CHAPTER 20
THE CAFé ROYAL
Later that evening, while in my study, Wilkins knocked, then entered the room with an envelope on a silver tray. The postman had delivered the last post not twenty minutes ago and I had not expected more correspondance. I raised a curious brow.
“Delivered by hand, sir,” Wilkins explained. I took the envelope and nodded my thanks. My houseman left the study before I reached for the letter opener and slit the envelope. I drew out a cream card of fine cardstock. To my surprise I saw it was an invitation:
Dear Mr. Hannan.
It is my greatest pleasure to invite you to dine with me at The Café Royal, 68 Regent Street, Piccadilly, at 6pm on Tuesday 8th March.
Please RSVP.
Miss Nissa Rai
The Café Royal was frequented by many esteemed bon viveurs, artists, aristocrats, and writers, but it also reputedly had the best wine cellar in the world. It was devilishly difficult to get a table there, and so Miss Rai’s accomplishment surprised and impressed me. I was unsure if Sebastian would be joining us, but I wanted to meet my beloved’s daughter and apologise for my disgraceful behaviour in the park. Sebastian would soon be ensconced in my home with a room to himself and a key to my front door. And if all progressed in the way that I hoped between Sebastian and I, Nissa would become a part of my life too. I immediately penned a response to the invitation, and while addressing the envelope noticed that the return address was to Mrs. Mountjoy at Claridges.Sebastian and his daughter retained a suite at the five-star hotel under false names. Another intriguing jigsaw piece fell into place.
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The Café Royal was one of my favourite places to dine, although, due to my lack of sociability before I met Sebastian, it had been a rare treat for when Grace and Henry came to town. The establishment was vast—three storey’s of immaculate architecture with a number of restaurant dining rooms, bars, a ballroom, and café.
When I stepped down from my Clarence carriage at five minutes to six, the venue was already bustling with patrons. I joined the queue and waited with the bohemian and aristocratic clientele until it was my turn to speak with the ma?tre d'h?tel in the front lobby. It was a chilly evening and so I eased the collar on my greatcoat up to shield from the icy wind. After five minutes of anxiously tapping my cane on the pavement and watching the too-and fro of patrons I finally arrived at the front of the queue. The ma?tre d'h?tel was a small, stiff backed man with his dark hair oiled and combed to his scalp. He had pinched lips, and above them, a waxed pencil moustache. As expected, he was attired in the black and white suit livery of a servant, with a gold crown motif embroidered on his cravat.
“Mr. Benedict Hannan to dine with Miss Rai,” I said when I finally stepped to the front desk. The Ma?tre d licked his finger and turned several pages of his book to find Miss Rai’s six o’clock reservation for a table in the smaller of the restaurants, called The Grill Room. A steward was beckoned and the young man gestured for me to follow him through the foyer of the establishment.
I trailed the young steward while marvelling at the exquisite carved architecture of the interiors, lavish gilded mouldings…and his distracting tight, round backside. We travelled up a grandiose staircase with gilded balustrades to the second floor and then into the Grill Room restaurant. The scents of roasted meat and tobacco assaulted me, as did the décor, for this grand restaurant was astounding. The walls were clad with huge floor to ceiling gilded mirrors, accented against ivory walls, and seemed to be inspired by the Baroque ‘Hall of mirrors’ at the Palace of Versailles in France. The mirrors made the room appear double its size and the optical illusion was rather startling. The steward introduced me to the head waiter and then took my hat, coat, and cane. I tipped the young fellow before he departed.
The Irish accented head waiter addressed me with a slight bow, “Welcome Mr. Hannan.” He collected two menu cards from his station and then informed, “Miss Rai has already been seated. Allow me to show you to your table, sir.”
We began across the large room weaving through the gaps between the tables. Several of the patrons were puffing on cigars creating clouds of blue-grey smoke which I found rather objectionable. I hoped I would not be sitting too close to those gentlemen! I spied Miss Nissa Rai as she rose from her seat at a table in the far corner of the restaurant. Our eyes met and she offered me a shy smile. The young lady was a confection of pink with a layered tulle skirt and waist-length fitted jacket in magenta with a high neck, edged with white lace. The hat she wore was not of current London fashion, where ladies seemed to prefer large outlandish hats with as much froth and feather as they could carry on their head. No, this hat was petite, delicate, and continental in style with ribbon and silk spring flowers. It suited her very well. But what struck me as I reached our dining table was that while Miss Nissa’s skin was a light caramel, and her hair raven black from her mother’s Indian heritage, the girl had Sebastian’s eyes. Seeing his whisky eyes looking at me from such a pretty feminine face made me wobble internally. Nissa reached out her gloved hand and I stared for a second at her pristine white lace glove.
I struggled to find my words, before bowing, saying, “Good evening Miss Rai,” and then moving behind the lady to assist her in sitting again. The head waiter assisted me and I glanced across the table at the young woman with the mirror of my lover’s eyes and became quite tongue-tied.
“We have a four course menu you may choose from,” the head waiter said as he passed a menu
card first to Miss Nissa, and then one for me.
“Would you care to order from the wine list, sir?”
Miss Nissa spoke up before I could respond, her voice lilting, cultured, cut-glass British.
“We shall have a bottle of Chateau Mouton Rothschild, 1872,” she then sent her gaze to me and playfully added, “Father and I sampled it last time we dined here and it was most agreeable…Or…forgive me…would you care for something else Mr. Hannan?”
I was rather stunned, “No, no, no you have chosen the most excellent vintage,” I nodded to the head waiter to proceed. He left us and after an awkward moment of silence I took in the enigma before me. “It is a pleasure to meet you Miss Rai. Forgive me for not shaking you hand, I have a…condition.”
“No, it is I who owes you an apology Mr. Hannan. My father did tell me you were uncomfortable with touching strangers. I must admit it slipped my mind when I saw you. You are far younger and decidedly more handsome than I expected,” she beamed. “My father’s good taste appears to be for more than vintage wine!” she grinned. “And if it pleases, I would like you to call me Nissa, and I will call you Benedict. I want this meeting to be the beginning of a friendship.”
Flattered by Miss Rai’s appraisal of me I felt heat rise to my face. “Thank you Nissa.” I was indeed a dolt, for she was not the shy flower I had imagined on first observing her in the park, but an articulate, educated, and confident young woman.
“It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I must confess I am rather embarrassed about the events in Grosvenor Square Gardens. It really was not my finest hour,” I winced.
“Come now, Benedict. You reaction was a perfectly understandable. I would have behaved far worse if I’d have seen my beau arm-in-arm with another,” she grinned wickedly. “But all is well now. I am relieved you and father are friends again. He was down in the dumps and rather morose company for several days and that was no fun at all, I can tell you!”
Nissa’s lack of social restraint and straightforward nature took me aback once again. I was not used to speaking about such personal subjects, especially in public. I nervously looked around to check that we didn’t have anyone listening in on our conversation to see that there were not yet diners at the two closest tables.
“I feel I must be candid before we continue our dinner,” I began. “I want you to know that I care very deeply for Sebastian.”
“As do I. Which is why I believe it is important that we two are friends. It would be uncomfortable for either of us if we could not see eye-to-eye, don’t you think?”
“Indeed.”
“I was eighteen when I found out my father was alive. He is my only living relative and I have grown very protective of him. I do not react kindly to those who wish him ill.”
I understood the warning very well. “We are in agreement about that. It appears Sebastian has two fearsome protectors!” I smiled, and Nissa mirrored it.
“I don’t know if Father has told you my story, but I feel it is an important preface to an offer I would like to make to you today.”
“An offer?” I was curious about what this offer would entail, but before Nissa could continue, a waiter arrived with our bottle of wine, which was sampled and then a glass poured for each of us.
“Are you ready to order, Sir, Miss?”
Nissa and I looked at one another, perplexed for a moment because neither of us had more than glanced at the menu card. We shared a knowing smile and then I picked up the card and I read the rather splendid menu, making quick work of my choices.
“I will start with Cream of Barley Soup, then for main, Roast Duckling with Apple Sauce, Anna potatoes, and green beans, and for dessert, Peaches in Chartreuse Jelly, and then the Paté de Foie Gras.”
Nissa sent her gaze to the waiter,” I’ll have the same,” she beamed.
“Excellent, thank you.” The waiter noted our choices and then left us to continue our conversation.
I took a sip of wine as I mused about the offer this headstrong young lady had for me. Nissa straightened in her chair. “I understand my father has told you his story, and now, if it’s agreeable, I shall tell you mine.”
“Very well.”
“I’m sure Sebastian told you that I grew up in Bombay with my mother and grandfather. I was told my father had been lost at sea while on a journey to England. I never, for one moment believed he was alive.” Nissa paused for a sip of wine.
“Papa-Jii taught my lessons, and I later attended school with the other British children. I liked to read. My room was full of books. Papa-Jii spoke wistfully about how his son had loved books too. He missed him dreadfully, and said that his fate was God’s will.”
My stomach twisted at hearing that.
“My life changed irreparably when I was seventeen. Papa-Jii and mama volunteered to help at the hospital when an outbreak of Cholera swamped the city. I stayed at home with my studies. They both swiftly became sick, and remained at the hospital. I wasn’t even permitted to visit. They both passed away. It was very sudden and I became an orphan.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss. How dreadful.”
“Thank you. It was a terrible time. I remained at the vicarage, but it was the official residence for the chaplain and so, when Papa-Jii passed I was given a month to pack and leave before a replacement arrived from England. My grandfather’s Indian solicitor called at the vicarage after the funerals and gave me a packet of papers that had been left in his safe keeping. I was my grandfather’s sole heir and was required to travel to England to claim my inheritance. ”
It was then that we were interrupted by the waiter delivering our starter. I removed the napkin from its silver band, and laid it across my lap. Nissa followed suit. “I would like to say grace, if you don’t mind,” she said. This pleased me and I nodded permission. Nissa had, of course, been raised by a chaplain and so a prayer to give thanks for a meal was a ritual of comfort. She pressed her lace clad hands together and said,
“Heavenly Father, bless us and these Thy gifts which we receive from Thy bountiful goodness, Amen.”
I parroted the “Amen”. And then we both picked up our soup spoons and tasted the soup. I found it to be hearty and flavoursome, and after we had both eaten several spoonfuls, I began the conversation again, for Nissa’s story was most intriguing.
“You travelled by ship from India, alone?” I inquired.
Nissa put down her spoon and took a palate cleansing sip of water. “Yes, Papa-Jii’s servants belonged to the vicarage. When he and mother passed I had no one. I was left with my belongings, an envelope of documents, ten pounds and a ticket to travel to England. I could not expect any of the servants to leave their families and travel with me. It was most distressing, but his was the path that God intended for me. I was luckier than many who lost family to Cholera. Through my loss I was forced to make my way in the world alone, and I determined I would not fail.”
Even though Sebastian had not known his daughter while she was growing up, she seemed to not only been blessed with his beautiful eyes, but also with his vibrant spirit and tenacity. Miss Nissa was a distinctly impressive young lady.
Several minutes later the waiter appeared again and removed our soup bowls. Another waiter followed on behind carrying a tray containing our main course of Roast Duckling with Apple Sauce and vegetables. The scent was mouth-watering.
“This looks wonderful, thank you,” I said as the platter was placed in front of me. Nissa nodded her thanks to the waiter on receiving her meal, who smiled in response.
“If there is anything else you require, please do not hesitate to ask,” the French accented young man said to her, appearing quite transfixed by her beauty.
“That will be all, thank you,” I said dismissively. If he stared at Nissa any longer our food would go cold! We began to eat and without a prompt Nissa continued her tale.
“You know, it was such a shock when I arrived in England. It was so cold ,” she exclaimed. “My destination was Hastings in Sussex. The family solicitor Mr. Fairfax explained that as the sole heir, I inherited the Cavell family home on the Hastings coast, and five thousand pounds.”
I inhaled at hearing the amount this girl had inherited, not the wisest move while chewing on a green bean. I coughed and then took a sip of water to clear my throat. My goodness, it was a vast sum of money. I was curious as to how a mere chaplain could have accumulated such an amount. When I spoke it was in a warning whisper.
“My dear, I do not believe it is wise to be so candid about you wealth in public, and I am but a stranger!” But Nissa raised her hand to quieten me.
“There is no need to worry, Benedict. I have trained to protect myself; I’ve even taught my father a move or two, and his runners are never far should I happen upon a little trouble.” There was a wolfish edge to her grin before she took a sip of wine. Again, she reminded me of Sebastian.
“I know full well that such a vast inheritance should launch my social mobility and thrust me into the limelight. I was not ready at eighteen. Mr. Fairfax was considerate of my circumstances, and not overbearing in the assistance he offered. Fairfax cares for my finances and I have learned to arrange my private business dealings.”
I was intrigued by this young woman, having experienced so much even before she was twenty.
“I am curious about how you and Sebastian found one another,” I asked.
“I spent a great deal of my time in the British Museum during my first year in London, and found that although the exhibits were fascinating, I was more and more angered by the reality of what the museum is—”
“And what’s that?”
“—A trove of stolen items harvested by the British Empire. My ancestors were destroyed by such a harvest. I learned that an artefact from the throne of my distant ancestor, Tipu Sultan, was in the ownership of a man named Lord Percival Ardmillan. By all accounts, he was a beast. I am independently wealthy, and so thought it prudent to buy back the tiger head. However, my request for a meeting went unanswered. Therefore, I sought an alternative way to recover my family treasure. Mr. Fairfax put me in touch with a woman, who then arranged an introduction to a man who could help me. It was all very clandestine. I knew on meeting the nameless man that there was something familiar about him. I told him my story and he decided to help me. It took several months for him to reveal his true name, and tell me that he’d realised he was my father. I cannot explain what a joy it was to discover I was no longer alone in the world. ”
I understood that feeling all too well. Sebastian played a part in giving me the very same realisation.
Nissa’s eyes twinkled as she added, “As you know, the tiger head ornament was retrieved and the less said about that, the better!”
I took another bite of the roast duckling, which was cooked to perfection. “You have endured quite the adventure for one so young. What plans do you have for the future?” I asked cordially.
“Will I do a season and find a suitor?” Nissa’s light laughter tinkled like a bell, “Oh no, Benedict. I do not care for the marriage mart. The thought of it is preposterous. No, I am quite determined on my future plans.”
I could not fathom what this future would be…explorer, lion tamer, or fire eater? I’d say Miss Nissa could do just about anything she set her mind to. I raised a brow.
“Isn’t it obvious? I will set up as an inquiry agent and work with my father. The investigative side of his work is very exciting, and it is the Christian thing to do, for us to use my inheritance to help those in need.”
“Is your father agreeable to this?”
“Sebastian knows better than to dictate how I should live my life. He does not pressure me to act this way or that, or care what others think of us. He is open-minded and believes women should have the right to an education, and the right to vote. He encourages and supports me in all my endeavours, and I support him in his endeavours too.” She quirked a smile and I understood exactly what she meant. Nissa understood that her father was homosexual and I was his partner. She supported our union even if the law did not. I placed my cutlery down and took a sip of wine.
“You are very much like your father. He continues to challenge my beliefs and expectations on a daily basis,” I admitted, my mouth hitching to a grin.
“Yes, he does the same for me. And so, I think it’s about time we about my offer. Father explained that you are both set to bring down a dastardly confidence trickster, a man who is known to him and caused him great pain when he was my age. He said the man, Blake, is a scoundrel using spiritualism as a means to swindle members of high society.”
“He told you of this?” I was surprised by Sebastian’s lack of candour but as he was not here to answer for himself I had to trust Nissa was honestly informed.
“Of course, he tells me everything,” she beamed. “You require a young lady to be courted by one of Blake’s cabal, a young German Baron, yes? Well, I’d like to put myself forward for the job.”
I was stunned, especially when Nissa collected her purse from the floor, opened it and removed four items which she slid across the table. Bemused, I picked the items up. The first item was a calling card for her at Claridges, where she resided in the penthouse suite under the moniker Mrs. Mountjoy. The second was staged photograph of Miss Nissa looking very different. The young woman in the photograph appeared virginal and regal, her eyes peering up to the left as if she was seeking divine light. She wore a traditional Indian sari dress and her dark hair was braided, a gold chain adornment resting over her brow. The third item that Nissa gave me was a list of theatrical shows and society events for April, and the forth, a letter addressed to Baron Leopold Von Liebenstein.
“What is the meaning this?”
“I believe the ghastly events are due to come to a head. Therefore, I can offer two weeks of my time, from the twenty-eighth of March to the tenth of April. This should be plenty of time to give the impression that Leopold is courting me. I’ve suggested events we would do well to be seen at.”
“But…but what of your reputation?” I blustered.
“I am already a source of society gossip due to my illegitimate birth and my vast inheritance. I’ve learned to let a little scandal wash over me.”
I continued to be astounded by Nissa’s tenacity. This young woman was more formidable than her nineteen years would suggest.
“Send my photograph and note to the young man to use as proof of a courtship and tell him of my status as a single woman with royal blood and wealth,” Nissa instructed. “The Forsythe-Smythe’s are having a spring ball on the thirty-first of March; an invitation will need to be sought. Also, the Theosophical Society meeting on Friday the first of April is one that I would like to attend with this young man.”
“But I don’t understand? Why are you offering yourself to be ill used?”
“Blake mistreated my father and I believe he is using coercion to control you and a number of others too. I will be your spy and I can learn the details of his plans. More than anything I want to make that man rue the day he hurt Sebastian.”
I stared across the table at my dining companion. I was rather dazed, feeling like I had been given orders by a matriarch, rather than a slip of a girl who had not yet passed twenty summers. I sat back, unable to consider eating anymore of what had been an exceptional main course. Miss Nissa’s plan was intriguing. It got me out of quite the pickle with Cavendish and Blake. I had avoided the most recent dinner invitation because I was afraid to announce my failure to convince Charles Ashe to offer his sister for use by the cabal. But this plan was worth considering. Nissa knew exactly what she was getting involved in.
“I would like to discuss this with Sebastian, but as an idea it is has much merit.”
Nissa’s eyes twinkled with delight. “I knew we would become fast friends.”
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