The Ace of Clubs

by Patricia Loofbourrow

  Pearson moved past us to open the door. “It’s good to see you improved, mum. I’ve placed your post in a box on the desk in your study. Would you prefer it brought to your rooms?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Tony’s — or rather, his father Roy’s men assigned to him — gathered near Tony out at the curb.

  Pearson bowed as Amelia and I turned towards the sweeping curved stair. Most of the other servants had returned here after our outing last month. They stood lined up in the hall, bowing or curtsying to me as we passed.

  Ten year old Pip seemed to have matured in the month we’d been gone, nodding gravely when I smiled at him. Though they’d been apart for almost a month, he didn’t so much as glance at his mother Amelia, nor she at him.

  Our chef Monsieur, a huge, impeccably dressed man, stood beside Anne, our new Mistress of Kitchens. Then the others ... we had several dozen in all.

  The house, a former scientific station turned “manor,” was all white — walls, ceilings, and doors — with the floor tiled an ugly pale gray. My bedroom, closets, and bath were the same white and gray, with bedding and cushions of an insipid pale blue.

  Nobody had ever cared what I liked or wanted here. Since I couldn’t escape, I endured it, as I endured everything else. I took a deep breath and let it out, trying to keep my anger in check as Amelia undressed me.

  Having a servant do everything for you might sound glamorous. But this card had two sides; I craved being allowed to do what I wanted without eyes on me night and day.

  I stepped out of my petticoats. “Is someone tending to my bird? It seemed distressed.”

  “Yes, mum,” Amelia said, then untied my corset.

  I disliked wearing a corset, and always felt relieved when it was removed. Amelia put my black house dress (for mourning a disaster or the death of a friend) over my head just in time: a knock came at the door.

  I smiled at Amelia’s annoyance. “Come in.”

  Pearson carried a large box overflowing with mail and set it on the chair closest to him next to my tea-table.

  “Where’s Honor?” It was my day footman Skip Honor’s job to carry and fetch things for us during the day while at home.

  “He’s tending to something, mum,” Pearson said, then left, closing the door behind him.

  What could he possibly be tending to?

  I let Amelia unlace my boots, pull off my stockings, put on soft black house shoes. I sometimes imagined myself a store mannequin, dressed and undressed, then set to smile and pose.

  Every task had a different outfit a “proper lady” wore. My closets overflowed with dresses for every imaginable circumstance. My dressmaker Madame Biltcliffe made my seasonal outfits. But new outfits would appear, sent from Roy and Molly to make sure I was presentable.

  It seems sad and silly, looking back on it, but that was my life.

  Once dressed, my thick curls were combed out, sprayed with water, and redone into a style suitable for what I wore. Even though I saw nothing wrong with my hair, when I struggled, raged, or protested, it inevitably brought a rebuke — or worse — from Tony’s father Roy. I might be lady of the house and married to the Spadros Family heir, but Roy Spadros still ruled here.

  I gazed into the mirror. Amelia had braided my hair into an intricate array, weaving in fresh jasmine. “This looks lovely, Amelia, thank you.”

  She smiled sadly. “It’s good to see you looking better, mum.” Her nose reddened. “I can’t imagine the horrors you saw.”

  Amelia never mentioned my refusal to speak or the zeppelin disaster until now. “That’s very kind of you.”

  In truth, the zeppelin bombing, the shattering of the station’s ancient stained glass-work, even the death and destruction around me in its aftermath, paled in comparison to the deaths of my friends ...

  “One day I’ll fly far from here. I want to travel the world.”

  Amelia rushed for a handkerchief. “I’m so sorry, mum, here, you don’t want to spoil your makeup.” She dropped her hands to her sides, shoulders drooping. “Please forgive me, mum ... I never meant to bring you grief.”

  Grief. I smiled in spite of how I felt, remembering a bench, an empty street, a little boy, and a long time of weeping for us both.

  I longed to see David Bryce again. He needed to know I hadn’t abandoned him. I clasped her hand in both of mine, remembering how at peace I felt after I wept that day. “Grief is the only good thing there is, when all is done.”

  Amelia didn’t speak for a bit. “Wise words for one so young.”

  Amelia had experienced as much grief as I, if not more. I dabbed at my eyes, blew my nose. Then I forced myself to smile for her sake. “Let’s tackle Pearson’s mountain.”

  Amelia chuckled at that, then helped me sort it all. Well-wishes on cards from ladies who barely veiled their disdain for me, yet feared the Spadros Family’s displeasure if seen to be silent. Copies of the Golden Bridges, a disreputable tabloid. A few notes from friends. I put the notes in my pocket to read later.

  I set Amelia to opening the first stack of mail, then, amused, put the newspapers in a pile by my tea-table. Tony forbade anyone to give me a newspaper, read the news aloud, or even leave a paper lying about. I suppose he thought information about the disaster would make my “condition” worse. So most of my information came from servants’ whispers.

  I wanted news, but I could read old tabloids any time.

  Pearson’s heavy tread returned. “Luncheon is ready, mum. Would you like it brought to your room?”

  “No, I’ll come down. Thank you.” In spite of our long journey, I felt better. And despite all its faults, it felt good to return home.

  The Invitation

  Amelia led me down the stairs, then along the bottom part of the “U”-shaped building, then right to the dining room.

  Morton sat near the end of the dining room table closest to us, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. Tony sat across from him, holding a letter. The way Tony sat made him look so defeated and alone that I felt ashamed for causing him turmoil.

  Our month-long “vacation” at the Country House had contained little rest. Most days, grief consumed my thoughts. Grief for Anastasia, for Marja, and for all the others now lost.

  Tony’s days were filled with meetings, his men arriving and departing well into the night. His slumber had been much the same as mine, waking in a sweat, or in shouts of alarm, and he would never say why. But he never asked for his husband’s prerogative, and for that I felt grateful.

  When Tony saw us, he asked Pearson to move luncheon to the veranda.

  My little bird seemed happier in its big white wrought iron cage, and it chirped when I came outside. Morton, wearing a brown wool jacket and tan pants, followed at a distance, taking a seat across from Tony, leaving a chair between himself and me.

  Our housekeeper Jane Pearson was busily straightening the steaming trays. Her round face was red, a lock of graying blonde hair plastered to its side.

  Her daughter Mary began setting the table. “That little thing gave us no end of trouble.”

  “Oh?” I said.

  Jane frowned at Mary. “The missus doesn’t need to concern herself with that.”

  “No, it’s fine.” I turned to Mary. “What happened?”

  Pearson came to the table. “Your bird got loose, mum. Took Honor by surprise and flew off a bit. It took some doing to catch it, but it’s back safe, no worries.”

  I laughed, turning to my bird. “Good for you!”

  Mary approached with some trepidation and curtsied. “Pork potato hash, spring peas, mint cake, mum.”

  “Very good, Mary, thank you.”

  She curtsied, gave her parents a glance, then brought the filled plates to us. I poured Tony, Morton, and myself some tea.

  Tony seemed to relax when I did that, and we began to eat, the servants retreating to a discreet distance.

  “I’m glad you feel well enough to join us,” Tony said.

  “Than
k you.” I hoped we wouldn’t continue our earlier conversation. There was nothing I might add, and the matter might become heated if Tony were to agitate himself on the topic.

  Morton said, “Your butler brought you a mountain of post!”

  “Yes,” I said. “Mostly cards, but I do have some notes yet unopened.” I paged through them ... “One from Jon —”

  I hadn’t seen Jonathan Diamond since Queen’s Day dinner two months ago. But he’d sent a note to the Spadros Country House twice a week like clockwork.

  “Oh?” Tony said. “I’m surprised he knew to send it here rather than the Country House.”

  Of course Jon knew what went on in my life. In light of what he’d said in the past, Jon must have spies near the houses surrounding us. But that knowledge was a comfort to me.

  “How’s he feeling?” Tony said.

  “‘Much improved,’ he says. He’ll call when we’re ‘at home’.”

  In Bridges, being “at home” simply meant you wanted and were able to receive company; it had nothing to do with whether you were at the house. I returned Jon’s note to my pocket and took up the next. “Here’s a note from Gardena —”

  Tony’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

  At the time, I didn’t know what went on between Mr. Anthony Spadros and Miss Gardena Diamond (Jon’s sister). But Gardena and Tony had a long history of animosity, particularly on her part, although at times Tony appeared to be in love with her.

  Tony blamed Gardena for my presence at the zeppelin station during the explosion, even though I told him going there was my idea. Since then, he became angry whenever her name was mentioned. So I didn’t open the letter, but set it hastily aside.

  “— and one from Madame Biltcliffe!”

  My dear Mrs. Spadros —

  Madame Marie Biltcliffe sends her compliments and hopes to have the pleasure of your company for tea on Thursday, April Seventeenth.

  This was a novelty. I wondered what it might mean.

  “Perhaps Madame would like to make your acquaintance,” Tony said, “aside from simply being your dressmaker” ... and it was then I realized I had spoken aloud.

  “Of course,” I said, cheeks burning. “I’d be happy to take tea with her.”

  “Only if you feel well enough,” Tony said. “There’s no obligation for you to do anything whilst in mourning.”

  I nodded. He had to explain it to me, as ... well, in the Pot, people died every day. If one went about all this ritual every time someone died, nothing would get done.

  Madame let me use my visits to her shop as a cover. Tony would believe me to be there when I was actually on a case. Perhaps I’d finally be able to visit David Bryce. “I can send a note if I don’t feel well. What will you do with yourself?”

  Tony shrugged, his eyes on his plate. “I’ve been away from the Business far too long. I have more than enough work to do.”

  I took a sip of tea. “I noticed you also received mail.”

  Tony gave a bitter snort. “Indeed.” He pulled an invitation from his breast pocket: cream stationery edged in gold, the Clubb Family’s symbol upon the envelope flap.

  Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Clubb present their compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Anthony Spadros and request the honor of their company at the launching of their newest yacht, the Ace of Clubbs, on the Twenty-First of April next.

  Northwest Quadrant Marina

  R. S. V. P.

  “This is in six days!” To send a major invitation less than three weeks in advance was exceedingly rude.

  “My sincerest apologies, mum,” Pearson said. “It was sent a month ago, but here, and never forwarded. In the confusion it was lost until now.” He straightened. “I take full responsibility.”

  I shrugged. It didn’t matter. “The Ace of Clubbs?” To place the name of a Holy Card on an inanimate object, no matter how grand, bordered on blasphemy. From what I’d seen of the Clubb Family so far, though, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

  “Indeed,” Tony said bitterly. “One of their plots come to hatch at last.”

  Morton said nothing, focused as he was on his luncheon.

  “Will we attend?” I never knew which events we could miss and which were vital. And this invitation seemed to dismay him.

  Tony rested his elbows on the table, his head in his hands, murmuring, “What would my grandfather have done?”

  He sat like this for a long moment, then straightened, facing me. “Yes, we’ll attend. Invitations to these launchings aren’t given lightly. All the other Families will be represented, and we can’t be seen to slight the Clubbs, not now.”

  The Departure

  My gaze flickered to Morton. Should Tony have said that in front of him? We still didn’t know where his loyalties lay.

  The day Gardena asked for help with her blackmailer, she told me: Cesare says the Clubbs are the most dangerous Family in the city, much too dangerous to ally with.

  Gardena’s oldest brother was a disagreeable fellow, yet possessed keen insight. What did we know about the Clubbs?

  Footsteps headed our way. Inventor Maxim Call, a brown, wiry old man with piercing blue eyes, strode out wearing a dusty tweed jacket, several white-clad Apprentices in his wake.

  We immediately rose; the men bowed.

  I curtsied low. “Would you like tea, sir?”

  Maxim Call considered the matter. “A cup would do.” He turned to his Apprentices. “Wait with the carriages.” He sat between Tony and Morton, across from me.

  I poured his cup, then returned to my seat.

  “To what do we owe the honor of your visit, sir?” Tony said.

  Inventor Call blew on his tea, then took a sip. “My work's done here. There’s nothing more we can do for your Magma Steam Generator. We've searched thoroughly — the controls to it must be in another piling. We’ve located a piling in Spadros quadrant and are moving to investigate.”

  Tony’s mouth hung open. “You’re leaving?”

  “Some of my Apprentices will stay in the workshop. I’ll have the man in charge introduce himself. But,” he wagged a finger, “they’ll only stay until their work’s completed. I left instructions with your butler as to where we’ll be and what we’ll need.”

  Tony paused for a long moment. “There’s something you should be aware of.”

  The Inventor was in the midst of drinking. “Oh?”

  “A group called the Red Dogs has attacked several Families, ranging from theft to violence. I’ve even been assaulted.” Tony hesitated. “I can’t guarantee your safety should you leave.”

  “No one would dare attack us!” He chuckled, patting Tony’s arm. “I appreciate your concern, dear boy. But I don’t order my affairs according to the whims of ruffians. Neither should you.” He drained his cup then rose, as did we all. “Good day.”

  With that, he turned back inside.

  “Wait,” Tony said. “What about my mechanical computer?”

  Inventor Call stopped in the middle of the dining room, then spoke to Tony as if he were a child. “It’s a fine idea. Yet how would you operate it without power?” He shook his head. “Finding the controls to the Generators takes precedence over everything. I have a man working on your gadget. But my job lies elsewhere.” He rounded the corner and was gone.

  Tony sat heavily, shock on his face. “Maxim Call has been in Spadros Manor since I was a boy.”

  Morton said, “What’s wrong with your Steam Generator?”

  Tony and I exchanged a glance. If Maxim Call knew about this, the other Inventors did too. But if the public learned Bridges neared standstill because we couldn’t fix our own Generators, then the Feds might seize the city, claiming mismanagement.

  I didn’t know how much Morton knew. Obviously, Tony had such a binding deal with Morton that he trusted him, even though Morton refused to reveal what happened the day of the explosion. Tony had beaten our old Dr. Salmon — who’d been in the Family for generations — for a similar offense.

  “
He claims it needs repair,” Tony said. “But he’s got the situation under control.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Morton said. “An entirely mechanical city such as this — without power — would be unlivable.”

  I pictured the rivers stagnant, the streetlights dark, the trains silent, the Aperture unable to open, and I shuddered.

  The Fear

  The rest of the day, Amelia and I catalogued the notes I received. Jane had ordered thank you cards edged in black (for replying to notes of sympathy). After tea, I spent an hour signing them for Amelia to address and send.

  Exhausted, I took dinner in my room, Tony at my side. We ate in silence, but gradually my strength returned. “Do we need to fear this invitation from the Clubbs?”

  That sent Tony into a long period of motionless staring at his plate. “I don’t know,” he said at last. “But I fear it nonetheless.”

  “At the Grand Ball, didn’t they invite us to visit?” Mrs. Clubb invited us to stay a whole week at Clubb Manor. We’d never been invited there before, which is why the comment marked itself so firmly in my mind. But the visit never occurred.

  Tony nodded. “Something happened.” He drained his glass. “I fear they disliked my answer to Lance on Queen’s Day.”

  “What’s it to be named?”

  Lance Clubb leaned towards me with a wry smile. “They haven’t decided yet. We’re considering the Asking Bid.”

  At the time, it seemed he asked us to declare our allegiances. A test, if you will.

  I let out a breath, placed my hand on his. “I didn’t know how to answer. Why approach us in front of guests?”

  “Why approach us at all? As if I have any say in who the Family allies with.” Tony put down his fork. “My father is still Patriarch, and probably will be long after we’re gone.”

  I chuckled at that.

  “But perhaps they have approached my father,” Tony said.

  This startled me. “They suspect our Family’s divided.”