The Society

Chapter 1 The Knox

The Knox

What say you, curious one?

I see you lurking, through my windows. Very well.

Come, then, have a look. Behold my stately brick facade, my honey-oak door with its ornate surround, my wrought iron fencing.

My distinguished double-height first-floor windows, a rarity among buildings here in Beacon Hill.

The boot scraper beside my entryway (a bygone necessity, but still charming nonetheless).

Yes, yes, it is true; I once had a mansard roof, but one of the Thurgoods—the miserly Samuel, I believe—replaced it with a flat one during the Great Depression to bring down property taxes. (I was displeased for a good decade or two.) At least they had the good sense to add a parapet.

Pardon me? You were not inquiring about my roof? What were you— Oh. No, I’m sorry, but you simply cannot stroll in, as if I’m some sort of museum or, God forbid, ordinary building. No, no. Only Knox members and their esteemed guests are allowed to enter my premises.

What is the Knox, you ask? Come now, don’t be coy.

You truly do not know? You’ve never heard of the Knox Society? You must not be from Boston. Ah, a tourist. Of course.

Well, as any Bostonian very well understands, you are permitted only the view of my exterior.

The rest—the history and secrets, the lives and deaths, the money and misfortune, the vast wealth and precious artifacts housed within my walls—is reserved exclusively for the insiders, the members.

And so you must content yourself with shadows, and rumors, and the occasional fleeting glimpse of a world to which you will never, ever belong.

There is a simple, aching sweetness of being kept out, is there not? A pathetic allure in the unknown. Not that I would know, of course. But I see how you are now eagerly peering into my tinted windows, hungry for a preview of anything—anything at all.

It is futile, I assure you: All you will see is your own reflection, then your thoughts will shift to a sweaty, self-conscious worry about whether you’ve been observed by someone you cannot see.

You haven’t been. The members within don’t bother looking outside. Not at you, at least.

So run along now, tourist. Do not concern yourself with what goes on within the walls of the Knox. It is for your own benefit, after all. Truly, it is.

These secrets would do you more harm than good.