“
Forgive me!” he spluttered, standing hastily and brushing away the lace from his shoulders. His face had grown quite pink and Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at him in response. “I must have fallen asleep,” he added sheepishly.
“
Indeed!” she exclaimed. “I had not realised my father had extended his services to provide lodgings. Do you wish to use the bathroom also? I can arrange for shaving implements to be brought to you.”
The young man brought a hand to his moustache and considered Elizabeth for a moment before smiling. Her eyes were twinkling with amusement and he gambled on her being in jest. He laughed and stepped forward to introduce himself.
“
Giles Bateman,” he proffered. “And at a guess, you must be Elizabeth.”
Having not heard the name Bateman before, the advantage was now most certainly the young man’s and Elizabeth reverted to her usual defence in such situations and feigned boredom.
“
Well, Mr. Bateman, you will excuse me if I do not rise but I am feeling rather tired myself.”
“Yes, us night birds often are,”
he winked at her.
Awake, Giles Bateman seemed much older than she first had thought and she now put his age at around twenty-five. The gesture on a younger man would seem impertinent but now seemed rather flirtatious. She found his comment curious and pressed him.
“
I confess, Mr. Bateman, to being no such thing; rather, I am merely an early riser. Might I enquire what task you would expect a young lady to occupy her past sunset?” She cocked her head innocently.
The young man’s eyes had twinkled as he had tapped his finger to his nose and winked at her. The arrival in the parlour of their respective fathers had saved any further indiscretion on his behalf at this meeting and Elizabeth had been left feeling a little annoyed by his forwardness, but also curious as to what illicit entertainment he could be referring to. Her world was a narrow one but she sought to broaden it at every opportunity. That very evening she had pressed Agnes about where Richard took her of a rare occasion when his maiden aunt could chaperone an evening.
“
You know where we go, Bess. Always to the same place.”
Elizabeth knew but pressed her sister again in case there was some hidden excitement that had eluded her.
“Tell me again,” she cooed at Agnes, feigning girlish delight. She hardly needed to press Agnes to talk; it was her singular delight in life, believing her courtship with Richard was the only thing worth discussing. And so Agnes went on.
“
Richard always insists that we have the best table in the restaurant. It is exactly in the middle of the room, thus we are at the centre of everyone’s attention as we take our seats. Of course, Richard is always so courteous and seats his aunt first and then myself. He doesn’t allow the waiters to do it, of course. They know him very well and they serve us a bottle of the good wine. The wine they keep for their very best customers. Of course, Richard tries it first to make sure it is the good stuff and the rogues aren’t trying to pull the wool over his eyes. His friend Eddie was thoroughly fleeced a few months ago by a Semillon, with them pretending to serve him fine claret and actually giving him some watered-down reject. That would never happen to Richard.”
Elizabeth could barely keep her eyes from watering as she stifled a yawn with the back of her hand and prayed she could keep from glazing over as she usually did. It was usual for Elizabeth to become so tired of listening to her sister that she slipped into another, more interesting world. Agnes was always furious when she didn’t elicit the correct oohs and ahhs at her stories and Elizabeth thought this must be the secret to why she had not yet heard anything of interest in Agnes’ stories. She had not reached the end of any of them and thus she determined now to try to stay alert to hear the end of one.
Sadly, after an hour of her sister’s full attention, she was unable to keep hers from wandering off and she had once more retreated to another place. As Agnes droned on and on about Richard’s exquisite table manners and his impeccable taste in neckties, Elizabeth was recalling how the young Mr. Bateman had winked at her. She didn’t think he had either good manners or a particularly well-judged taste in neckties, but she did think he knew about having a good time.
How she longed to taste a little of the life on offer outside her own four walls. She read books about convivial gentleman and the whirl of a dance floor. She dreamed about being adored by all of society, of being the toast of each season, of being the centre of all that is fashionable in London. It would be several months before she could plan her big debut but she felt she had been ready all her life. Elizabeth Greenwood, who had been born two weeks prematurely, could wait for very little in life and she was determined that she was not going to wait any longer for fun either. She knew enough to know that Giles Bateman could offer her none of this but she also knew that he could be a step on her ladder. As she sat watching her sister’s lips move, seemingly without stopping, she resolved she would persuade Giles Bateman to show her some of the London she longed for. As she pondered her decision, she began to smile broadly, a hint of mischief on the edge of her lips. The timing of this was unfortunate as it coincided with Agnes detailing a recent account of Richard’s aunt’s back troubles.
“
What are you smiling about, Bess? You weren’t listing to me at all were you?” Agnes threw up her arms in exasperation and began berating Elizabeth for her lack of attention. Whilst she whirled around the room, exasperated by her sister, Elizabeth finally gave in to the yawn she had been resisting and stretched backwards, falling on Agnes’ bed.
She had to wait a few more weeks before she had the opportunity to question Mr. Bateman on what he had meant, but he had been elusive and had only roused her curiosity further.
“
Miss Greenwood, I am afraid that such entertainments are beyond even your imaginations and, might I say so, your sensitivities,” he had added, with a raised eyebrow. Their liaison was interrupted by one of the domestic staff and she could not press him further. However, he clearly wished to court her interest and behind the stooped back of Cribbs, he had stepped his way lightly across the rug to the door in the manner of a waltz. All the while, he kept his eyes on Elizabeth. She had burst out with laughter at seeing him so and Cribbs had stood to find out the cause of such mirth. But by the time she had looked around at the young gentleman, he had composed himself by the door and, tipping his hat, had taken leave of them both. The next time they had met, Elizabeth had feigned disinterest in his tomfoolery and had remained quiet as he had tried to tease her.
“
I admit, I am quite tired today, Miss Greenwood. I was kept from my bed a long while last night in the most energetic of pursuits.”
Elizabeth, having settled herself in a chair with a book, had not glanced up but had casually turned a page.
“
Mr. Bateman, I am not in the least interested in your fantastical stories. I do not believe for one moment, that you even leave your house of an evening, let alone engage in anything more energetic than creating hot air.”
Taken aback, the young man had sat down opposite her and had played with his hat for a few minutes. He had been enjoying these meetings and was a little crestfallen that Elizabeth took him for a liar.
“
I will have you know that I am a regular member at a most diverting dance saloon and I that have my pick of partners.”
He sat sulkily for a few more minutes before adding, ‘I have received many compliments on my footwork. If you were to come to the club, I would prove it to you.’
Elizabeth’s face did not betray the pleasure she felt at having secured the information she needed. She merely looked up at the young man and smiled.
“
How kind of you to invite me, Mr. Bateman. I would be delighted to join you.”
Mr. Bateman’s face had coloured and he had tried to undo his invitation, but Cribbs had arrived with a tea tray.
Over the course of the next few meetings, Elizabeth had managed to encourage the young man to speak more freely with her about the dancing club and on one such occasion, she had pressed him on when he would take her with him.
“
My dear Miss Greenwood, I had not realised you were prone to gallivanting,” he had remarked with a grin. Wiping his fingers across his fluffy upper lip he had added, “When you are as mature as your sister, perhaps I will enjoy the pleasure of a dance.”
Elizabeth was furious at the comparison to Agnes and had made it clear to Mr. Bateman that she was no shrinking violet.
“
My sister, Mr. Bateman, may be three years older than I, but has the skill of a walrus on the dance floor. You blow more hot air than Mr. Gladstone. I do not believe that this club of yours exists. If it did, you would take me there as you promised to.”
Shaking a little with anger, Elizabeth now leant to the task of pouring some fresh tea in her cup and felt her face grow flush. After some moments, the sulky tone of the young man had caused her to look around.
“Perhaps I will.”
“Then perhaps I will come”, she had added.
“
Perhaps if you were to meet me outside my house on Thursday next at eight o’clock, I might escort you.”
“
Perhaps I will be there,” Elizabeth had concluded, smiling to herself as she brought the cup to her lips.
And so there she stood on the threshold of what had become a magical club to her in her mind. Knowing very little about its whereabouts, she had relied upon her own imaginings to bring the place to life, and so well-known it had become to her over these past weeks that seeing it now, she felt let down over its seemingly innocuous appearance. Although careful not to let the young man see she was downcast, it was obvious and amusing to him that she was disappointed.
“
Come, Elizabeth. I have not brought you here to mope. I have brought you to dance.”
With this hushed intonation, he swept up the steps to the doorway and knocked a series of taps. The door opened and a doorman greeted the young man by name.
“
Welcome again, Mr. Bateman! Is your companion joining us this evening?”
“
Yes, Wilkes. This is Miss Greenwood. She is interested in joining our little circle. Elizabeth?” Here he extended a hand down the steps to where Elizabeth was hesitating and he smiled encouragingly. “Shall we?”
Driven by curiosity and intent to show Bateman that she was made of sterner stuff than he believed, she mounted the stairs, passed the doorman and swept into the foyer beyond. At once the place seemed to come to life. A buzz of excited voices mingled with the sound of music, all muffled by the great number of people within. A grand marble entrance hall opened up before her, rising to all three stories of the building and crowned at the peak by a dome of glass. Hung from the iron work were several chandeliers, the lamps casting curious shadows on the glass above. It seemed that stars were coming home to roost in the roof of Number 17, Cleveland Street. A dazzling staircase swept upwards and melted on to a first floor gallery around the entrance hall. To her left, the hall continued under a grand archway and into a larger room, from which she could hear the strings of a band, playing a lively number. There were many people in both the music room and the entrance hall. Waiters circulated with trays laden with glasses of wine and snacks.
The sound of laughter and merriment was interspersed with the clink of glasses and soft shoeing from the dance floor. Elizabeth’s face lit up in delight as she turned back to Giles Bateman, who was holding out his arm, gesturing with his head to the archway leading to where the music was coming from. She handed her coat to a nearby waiter and placed her hand through the young man’s arm. As they made their way to the dance floor, Bateman was greeted by several faces and Elizabeth was acknowledged at once with an agreeable mixture of curiosity and approval. The dance floor was highly polished and resembled the surface of a lake; as the dancers whirled around in a quickstep; their reflections looked like falling leaves in an autumn sky, never landing, only hanging in the air. She placed a hand on Bateman’s shoulder and allowed his arm to coil around her waist, and before she had a chance to catch the beat of the music they were off. She felt a giggle rise in her throat and there it remained, tickling her until she was giddy with delight. Whirling around the room, the music rose and fell as they passed other dancers. Whilst she had danced before at many a dull family occasion with cousins and young boys, she had never danced with a man before and she felt the firm hand of Bateman quite exciting. Elizabeth imagined her father’s face if he could see her. His eyes would be bulging, and his lips screwed up as tight as the piano lid at home had been since her mother died and she laughed out loud at the image.
“
Perhaps you believe me now,” Bateman crowed.