.
The Chess Queen Enigma Page 14