CHAPTER 14
TEMPLE OF THE MUSES
Friday 25th February 1898
Before dinner, Charles introduced me to his father. Henry Ashe was ten years my senior, a broad chested man who must have been a handsome devil in his youth, but age and fine living had caught up with him. In an attempt to disguise his jowly jawline he had grown bushy mutton chop sideburns, and his thinning hair was oiled and pressed to his scalp. Ashe was affable of personality, the kind of man who could strike up a conversation among any group of men. He appeared pleased to meet a friend of his son, and became even more enthusiastic to discover I owned Hannan’s Auctioneers. I could tell from the lavish and varied décor of his home that Henry Ashe’s addiction was for the hunt and purchase of beautiful objects, something to which I could indeed relate!
”My next auction is of Italian art. I would be happy to give you a private viewing if you wish,”
“Wonderful, yes, that would be a pleasure. Charles, make the arrangements,” Ashe senior said before his attention was taken by another guest .
The dinner itself was an exotic affair with the six courses inspired by Henry’s travels. We ate spiced rice dishes, fragrant fish, meat, and vegetables. Henry held court between the courses, telling us of his adventures. I was seated at the end of a row beside a rather rotund gentleman who had no interest in even the basics of civil conversation with me, but he was enamoured by the spicy exotic food. Charles sat opposite me and picked at the colourful fare on his plate. It did give some relief to catch his eye and share covert smiles across the table.
I was made aware that, not only was Ashe senior displaying new book acquisitions tonight, but he was also selling on some sought after volumes by way of an anonymous auction.
When the meal was complete he stood at the head of the table his wine glass aloft for a toast. Then he explained the proceedings for the evening, adding finally that,
“I will introduce each book and you, my most esteemed guests, will all be permitted to offer private bids. I’ve even purchased a small pillar post box for the occasion where you can post your bids,” he said, full of joviality. The dining room echoed with the deep throated laughter of gentlemen. “The bids will be examined tomorrow morning and the successful bidders will then be informed. The transactions will be swift and secretive.”
I found it curious that this blind auction was to be carried out in such a way, but then again, I understood how avid collectors coveted their purchases like wolves with a carcass. And so, we were led to the ballroom where more drinks were served and the ten new acquisitions had been displayed on individual plinths. Collectors mingled around the plinths and discussed the content and provenance. The twenty books for auction rested on a trestle table, covered in a swathe of linen.
“I told you they were the most astounding bores, didn’t I,” Charles whispered waspishly as he walked at my side. “Mr. Hardy, the fellow you were stuck beside, spent the whole meal stuffing his face. I saw him eyeing your leavings, you know! Absolute pig of a man,” Charles grumbled disdainfully. I could not repress my smile, for he was not incorrect! We sauntered the perimeter of the room and Charles spoke of how and where his father had discovered and purchased each book.
“This is a handwritten manuscript study of astronomy, cartography, geography and philosophy from the famed university of Louvain, Belgium, published in 1786,” Charles explained .
“Handwritten! My goodness. The author has a handsome cursive,” I observed as I attempted to read the swirling script.
“Oh, and here, you’ll adore this,” Charles enthused as other guests moved away and he stepped to the next plinth on which a small book was displayed open.
“It’s quite the remarkable survivor. An illuminated French Book of Hours, fifteenth century,” he informed. I eased closer and was at once stunned into silence by the beauty of the small book. The rich colours of cobalt blue, and carmine red were as vibrant as if the artisan monk had completed it mere hours ago. The gilding and penmanship were also in excellent condition. This was indeed a rare find. I felt the tendrils of need grip at my belly. I was desperate to own it.
“Father purchased it from a dockside trader in Shanghai. He paid just three shillings and six pence.”
“What! I would estimate a Book of Hours with such splendid illuminations is worth a small fortune, at least twenty pounds.” It was well out of my price range, and I reminded myself that the books currently displayed were for discussion only, not for sale. But before we could continue our discussion about the illuminated prayer book the head butler, Feathers, rang a bell to call us all to attention and introduced Henry Ashe to give a speech. I could see why Charles was so keen to have a companion with him. No doubt he’d heard his father’s tales many times.
Henry spoke of his journey to the Orient, of the sights, scents, and silks he had procured, it was interesting, but the man spoke for an hour! With a nod from his master; Feathers swiftly removed the linen and revealed the volumes that Henry Ashe was willing to part with.
“The first treasure I have for your perusal is Exercitatio Anatomica Hominis . This is a rare first pressing, printed in Rome, Italy, and sold by S. Hooper in the Strand, in 1759. This particular copy was purchased in Morocco. There is evidence of water damage to the spine; however, I have it on good authority that our restorer can fix it.” Ashe senior eagerly opened the book to display one of the colourful, yet gruesome anatomical drawings.
“The Italian’s are renowned for rather grisly depictions of anatomy in their early pressings and this particular tome is of that variety. The volume has three hundred pages with hand coloured illustrations by the renowned artist Fabriano Mondizio. There is slight foxing to several pages,” Ashe informed.
Thomas Worthington of Southerans stepped forward and inspected the book. “Indeed, the illustrator appears to gather inspiration from the sketches of Da Vinci,” he said. Deep voiced murmurs of men echoed around the room. Another gentleman whom I recognized as Sidney Tanner, a very competitive antiquarian bookseller from Chiswick moved to stand beside Worthington. “This is a wonderfully detailed anatomy study. I have a client with a taste for the more…macabre illustrations,” Tanner said as he watched the other man gently turn page by page.
“Do you have a starting price in mind, Henry?” Worthington asked.
I was too far away to see clearly what had garnered so much excitement. I stepped closer and took a glance over Charles’ shoulder and then recoiled, reeling back on my heels at the horrific biological etching of a man, his body split in half, his innards laid out in ghastly detail with diagrams showing where they fit inside his body cavity.
“Ah, Mr. Tanner and Mr. Worthington. I thought you both might be interested in such a book. But for fairness, I shall let everyone view the exhibits and decide what they are willing to pay. This is a blind auction, after all!” Henry grinned.
Ashe senior then continued with short introductions for nineteen further books. In the hour that followed I struck up several excellent conversations with fellow antiquarians while Charles stepped out to the smoking room to partake of port and a cigar. I observed as Henry Ashe circulated and conversed with his guests, and noticed that he would occasionally slip a hand into his jacket pocket and retrieve a pearl head tie pin and then offer it to particular guests. It was a discrete, covert exchange. I was naturally on guard for sleight of hand after having watched my very own master thief at work. As the clock struck eleven many of the collectors had moved to the bidding table where they wrote down the details of their bid and then used the green pillar box beside the table.
Charles returned to my side with a glass of claret for us both. He smelled of fragrant smoke and spice. His eyes were glazed with inebriation and he once again became physical with me, grinning foppishly, linking his arm in mine, and then pulling me with him to take a turn of the ballroom. I set my jaw but did not protest.
“You’ve had rather a lot to drink,” I observed as I took a swig of claret.
“Aye, these soirées make me reach for a bottle! But at least I have you to look after me tonight,” he leaned in and offered a salacious whisper to my ear. “And the night is not yet over, my dear man!”
I groaned internally, hoping he did not think I would succumb to his charms.
“Father has arranged a rare treat!” he stage whispered.
“Is that so?”
“Yes, wait a moment. I have something for you.” We stopped walking and Charles put his hand into his jacket pocket and drew out two small seed pearl tie pins. His expression was full of mischief as he made me hold his glass and stand still while he affixed the seed pearl pin to my cravat. I looked down at him and knew he was taking his time fixing the pin in place, and when he teasingly licked his wine stained lower lip my Adams apple bobbed.
“What’s this all about? I saw your father giving these pins out to select collectors.”
Charles wagged his brows and I could see he got quite the rise out of secrets. He affixed a pearl headed pin into his own cravat, and then took his glass back and linked arms with me again. I was uncomfortable at being seen publicly, arms in arm with another man. It was not the done thing and Charles knew damn well I was not agreeable to being touched without consent. Yet he rode roughshod over my wishes and appeared to be delighted push my boundaries to be on my arm. At that moment I missed Sebastian more than I could say.
Soon enough the bids were all made and the crowd of men began to thin as they left the party, until along with Charles and his father, just eight of us remained, all wearing a seed pearl tie pin. We retired to a smoking room for more port and cigars, and then at midnight Feathers arrived and announced,
“The carriages are here, milord.”
None of us asked any questions, seeming collectively to understand that we were the chosen few who had been selected for something secretive and extraordinary. Feeling special and chosen can lock the lips of many a man!
The head butler, under butler and footman helped us all put on our coats, ready for the journey. I rode in the first Clarence carriage with Charles and Henry Ashe, and a fourth man who was introduced as Barnaby Herbert, son of a wealthy industrialist from the West Midlands. The remaining four men took the second carriage. Silence reigned until we set off. Then Henry Ashe’s face split into a wide grin as he asked,
“Have you heard of the Secretum?”
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