Chapter Ten
Four preachers in black clerical garb were holding some kind of meeting outside the front door of the Golden Adonis. One was preaching in a loud voice, talking about male whores, Sodom and Gomorrah, and the sins of Eve.
The other three were stopping ladies as they arrived, trying to convince them to turn around, to return to their hearths and homes, and their duties to their husbands.
When Mel arrived, she was in time to see the lady in an extravagant nymph mask hit one of the men with her umbrella, and when the other two turned to harangue her, she gave as good as she got.
“Worms,” she called them. “How dare you attempt to stop me. I shall have you up for disturbing the peace! Can a lady not go out for a quiet evening with a few lady friends without you morbid crows maligning her good name? Appalling!”
Right through her speech, she kept hitting them with her umbrella, even when the preacher approached her with his hand out, saying, “Sister, we mean only to save you.”
“Save yourselves,” she demanded, fetching him a good whack. “And address me as ‘my lady.’ I do not have brothers such as you.”
Several of the other ladies cheered, and the usual loiterers jeered. Other ladies took up their own umbrellas or fans or, in one case, a shoe, to chase the poor men off.
Mel’s sympathies changed sides. She had initially seen the ladies as the victims of a group of judgmental men who wanted to tell women what they could and could not do, and that was part of the truth, though only part.
After all, she had read about such displays outside of gambling dens and brothels that served a male clientele.
No doubt there, too, wealth and status won the day. The preachers, unable to fight back, could only flee. Would they be back tomorrow? Or would they stay away and tell their congregations about the wicked women so lost to sin that they even attacked those trying to save their souls?
Hmmm, that’s a thought. Was there a way she could harness religious sentiment?
Twenty-six bishops sat in the House of Lords.
If it came to a trial, they would be a powerful influence on the outcome.
Meanwhile, it would not be at all difficult to paint the marquess’s deeds in the darkest tones in the eyes of churchgoers and clerics.
Mel had an errand inside the Golden Adonis, and then other plans for the evening.
One of the ladies who came maskless to the club was known to have been Teign’s mistress several years ago.
If the lady would talk to her, she might gain further insight to inform the campaign against the evil marquess.
Later, as she entered the hackney that Lord Kemble had called for her, Mel was thoughtful.
She had spent more than an hour with the ex-mistress, who had been reluctant to talk at first. But a promise of complete discretion and the temptation to unburden herself proved a winning combination.
The fact that she had arrived at the club already tipsy and had been steadily drinking since she’d arrived undoubtedly helped.
Whether the information that spewed forth in a rambling monologue would prove useful remained to be seen. If nothing else, Mel had the names of the mistress before and the mistress after her informant.
Mel took a deep breath and released it slowly.
Let the information go. See if it makes sense when you write up your notes.
The hackney was taking the road to London Bridge, and was heading for the edges of Mayfair, to a townhouse in Primrose Square.
She had penned a message to her friend Clementine Satterthwaite before leaving the club early this morning, and a reply had been waiting for her.
Dear friend, I am at home this evening, and would be glad of a visit from you.
The first and most urgent activity once Mel arrived was a trip to the nursery to admire the sleeping children. Clemmie and her husband Chris were blessed with twins who had just turned three years of age, and Clemmie was expecting another blessed event early in the Spring.
The two women then descended to the family parlor. “The children have grown so much since I stayed with you in the summer,” Mel commented. She grinned and winked. “As have you, Clemmie. Are you all keeping well?”
Clemmie patted her burgeoning belly. “Very well. And you, Mel? How are you? How is Harriet?”
They talked children for a few minutes, not only Clemmie’s twins and Mel’s daughter, but also the children that Clem and her husband supported in the school they sponsored.
The two women had first met three years ago, when Mel, in the course of an investigation, joined a discussion group for ladies that met in members’ homes once a week. Clemmie was also a new member, and the two of them were drawn together.
Even though Clemmie was wealthy and a young wife in a happy marriage, and Mel was impoverished and a widow, they had a similar outlook on life and many of the same interests. Mel counted Clemmie as one of her closest friends.
“I did not expect you to be in town at this time of year,” Mel commented. “I heard someone mention your presence in passing, so I sent my note in the hope that it was true.”
“Chris has some business dealings that need his attention,” Clemmie explained.
“We decided to spend the Christmas season in town so we could all be together. Poor Chris has to face the fog and the slush, but the rest of us can stay at home in the warmth. He is out this evening to meet with potential investors at a ball, so I was particularly pleased to receive your note.”
She placed a hand on her belly. “I’m sure you know how London Society expects women in my condition to remain at home. The country is much more accepting of nature and all its ways. Poor Chris. He will be home as soon as he can be, for he doesn’t enjoy these events unless I am with him.”
“I shall wait with you, if I may,” Mel said.
“I would like to ask for Chris’s help. I have two friends who need to leave the country secretly, without their names appearing on any passenger list, and without any publicity.
They can pay for their cabin and passage.
I want to know if Chris has an interest in any ships in port that are going to Italy or Greece or somewhere else close enough to return to England with relative ease. ”
“If he doesn’t have such a ship docked in the London Pool or close by, he will know who does, Mel. What is their story? Have they committed a crime? Are they falsely accused?”
Mel had just come here to find out if her idea for removing Isaac and Jerome from danger was realistic. Without their knowledge or permission, she did not want to tell her friends the full story.
“They are being used to coerce some other people I know into acts those people don’t want to perform,” she replied, vaguely.
“If the other people do not comply, these two are beaten unmercifully. One has already been permanently lamed. Since the persecutor is guardian of the younger of the two—though only for another few months until the young man reaches his majority—any attempts to reach out to the law have only resulted in further beatings.”
Clemmie accepted the explanation. “How dreadful! My father was just such a man. Determined to have his own way, no matter who was hurt. I am certain Chris can and will help.”
And sure enough, when he arrived an hour later, Chris Satterthwaite suggested two ships that might serve the purpose, both due to leave within the week, one from London, and one from Southampton.
“I shall need to speak with my two friends to confirm,” Mel told him.
“I shall return tomorrow night, if that is acceptable.” And tomorrow, she would ask the brothers if she could tell Clemmie and Chris a little bit about the marquess, for the couple had contacts from the highest of high Society to the lowest of the slums, and at every level in between.
Surely, they will have information of use to us?
“I must say goodnight to the pair of you. Would you be able to send a footman to call me a hackney?” she asked.
“I’ll do better,” said Chris. “One of our carriages can take you. What is your destination, Mrs. Blackmore?”
“The Golden Adonis in Southwark,” Mel told him, watching closely to see how he reacted. Had he heard of the club? Did he know of its reputation?
From their previous interactions, she did not expect him to come over all moralistic and protective, and ban her from the house to keep her from contaminating his wife. His reaction did surprise her, however.
“The Adonis? Say hello to Madam Hera for me. She is one of the ladies who raised me.”
What a lucky chance! Though Chris Satterthwaite was closely related to two earls, he had been raised in the slums—by prostitutes at the behest of a gambling den owner, or so rumor said. She had not thought he might know Madam Hera, though.
“Mr. Satterthwaite,” Mel said, “what if I wanted Madam Hera to help me find incriminating evidence about a wicked man who is using his power and wealth to terrorize and imprison his own family? Do you think she would be open to that?”
“You would have to ask her,” Chris replied.
“I cannot speak for her. I can tell you that she values honesty and loyalty. Ladies in her profession see so little of it. You can trust her, Mel. She appreciates strong independent women, and has a very low opinion of men, with few exceptions. Indeed, that is why, when Ramping Billy retired and gave her ownership of her own house, she sold it and started The Golden Adonis.”
Ramping Billy had been the power in the slums who had rescued Chris as a child. He had disappeared eighteen months ago. Dead, said some, but if Chris said retired, he probably knew.
“Thank you,” she said. “I shall keep that in mind.”
*
They had their argument in the antechamber of the Golden Adonis after all the guests had left, except for those few who were most closely involved.
It was Allan against his brothers.