The Affinity Bridge (19 page)

Veronica was startled by a knock on the door. Newbury looked up, but didn’t speak. A moment later Mrs. Bradshaw entered, bearing a silver tray that was covered in letters—the post Veronica had seen on the hall table when she’d first arrived. It seemed like days had passed since her arrival that morning.

“Your post, sir. I thought you may like to open it whilst you finished your breakfast?”

“Very thoughtful, Mrs. Bradshaw. Thank you.” He watched her leave and then turned his attention to the tray she had placed on the table beside him, studying the contents intently. Five or six letters lay scattered upon it. He placed his cutlery on the side of his plate and poked at the envelopes, stopping when he saw one that bore a hand he didn’t recognise.

He glanced up at Veronica. “Excuse me for a moment, my dear, whilst I take a look at this rather interesting missive.” He used his finger to tear the envelope open and withdrew the letter he found inside. It was dated the previous day, and written in a perfect copperplate, with big, artistic flourishes, on plain white paper. Newbury scanned the short paragraph that comprised the body of the letter, then folded it in half and passed it to Veronica.

Veronica unfolded it and spread it out on the table before her.

Sir Maurice,

I request your presence at the Orleans Club, 29 King St, S. W., tomorrow at four. I find myself in possession of information that may pertain to your current investigation, regarding the crash of the passenger airship,
The Lady Armitage.
I
would appreciate the opportunity to aid you in bringing the perpetrators in this matter to justice.

Yours,

Mr.
Christopher Morgan

She looked up. “Do you know this man?”

“Indeed not. Although…” He thought for a moment. “I believe I know him by name and reputation.” He took another sip of his coffee. “A speculator and a dilettante, if I’m not mistaken. I believe he owns an art gallery across town.” He smiled, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. “Nevertheless, Miss Hobbes, we have our lead, and no time to spare. If we’re to find our way to the Orleans Club by four, we should be on our way directly. Are you fit?”

Veronica smiled, delighted to see Newbury so engaged and full of energy once again. She nodded. “Are you?”

Newbury laughed, shrugging his shoulders. “Fortified by eggs and bacon. Let us not procrastinate any longer.” He stood, pushing the remnants of his meal to one side. “Come on, let’s fetch our coats.”

Veronica watched Newbury’s back as he left the room, calling for Mrs. Bradshaw. She hoped he was up to another sojourn, and whilst she admitted to herself it was wonderful to have the old Newbury back, she felt drained by the whirlwind that surrounded him. She’d rather, for his health, that they put the meeting off until the following day, but with no return address on the letter it would be difficult to get word to Morgan in time, and in truth it was too good an opportunity to miss. It was the only lead they had, and if they chose to enjoy the confines of Newbury’s home for much longer, the trail would almost certainly grow cold again. Reluctantly, she climbed to her feet and followed after him, anxious to keep a watchful eye on proceedings, and on Newbury himself.

_{Chapter Fourteen}

In their haste to get across town, Veronica had allowed herself to be subjected to the noise and bluster of one of the steam-powered carriages that Newbury appeared so heartily to enjoy. It had proved as uncomfortable as ever, and now, on the doorstep of the Orleans Club, she found herself rearranging her dress and trying to put herself hastily back in order. It was cold, and the fog was beginning to settle over the streets in wispy tendrils, slowly encroaching upon the city like ivy creeping across an old brick wall.

The Orleans Club, Newbury had informed her on the way over, was the offshoot of a gentleman’s club based in Twickenham, the town dwelling for members of the latter who, it seemed, were welcome to invite guests to the establishment so long as they were of the male variety. Any women were referred directly to the ladies room and kept well out of earshot of the banter that took place in the main lounge. Veronica found the whole idea ridiculous, but she also knew that she wasn’t about to overturn hundreds of years of tradition by simply complaining about it. She was aware that Newbury attended a club, and that he found it a worthwhile pursuit, in terms of both business and pleasure. Not only that, but it was important that they got to speak with Morgan, one way or another. She supposed she’d just have to live with it, for now.

The building itself was typical of this type of establishment; a Georgian townhouse that sat mid-terrace between what appeared to be private dwellings on either side. Sash windows revealed little about the activities inside, covered by heavy drapes, and there were no signs or indicators that they had even come to the correct address, other than the number ‘27’ on the door, as suggested in Morgan’s letter. Clearly the members of the Orleans Club liked to carry out their business behind closed doors.

Newbury stepped up to the blue panelled door and rapped loudly with the knocker. Almost immediately it creaked open and a butler appeared in the opening. Light spilled out onto the steps around their feet. Newbury presented his letter and informed the man that they had come for a private conference with one of the club’s members, Mr. Christopher Morgan.

The man studied Newbury and Veronica with what seemed to be a measure of disdain. “I’m afraid we have yet to enjoy the pleasure of Mr. Morgan’s company today, sir.”

Newbury pulled his watch from his pocket, popping open the engraved case and glancing at the ivory face inside. “I see we’re a little early. Perhaps Mr. Morgan intends to meet us here at four, as his letter suggests, or perhaps he is running a little late. Either way, I do believe that we’d like to wait.”

The butler nodded, opening the door a fraction wider to allow them to pass. “Sir can wait in the lounge, and I’ll be sure to inform Mr. Morgan of your presence when he arrives. I’m afraid your companion will have to wait in the ladies room.”

Newbury put his hand on Veronica’s arm. “As I suspected, my dear. I’ll try not to be too long about it. Why don’t you ask around in there and see if you can get a measure of this fellow from the other ladies? It may be that you can find out something useful while you’re waiting.”

Veronica nodded. “Of course.” She allowed the butler to escort her to the door of the ladies room, whilst Newbury disappeared down the hallway in the direction of the main lounge. The butler held the door open for her and she stepped through.

The ladies room was clearly an underused commodity. The room itself was small, and whilst lavishly furnished, bore the musty odour of under use; Veronica had the sense that the place was more of a showroom than a location where ladies actually went to pass the time, at least by choice. She suspected that the room was provided as a service to those unlucky men who didn’t seem able to go about their business without their wives following on behind them, limpet-like. That or it was listed as a benefit in the member’s book, and as such had to be upheld for those rare occasions when a lady actually found herself in the unenviable position of needing somewhere to wait for her companion whilst he went about his business inside. Whatever the case, there were only two other ladies present in the room when Veronica entered, and both looked up, startled, to see a newcomer whom they might endeavour to coerce into a discussion of some sort. They both stood, placing the books they had been reading on the chairs where they had been sitting. Veronica smiled warmly. “Good afternoon, ladies.”

The two women looked at each other, and then turned back to Veronica. The one on the left, who was wearing a long dress cut in pale yellow silk, returned Veronica’s smile. “Likewise, I’m sure.” She indicated the chair beside her. “Please, won’t you join us for tea?”

“I’d be delighted.” Veronica walked over to the table and the two ladies returned to their seats.

The woman in the yellow dress poured Veronica a cup of tea from the silver pot on the stand beside her chair. “My name is Mrs. Isabella Marriott, and this,” she glanced up, “is Miss Evelyn Blackwood.”

Veronica took the proffered cup and saucer. “Thank you. My name is Miss Veronica Hobbes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Evelyn Blackwood, a young, dark-haired woman in a red jacket and matching skirt, looked Veronica up-and-down. “Is this your first time at the Orleans Club, Miss Hobbes? I haven’t seen you here before.”

Veronica nodded. “Yes, indeed. My associate is here to meet one of the members. I thought it wise to wait for him in here.”

Isabella Marriott gave her a conspiratorial wink. “So, dear, who exactly is this mysterious ‘associate’? You can be sure that your secret is safe with us.”

Veronica almost laughed out loud. She had no reason to hide her association with Newbury, and it was clear that the two ladies, so starved for company, were fishing for gossip and intrigue to keep them amused. It would do no harm to let them think what they would. In fact, it may help to draw them out on their thoughts about Morgan. “I’m here with Sir Maurice Newbury, the academic and anthropologist.”

Isabella and Evelyn exchanged glances. “A sir? Well, didn’t you do well for yourself, Miss Hobbes?” Both of them began to giggle like schoolchildren. Veronica was finding the whole experience incredibly trying. “So tell, us, Miss Hobbes. Is he devilishly handsome?”

Veronica took a sip of her tea, wishing for a moment that it was something stronger. “Well, I suppose he is, rather.” She tried to look coy, playing along with the conversation.

Evelyn clapped her hands together. “How exciting! A new romance in the Orleans Club. Just wait until we tell Juliana!”

“Now, now, Evelyn, don’t get carried away.” Isabella placed a hand on her friend’s knee. “Miss Hobbes is only just getting started.” She looked at Veronica expectantly.

Veronica saw her chance to turn the conversation in a different direction. “Well, Sir Maurice is here for an important meeting with Mr. Christopher Morgan. I’ve heard a lot about the man, but I’ve never had occasion to meet him. Is he a fine fellow?”

Isabella looked impressed. “Oh, Miss Hobbes, one of the finest. Mr. Morgan is a pillar of our community, both here and in Twickenham. He owns an art gallery in town, and all the ladies who’ve been lucky enough to visit the place say it’s full of the most wonderful paintings. Mr. Morgan is a true gentleman. I’m sure that if your Sir Maurice is having any dealings with Mr. Morgan it is a good reflection on them both.”

Veronica smiled. “I’m delighted to hear it, Miss Marriott. I appreciate your candour.”