Chapter Sixteen
An hour later, Vesper was growing weary of both pretending to be Freddie and suddenly finding her mind filled with useless facts on arcane topics.
Ashbridge seemed to be getting a great deal of entertainment out of offering seemingly innocuous opinions on fairly niche subjects—his most recent opening gambit had been, “I wonder if tennis scoring ought to eliminate deuce,” and then Vesper had found herself, against her will, being suddenly overcome by a desperate urge to go on a lengthy tirade in defense of the mystifying scoring system of a sport she didn’t care two figs for.
She, who had no use for any sort of sport, except for the bit where she wore a nice dress to Wimbledon each summer, got drunk on ill-advised quantities of champagne by the early afternoon, and inevitably returned home with a sunburn.
It was an entertaining enough way to pass the time, though—for Ashbridge, at least. Vesper’s throat was growing sore from talking so much, though he’d taken pity on her a little while back and gone to the bar to request a large glass of water, which she’d accepted gratefully.
However, they had whiled away enough time now that it seemed safe to say that no one appeared concerned by—or had even taken note of—their presence.
This meant that the time had come to do a bit of poking around.
“I’m going to find the toilet,” she said, standing up, and then nearly laughing at the look that crossed Ashbridge’s face at this announcement, which was downright alarmed.
“I… do not think that’s a good idea,” he said, his voice nearly strangled.
Vesper, curious to see how much she could horrify him, decided to press on. “It’s not as though I’ve never seen a penis before, Ashbridge.”
Ah, yes, that did the trick. He had gone scarlet, and was looking so scandalized that if someone had put him in a gown and a feathered headdress, he could have easily passed for a society mama from the previous century.
“That’s hardly the point,” he hissed, casting a furtive glance around as though expecting eavesdroppers to be skulking behind their armchairs. “What are you going to do—pop in and then just lurk about, pretending to need to piss but mysteriously not unbuttoning your trousers?”
“Have you lost your mind?” Vesper asked, exasperated. “Obviously I’m not actually going to the toilets, Ashbridge, I just need an excuse if anyone catches me prowling around a corridor that’s supposed to be private.”
“Oh.” He leaned back in his seat, his blush fading a bit. “Shall I come with you?”
“No—it’ll look too suspicious if we’re caught back there together. Just… try to sit here and act remotely natural, will you?”
“What do you call what I’ve been doing for the past hour?” he asked, looking offended.
“I am not certain it has a name,” she said.
Upon making her way back through the enchanted door, she moved quickly past the mundane bar and out into a quiet corridor, done in yet more wood paneling.
There was no one in sight, and she paused for a moment, considering her options.
She began a slow progress down the corridor, trying doorknobs and preparing to act extremely intoxicated and confused if anyone questioned her about what she was doing.
After a moment, a youngish man emerged from one of the doorways ahead and slumped against the wall, exhaling heavily.
She clocked the waistcoat—woven with threads of dark green in a subtle ivy pattern—and realized he worked for the club.
She wished, for a moment, that she weren’t in disguise; men were so easy to get to speak if one was blonde and pretty and female.
Though she supposed she could try using her wiles in disguise as Freddie instead.
She took a breath, and then began to walk toward him, altering her stance a bit to imply a sort of looseness, if not outright drunkenness. Given Ashbridge’s critique of earlier in the evening, she was careful not to veer too far into—how had he phrased it? Swaggering?
The man took notice of her and straightened. The exhausted expression on his face was replaced with something more distantly polite.
Vesper waved a hand. “Don’t stand up on my account.” She shook her head, and reached out a hand to brace herself. “Might join you, in fact.” She kept a careful amount of space between them as she leaned back against the wall, tipping her head back to look at the ceiling.
She could feel his eyes on her.
“Is there anything I can do for you, sir? Someone I should fetch?”
She shook her head. “Just been a rather long night. You know how it is. All the… brandy, eh? And talk of politics? It can be wearying.”
“As you say, sir,” he said, sounding uncertain.
“I expect you hear that complaint all the time,” she attempted now, seeking some sort of natural entry into conversation with him, something that might set him a bit more at ease.
“I believe that our patrons are very fond of brandy and politics, sir,” he said diplomatically, and Vesper’s mouth twitched.
“Aren’t they just,” she murmured, and a quick glance out of the corner of her eye revealed a small, matching smile of his own. Seeing it, she decided to attempt a bit of detective work. “At least no one here has started tearing his clothing off or spinning from the ceiling.”
A quiet huff of laughter; she didn’t look at him after she spoke, careful not to appear too interested, eager to give the impression that this was idle, tipsy chitchat.
“I wouldn’t mind something livening things up around here—the owners are nearly pissing themselves about it, though.”
“Are they?” Vesper asked, frowning up at the ceiling. “Nothing’s happened here, though, has it?”
“No.” She saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of her eye: he was shaking his head. “But with all the gossip, they’re worried that we’re next. Whoever’s doing this… they don’t seem like they plan on stopping anytime soon.”
“Do you know what else is being said about it?” Vesper asked. “I mean, do you hear things from friends at the other clubs?” Recalling her disguise, she added, in careless tones, “Most of my mates seem to think it’s all a bit of a laugh.”
“They’re mostly just worried that if any of the clubs close, we’ll all be out of work,” he said frankly, and Vesper schooled her features into a contrite expression, as if such a possibility had never occurred to her.
“I hear they’re attempting to repeal Forbiddance in Parliament, though,” she said, curious to hear his thoughts on the matter; she realized, incredibly belatedly, that, as good a relationship as she had with the staff at Holloway’s, they might not feel entirely comfortable speaking freely before her.
She was interested in the opinion of someone who didn’t realize that he was speaking to a daughter of the storied Holloway family.
He shrugged. “I heard that, too—one of my mates is involved with one of those groups that distributes the pamphlets and whatnot.” He didn’t sound as though he considered this terribly impressive political activism, which nearly made Vesper grin, thinking of Freddie.
“I don’t see how that’ll help, though, if people are still being sick every time they drink a potion—no one’ll want to come to the clubs then, even if it’s legal. ”
He was right, of course—though Vesper had her doubts that Simon’s bill could even pass, not if matters continued on as they had for the past week and a half. People would grow edgy; the public would stop trusting magic entirely.
“Besides,” he added, “it’s not as if Forbiddance is stopping anyone, for all they’d have you believe. Seems to me that everyone’s using magic, regardless of what they say publicly.”
“Is there anyone particular you’ve spotted?” she asked, trying to merely sound idly curious so as not to spook him.
“Let’s just say that some of the voices shouting the loudest about Forbiddance have been seen here more than once.” He jerked his head over his shoulder, in the direction of the loos. Vesper’s gaze flicked in that direction, and she nodded.
“Interesting,” she said slowly, and he shrugged.
“I hate some of those goddamn hypocrites in Parliament.” He pushed himself off the wall with his foot.
“I ought to get back to work.” He looked at Vesper for a moment, seeming to be considering something, then leaned down and, in an even lower voice, said, “I wouldn’t push my luck, if I were you.
I think the rule barring women is stupid, but they’re very committed to it. ”
Vesper blanched. “I’ve no idea what you mean.”
“Of course you don’t,” he agreed, all amiability, and then with a last, curious glance at her, he was off.
She remained where she stood, considering her options.
She could return to Ashbridge, but she was suddenly desperately curious to see who might be in the loos that would be of interest. She was weighing Ashbridge’s—clearly not unreasonable—fears about her giving herself away when a distant motion caught her eye.
Down the hallway, emerging from the toilets, was a man about Vesper’s father’s age, lean and cunning-looking, with a head of gray hair that was still impressively thick.
After a moment, she recognized him: Jacob Finlay.
What was he doing at a magical club?
Finlay, thankfully, didn’t notice her, instead vanishing through a nondescript door that Vesper had thought, upon passing, was merely for staff.
She waited approximately five seconds, then scampered down the hallway and yanked the door open.
It revealed what appeared to be a servants’ staircase; crossing the landing and peering down a flight of stairs, she was just in time to see a door on the ground floor swing shut, offering the merest glimpse of a back alley.