Chapter 16
Caroline gazed about at the magnificence of the bar room. The ceiling, a mass of scrolling plasterwork and gilded moldings, was supported by columns decorated with painted vine leaves. Huge chandeliers hung down, glittering in the reflected light of the gas lamps hanging from the wall brackets.
“It’s beautiful!” she uttered, feeling quite awed. No wonder gentlemen spent all their time in their clubs if they were as sumptuously decorated as this place. Her old home seemed somewhat plain in comparison.
A huge wooden rectangle stood in the center of the room, which Ralph Carstairs referred to excitedly as “the bar.” “You see,” he explained eagerly, “although we have separated areas for the seated saloon and public area, the bar being positioned here, centrally, means it can serve all these areas simultaneously.”
“How many dedicated servers would work within your bar? You could surely fit a small army behind here,” she said, peering over the top of the polished counter to see the rows of bottles and glasses contained underneath.
“I think we could have about a dozen at maximum capacity,” Ralph answered casually.
“Really? That many?” She straightened up and turned back to find Gervaise watching her with a critical expression on his face. Why did he look thus? She directed a querying gaze his way, but he turned abruptly away.
“Is it really necessary to have all the lamps blazing at this hour?” he asked Ralph pointedly. “We are not yet open to patrons, yet we must be spending a small fortune lighting them all.”
His friend looked chastened. “Well, I just wanted to get the full effect. Besides, Barty thought it would be a good thing to illuminate the place and ignite some interest in the populace before we throw the doors open.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” Gervaise replied bitingly and Caroline winced at his tone.
“Jeb’s had to wipe smudge marks off the windows for weeks now from where the public has been trying to peer in,” he said defensively.
“Tell us about the different areas,” Caroline said quickly. “You mentioned a saloon, is that over here?” she asked, pointing.
“Ah yes,” Ralph said gratefully. “You see these screens?” He walked toward a series of large arched screens beautifully decorated with colored glass.
“They act as markers for the different sections. So over here we have separate booths for anyone who does not wish to stand around the bar area and desires a bit of privacy.”
They followed him to an area set apart with lots of separate wooden crafted booths.
“They are so cunningly wrought,” Caroline commented admiringly.
“Like compartments in a carriage, only much grander. Oh! The glass is etched with a likeness of The Citadel!” she exclaimed, whipping around.
“You must have had an artist draw the exterior.”
Ralph nodded proudly. “Only the finest craftsmen have worked in here,” he announced, chest swelling.
“Real artisans. As a matter of fact, the artist fellow is coming back tomorrow. I wanted him to paint us a large painting for the back wall. I thought a depiction of The Citadel as a woman would work best but neither of the models he brought along looked right to me. One was a well-fed brunette and the other a blowsy-looking blonde. For my part I have always pictured The Citadel as a stern sort of beauty. Like the titaness, Themis. I imagine her all in silver, wielding a direct chilly stare. Maybe holding a sword,” Ralph extemporized, wrinkling his nose.
“Doesn’t sound very inviting for the punters,” Gervaise put in scathingly. “And absolutely nothing like an artist’s model who are usually selected for their attractiveness, not their ability to repel a man at forty paces.”
“But citadels do repel men, don’t they? For are they not fortresses?” Caroline asked, coming once again to Ralph’s defense. “Repelling invaders is the very purpose for which they were built.”
“Exactly!” Ralph exclaimed, stabbing a finger into the air.
“Not this citadel,” Gervaise retorted sourly. “Besides, this place looks more like a seraglio than a fortress.”
Ralph looked so crestfallen that Caroline was forced to look away. It felt rather like watching a someone aim a kick at a puppy. “Well, I’ll take you through to the billiard room out the back,” the poor man said, sounding forlorn. “Maybe you’ll like that better.”
“Will the cats be alright if we leave them here?” she asked, eyeing the doorman with some apprehension.
“Hie, Jeb!” Ralph called out. “Keep an eye on the cats while I show my friends around, there’s a good fellow.”
Caroline thought Jeb looked rather contemptuous at the request, but he gave a short nod of his head, and she had to be contented with that. He would most likely ignore them, she thought, but at least he would not throw them out into the street.
They passed through another door of stained glass depicting an urn bursting forth with foliage and then through a passageway with intricate mosaic flooring and elaborate ceramic picture tiles lining the walls.
Caroline would have liked to linger and appreciate them, but as the other two did not slow their pace she followed instead, vowing to take a closer look at some future opportunity.
Another decorative door opened into a large back room filled with six full-sized billiard tables.
This room had a smaller bar at one end, which appeared to be made of pink marble, but the main feature of the room was its magnificent skylight of leaded glass which was decorated in an intricate pattern of intertwining vines.
Gervaise glanced at it without comment but Caroline could not hold back an admiring sigh. “Oh, it’s so pretty. I suppose this room will be solely the province of men,” she said regretfully. “Rather like most billiard rooms.”
“I don’t see why it should be.” Ralph shrugged. “Enjoy a game of billiards do you, Miss Pomfrey?”
She smiled and shook her head. “No one has ever taught me properly,” she admitted. “When we were younger, my brother and I used to knock about the balls on Squire Pebmarsh’s table but once Edgar reached an age to play with the other men he had no need for me.”
“Oh, it’s never too late to learn,” Ralph encouraged her. “I know my sister Phoebe does these days, for her husband taught her in the privacy of their own home. She can’t be the only woman in London who enjoys it, eh, Gervaise?”
“I’ll teach you,” he said, meeting her gaze directly. “If you want to learn.”
“You’ll teach me billiards?” she blurted in surprise.
Gervaise nodded. “Why not?”
She flushed with pleasure. “I should like that, my lord.”
“Gervaise,” he corrected her, then turned back to his friend. “Where next?”
The remaining rooms on the ground floor turned out to be storerooms and a scullery which were a good deal less interesting to look around though they looked well set out and fully stocked.
Ralph then led them through an unobtrusive door up a set of narrow stairs which confused Caroline, for at first she had thought it must be a servant’s stair, but no servant’s stair was so luxuriously carpeted as this one was.
At the top Ralph led them through a door which led into another room about half the size of the one downstairs.
This room had a handsome fireplace and was set about with lots of tables, some large and some small, and many fancy chairs upholstered in smart green leather.
The curtains at the windows were of sumptuous striped silk and tied up with gold tassels.
The walls were lined with paintings depicting classical-looking scenarios with lots of naked and half-clothed women. Perhaps this too was a feature of gentleman’s clubs, she reflected, glancing around at the fancy lamps set in the wall sconces.
“What is the function of this room?” Caroline asked. “Is it fine dining?”
“No,” Gervaise replied shortly. “This room is for a private club which will operate out of here.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Now this floor will be gentlemen only,” Ralph elaborated.
Caroline frowned. “I don’t understand. Why are you not extending your egalitarian principles throughout?”
“Egalitarian principles?” Gervaise asked, eyebrows raised.
“Yes,” she insisted, “for you said you would serve all comers downstairs.”
“Oh, that. Yes, that is true enough for the ground floor,” he agreed.
“So, why not up here?”
He sighed. “Because, my dear Caroline, it would not be legal.”
“Not legal,” she echoed, halting in her progress around the room. “But…why?”
Ralph cleared his throat, and Gervaise flashed a warning look at him. “Because deep play will take place in this room,” he explained. “Gambling,” he elaborated when she continued to look at him blankly.
“Oh. Oh. Is it a hell?”
Gervaise shrugged. “It will be entirely legal, so long as it operates along the lines of a private club.”
“I see,” she said thoughtfully. “Yes, I quite see.” She turned away and to hide her awkwardness, made a pretense of being interested in the art.
She peered closer at the nearest painting, which was of a buxom-looking woman presenting an armful of jewels to a bearded king sat upon his throne.
Although she wasn’t wearing many clothes, she appeared to have a coronet poised atop her abundant head of hair.
“Is it the Queen of Sheba’s visit to King Solomon? ” Caroline asked.
Ralph coughed. “I couldn’t tell you. I bought most of them in a job lot. I think that one was done by the same artist who will paint our Citadel personified downstairs. Bailey is his name. He’s got a studio in Marylebone. Care to see the third floor?”
Gervaise professed an interest, and they had to walk back down the sumptuous red stairs and into the kitchen to find the actual servant’s stair which led up to the third floor.
This floor was not for public access and consisted of two sets of living quarters.
The first was a large dormitory-style bedroom which had several mattresses laid down on the floor.
“Some of the workmen dossed down in here,” Ralph explained. “If they had to travel from a great distance. The mosaicist had to come all the way from Bath and the glazers from Bristol.”
“Have you got anyone staying here currently?” Gervaise asked. “If we got broken into now, they could strip the place of every fixture and fitting.”
“Never you fear,” Ralph answered promptly. “I’ve had men here every night guarding the place since there was anything worth guarding. Two since we started stocking up the liquor. They sleep downstairs though, so they would hear anyone breaking in. They set up camp beds in the scullery.”
“Who’s here tonight?”
“Jeb and his cousin Reg.”
Gervaise pulled a face. “Show us where you stayed.”
Ralph patted his pockets until he found a key with which he let them into a second set of living quarters, which proved to be four fair-sized rooms and a bathroom, all of which were sparsely furnished.
Caroline marveled at what Ralph considered “tolerably comfortable,” for they were furnished with little more than a set of drawers with a pitcher and ewer sat atop of it, a bed with a wrought iron frame, an armchair which had clearly seen better days, and a rickety table which still had a pot of ink on it.
“Well, Brown’s hotel, it is not,” Gervaise observed, looking around. “But it will do at a pinch, I suppose.”
Ralph brightened. “Anything I can do to make you both more at home?” he asked, looking from one to the other of them. Caroline noticed he did not look remotely shocked at the idea that “Miss Pomfrey” should remain in Lord Atherton’s company overnight.
“Yes,” said Gervaise. “You can have our bags brought up along with fresh sheets for the bed. The fires need to be lit in here and then you can fetch us some dinner. We haven’t eaten since lunch.”