Chapter Six #2
Above all, for savings, since illnesses or accidents could strike without warning, and one day both children would be young adults, needing money for whatever path they chose in life.
Perhaps it would be easier if Mel had not returned until the job was over and she could stay longer. But no. One day, Harriet would look back and realize that Mel came home as often as she could, because Harriet was the most important person in Mel’s world.
She retreated to her own room to dress for the night at the club, selecting a deep red gown that she normally wore with a fichu to make the plunging neckline more modest. Not tonight.
Her aim was to make sure that none of the brothers recognized her, and if they were studying her decolletage, it was unlikely to occur to them that this was the unwanted male guest their father had foisted on them.
To further confuse the issue, she chose a wig of white-blonde hair, with ringlets cascading from a high pile of artfully pinned curls. Yes, even Lord Kemble’s sharp eyes would not see Mel Black in this guise.
But throughout her preparations, her mind went over the conversation, wondering what she could have said to have made her daughter happier about her absence.
But when she went out to the parlor to wait for the hackney she’d sent for, Harmony assured her that Harriet’s feelings were natural and so were Mel’s.
“She wants an ideal life, of course,” said Harmony. “She is not yet old enough to know that ideal lives belong in story books. You are doing the best you can for all of us, Melody, darling. I, for one, am so grateful to you for earning the income we need to live.”
“And I am grateful to you for caring for my Harriet so that I can earn.” Mel hugged her sister, who hugged her back, just as the knocker on the door sounded. A moment later, the little maid of all work announced that Mrs. Blackmore’s hackney was here.
“I shall be home as soon as I can, and I shall write if I cannot be here in seven days at the most,” Mel told her sister. She was soon in the hackney, and wrenching her mind away from what she had left to think about what was waiting for her.
Tonight, she would get some more answers, she hoped. At the very least, she could find out what the Sheppard brothers actually did at the Golden Adonis.
*
Many of the ladies who patronized the Golden Adonis must be out of town or tied up with family, for the club was quiet this evening, and Allan had little to do and a surplus of time to keep an eye on his brothers and worry away at the problem whose name was Mel Black.
Baldwin’s regular lady was an early arrival, and they had disappeared into a private room. If other nights were an indication, they would not appear again until the club was nearly ready to close.
Donald was also with his regular lady—on the dance floor, rather than in the private room that Lady Hestia had undoubtedly hired for the night. Isaac and Jerome were at their instruments.
The other brothers, even those who had regulars, were also on the dance floor. It was a Golden Adonis rule. Any escort who was not otherwise engaged had to offer to partner any of the lady clients of the club who wanted to dance.
Thalia, the club manager, was watching Ernest. Her expression was hidden by the mask she wore, but her stance signaled yearning. Allan, half out of sympathy and half for something to do, approached her.
“Good evening, Mistress Thalia,” he said.
She put on her practiced professional smile, all false warmth and watchful eyes. “Lord Apollo. How are you this evening?”
“Well enough, thank you. Did you have a pleasant day off yesterday?”
That prompted a genuine smile. “I did, thank you. I spent it quietly with my mother. Such a gift of a day. She insisted on getting up for dinner—she was even able to eat some of the goose that the cook gave me!”
“It is just you and your mother?” Allan asked, more for something to say than because he was genuinely interested.
“I am the only child of parents who were both only children,” Thalia explained.
“My grandparents are gone, so I cannot even ask if they had cousins—or, perhaps, brothers and sisters. As far as I know, Mama and I are all there is.” Her wistful look transformed into another warm smile.
“But rare things are all the more special, Lord Apollo.”
“I cannot imagine being without my brothers,” Allan confided.
Thalia laughed. “And I cannot imagine having so many brothers,” she retorted, and then, more wistfully, “or any at all, really.” Her gaze turned back to the dance floor, as if thoughts of brothers had naturally led her to watching Ernest.
She would have nine brothers if she married Ernest. Allan dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred. They could not start adding wives to their escape plan, and Ernest could not stay within reach of the marquess.
Nonetheless, he said, “My brother Eros likes you.” Eros was Ernest’s use name at the club, and “like” was a pale word. The pair cooed like turtledoves whenever they were together.
Her gaze returned to him. “Your brother Ernest loves me, and I love him. But do not worry, Lord Apollo. We know it is impossible. Even if I did not have a sick mother to support, even if Ernest was free to pursue me, I am not of his world.”
“I wish…” Allan began, but trailed off. If he said that he wished they could marry and be happy together, she would hear it as a meaningless platitude, even though he meant every word.
“So do I,” said Thalia, sighing. Then a maid tapped her on the arm. “Mistress Thalia, we have new arrivals. Two members and a guest.”
“Thank you, Galanae. Duty calls, Apollo.”
Allan bowed, and she walked off toward the west parlor, where the club members would be waiting with their guest. She would be back soon. Depending on what the three new arrivals wanted, Allan might be needed. He waited and watched.
After several minutes, Thalia entered with three ladies, all masked. He recognized Lady Andromeda’s owl mask, and her identity was confirmed a moment later when Frank approached her, bowed to the other ladies, and went off with Lady Andromeda to the private room she had reserved.
One of the other ladies also had a mask Allan remembered—it represented the face of a lioness. Lady Thisbe, then. She had spent time with Hudson last time she was at the club, and sure enough, Hudson was bowing to her now, and leading her away to join the dancing.
Since those two ladies were members, the other, with her deep blue flower mask, must be the guest. Thalia nodded at Allan, said something to the flower-masked-lady, and led her across the room.
That he was their destination became obvious when Thalia turned away all those who tried to stop her with a raised hand and a shake of the head. In moments, the pair of them were before him.
“Lady Mnema,” said Thalia, “Allow me to present Lord Apollo. He is in charge of the gentlemen who work here.”
“A supervisor, of sorts,” said Lady Mnema, offering her hand. Hers was a full-face mask, so he couldn’t see her smile, but he could hear the amusement in her voice. “Or an older brother, perhaps.”
Allan bowed and kissed the air above the lady’s hand. “Older brother, by all means, my lady.”
“Lady Mnema would like you to give her a tour of our club, Lord Apollo,” said Thalia. “I will leave you in Lord Apollo’s hands, my lady.”
She walked away. Unusual. Most guests were given their initial tour by Thalia or by Madam Hera herself.
However, he had no objection to showing the lady around.
“You have seen the visitor’s parlor, my lady.
This is the members’ parlor. If you would allow me to escort you, I shall show you the other rooms.”
He offered his elbow, and she tucked her hand around it. “Thank you,” she said.
Something about her voice was familiar, but he could not match it with a person. Perhaps she was a relative of one of the women he’d pretended to court at his father’s insistence. Yes. That was probably it.
Of course, she was here incognito, like most of the guests.
Could she be a mother of one of the prospective brides he’d met and managed to discourage?
Her hands were timeless, the shape of her body nothing less than delectable, and the neck below the mask did not show the ravages of time.
A fair ringlet fell across the expanse of unmarred porcelain skin that showed below her throat, all the way to the upper swells of her delectable breasts.
A gentleman would not stare at them, even if the hair appeared to have been artfully placed to point in that direction.
“On this floor, my lady, we have the two parlors you have seen, and if we pass through the doorway,” he suited word to action, the folding doors being open, “the dancing floor.” The open doorway was usually sufficient separation between ballroom and parlor, but the doors could be closed if necessary.
Hudson and Lady Thisbe turned, bowed, and turned again on the floor, absorbed in one another.
Trouble was brewing there. Allan needed to remind Hudson of what was at stake if he refused to hide with them, or if he insisted on bringing the woman.
One more victim for the old man. One more mouth to feed.
One more person to leave clues to destroy them all.
“Shall we look at the next room?” Lady Mnema asked. Despite the prompt, she stood relaxed, her hand still resting lightly on his arm, as if she could wait all night for him to move.
“Of course,” he said, and led her to a door in another wall.
“Through here, my lady, is the gaming room, and beyond that, the billiard room. Both rooms, and the parlor, open into the dining room.” He took her from room to room.
The cashier’s desk was in the corner of the gaming room, currently operated by Ernest, who must have taken over to allow Frank his time with Andromeda.
In the billiard room, a group of ladies were playing a friendly game while one of the club escorts looked on. Allan explained that both escorts and servants were dressed in evening suits with a mask, but the servants wore simple half masks and a black stock rather than a white cravat.
The dining room was set up with buffet tables full of all kinds of delicacies. Supper would be served all night, and the tables would be constantly refreshed.
All this and more, Allan elucidated as they walked around.
“And upstairs?” Lady Mnema asked.
“Madam Hera’s office and parlor, and the library,” Allan said. “Also, several private rooms which ladies can hire by the hour or for a night. Or longer, if they have the money and the will.”
“What happens in those private rooms?” Lady Mnema enquired.
“That depends on the lady and those she invites.” The Golden Adonis was not a brothel.
Madam Hera made that clear to all who needed to know: guests, members, employees, and escorts.
“The Golden Adonis takes a fee for rental of the room. It is not concerned with, and nor does it profit from, whatever happens between those inside a room, provided that all parties give their free consent.”
“I have heard,” said Lady Mnema, walking her fingers up his arm, “that some of the male escorts offered intimate services. Would you do so, Lord Apollo, were I to hire a private room?”