Chapter 10 #2
I could only imagine the reaction to the gentlemen inside, including her father, when my great-aunt breached those hallowed walls.
Yet it couldn’t be any more scandalous than my own adventure at Ascot in a jockey’s costume, when I’d proceeded to take part in the race on a horse from my great-aunt’s stables.
The races at Ascot were attended by members of the royal family and the ton, however no woman had ever breached that invisible wall that existed in the stables and among the jockeys.
My great-aunt’s horse was disqualified when it was learned that I had taken the place of the jockey. She tried unsuccessfully to reprimand me when the deception was exposed. However, that ended when she burst out laughing in the face of the Clerk of the Course.
“Well done, my dear,” she had congratulated me afterward. “I do wish I had done the same and not paraded about as a young woman with people fawning over each other.”
Not that she hadn’t a few adventures of her own as a young woman. However, that day at Royal Ascot was quite innocent by comparison.
And now as I pressed the electric button that announced my arrival...
The man in formal attire who had answered the door as I arrived appeared once more. If he was surprised to find a woman at the entrance, he maintained proper decorum
“This is a private club, miss.”
That stoic demeanor took in my appearance, my traveling gown, the long coat over, gloves, and my travel bag.
“May I call you a driver, miss?” he inquired.
“No need,” I replied. “I am to meet someone here.”
“There appears to be a mistake,” he replied. “Brooks is a private club for gentlemen only.”
“There is no mistake.” I handed him the card Sir Ridley had provided.
There was the slightest, almost imperceptive, reaction. Yet it was there.
“I do understand. And you are?”
“Lady Forsythe.”
“May I have the name of the person you are to meet?”
“Sir Anthony Ellsworth.”
He nodded and stepped aside so that I might enter.
“Please follow me.” He escorted me past a handful of private rooms. I caught the surprised glances of those who occupied those rooms at tea, a game of cards, or luncheon. Then into what was obviously a library.
“You will please wait here while I inform Sir Ellsworth that you are here.”
I nodded. It did occur to me that Sir Anthony might simply leave the club when it was announced that I wanted to see him.
It would not have surprised me, as he had not acknowledged my earlier requests.
Still, I was hopeful that Sir Ridley’s card would carry some influence with him.
The footman who had met me at the entrance had taken it with him.
I glanced at the clock on the wall and marked the time.
The library was a large room with the requisite gilt-framed portraits of undoubtedly notable gentlemen who had favored the club. The other three walls, including the wall with entrance, were filled floor-to-ceiling with shelves lined with hundreds of books.
I suspected, however, that my novels were not among them, as I noted titles published by Charles Dickens, John Milton, William Shakespeare, and Samuel Johnson. The library as well as the club’s membership was sorely lacking in women authors.
If only one book written by what was usually referred to as a modern woman by notable critics, myself included, found its way into the library, the walls might very well crumble. Men, with certain exceptions, did have a very narrow view of women.
I heard the steps in the hallway just outside the library and turned as the footman returned. He was accompanied by a gentleman of average height with slicked back hair, watchful grey eyes, and a frown beneath his moustache. He held Sir Ridley’s card in hand.
“Sir Anthony Ellsworth,” the footman announced.
Sir Anthony nodded curtly to the man who silently acknowledged him, then turned and closed the library doors behind him.
“Lady Forsythe,” he acknowledged me. “You are to be commended for being resourceful.” He handed me the card Sir Ridley had provided.
There was a faint smile. “You are most persistent, Lady Forsythe. Storming down the door of Brooks.”
“I hardly stormed down the door. And you will admit that my attempts to meet with you have gone unanswered.”
“An oversight, to be certain, and remedied now with a threat?”
He referred to Sir Ridley’s card.
“Not at all, merely an introduction.”
“For someone who hardly needs one,” he replied. “Your efforts on behalf of others are well known.”
“I am merely keeping a promise to Lady Eugenia.”
“Ah, yes. My dear grandmother, most determined to see my brother’s murderer brought to justice. Do be seated.” He gestured to two chairs at a nearby reading table.
“She has been most distressed since my brother’s death. It was her personal physician’s recommendation that it might be best for her to rest, away from London for a while.” He paused.
“I am aware of your accomplishments in past situations, Lady Forsythe,” he acknowledged.
“However, I am assured that the police have done everything they can to find the person responsible, in spite of my grandmother’s concerns.
Sadly, it seems to be one of those tragic situations that might never be resolved, despite one’s best efforts. ”
I thought of Edward Baldwin’s description of Sir Anthony.
Cut from the same cloth as the father, reckless, a rakehell prone to scandal, who had very nearly burned down one of the buildings at his private school.
Sir Robert was given the task of clearing the family name of blame after a substantial financial compensation and the heir apparent to Crofts.
Thomas had been the younger brother by only minutes, who lived in his brother’s shadow, studied the law, and took on the identity of one of the Three Musketeers while at university. Athos, a fictional character who, along with his companions, took on the injustices they encountered.
As we spoke, with Sir Anthony's concerns for his grandmother, I looked for the reckless man who had little care for others. But did not see him there.
Was it possible the tragedy had profoundly affected him? A tragedy that had taken someone who was his mirror image, the twin brother who existed in his shadow and could only beg for the scraps of affection from their father.
Was it possible? Or was I merely sitting across from someone who had perfected the art of manipulating one’s emotions?
He had spoken of the police.
“You should know that I am working with the police,” I explained. “There might be something you remember now from that night, something that was understandably forgotten in the aftermath of your brother’s brutal murder.”
I could have been mistaken, yet I thought I caught the slightest reaction to my comment. He came out of the chair and went to stand before the fireplace.
“By all means, Lady Forsythe.”
“You met with your brother late that afternoon. What was that regarding?”
He shook his head. “Family business matters. In spite of the fact that he was not an active participant in the operations of the bank, he was a holder of financial interest and our legal counsel.”
Crofts private bank had been established by Lady Ellsworth’s father, with the reputation for handling the personal finances of wealthy private citizens in London and abroad.
It was rumored that the Prince of Wales, used their loan services for some of his personal debts—gambling, a lavish lifestyle as the heir to the throne, as well as the support of his mistress in a residence at Portman Square.
There had been a dust-up when the Prince of Wales’s debts somehow became public knowledge.
The Queen had intervened, paid the debts, and also provided a financial gift to the Princess of Wales as consolation over the situation. According to my great-aunt, it was never known how the information was revealed.
There was speculation, of course. I recalled reading about it while on one of my travels, although the news was somewhat delayed.
As for thoughts on the matter of royal mistresses, gambling, and other schemes, there was nothing new there. At least one of my ancestors was known for the same. There were stories our great-aunt had shared.
Over eight centuries, quite a few had been collected, as well as substantial wealth. It seemed reasonable that Thomas should be included in any major decision.
“Did he have concerns that he might have mentioned about his stock in the bank?”
I thought I caught a slight reaction.
“No, not at all,” he replied. “Thomas didn’t concern himself with issues regarding Crofts. As I said, it was the usual family matters.”
“Was there a disagreement?”
Sir Anthony turned abruptly and looked at me sharply.
“As I told the police, there was absolutely nothing in his manner that suggested anything at all. We met, and then he left for a supper engagement with a friend.”
“Edward Baldwin,” I provided. “A friend from university.”
“You met with him?”
“I wanted to know more about your brother. He was very helpful. He spoke of their university days. Porthos, Aramis, and Athos.”
Sir Anthony laughed, a humorless sound.
“The Three Musketeers. As if they could right the wrongs in the world and save the fair maid.” The smile was gone then.
“The foolishness of youth, Lady Forsythe,” he mocked. “Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my luncheon guest.”
I stood as well. It seemed that our meeting was at an end.
“My condolences, Sir Thomas. I am very sorry for your loss. It must be very difficult after that earlier loss in the family. I did not know Anne Beaufort, but Mr. Baldwin spoke of her.”
He looked as if he’d taken a blow.
“Good day, Lady Forsythe.”