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as she turned a circle
in the center of the sumptuous entrance hall. Her expression was transformed with wonder.
"My word," was all she could say. "Oh, my." She had never seen such luxury; the ceiling of stained-glass
panels, the glittering chandelier, the walls lined with gilded columns, the heavy swaths of deep blue velvet.
Without taking her eyes from the gorgeous surroundings, she fumbled in her reticule for her notebook.
Worthy spoke while Sara scribbled furiously.
"I've told the staff about you, Miss Fielding. They are willing to provide any information that you might
find useful."
"Thank you," she said absently, adjusting her spectacles and peering at the carving on the capitals of the
columns. "This is
an Ionic design, I believe?"
"Scagliola, the architect called them."
She nodded and continued to take notes. "Who was the architect? It looks like something by Nash."
"No, Mr. Craven felt that Nash's ideas were not sufficiently imaginative. Besides, Mr. Nash was quite
elderly, and far too busy with projects for the king. Instead Mr. Craven chose a young architect by the
name of Graham Gronow. He made it clear to Gronow that he wanted a building so magnificent that it
would outshine Buckingham House."
Sara laughed. "Mr. Craven never does anything in half-measures, does he?"
"No," Worthy said ruefully. He indicated the entrance to the central hazard room. "I thought we might
begin with a general
tour of the club."
She hesitated. "That would be delightful, but I wouldn't like to be seen by any of the patrons "
"You won't, Miss Fielding. It's too early in the day. Most fashionable Londoners do not rise until
afternoon."
"I like getting up with the sun," Sara said cheerfully, following him to the central room. "I do my best
thinking early in the day,
and besides " She broke off with an exclamation as she stepped through one of the doorways of the
octagonal room. Her
eyes widened as she stared at the famous domed ceiling. It was covered with lavish plasterwork and
splendid paintings, and ornamented with the largest chandelier she had ever seen. The central hazard
table was positioned directly beneath the dome. Quietly Sara absorbed the atmosphere of the room. She
could sense the thousands of dramas that had unfolded here; the
fortunes gained and lost, the excitement, anger, fear, wild joy. Several ideas for her novel occurred to her
all at once, and she
wrote as fast as possible, while Worthy waited patiently.
Suddenly an odd sensation crept over her, a ticklish feeling on the back of her neck. The movements of
her pencil slowed. Disturbed, she finished a sentence and glanced at the empty doorway. An inner
awareness prompted her to gaze upward to
the balcony that overlooked the main floor. She caught a shadowy glimpse of someone leaving . . .
someone who had been watching them. "Mr. Craven," she said beneath her breath, too softly for the
factotum to hear.
Seeing that she had finished her note-taking, Worthy gestured to the exits at the other side of the room.
"Shall we continue?"
They visited the dining and buffet rooms, a long row of elaborate card rooms, areas for smoking and
billiards, and the concealed cellar where the club members could hide in the event of a police raid.
Encouraged by Sara's questions and her rapt interest, Worthy told her all about the intricacies of
gambling, the architecture of the building, even the kinds of food and wine that were served.
Throughout the tour Sara couldn't dismiss the feeling that they were being followed. Frequently she
glanced over her shoulder, suspecting she might catch someone watching them from a doorway or from
behind a column. As the minutes passed, she
began to see many servants bustling back and forth. Scores of housemaids crossed the halls carrying
long-handled mops,
buckets, and piles of cleaning rags. Door plates were polished, carpets were swept, fireplace mantels
were wiped, and furniture was thoroughly dusted.
"How well-organized this place is," Sara remarked as they went up the grand central staircase with its
heavy golden balustrade.
Worthy smiled with pride. "Mr. Craven has exacting standards. He employs nearly a hundred servants to
keep the club running like clockwork."
Each of the six staircase landings branched off into long hallways. Sara noticed that Worthy's color
heightened when she asked what those rooms were for. "Some of them are servants' quarters," he said
uncomfortably. "Some are temporary residences for guests. Many are for the use of ... er ... house
wenches."
Sara nodded matter-of-factly, knowing exactly what a house wench was. After the research she had
done for Mathilda, she
was very much against the practice of prostitution. She had sympathy for the women who were enslaved
by such a system.
Once they began on such a path, it was difficult, if not impossible, ever to turn back. One of her reasons [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]