membership will remain active as long as you get results; after all, in order to keep you on the books indefinitely, some other poor so-and-so will be blackballed. We can’t sponsor you out of charity.’ He paused for a moment, smiling to himself. It is lucky that I took no offence, as he was not about to apologise. ‘Some of the other members will be engaged in similar duties to yourself,’ he continued, ‘and these will make themselves known to you in good time. Such men are of the highest calibre—some even have the ear of the Palace—so you can be sure they can be trusted. Discuss the case with them freely, ask for their aid when necessary, and report to me only when you feel you cannot proceed alone. I shall put my trust in you to do your duty in this matter.’
‘Then you presume that I will accept?’ I said, trying to maintain all due respect and not a little composure in my tone. Sir Toby had given me very little in the way of explanation as to the nature of this new venture, and yet he turned his head to me, with a flicker of a smile on his lips as if I had said something amusing.
‘My dear boy,’ he said, ‘how could you refuse?’
* * *
Sir Toby suggested that I familiarise myself with the club immediately. To that end, Holdsworth introduced me to the club secretary, Albert Carrington, in order to have my honorary membership ratified. Carrington was an officious man in his late middle ages, and such a stickler for procedure as I had never encountered outside the army stores. I was told that I would have to wait at least a week for my papers and business cards, including a certificate of my induction into ‘Sir Toby’s order’; however, Carrington signed a docket endorsing a temporary membership, allowing me free run of the magnificent building in the meantime.
After regaling me with a list of benefits of membership and club rules, some fascinating, others tedious, Carrington informed me that I was to dine with an established member of ‘the order’, and that this man would ‘show me the ropes’. It was a minor imposition, but I was eager to have answers to some of the many questions that were filling my mind, not to mention the fact that I was famished after a busy day.
* * *
My first impression of Ambrose Hanlocke, my dinner companion that evening, was not entirely a favourable one. I had expected a military man, one of Sir Toby’s stiff-collared ‘warriors’ of Apollo, but the man sitting in the formal dining room was anything but. He was no older than me, I guessed, tall and rakish, with oiled black hair and a well-groomed moustache. He was immaculately dressed in fine evening wear, though he appeared a little too debonair for the austere, Regency refinement of the surroundings. From the moment he spoke, I decided that Ambrose Hanlocke was a rogue, albeit a likeable one. It would not be long before I discovered just how right I was.
The dinner was magnificent; fine food prepared by a French chef in four courses, with good wine. It was the best meal I had eaten in many a year, and I think perhaps it showed. Ambrose leaned over to pass comment during the fish course.
‘That’s the thing about the club,’ he said, waving his knife to indicate the surroundings, ‘cheap to those who can afford it, off limits to those who can’t. I eat like a king in here at least once a week, for no more than the cost of my membership—in other words, John, such luxury is free to the likes of you and me.’
I smiled politely. Ambrose made no real effort to keep his voice down, and I was sure he was being more crude than would be considered acceptable by the clientele.
‘Mind you, it wasn’t so long ago that the quality of the food in here was rum, to say the least,’ he continued. ‘Positively rag and famish; may as well have dined at the bloody Reform Club. Still, this new Frenchie knows how to cook. Parisian, you see; bit too much sauce for my tastes, but bloody good all the
‘Then you presume that I will accept?’ I said, trying to maintain all due respect and not a little composure in my tone. Sir Toby had given me very little in the way of explanation as to the nature of this new venture, and yet he turned his head to me, with a flicker of a smile on his lips as if I had said something amusing.
‘My dear boy,’ he said, ‘how could you refuse?’
* * *
Sir Toby suggested that I familiarise myself with the club immediately. To that end, Holdsworth introduced me to the club secretary, Albert Carrington, in order to have my honorary membership ratified. Carrington was an officious man in his late middle ages, and such a stickler for procedure as I had never encountered outside the army stores. I was told that I would have to wait at least a week for my papers and business cards, including a certificate of my induction into ‘Sir Toby’s order’; however, Carrington signed a docket endorsing a temporary membership, allowing me free run of the magnificent building in the meantime.
After regaling me with a list of benefits of membership and club rules, some fascinating, others tedious, Carrington informed me that I was to dine with an established member of ‘the order’, and that this man would ‘show me the ropes’. It was a minor imposition, but I was eager to have answers to some of the many questions that were filling my mind, not to mention the fact that I was famished after a busy day.
* * *
My first impression of Ambrose Hanlocke, my dinner companion that evening, was not entirely a favourable one. I had expected a military man, one of Sir Toby’s stiff-collared ‘warriors’ of Apollo, but the man sitting in the formal dining room was anything but. He was no older than me, I guessed, tall and rakish, with oiled black hair and a well-groomed moustache. He was immaculately dressed in fine evening wear, though he appeared a little too debonair for the austere, Regency refinement of the surroundings. From the moment he spoke, I decided that Ambrose Hanlocke was a rogue, albeit a likeable one. It would not be long before I discovered just how right I was.
The dinner was magnificent; fine food prepared by a French chef in four courses, with good wine. It was the best meal I had eaten in many a year, and I think perhaps it showed. Ambrose leaned over to pass comment during the fish course.
‘That’s the thing about the club,’ he said, waving his knife to indicate the surroundings, ‘cheap to those who can afford it, off limits to those who can’t. I eat like a king in here at least once a week, for no more than the cost of my membership—in other words, John, such luxury is free to the likes of you and me.’
I smiled politely. Ambrose made no real effort to keep his voice down, and I was sure he was being more crude than would be considered acceptable by the clientele.
‘Mind you, it wasn’t so long ago that the quality of the food in here was rum, to say the least,’ he continued. ‘Positively rag and famish; may as well have dined at the bloody Reform Club. Still, this new Frenchie knows how to cook. Parisian, you see; bit too much sauce for my tastes, but bloody good all the
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