Chapter 18
The words on the newspaper blurred. Blinking, Ambrose tried to bring them back into focus and then gave up, lowering it to the table.
“Enough,” he muttered, getting out of his chair.
He called for his carriage and left the house twenty minutes later.
It was now three days after they’d taken the Nightingales down into those rooms beneath the clubs, and he’d spent most of the subsequent daylight hours asking questions of people.
In the library, Ambrose had found books on cults and radical religions.
He’d made extensive notes and still had a feeling he was off track.
At this stage all he had was a vague understanding that those below had once been Freemasons and were now Societas Rosicruciana, which they’d already deduced from the book, or more precisely, the cross they’d found in it.
Had Tilly shown the book to the owner of the bookshop? He needed to find her and ask.
Ambrose had mentioned Societas Rosicruciana to a group of older noblemen last night at the Bessett ball, saying that he’d just read a book about it. None had said they knew anyone involved, but then they could be lying. He had no way of knowing.
He’d then spent the remainder of the night with his friends and family. His sister had made him dance with a few of the less popular women in society.
Tilly had arrived with her parents and then danced twice with Howard, which told him there was definitely interest there, at least from Howard.
He’d watched, stomping down his jealousy, trying to convince himself she was not the right woman for him. If they ever wed, they would likely kill each other.
Ambrose felt the carriage slow and looked out the window. He would need to walk the rest of the way, but it was not far and he could do with exercise to clear his head.
The newspaper advertisement he’d read had said that Thomas Redfern Optician was the best in London, which he was dubious about, but then he did not know many spectacle wearing people to confirm this claim, and he was definitely not asking Tilly or his father.
Ambrose stepped down when the carriage stopped and sent it away for an hour.
He then headed along a narrow lane that led to a busier street.
This one had plenty of businesses and shops, but none of them fashion so there was no chance of running into his sisters.
He’d never live it down if they knew he was considering wearing spectacles.
He stops before a sign that reads Thomas Redfern; Optician. Below the words were a set of spectacles. After looking left and right, he entered.
Ambrose still doubted he needed glasses for reading. It was a point of pride, of course. He was still young and believed spectacles were for older people. Except Miss Wilson, of course, who had started him on this journey.
“Good day to you,” a young man said from behind a counter. Below him on trays were rows of spectacles. “I am Thomas Redfern.”
Surely not? The man looked far too young to know what he was talking about.
“I am having headaches,” Ambrose found himself saying.
The little bell on the door behind him rang, signaling another client, but Ambrose didn’t look, instead keeping his eyes on the man.
“Won’t be a moment, Miss Wilson.”
He turned so fast, it actually hurt his neck.
And there she stood, smiling at him. “Well now, this is a surprise. Imagine seeing you here, my lord.”
“I’m leaving,” Ambrose said.
“Absolutely not,” she said moving to his side. “Stop behaving like a child. Spectacles will change your life if you need them. ’Tis merely pride talking.”
“Why are you here?” Ambrose said in an ungentlemanly way that had the optician clearing his throat uncomfortably.
“We are old acquaintances. Mr. Redfern, pay his bad manners no mind,” Tilly said. “Now there is nothing to fear, my lord.”
He didn’t mention the fact she’d been calling him Ambrose because he was off balance, and he loathed feeling that way.
She nudged him to the right, and he let her because she’d said he was acting like a child, which he knew was true.
“I shall leave my spectacles here, Mr. Redfern, and return next week when the arm is repaired.”
“You’ve broken them again, Miss Wilson?” Mr. Redfern said, coming out from behind the counter to take them from her. “What were you doing this time?”
“I tend to swing them around by the arm when I am thinking, but I assure you, I am trying to stop that practice.”
“Very well. I will have them fixed by next week Tuesday. Take care not to damage the other pair, or you will be unable to read until then.”
“I will. Good day to you both,” she then said, heading for the door.
And just like that, she’d gone, taking all the air and joy with her. Damn bloody woman.
“Miss Wilson was the one to tell me it is possible I need spectacles,” Ambrose said, suddenly nervous as the man approached. “My youngest sister is her friend.” He never explained his actions, but felt the need to talk.
“She is my favorite customer,” he said.
Of course she is. That woman loved everyone but him. Not that he wanted her love, but still.
The man then guided him through an eye test, during which Ambrose read numbers on a paper held at a distance.
Mr. Redfern was thorough and precise, and Ambrose knew the man had decided, because of the way he’d treated Tilly, he disliked him.
It wasn’t something he was used to. People usually liked Ambrose, and he was now thinking about why.
Was it just because he was an lord? Very likely, he realized.
It was a humbling thought. He thought he was a good person, but did other people believe that?
He was shallow enough to blame Tilly entirely for these deep thoughts.
“Come, my lord. We shall try on glasses next,” Mr. Redfern said.
“So I do need them?” Why that shocked him, he had no idea, because there were the headaches he was constantly plagued with, and looking through Tilly’s glasses had allowed him to see clearly.
“For reading only, my lord.”
“It is not vanity that has me shocked, Mr. Redfern. I am happy to wear them,” Ambrose lied. Perversely he wanted the man to like him. “I have no issue with wearing glasses,” he lied again.
He had a huge issue with wearing them and dreaded the attention he would receive from family and friends when he did so before them. Perhaps he would just save them for reading at home.
“Of course,” Mr. Redfern said, but Ambrose could hear the doubt beneath his words.
He did not speak again, simply tried on spectacles until he found a pair that allowed him to clearly read the passage the optometrist held.
“I don’t even have to squint,” Ambrose said, awed at the clarity.
“They do make a difference, and your headaches should now stop, Lord Talbot.”
“Does my father come here for his spectacles, Mr. Redfern?”
The man didn’t look surprised by the question and nodded. “Indeed he does, my lord. In fact, I have custom from many in society.”
Ambrose let his eyes wander around the shop, and they settled on a faded print. But it was the bottom right-hand corner that held his attention.
“Are you a Freemason, Mr. Redfern?”
“I am, as was my father, my lord.” The man looked at him now.
“Are there many in London?”
“Yes. There is, of course, the Freemasons’ Hall on Great Queen Street, and also many Arch chapters in London. Are you wishing to join, Lord Talbot?”
“I have given it some thought recently,” he lied. In fact, he hadn’t even given it a passing thought, for no other reason than he knew no one who was a member.
“May I ask you, Mr. Redfern, do Freemasons branch into other things?” The words sounded a little odd, but he wasn’t sure how else to say what he wanted to.
Mr. Redfern lowered the pen he’d been using and looked at Ambrose. His gaze was steady. “I’m not sure I understand your question, my lord.”
“Do the words Societas Rosicruciana mean anything to you?” Ambrose asked, watching him closely.
He didn’t twitch or show any expression other than the polite one that had been on his face since Ambrose arrived. “Why do you ask, my lord?”
“Because I have recently come across a book with those words in it. I was curious,” Ambrose lied smoothly. He’d never told so many untruths in such a short space of time.
“Well, I know one must be a Trinitarian Christian Master Mason, who professes belief in the Holy Trinity to be in the Societas Rosicruciana, while standard Craft Masonry requires only a belief in a Supreme Being.”
“Interesting,” Ambrose said.
“The society focuses on the teaching of the inner mysteries of nature and science, combining Christian theology with Hermeticism. It is a complex and varied order, as I understand it,” Mr. Redfern said. He then hesitated before speaking again.
“Speak freely, Mr. Redfern. I will tell no one what we have conversed on.”
“I believe there have been some wrongdoings carried out by some of those who belong to the Societas Rosicruciana. But that is only hearsay, you understand.”
“Wrong doings?”
“Sacrifices and rituals,” Mr. Redfern said, looking nervous for the first time as his eyes shot to the door and then back to Ambrose.
“Well, perhaps I will take the book to a shop and remove it from my household, Mr. Redfern, as I have no interest in any of the things we have discussed.”
“It’s probably for the best, my lord, even if you can now read the words clearly.”
He paid the money owed, took the small leather pouch with his glasses, and left the shop after ordering two more pairs.
His stomach rumbled. As it happened, there was an excellent teashop nearby, and he did not have his sisters with him, so he could enjoy the solitude of a cup of tea and scone in silence and think about what he’d learned, which wasn’t a great deal, but enough to pique his interest.