Page 74 of Affair

Baxter stood back in the shadows and waited as the newcomers righted themselves and paid the coachman. When they turned to stagger up the steps, he fell in behind them. They never noticed as he went through the door in their wake.

The dim, firelit interior of The Green Table was thronged. Without his spectacles, the scene had an unfocused quality that seemed remarkably appropriate. Baxter did not need his eyeglasses to conclude that there was little chance of anyone observing him in the crowd. It was still early by Town standards, but the men who filled the overheated room were already sunk deep in heavy play at the green baize-covered tables. No one paid him any attention.

A roaring fire on the large hearth threw a hellish red glow over the scene. The air was thick with the smell of ale, sweat, and smoke.

Baxter found a secluded corner protected by a large, well-endowed stone figure of a nude female. He removed his pocket watch and held it up as though to get a closer look at the face. He studied the crowd through the single lens. The faces of the hell’s patrons sharpened abruptly.

There was no sign of Hamilton or Norris.

Frowning, Baxter started to close the watch. Movement on the stairs at the rear of the large room made him hesitate. He raised the lens again and took a quick look.

Several young men, including Hamilton and Norris, were on their way to one of the upper floors. Baxter wondered if there were private dining parlors above or if the new owner of the premises had elected to continue offering the services of a brothel in a more discreet fashion.

Then he recalled something Hamilton had said about the management providing a special meeting place for the members of his exclusive club.

Baxter shut the watch case and dropped it into his pocket. He did not need the single eyeglass to make his way across the room.

But when he got closer to the bottom of the staircase, he saw a large, somewhat blurred figure lounging against the banister.

While the crowd milled around him, Baxter took out his watch and risked another survey. One glance at the thick features of the heavyset man on the stairs was all that was necessary. He was looking at a guard. The man had obviously been posted to protect the elite club members privileged to partake of the pleasures that were offered on the upper floors.

Curiosity and a strong sense of foreboding descended on him in equal proportions. The ground-floor gaming room of The Green Table was bad enough. It was the sort of place in which a careless young man could lose a great deal in a night’s deep play. Whatever lay overhead was probably a good deal more unpleasant.

What sort of devilish nonsense had Hamilton gotten himself involved in? Baxter wondered. He could almost hear his father’s voice telling him to keep an eye on his younger half brother.

Stifling a resigned groan, Baxter eased his way back through the crowd to the front door. He waited until a group of patrons chose to leave and quietly attached himself to their number.

Outside on the pavement he made his way to the corner of the street. He paused to fish his eyeglasses out of his pocket and put them on. Then he turned and went down an alley that looked as though it would take him to the rear of The Green Table.

Most of the nearby buildings were dark at this hour but there was enough light from the windows and the kitchens of The Green Table to guide Baxter. The establishment was three stories high. From the alley he could see that the windows on the top floor were dark. But on the floor below, a tiny sliver of light escaped from one window.

Years ago, The Cloister had been notorious, Baxter reminded himself as he prowled through the shadows of the garden. In its heyday, it had been the sort of place that had traded in a variety of illicit activities and exotic tastes. It was an establishment that had needed clandestine entrances and exits, not to mention peepholes and hidden staircases.

It was the sort of place that had attracted his father.

A privy stood in the unkempt garden. As Baxter watched, a drunken man staggered out of the necessary and made his way back into the club through a rear door. A moment or two later, Baxter followed him. He found himself in a small servants’ hall. It was empty. A flight of narrow, twisting steps led to the upper floors.

He took the steps with caution. Fortunately, they were all in sound condition. He paused on the first landing. The door that opened onto the hall was locked. He had not thought to bring his lock picks, so he was obliged to pause long enough to correct the problem with the wire earpiece of his eyeglasses.

A moment later he was inside the darkened corridor.

He was about to make his way down the hall toward the room where he thought he had seen a light when he heard the scrape of a shoe on a wooden stair tread.

The sound was too light and too tentative to have been made by the guard.

He waited in the shadows. A figure swathed in a voluminous cloak entered the narrow hall.

He stepped quickly away from the wall and locked one arm around his pursuer’s throat.

“Do not move. Not one word. Not one sound,” he warned very quietly.

The trapped figure froze and then nodded quickly, silently. Baxter caught a whiff of a familiar scent, part herbal soap, part female, absolutely unmistakable. The particular fragrance was forever registered on his senses. He would go to his grave able to recognize it. It would no doubt be his grim fate that even on his deathbed, he would still suffer the sweet, aching tug of desire whenever he inhaled it.

“Bloody hell, Charlotte. What are you doing here?”

Twelve

“I saw you leave the club and go down the street. But you went off in the wrong direction. I did not know what to think.” Charlotte was breathless, not only from the anxiety that had impelled her to leave the carriage, but also from the mad dash along the alley and the climb up the rear stairs.

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