Page 39 of A Much Maligned Miss

Caroline shook his hand. “I’m delighted to meet you, Mr. Carstairs, and so very intrigued about this place.”

“Ah, The Citadel?” Ralph said, his eyes lighting up like a fanatic. “Like it, do you?”

“I do, and what’s more, I’m desperate to see the rest of it.”

“Oh, well, I can give you the tour at once,” he answered keenly.

“Do you mind if I set the cats down?”

“Cats?” Ralph peered at her with even more closely and Gervaise felt strangely…proprietary. He moved rather closer to Caroline. “Oh, I say, cats!” Ralph exclaimed. “I thought they were your furs! Feel free to set them down. You need not worry for their paws, this floor is covered in the finest marble tiles,” he boasted.

Gervaise glanced down at the flooring. The room was huge. The cost would have been extortionate.

“I’ve simply heaps to show you, Gervaise,” Ralph continued, watching Caroline as she set the cats down on the floor. “Did you get my letter?”

“Eventually,” Gervaise admitted cautiously. “But it bounced around a few times before it reached me. I could not make out much of what you had written. Your pen nib seemed to have exploded on the second page and the rest of it was smudged to oblivion.”

“Oh, er, ha-ha,” Ralph responded nervously. “I was under duress at the time. Mounting costs, don’t you know. I was up against it, if you must know, old chap, and you weren’t around, so I was at my wit’s end where to turn.”

“Yes, I gathered that much,” Gervaise responded dryly. “You said something about taking on a third partner, I think? The letter ended rather abruptly at this point if memory serves.”

Ralph looked evasive. His eyes followed the kittens as they crept about the floor. “Yes, er, interesting fellow. Brought along some useful connections with him. Prizefighters, and all that.”

“A prizefighter?” Gervaise echoed with misgiving. “Not that brute at the front door?”

“No, no, not him. Though you’re quite right, Jeb’s one too, though no money to speak of, poor chap. He’s acting as one of our doormen. No, our partner’s a sight more civilized than Morris, I can assure you of that! It’s one Bartholomew Ewell. Ever heard of him?”

Gervaise withdrew his cigarette case. “Yes, I rather think I have,” he said slowly. “I saw him fight at Wimbledon common last year. He surprised a few people when he beat that bareknuckle champion, Masterman.”

“Oh, he’s plenty of pepper and vim about him,” Ralph agreed. “Not a big fellow like Jeb, but you underestimate him at your peril. He’s beaten the best of them. Made a fortune. A fortune he’s been willing to invest in this place, thank God, for I ran out of money months ago.”

“So, now he’s our business partner,” Gervaise observed blandly as he placed a cigarette between his lips. He was angry but there was no point in crying over spilt milk. After all, Ewell was on board now, there was precious little he could do about it at this stage of the game. “You had better give us this tour, Ralph.”

Ralph was gazing distractedly at the pile of Gervaise’s luggage and Caroline’s sole carpet bag sat on top of it. “You need somewhere to stay, old man? There’s rooms here if you need them. Tolerably comfortable, they are too. I was staying in them in the early days but I’m back at my digs now the work’s most done.”

Gervaise looked wordlessly at Caroline but she avoided his eye. “They’re on the top floor,” Ralph specified. “I’ll show you them at the end of the tour.”

16

Caroline gazed about at the magnificence of the bar room. The ceiling, a mass of scrolling plasterwork and gilded moldings, was supported by columns decorated with painted vine leaves. Huge chandeliers hung down, glittering in the reflected light of the gas lamps hanging from the wall brackets.

“It’s beautiful!” she uttered, feeling quite awed. No wonder gentlemen spent all their time in their clubs if they were as sumptuously decorated as this place. Her old home seemed somewhat plain in comparison.

A huge wooden rectangle stood in the center of the room, which Ralph Carstairs referred to excitedly as “the bar.” “You see,” he explained eagerly, “although we have separated areas for the seated saloon and public area, the bar being positioned here, centrally, means it can serve all these areas simultaneously.”

“How many dedicated servers would work within your bar? You could surely fit a small army behind here,” she said, peering over the top of the polished counter to see the rows of bottles and glasses contained underneath.

“I think we could have about a dozen at maximum capacity,” Ralph answered casually.

“Really? That many?” She straightened up and turned back to find Gervaise watching her with a critical expression on his face. Why did he look thus? She directed a querying gaze his way, but he turned abruptly away.

“Is it really necessary to have all the lamps blazing at this hour?” he asked Ralph pointedly. “We are not yet open to patrons, yet we must be spending a small fortune lighting them all.”

His friend looked chastened. “Well, I just wanted to get the full effect. Besides, Barty thought it would be a good thing to illuminate the place and ignite some interest in the populace before we throw the doors open.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” Gervaise replied bitingly and Caroline winced at his tone.

“Jeb’s had to wipe smudge marks off the windows for weeks now from where the public has been trying to peer in,” he said defensively.