Chapter 4
After she’d seen Ruby out, Tilly tried to focus on anything but that young woman’s plight. She lived in one of the worst slums in London, alone, with only a dog to care for her. If that were not bad enough, she’d also lost her sister and had been looking for her ever since.
Tilly would be no different if she had a sibling. She’d never give up hope of finding them.
Leaving her office, she headed to find Violet and her sisters. The door opened as she passed, and in stepped a gaggle of women whom she knew—not well, but well enough from society.
“Duchess.” Tilly sank into a deep curtsy as the Duchess of Raven approached her.
She was one of those women who did not seem to age. With her rich, dark hair and stunning eyes, she was considered one of society’s beauties.
“Miss Wilson, you’ll forgive us for just arriving, but as we’ve never joined a club before, my husband told me we should appear. He doubted there would be stuffy, outdated regulations governing your club, like there are his. So here we are.”
She then introduced her sisters, sisters-in-law, and several other women marriage-related her too. Most Tilly knew from society, but some she’d not met.
“I am so pleased to welcome you to The Iris Club, ladies.”
She and Violet had thought long and hard about who they wanted to join and how they would go about accepting new members. She knew dues were paid in gentlemen’s clubs, but as they were using the Pavlov money to run this place—for now it was not necessary.
Tilly was also aware that having your membership accepted was quite a long drawn-out process for men, which included nominations, committee reviews, and ballots or votes, plus social credentials.
They’d decided at The Iris people they knew and trusted could be admitted to begin with, but when they had reached the core number they’d set, then any new member must be nominated by a current one.
She had no trouble allowing these women entry to The Iris because they were respected and well-loved. They had reputations for being no-nonsense, and while they could be termed odd by the more straitlaced members of society, Tilly thought them wonderful, as did Violet.
“Thank you for allowing us entry, Matilda,” Lady Sinclair said. She was another beauty.
In fact, were Tilly the type to feel self-conscious, it would happen now, when she was surrounded by these women.
“Yes, James said joining a man’s club is quite the to-do,” the duchess said.
“We will have to make decisions on members in the future, but for now, I am so pleased you are here, and I want you all to feel comfortable in The Iris Club. Come and go as you please and do as you wish.”
One of the duchess’s younger sisters—Tilly had no idea which one, as she was a twin—clapped her hands in excitement at her words.
“Cambridge said he believed it was going to be a great deal more fun here than in any stuffy gentleman’s club and that the food would be better,” Mrs. Emily Sinclair said.
A loud knock sounded on the front door. It was clearly going to be a busy day at The Iris Club, Tilly thought.
“Excuse me.” She moved to open it.
“Good day.”
“Good day to you, Mrs. Greedy,” Tilly said, looking from her to the two other women at her back.
One was the large and intimidating Mavis Johns, stern-faced as always, and beside her stood Tabitha Varney, smiling in a flirtatious manner which seemed to be her constant expression.
“Good day to you, Miss Wilson.”
“Hello, Mrs. Greedy.”
Looking over her shoulder, she noted the Sinclair twins were there and waving to the three women on The Iris Club’s doorstep.
“Good day to you all,” Mrs. Greedy said.
Tabitha sank into a surprisingly elegant curtsy, exposing much of her chest. Unlike the other ladies, who were wrapped in multiple layers to ward off the cold, she was exposed.
“Are you to join the club too?” the duchess asked from behind her sisters.
Standings in society clearly did not matter to any of these women, and Tilly found she liked that very much.
“We had hoped to hold our knitting club here if there is space,” Mrs. Greedy said.
“And the other thing,” Mavis said with a small nudge of her elbow in Mrs. Greedy’s side.
The older woman sucked her lips into a thin line and nodded before speaking. “As you know, Appleblossoms Bakers is run by us now, and we’ve an offer for you, Tilly.”
“Well then, please come inside.” She stepped back to wave them into The Iris.
There was a lot of shuffling as everyone moved to accommodate them, and suddenly the area was congested.
She had no issue with anyone joining The Iris but knew nobility often disliked mixing with those they saw as beneath them. It was a delicate matter, and Tilly wasn’t sure how to address it.
“Miss Wilson, may we speak in private briefly?” Lady Sinclair asked. “Perhaps we could step into your office.”
“Of course,” Tilly said, waving them in that direction, and then followed. “How may I be of assistance?” she inquired when they were inside the small space.
“We are quite intuitive,” the duchess said. “And I feel you have reached your first of many dilemmas regarding The Iris Club, Miss Wilson.”
“Tilly, please.”
“Tilly,” Lady Sinclair said.
“Have you rules around who can join?” the duchess asked.
“Loose rules,” Tilly conceded.
“I think anyone who wants to join, has manners, isn’t here to cause trouble, and doesn’t smell should be allowed to,” Lady Sinclair continued.
“Excellent point about the smelling, Lilly,” the duchess said. “And another point to ponder, Tilly, is that if anyone takes issue with a woman who is untitled joining your club, do you really want them here?”
Tilly shook her head.
“Well, I’m glad we have that sorted,” Lady Sinclair declared. “Now are you well, Miss Wilson? I noticed you were cradling your wrist briefly,” Lady Sinclair said.
Was I? She hadn’t even realized, but it was aching a little from her fall.
“I had a fall. It is nothing,” she said.
Lady Sinclair put the fingertip of her glove between her teeth, tugged, and removed it. “Let me have a look.”
“Ah—” But before she could speak, the duchess had taken her arm and pushed up her sleeve, exposing her wrist. It was a little swollen.
“My sister-in-law has wonderful healing skills,” the duchess explained.
Lady Sinclair passed her fingers softly over Tilly’s wrist with just the briefest of brushes. Heat built beneath the skin, and then it was gone.
“It doesn’t look broken,” Lady Sinclair said when she was done. She then pulled her glove back on.
“If you will call for tea, please, Tilly, and cake or a scone would be lovely. We shall find a parlor to enjoy the club,” the duchess said. She then took her sister-in-law’s arm, and they left the office.
Flexing her wrist back and forth, Tilly realized it felt a great deal better. Odd.
Stepping out of her office, she rejoined the gathering, but the Sinclair and Raven parties were no longer there.
“I believe you had something else you wished to ask me, Mrs. Greedy,” Tilly said.
“I know you’ll have your own cook,” the woman said. “But should you have need of anyone to aid her, or cater any events, Appleblossoms Bakers would like to offer their services.”
Mavis nodded, and Tabitha smiled at that.
“Thank you, and yes, I will be very interested in your offer and will let you know when we require your services, ladies,” Tilly said to the women.
Tabitha’s smile widened. Mavis’s did not.
“Now if you would all like to explore the premises, perhaps you can find the largest parlor, as that is the one I think would suit best for your knitting club meeting.
They seemed happy about that and left. If the powerful Sinclair and Raven ladies had no issue with mixing with the Crabbett Close locals in The Iris, then neither did she.
Yet another knock on the door had her retracing her steps. Tilly would get downstairs to the kitchen soon, but right now it seemed there were yet more ladies wishing to join. Excitement had her opening the door with a smile on her face.
The man on the step was, Tilly guessed, middle-aged, with a face that gave nothing away as to why he was on The Iris Club’s doorstep. He wore a black wool frock coat, and in one gloved hand, he carried a sheaf of folded papers. His hat remained on his head.
“Miss Wilson?”
“I am she,” Tilly said pleasantly. “How may I help you?”
“Hartley. Inspector Hartley, Metropolitan Board of Works.” He produced the papers from beneath his arm with the economy of a man who performed this gesture many times each week. “I am here in connection with a complaint received by the board regarding these premises.”
She did not take the papers immediately. “A complaint,” she said. “Of what nature? We have been open only a single day.”
“A matter of public safety, ma’am. It has been submitted to the board that this building may present a hazard to persons assembling within it.
A matter of structural integrity, adequacy of egress in the event of fire, and related concerns.
” His voice carried to anyone on the street, which she was sure was his intent.
She took the papers then and unfolded them with deliberate calm.
They were formally headed, with the crest of the Metropolitan Board of Works at the top, the date below, and beneath it several paragraphs of official language that she did not understand.
At the foot of the page was a signature, and below that, a reference to the Metropolis Management Act of 1855.
“This is a notice regarding changes I must make by the end of the following month,” she said, reading to the end. “Then you will come and inspect my club. What will happen if you find my changes not in line with your compliance?”
Something shifted in Inspector Hartley’s expression, just the barest flicker. “You will be required to present yourself before the board’s surveyor at Spring Gardens within fourteen days, at which time you will be told of the consequences for noncompliance.”
“And may I ask who submitted this complaint?”
“The board does not disclose the identity of complainants.”