Chapter 18
“That’s preposterous,” List spluttered when Greg entered White’s dining room.
Seated at the table with the Lord Chancellor and two other Members of Parliament, the Prussian baron shot a venomous look in Greg’s direction as soon as he spotted him in the doorway. “I’ve never heard of a mistress moving in. They’re best kept at arm’s length, or, as you say in English, better a leg’s length away.”
Murmurs of assent met List’s speech as Greg followed the ma?tre to an adjacent table.
“It might be the Catholic upbringing I had, or perhaps I’m merely old-fashioned”—List waved grandly when Greg looked over his shoulder and took his seat, his back to List—“but mixing noble blood with the bourgeoisie is the same as dropping a little mud in a puddle, it’s all ruined.”
Greg turned to List and leaned on the back of his chair with his elbow. “So you agree your bloodline is a puddle, then?”
“Pardon me, but we’re having a private conversation to which you were not privy,” List snapped at Greg, casting a fake smile to the other men at his table.
White’s dining room was a battlefield disguised in opulence, where every polished surface reflected the gleam of wealth and the sharp edges of barely concealed hostilities. Crisp linens and upholstered chairs dulled the soft murmur of the elite. A silent war existed, each member parading their titles and manners like armor against veiled insults and cold, calculating glances.
Fave and Arnold appeared, led to Greg’s table by the same ma?tre.
“There you are,” Fave said in a friendly voice that didn’t match the situation.
“Good afternoon, Greg,” Arnold said as another waiter joined the ma?tre to pull two chairs back for Fave and Arnold to sit on.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve lost my appetite. I’m leaving.” Greg swallowed hard as he rose, giving his best friends a telling look.
Fave understood immediately and shook his head to indicate to the ma?tre that he wouldn’t sit after all, while Arnold’s eyes found List.
“I feel the same, truly. Back home, we don’t eat with Jews,” List said to his tablemates as he put his napkin on his plate. “It makes my skin crawl.”
The dining room fell silent.
“Let’s stay civil, shall we?” the Lord Chancellor said when Greg narrowed his eyes and turned to face List.
“They are club members and only came to have their luncheon here,” Greg said.
List lifted his glass of wine and took a slow sip as if the pungent white liquor helped to churn the flames of his hatred. “Why is that? Isn’t it called gentlemen’s club, thus, reserved for gentlemen?”
Greg’s neck grew tense as he saw Fave’s and Arnold’s expressions falling. This was scarcely the first time his friends had been insulted publicly, but it was heartbreaking to watch good people, paying members, talented men being treated as if all their efforts were worth less only because of how they were born.
“We were members for several years before you arrived in England, List,” Arnold said.
“And we have every right to continue to take our luncheon here,” Fave added.
“He does make a valid point,” the Lord Chancellor mumbled as he wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin and set it down. “White’s is a gentlemen’s club.”
Greg shut his eyes briefly and exhaled slowly, trying not to lose his temper. When he opened them, Fave and Arnold looked at him with a deep understanding that the three friends had developed from experiencing this far too often.
“It vexes me indeed.” List’s attempts at feigning sentiment were as feeble as they were transparent, for his heart bore the emotional depth of a scythe sweeping through a meadow, indiscriminate and unyielding in its task. “When I first arrived in London, I sought out peers of the realm. Imagine my disappointment when there were Jews among them?”
The Lord Chancellor’s eyes met Greg’s for a flicker of an instant, and then he quickly looked back to List as if ashamed of what he was about to do. “As Chairman of White’s, I must inquire about the rules that you accuse Mr. Pearler and Mr. Ehrlich of breaking by being here.” Then he turned to Fave and Arnold. “Gentlemen, ahem, Mister Pearler and Mister Ehrlich, could you please vacate the premises until I clear the suspicion?”
“And what suspicion is that exactly?” Greg asked.
The Lord Chancellor pursed his thin lips. His fat cheeks added a frame of severity to his expression.
Greg was unimpressed. “What if they stay until the suspicion is cleared so their valued membership at this distinguished establishment remains uninterrupted? The accusing party is, after all, not even British.” His eyes bore into List, sharp and accusing.
Fave and Arnold crossed their arms and stepped back. They could fight all the men with a swing of their swords but chose to turn away and leave because a Jew couldn’t defend himself if a peer of the realm were injured, not even if the Jew acted in self-defense. Fairness didn’t factor into the law.
Arnold lay a hand on Greg’s shoulder and shook his head.
Greg tried to convey his thoughts. It is worth it. You’re worth it. I can stand up for you.
Fave shook his head, too.
On their way out, they looked over their shoulders at Greg with the unsaid invitation to walk away with them. It wouldn’t be the first time they turned their backs on trouble to cut their losses and not provoke a fight on account of being Jewish. They had no legal recourse and knew it, so they erred on the side of caution when altercations threatened. Greg signaled them to stay, and they did, but at a respectable distance.
“Why don’t we place a little wager on the question?” List said after he’d resumed slicing his steak as if to show he wasn’t bothered by the embarrassment he’d caused Fave, Arnold, and Greg before the Lord Chancellor.
“Gentlemen, we have the council room at Westminster for a debate on the issue; let us not bring it here,” the Chancellor said, now standing up. “I prefer to have entertainment at the club and leave work in parliament.”
“Och nein, wie schade.” Oh no, what a pity. List leaned back, and his eyes locked onto Greg’s with the precision of a hawk targeting its prey. “I hoped we could place a wager on a gentlemen’s game. Baron Stone owes me a revanche.” A glint of predatory challenge flickered in his gaze, unyielding and bold. “I’ll feel personally insulted if he doesn’t follow through.” List put a hand on his heart, but Greg was sure there was nothing but an empty ribcage, for a human heart couldn’t possibly beat in it.
“Gregory, he’s a guest, and it would be imprudent to vex him,” the Chancellor said.
How awfully convenient to pretend the predator’s feelings were hurt, an easy way to end the conversation and turn the table in his favor by abusing the human sense of empathy—a sentiment List had proven in the past he didn’t possess. List was the victim as much as a fox was who’d scraped his snout on a sharp bone whilst eating a bunny mother in front of her offspring’s nest.
“I couldn’t possibly reconcile it with my conscience that you are missing out on the chance of a revanche,” List said. If he had a little angel and a devil floating beside him, the angel would have plummeted to its demise while the devil took a seat on List’s blond head like a king on his throne.
“It saddens me to see two capable chess players without an opportunity to practice their skill,” the Chancellor said, giving Greg no choice. Already, Greg felt like a fighter stepping into a ring, knowing the winner would get the floor in the House of Lords on Monday morning.
Greg felt Fave and Arnold tensing, and his stomach lurched, too. “I’m not in the habit of gambling over chess, especially not for parliamentary matters.”
“Then let us call it a matter for the club. You win, they stay. You lose, no Jews.” List winked at the Lord Chancellor in his smug way, the telltale smirk of a cheater.
“No. It’s disrespectful to my friends and fellow club members, Mr. Ehrlich and Mr. Pearler.”
“And I haven’t agreed to allow gambling over membership at the club,” the Lord Chancellor added.
“Then we shall have the game at my house,” List said with the friendliness of a hunter inviting his prey into a trap.
“Gentlemen, we won’t overstay our welcome.” Fave inclined his head and made to leave, tugging Greg’s shoulder.
“Let’s go.” Arnold turned and headed toward the door.
Greg turned and saw the faces of the other club members. Forks in mid-air, luncheons went cold, and they held their breath to see the challenge played out. If it were a duel, Greg knew all too well he couldn’t have refused on his honor.
But this was a wager on his friends’ livelihoods. If the Pearlers lost their clients at White’s, their business would be diminished. Or worse, Prinny might withdraw their appointment as Crown Jewelers if the Ton didn’t agree they were the best. As usual, however, this wasn’t a question of being the best. It wasn’t even about whether they were good. Jews rarely got the chance, and when they did, as the Pearlers had, they could lose it within a moment. All it took to destroy generations’ work, goodwill, and fortunes was a challenge from an anti-Semitic prick like List.
Plus, if List gained a hand over Greg at the club, he had a chance to sway the vote in parliament against Greg. It was a first round, a trial run. The club’s membership was almost symbolic of the Jew’s right to be equal citizens. This was how quickly chess became a battlefield for life’s trials.
“Let me know when I should be there,” Greg said.
List’s mouth fell open in surprise as if he hadn’t expected Greg to take the challenge.
Greg turned back to Fave and Arnold and left with them. The next time he’d come to White’s, he wanted his friends to be treated as equals. His barony meant nothing in a country where his peers had no respect for fellow citizens. It just wasn’t right.