House of Bliss

by T T Thomas

  Lena clutched at Sabrina’s arm. “Her sister?—and you think that is a coincidence?”

  “I don’t know. I…maybe it’s not.”

  Lena returned to her chair. “How can I help you?”

  Sabrina walked back and sat in the chair next to her. “I’m not sure. I wish I knew a little more about Daisy. I wonder where she got my corset? It could have been from a second-hand shop, I suppose—”

  Lena shook her head. “That was my fault. I gave her an old one of mine. She wanted to attract a better clientele, Sabrina, and I thought—and you’ve given me plenty, so…”

  “Blue ribbon or pink?” asked Sabrina.

  Lena frowned, trying to recall. “Well, I gave one to Daisy and one to my other friend, Carolina—remember the girl who resembles Bel somewhat? Let’s see…they both got a blue one, I believe.

  “Of course I remember Carolina!” Sabrina reached over and clutched Lena’s arm. “You must contact her right away and tell her not to wear it. It’s too late to warn Daisy, but the other two dead women were wearing the corsets with blue ribbon.”

  “I know. I did call on Carolina to warn her—I went to see her yesterday. And she told me something interesting.”

  Lena told Sabrina what Carolina had said about the one client who seemed interested in her corset. “But here’s the thing. She couldn’t recall what name he gave her, but she remembered that he often wore one of those club ties the gentlemen wear.”

  Sabrina’s eyes lit up and became large. “What club?”

  Lena shook her head and shrugged. “Don’t know, but the colors of the tie are blue and off white.”

  Sabrina jumped up. “Good God, it’s probably a Buller man. Bullingdon, a notorious private dining club around Oxford, a college club, not one of the gentlemen’s clubs.”

  Sabrina spoke rapidly—she was excited. “Bawdy and mean-spirited from what I’ve heard. They mistreat women and private property. Members are from outrageously wealthy and powerful families.”

  “But Carolina told me her client was middle-aged, at least fifty,” Lena said.

  “Yes. Well, a lot of them will wear their ties to their adult private clubs or in certain business situations. It’s a badge of honor or infamy. I can’t even begin to organize how we’d go about finding out what club most Buller men have joined as adults.”

  “Well, how many important clubs do you think there are, a rough estimate?” Lena asked.

  “I don’t know, I’d have to ask Jeremy. Maybe twenty? A hundred? God, I hope not. But he’ll know.”

  They drank their coffee and nibbled on the pound cake, each too worked up to enjoy the sweet. “You’ll take a nice, substantial piece of that home with you,” Sabrina said. “You’ve not properly enjoyed it.” She rang for Cath.

  Lena sat up straighter, on the edge of the chair, as if preparing to leave. Seeing this, Sabrina reached for her arm again. “Not yet, sweet, stay a while longer.” She poured Lena another cup of coffee.

  “I have an idea,” Lena said. “Find out from Jeremy which private clubs Buller men tend to join, if there is a clear favorite. I find most men will move mountains to recreate the frothy days of their youth. They’ll have a drink and recount their wild tales of youthful, carnal indulgence, much of it exaggeration if not outright fiction, I suspect.”

  “I suspect you’re right,” Sabrina said. “I will ask Jeremy—I’ll call him this afternoon.”

  Lena smiled. “Thank you for the telephone. Somehow it makes me feel safer.”

  “You’re not afraid are you, Lena? Our flat is in a safe neighborhood. Plenty of patrolmen on duty.”

  Lena decided she had to tell Sabrina about her visit from Mendicott. “Yes,” she said, “and one of them was on my doorstep yesterday after I returned from visiting Carolina. Your Mendicott man. He’s quite an unnerving being.”

  She told Sabrina that most of the questions were about Daisy, but several related to her friendship with Sabrina.

  “Does he seem to have ferreted it out? About us?” Sabrina asked. Before Lena could answer, Sabrina was cursing. “Damn him. I don’t much care if he does. Yes, he’s menacing.”

  “Oh, he comprehends the gist of it,” Lena said, “even if only on some vague, unsavory level. But he kept coming back to the corsets. House of Bliss corsets. He seemed convinced they are the first common denominator.”

  “Well, they are, so long as a prostitute is wearing one. I’m perplexed, I admit, Lena. It is odd, is it not? Three deaths now.”

  Lena stood. “I must get going. Yes, it is odd, but like most things, once we figure it out, it will make perfect sense.”

  Sabrina walked Lena to the door. As she was about to lean over and give Lena a kiss and a hug, the door opened.

  “Oh! Sorry. Did I frighten you?” Felicity smiled at Sabrina and looked closely at Lena.

  “Well, startled me, perhaps. We were leaving,” Sabrina gently took Lena’s arm and moved her through the doorway. “Don’t lock the door, I’m walking my friend to the hansom.”

  Sabrina glanced at Lena whose face was beet red. “That’s your houseguest?”

  “That’s Felicity, yes.” Sabrina kept her eyes focused straight ahead.

  When they reached the gate, Lena leaned against it as if she’d had the wind knocked out of her. She closed her eyes and tried to regain her composure.

  “Sabrina, I should leave now and never speak to you again.”

  “I know,” came the answer. “I’m sorry. I hope you don’t forbid me to see you again.”

  Lena’s normal color returned. “You failed to mention her exceptionally pleasing looks.”

  Sabrina said nothing. But she grabbed both Lena’s arms and pulled her toward her. “Please don’t. Don’t cut me from your life. I can’t explain it, but I promise you there is no love with her. Tell me how I can make it up to you. Lena?”

  Lena’s mouth moved slightly, but no words came out. Her eyes were bright with amazement.

  “Hush up, Sabrina. Should I instead dwell on what it was to you if it was not love? If I even believe that. Should I find some demented kind of comfort in the knowledge that it was only carnal? Have I not offered you every ounce of passion you could want? Have I not given you my love and loyalty as well? Do you have any idea, any at all, how many cheating husbands I have serviced in my life? Did you know most of them told me they felt closer to me than their cold wives?”

  Sabrina was rendered speechless long enough for Lena to finish the conversation for both of them.

  “No, I didn’t think so. Call Jeremy. Get me that list.”

  With that, Lena shrugged out of Sabrina’s hold and walked through the gate to the waiting car. It was only then that both women realized the driver had been standing outside the car all along. His eyes were wide, but he moved quickly and silently to open the door for her.

  Sabrina returned to the house. “Feck it,” she cursed. “Feck it to hell.”

  Still, she felt the tension leave her body. Would Lena forgive her? She wanted to help Sabrina figure out the murders, so maybe there was a little hope, anyway. And Sabrina would earn that forgiveness and show gratitude for it. Suddenly, Sabrina nearly wept with the realization that of the two of them, herself and Lena, Lena had matured, changed and grown far more. Lena was at once a passionate and intelligent woman. Had Sabrina not seen it? Or had she seen it and become frightened by it? Was she afraid that eventually Lena would not need her any longer? How had she so easily forgot that Lena was in love with her?

  Deep, deep sigh of relief. Ready and willing to confront whatever or whoever awaited her. Needed to make some changes. Begin with the first person she saw.

  Scowled as she caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror.

  Chapter 27

  June 1906

  A late afternoon downpour escaped the darkened skies and smacked the library windows at an angle as Sabrina sat at her father’s old desk, several files in front of her, one open. Frowning, she closed the file, leaned on
the desktop, head in her hands, thinking about what she had read. Jumbled, messy and unsettling thoughts skipped across her consciousness like indecipherable words splattered in mud on glass.

  Looking for something in the Glyver files that might spark an idea, a thought or a clue as to Felicity’s mysterious appearance in her life, she had come upon an unrelated file marked “Private.” She had almost missed it, stuck as it was at the back of the drawer behind the four, thick Glyver folders.

  As she looked at the various documents, her heartbeat accelerated and her skin turned clammy. The papers were about her. She looked closely at her birth certificate and stared at it for many minutes. She realized she had never seen the actual document. It listed her parents’ names as well as their marriage date. They married in September, and she was born in April. April?

  Sabrina took the file to a chair. September, April. She counted on her fingers. Ah…perhaps that’s why she had never seen the parchment memorializing her arrival.

  Her mother’s address was Blissdon Manor, Blissdon Park, between Porthleven and Helston. Its whereabouts was probably common knowledge as there was no further notation of a street name. There were other documents—her baptismal record, her mother’s birth certificate, her school admissions. She searched for their marriage license to no avail. She looked twice. Perhaps it was in another file. With Jeremy due to arrive any minute, she made a mental note to look later.

  The documents threw her. How could she have gone an entire life without knowing her birth must have been a scandal? And how did her parents come to live in a manor house? She felt unsettled. She had no idea what it could mean or what the implications might be, but she didn’t like the trembling sensation in her stomach. It had to mean something, else why keep it from her all these years? The rain began to subside and straighten itself into a soft patter on the low, brick wall surrounding the side garden.

  She decided to send a quick note to Lena and packaged it and the Private file together. She called a courier who rang the bell ten minutes later. Seconds later, she heard Jeremy coming through the front door. He’d always had a key, and sometimes he used it when he was expected but didn’t wish to bother Walters.

  He arrived looking disheveled, out of breath. “I think I found it.” he said after entering the library. “Well, I turned up two likely candidates.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” she said. She rose and walked around the desk. “Here have a drink, Jeremy, before you collapse from over-exhilaration.”

  He stopped, looked perplexed, and then threw himself down on the davenport. “Well, Hell’s bells, I thought you urgently needed the names of a couple gentlemen’s clubs that might cater to killers and rowdies.”

  She put his tumbler of Scotch whisky on the table. “Former hooligans, wonderful, and yes, current killers would be nice.”

  “Right. Well, we should look at The Bombay Club and maybe Jodhpurs and Jesuits Club.”

  She poured herself an Irish whiskey and sat across from him. “Reason for each?”

  He stretched his long legs. “Are we alone?” he asked raising his eyes toward upstairs.

  “Except for Cath, Walters and an unintelligible baby, yes we are. I believe Miss North went to visit her sister for the day—something about moving her to a better neighborhood.”

  Jeremy continued. “Well, all right, you ask why these two particular clubs. First, location. Both clubs are located within walking distance of the areas where prostitutes congregate.”

  “One would think such clubs would have tony addresses,” she said.

  He raised his index finger. “Most do but not all. Second reason, size of membership. Both clubs have less than 200 members, a low number by club standards, indicating either lack of popularity, shortage of sufficient funding to buy in a better area, or both.”

  “Makes sense,” Sabrina agreed. “Could it also reflect an exclusivity?”

  “It could. But not in these neighborhoods. Third reason, I’m thinking of these two clubs because, rumor has it, both have Oxford men as members, a few of whom have colorful pasts. That might indicate Buller men.”

  “Oh, by the way, Jeremy, I got an interesting bit of information today from Lena. One of her…friends remembers a particularly unpleasant gentleman who wore a blue and off-white club or school tie. She stopped seeing him because he was quite rough.”

  “Hmm…would she recognize him?”

  “Yes, and what’s more, her friend owns a House of Bliss corset…blue monogram. Lena gave it to her.”

  “That could be important. But we still need to find out what club these two frequent. I’m thinking Bombay Club.”

  “Are you suggesting that Savile Club, for instance, has no former Bullingdon members? Or members with colorful personal histories? Seems unlikely.”

  “No, not saying that exactly. We’re probably looking for men who couldn’t get into the Savile or others of that ilk because of something in their past. Something worse than the Buller men tearing a restaurant apart.”

  Sabrina stood up to pace. “Well, that would mean their past is public record.”

  “Not necessarily,” he said, holding out his glass for more Scotch. She took it from him and poured two fingers worth into his glass. “Most of the upmarket clubs draw the line at murder and cheating other club members. But some clubs still deal in pedigree before all else—either to reject a person or accept them.”

  “What else? Any other reasons for choosing those two clubs?” Clearly, she had doubts about Jeremy’s rationale. He looked at her, appraising something.

  “Think you can still pull off a three-piece suit?”

  Sabrina grinned. “Is there a reason I’d want to?”

  “Thought I’d go around and check out these clubs. They usually allow potential members a dinner or two, a little tour, that sort of thing. If they ask us for a referring member, leave it to me.”

  “And?”

  “And I’ll tell you on the way.”

  “Tonight? We’re going tonight?”

  “In a half hour. They begin serving for an early seating at 4 p.m. Better get your mustache on.”

  “Oh, that thing itches. And I don’t know as the glue will hold in this humid weather.”

  “But you look so decadent.”

  Sabrina laughed, but she walked to her desk and put all the files in a locked drawer.

  “Going into law now, Sabrina?” Jeremy teased.

  “No, but I’ll tell you what I found in my father’s Glyver divorce files—that is, I’ll explain on the way. Could be nothing, but…I have an idea who we might want to find. And I discovered another file, unrelated to current events, I think, but everything to do with me.”

  The slightest shadow from a withheld emotion crossed her face. She knew he’d seen it as soon as she felt it herself. “One small hint,” he said.

  “I apparently was conceived prior to my parents marriage.” She tossed it out there to him as though it were of no import but her skin was warm and her stomach was doing somersaults.

  “Wha—? Oh, do tell.” Jeremy said, jumping up off the couch. “No—you’re going to make me wait, aren’t you? Oh, how glorious: the taint of turpitude. But what if we die on the way to dinner?”

  “Then at least one, possibly two, men will have got off scot-free with murder. Plus, you’ll never know who your friend Sabrina Blissdon really is—indeed, I’m not sure I know.” Sabrina gave him a coy moué with dramatically raised eyebrows and went upstairs to dress for dinner.

  She chose her father’s best black suit with pale blue pinstripes, matching vest, classic blue twill, spread collar shirt with French cuffs, a pair of silver and blue cloisonné enamel cufflinks and Mr. Blissdon’s Old Etonian tie in black with Eton blue stripes on the diagonal. She reviewed her getup in a full-length mirror. Had she been attracted to men, she might even have fallen in love with herself. She patted her mustache, made a face in the mirror to suggest incredulity and left to join Jeremy for an evening at The
Bombay Club.

  The Bombay Club Manager was both deferential and imperious. She remained silent, but she recognized his type. He was vaguely indifferent when Jeremy approached him, but warmed to the encounter when Sabrina joined them at the reception desk.

  “And my associate, Dr. Finian Dunlop,” Jeremy said by way of introduction.

  Noting her Eton tie, the Manager gave an almost imperceptible bow and extended his hand. “Dr. Dunlop, pleased to meet you. I’m Reggie Alman, Club Manager. I think you’ll be gratified to find several of your Eton mates are members, too.”

  “Hmm,” uttered Sabrina, as she shook his hand in a solid but perfunctory manner. He looked as though he expected such reserve.

  “Right this way, gentlemen. I’ll have the headwaiter seat you, and after dinner, I’ll bring ‘round a little packet of our membership forms, by-laws, that sort of thing.”

  “Will we see a list of members?” Jeremy asked.

  “It’s not customary, of course…but…give me a few minutes for that. I understand you may have certain standards of social intercourse—”

  “Yes, indeed,” Sabrina said, in the lowest register of her voice.

  “As I thought,” Reggie said. “Enjoy your dinner and allow me to do a little research along those lines.”

  Jeremy spoke first. “I found four definite Bullingdon men who show no club affiliation in the top ten clubs. I suppose those ten could be deceased. I spent half of the last three nights reading five years of Bullingdon lists.”

  “Why? What did that tell you?”

  “Well, they’ve been keen to make sure the past Bullingdon membership lists have current private club affiliations listed. I found seven Bullers at this club and five more at Jodhpurs.”

  A waiter brought them a cocktail.

  “This is a real long shot, isn’t it, Jeremy? They could as easily belong to The Athenaeum, Savile, Garrick—”

  “Actually, Garrick. The most Buller men. That’s apparently a well-known rumor.”