Authors: Anna Butler
At the corner of Floral Street, a man bustled about setting up a coffee stand, presumably to catch the theater crowd. He took a collapsible table from his handbarrow. How on earth did he set it up so the legs didn’t wobble? The cobbles were beyond uneven and resembled a mountainous map in three dimensions. It took real skill to balance the table. He sat a large tin boiler with a brass tap, brightly polished, on the tabletop, and one of the market barrow boys ran up, lugging a bucket of fresh water. The boiler had a tiny coke oven under it, already glowing red. The coffee man lit a small aether lamp, covered the table with a cloth, and set out his cups and saucers while the water heated. Then, darn him, he turned and bowed to me, flourishing his tea cloth. He knew he was part of the street theater, that one.
He smiled at me and waved a hand at his establishment. “Coffee, sir?”
I was tempted. But really, I wasn’t in the mood for coffee right then. My appetite was for stronger stuff. I tossed him a thruppenny-bit, though, in lieu of the coffee and because I’d had a pleasant moment or two watching his performance. He had earned it. He touched his hat, and I went on to Margrethe’s.
The entry foyer was warm and bright, light gleaming on the polished, wainscoted walls and making the dark red curtains glow. I had my daisy pin ready to show at the reception desk.
“Welcome back, Captain,” said the maître d’ when I explained my long absence. Not that he recognized me from Adam, of course, but he was a polite soul. I didn’t know him either. His name tag, a bright shining brass, was tastefully engraved with his name, Ambrose. “Are you dining alone or expecting a companion tonight?”
“I’m not expecting anyone.”
“Ah. Then are you receiving company, sir?”
I let the smile through. “It is my intention to make some new acquaintances. I’ve been away so long, I don’t really know anyone in Londinium anymore.”
Ambrose returned the smile, and his gaze as he looked me up and down was appreciative. “I think I can safely say you are likely to make acquaintances here. I’ll seat you in the Praecipias Lounge to begin with. I hope you aren’t looking to dance? The Terpsichore Room orchestra plays weekends only.”
“I’m content to dine here tonight, thank you. I’ll work my way up to dancing.”
Ambrose laughed. “Very well, Captain. You may remember that wearing your daisy in your left lapel tells a gentleman you are not averse to company. There is no obligation to accept an acquaintanceship, but our usual practice is that refusals are polite and gracious. Accepting an offer of hospitality does normally carry with it the acceptance of the gentleman’s companionship, at least for an hour or two. If the acquaintanceship… ripens, shall we say, then please see Charles at the concierge desk. He will arrange the necessary accommodations.”
I let him ramble on because, well, mostly it’s not wise to get on the bad side of Margrethe’s maître d’. I pinned the little daisy into position while I listened. “Yes. I remember.”
“This way, sir. There are one or two members here already, but it’s early yet. There will be more gentlemen before the night’s much older.”
“I won’t jump too quickly, then. Thank you.”
Ambrose inclined his head in a gracious nod. “And if I may be so bold, when you come to order dinner, I recommend the venison—Henri is a genius with venison—and a bottle of the Château Margaux.”
I had lively memories of the standard of food in the officers’ mess on the
Ark Royal
, and I’d been living on the offerings of a local Bloomsbury chophouse for the last two days. The thought of venison had me salivating. It felt like a lifetime since I’d had anything better than a pork chop. “That sounds perfect. I’ll wait to order, though.”
“Of course. An aperitif, sir?”
“A scotch and soda. Thank you.”
The scotch was perfect. I took a sip and sat back, the tension bleeding away. I had been too long away from somewhere like Margrethe’s—a place where I could be myself. Here I wasn’t the daring aeronaut, the leader of men, the ne’er-do-well, the House maverick. Here I was just Rafe Lancaster, who could lean back and look around him and not worry about the face he showed the world. No masks were needed here, no shifts and evasions.
The polished wood and dark red velvet of the lobby carried through into the Praecipias, giving the lounge a rich and luxurious feel. The light of crystal chandeliers glinted on cut glass and the bottles ranged on shelves behind the bar. As the maître d’ had hinted, it was still rather early and the company was thin. Two patrons sat at separate tables. They straightened and looked back at me when I glanced around, both wearing smiles and expectant expressions. But no. They were good enough, but neither appealed to me. The trick was to pretend I hadn’t noticed them at all, instead focusing on my scotch and lighting one of the thin cigarillos I’d bought at the tobacconist. That way no one’s feelings were hurt.
A shame, perhaps… but no. Thanks to Phryne’s careful hands, I was shining that night. I deserved better than good enough. I deserved much better, and I could afford to wait until there was someone whose company I fancied. So I drew on my cigarillo and inhaled the sharp smoke. If I tilted my head back, I could watch the smoke float up toward the embossed ceiling. It hung in the light, drifting back and forth, and back and forth.
“May I buy you a drink, sir?”
I really am not a nervous man, but I jumped. Good Lord! Where had he come from? Sneaking up from the left, where I still had difficulty seeing things on the edge of sight, I supposed. I hadn’t seen him approach, and now that I looked, two or three others must have come into the room while I had contemplated my scotch and stared at the ceiling. Two stood at the bar talking, and a third slid into a chair at a table near mine, his dark eyes raking me over. He looked faintly familiar, although I couldn’t imagine where I’d seen him. He was well enough, too, but I turned my attention to the man who’d spoken to me.
Oh, but this one was better than good enough! Much better.
About my age, by the look of him, but as fair as I’m dark—wheat blond hair in artful disorder, with quite astonishing hazel eyes set above high, pronounced cheekbones and a strong mouth and chin. Thank God he had a chin. There were far too many men who had none worthy of the name. The rest of the stranger was rather attractive too. He leaned on a cane in his right hand, inclining his long, trim body toward me. It gave him a slight air of eagerness that was, I felt, distinctly flattering, as well as allowing him to show off an evening suit that fitted him like the proverbial glove and must have cost a very pretty penny. Definitely better than just good enough. Unless he turned out to have all the personality faults of Attila the Hun, this one would most certainly merit further attention.
And, really, Attila the Hun hadn’t been
all
bad. He was rumored to have been very considerate of his horses.
The stranger bowed and smiled. It was an attractive look on him, the generous lips curving up and parting to show good teeth. His eyes flickered to the daisy in my lapel. He wore an identical one. “The maître d’ pointed you out to me, sir. He suggested you may desire some company.”
Good heavens, but his coloring was unusual. You don’t often see eyes that color with blond hair. Closer up, they were a true hazel green with gold rims around the pupils. His eyebrows and eyelashes were darker than his hair. Very, very attractive. Oh yes. This one appealed.
I jumped up and held out my hand before he got tired of waiting. “I would be delighted, sir. Captain Rafe Lancaster, late of Her Majesty’s Imperial Aero Corps and at your service.”
The man’s smile broadened. He swapped the cane to his left hand and shook hands. “Edward Fairfax, at yours.” He gestured to the chair opposite. “May I? Perhaps we could talk a little?”
Fairfax, eh? The fair-headed. Well, he lived up to his name, at all events—his hair spoke of ancestry in a place where snow gleamed under the shifting luminescence of the northern lights.
I nodded acquiescence, of course. “That would be very pleasant.”
Fairfax tossed the cane back to his right hand and sat. Carrying a cane was de rigueur for the fashionable man about town, and Fairfax’s matched the evening suit for understated luxury. It had a rather splendid enamel knob. From Russia, perhaps, where they were noted for fine enameling. I would bet my last shilling it was a sword stick. Fashionable and useful—if you were the sort of man about town who needed to keep a blade handy.
Fairfax leaned the cane against the tabletop. He twisted in his chair to make an imperious gesture to beckon one of the waiters, indicating my glass and holding up two fingers. The waiter jumped to obey.
Fairfax turned to me. “The Aero Corps? You know, the first time I ever went up in an aeroship, I was desperate to learn how to fly one. But I’ve never had the chance. I envy you.”
He meant nothing by it, because of course he couldn’t have known. He was likely making small talk to break the ice. But it cut home a little.
“You need perfect eyesight.” I pushed my spectacles up. They had an irritating habit of sliding down from the bridge of my nose. “Until my accident and a bang on the head, I did. Now I don’t. That’s a bit of a career-destroying inconvenience.”
“Ah.” His fair skin couldn’t hide the faint flush over the cheekbones. Fairfax grimaced and inclined his head. “I am sorry. That was maladroit of me. I was merely hoping to make conversation.”
“I know. It’s not a problem.” And I smiled to make sure Fairfax saw it was the truth. I held his gaze, until finally he nodded and relaxed. “I’m adjusting to the change.”
“Thank you. That’s gracious of you. For what it’s worth, I had an accident myself eighteen months ago that cost me dear. Not physically—at least, not in the long term—but still a life-changing event. I’m still adjusting.” Fairfax paused, allowing the waiter to place a glass of scotch in front of him and replenish my drink. Despite his imperious way of summoning service, he gave the waiter the same charming smile he’d given me and thanked him, before raising his glass and clinking it against mine. “To new acquaintances.”
I grinned back. The scotch was smooth and golden, warming my chest and all the way south to where it could do the most good.
“Are you new to Margrethe’s, Captain? I don’t remember seeing you here before.” Said with that charming smile, and the flattering implication that of course Fairfax would have noticed me.
I’m too old to feel flattered, but I smiled back all the same. “No, not new. Oddly enough, this is one of the few places in the world where I’m still a member in good standing. I’ve been away.”
Fairfax nodded. “On active duty, I take it? I have been away myself, for a while. I had commitments elsewhere that made attendance at Margrethe’s an impossibility. I returned a couple of months ago. But I knew I hadn’t seen you here since then.” He smiled. “I would have remembered.”
I am
far
too old to feel flattered, but I allowed him another smile for his efforts. “It’s been a long time since I last had the opportunity to spend an evening here. Years.”
“South Africa?”
“And sundry other places the Imperium felt would benefit from us stamping our mark upon it. Especially if there were something valuable there to be stamped—gold, diamonds, rubies… those sorts of portable things.”
Fairfax looked amused. His mouth turned up at the corners and his eyes lightened with laughter. “Your cynicism is showing, Captain. I’m told the Imperium’s expansion is good for the national coffers.” He took a sip of his scotch. “I suppose that exchange of personal confidences was as far as we should go if we are not to breach Margrethe’s conventions.”
“I’d forgotten about that.”
And indeed I had. The hotel took privacy very seriously. Gentlemen were encouraged to talk, of course—in fact, most members, as I recalled, could talk the proverbial hind legs off an entire herd of donkeys without stopping to draw breath—but at Margrethe’s the conversation should be minimally personal. Houses and House politics, too, were not on the agenda. A man might wonder, of course, and if he knew anything of the Houses the mere name (supposing real names were given) would be enough to place his companion, but breaking the no-House-politics rule could cost a man his membership. It didn’t worry me, of course. I couldn’t ever envisage willingly talking about House Stravaigor. Any other topic of conversation was fair game. Except perhaps religion. That was as fraught a subject as politics.
Fairfax’s mouth twitched again. I liked the way the corner crinkled up in that half smile. “We could always talk about the theater, say, or the opera.”
“I do own an opera cloak,” I conceded. “Indeed, it’s hanging in the lobby cloakroom. But it’s as far as I go in that direction.”
This time Fairfax laughed out loud, throwing back his head and relaxing into his chair. Well, at least the man had a sense of humor. That was something. And it was reassuring he laughed when I wanted him to. Very reassuring. It was a nice laugh too.
“What about the theater?”
I had to grimace, and hoped it looked self-deprecating. “I’ve been away for years and back two days. The best I can offer you is that I read
The Times
this morning and could probably paraphrase the critics if I really tried.”
Fairfax shook his head. “That would never do. Look, I know it’s early, but why don’t we go and have dinner and you can tell me all about South Africa? I don’t mean the war or what happened, but about the place. I’ve never been so far south, although I know the northern end of Africa, the Mediterranean end, quite well. Aegypt and the Soudan, at least.”
“I believe wintering in Cairo is the fashionable thing to do.”
“So I’m told. I can tell you a little about Aegypt, if you like, and we can both then stay within the letter of Margrethe’s law while we get acquainted.”
That sounded like a plan. A good plan. I downed my scotch and rose. I moved my daisy and pinned it to my right lapel. I was no longer seeking company. I’d found it. “I’m told the venison is good tonight, but personally I can barely wait for dessert. I do hope you have a sweet tooth.”