Chapter 3
Tilly flexed her wrist as she looked around the interior of The Iris Club, letting her emotions settle from her encounter with those beastly men—and yes, she counted Lord Talbot as one of them.
It was moments like what she’d just had with those men, that reinforced Tilly’s decision not to marry.
She wanted no man dictating how she behaved for the rest of her life.
Yes, her birth was the main reason for her decision, but even so, she’d seen many unhappy wives during her time in society and had no wish to be one.
She could only imagine how controlling Lord Talbot would be as a husband. Damn tripping like that in front of him. No doubt he was still laughing over her clumsiness.
From the first day she’d met him, he’d unsettled her, no matter how much she’d told herself otherwise. He was one of those men who had a large presence. Even silent and surrounded by others, he stood out.
She’d had reactions to men before—that little tingle of awareness if they touched her, but it soon passed. It vexed her excessively that it hadn’t passed with Lord Talbot, especially considering he was her best friend’s brother.
Of course, he was just like all the others of his kind who believed that she had no right to her own opinions and definitely no right to have formed an all-women’s club.
Tilly looked around her and settled her eyes on the large front window looking over the street. She’d hung heavy velvet drapes to deter those who wished to look inside but weren’t welcome to enter.
The walls were a soft blue, with a feature wall at the end in violet-and-blue-patterned wallpaper. But it was the large iris painted in the center she was most proud of.
Turning in a circle, she felt her mood lift further. Everywhere one looked, it was feminine, yet dignified.
“Good day to you, Miss Wilson.”
Stopping her movements, Tilly looked at the approaching woman. “Hello, Margaret. Is everything all right? I hope we’ve had no more issues?”
So far in the past three months since they’d been trying to open The Iris, they’d had three broken windows and a small fire.
She was of a suspicious nature and wondered if any of those had been deliberate, but without proof, she could not say for certain.
But she knew there were many who wished The Iris Club had not opened.
“Everything is as it should be,” Margaret said in her precise way. “I’ve had the floors polished and the rugs swept again. There have been no more incidents.”
When she’d approached an agency for staff, the woman who ran it said she had just the person to be Tilly’s club’s stewardess.
Margaret Vey was tall, well-built, and a no-nonsense type who had gladly stepped into the role.
Tilly had not regretted her decision to hire her since the day she’d interviewed her.
“Excellent, but I must caution you that I have concluded those incidents may be connected with people who have no wish for our club to be here,” Tilly said.
“I understand, Miss Wilson, but they will not deter you, I am sure. Now we have no one using the accommodations at the moment, but I have made up the beds just in case.”
“Thank you for your confidence in me, and making the beds is an excellent idea, Margaret. You never know when they will be needed.”
“One of the Daisy Parlor chairs was delivered with a broken leg, so I’ve returned it for repair.”
The furniture she and her friends had selected for the club was elegant yet comfortable, and she could not wait to spend time in the parlors chatting with her friends.
With their help, Tilly had worked hard to make this building everything they wanted it to be.
Three parlors, all named after flowers, offered small spaces for those needing quiet.
The library was full of everything from poetry to romantic novels and tomes on astrology.
The dining room was yet another place to sit and chat while eating or taking tea.
There was also a card room and upstairs accommodations for anyone in need.
When a woman stepped from her house, she was on display. Her hair, her clothes, the way she carried herself or spoke. But not here. Here she could be herself.
“Thank you for that, Margaret. I’m so pleased you applied to work at The Iris,” Tilly said, meaning every word.
“Thank you, Miss Wilson. I’m very happy here.”
The words were a gold star for Tilly from the woman who rarely spoke more than a sentence at a time.
“Now if there is nothing else you need, I will be on my way, but please call if you require anything further from me.”
The tap of Margaret’s boots faded, and Tilly stepped through the doorway to her right. Beyond it was a small office for Margaret and Tilly—or anyone else who needed it—to use.
The Pavlov fortune had changed her life in many ways. Not that it was terrible before they’d found it, but now, with The Iris Club, she could really do some good, or hoped to.
After removing her outer clothing and hanging it on the hooks in here, she stepped back out into the entranceway and came to a halt under the huge gilt frame. Looking up, she read the words and felt the rush of pride.
The Iris Club. Founding Charter and Declaration. Its symbol shall be the purple iris, representing wisdom, courage, and the quiet strength of those who persist. The Club's colors shall be violet and gold and its motto “She blooms in her own season.”
We, the founding members of The Iris Club, do hereby set forth this Charter in the belief that women of all walks of life, and character are deserving of a place of their own—a house of warm fellowship, quiet contemplation, and earnest endeavor.
She, Violet, and the Nightingale women had created this, and when she looked at it, she always felt the sting of tears. Unlike some, she’d been raised by forward-thinking parents who had allowed her freedom—to a point. There were still restrictions, but she was not as constrained as many.
The door behind her opened, and she turned to find Lord Talbot’s three sisters.
“Thankfully, he’s gone now. I’d quite given up hope Charles could lure Ambrose away,” Violet said. “I hope he wasn’t too rude, Tilly. We saw him talking to you before you came back inside. Are you all right after your fall?”
“I am, thank you.” In fact, her wrist ached, but she wouldn’t tell them that.
Tilly and Violet had been friends since entering society together. With her were her older sisters. Clarissa Althorp, or Cissa as she was known to her siblings, was the second oldest and the most uneven-tempered. She was volatile, beautiful, and outspoken. She was also engaged to Lord Halston.
The eldest was Octavia, and unlike the other siblings, she had red-gold hair and a sweet nature. Violet had once told Tilly that Tavi, as they called her, was the Althorp most likely to mediate an argument rather than inflame it.
In a flurry of movement, the women removed their outer clothing.
“So am I to understand you waited for your brother to stop berating me rather than step from your carriage and into his line of sight?” Tilly asked.
“Of course. We knew you could hold your own and that he’d just try to persuade us to leave, and we didn’t want to argue with him,” Violet said.
At least they hadn’t seen those two men confronting her, because all three women would have come to her aid then and would have had to deal with their horrid brother’s disapproval over making a scene.
“I love this place,” Clarissa said, clapping her hands. “When I first stepped inside, it felt like taking off a bonnet that had the ribbons tied too tight.”
“Freeing,” Octavia agreed. “Of course, Mother will have conniptions should she learn we are here again—or at all—but we shall just have to continue to be devious.”
“Which is made a great deal easier now you’ve married Charles, Pixie. We have a decoy,” Clarissa added, looking at Violet. Pixie was the nickname they’d given her as a child. “And when I am married next month, mother will have no say in what I do.”
“What about your husband?” Violet drawled.
Clarissa waved a hand about. “He will not mind, as he dotes on me.”
Tilly choked down the emotion she was feeling, the pure joy of having their own club to be exactly who they wanted to be, and knowing these women felt the same.
“Oh, and some of the Crabbett Close residents are wondering if you have a spare room they could use for knitting club,” Violet said.
“Mavis Johns told me the elderly feel the change in weather terribly if they meet outside, especially Miss Alvin and Mrs. Greedy. Mr. Greedy was a little miffed he couldn’t attend, but as I told him, this is what women have been facing for years. ”
Everyone nodded at that.
“I think they will call upon you today, so brace yourself,” Violet said.
“There is the largest of the parlors, which has ample furniture. Perhaps in there?” Tilly said as a knock sounded on the door behind them.
“We shall inspect it while you answer that,” Violet said.
She found a young woman at the door. Her dark gray dress and worn shawl didn’t suggest she was from Tilly’s world—not that, strictly speaking, Tilly was from this world—but no one knew that.
“Hello, may I help you?” she enquired.
She was pale, and her blue eyes looked large in her narrow face, like many Tilly saw on the streets of London every day. Perhaps she was looking for work.
“Are you the lady who has started this club… The Iris Club?”
Tilly nodded. “I am.”
“Then I would like to ask if you have seen my sister, please.” The words came out in a rush. The woman’s bonnet ribbons fluttered as the wind picked up, swirling around her.
“Come inside out of the cold, and you can tell me who your sister is.” Tilly opened the door wider and waved the woman inside.
She didn’t move. “I can’t come in there.”
“Why?”
“It’s not for the likes of me,” she said, glancing left, and then right. “I just want to find my sister, and this is the last place she was seen before she disappeared.”
“My name is Miss Matilda Wilson. What is yours?”
“Miss Ruby Little.” The woman dropped into a curtsy.