The Waiting Room Read online

  The Waiting Room

  Michael White

  Copyright © 2016 by Michael White / EDP. All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this publication may be replicated, redistributed, or given away in any form without the prior written consent of the author/publisher or the terms relayed to you herein.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or messing about with umbrellas is entirely coincidental.

  The author can be contacted via the links below.

  Website: www.mikewhiteauthor.co.uk

  Email: [email protected]

  Twitter: @mikewhiteauthor

  Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B006Y7JHCK

  By The Same Author

  Paul McCartney’s Coat and Other Stories

  Liverpool

  Anyone

  A Challenging Game of Crumble

  Into the Light

  Book One: Lost in Translation

  Into the Light

  Book Two: The Road of the Sun

  Back to The Light

  Book One: The Shadow Lords of Old

  A Bad Case of Sigbins

  Bee’s Knees

  The Adventures of Victoria Neaves and Romney (Complete Series)

  Book One: Victoriana

  Book Two: The Strange Case of the Denwick Beauchamp Fairies

  Book Three: The Vanished Man

  Book Four: The Clockwork Thief of Crickenden Broadwick

  Book Five: Romney’s Day Off

  Book Six: The Abbot Bowthorpe Dependables

  Scrapbook

  Overboard! (September 2016)

  Contents

  Pall Mall, London December 15th 1858 7pm

  (A Prologue)

  13 across: Extraneous pin did fatally turn

  Interlude One

  Scarecrow, Scarecrow...

  Interlude Two

  Three Butterflies

  Interlude Three

  Uisce Beatha

  Interlude Four

  The King of the Cogs

  The Reluctant Paw

  A spoon filled with sugar

  Farewell my love...

  Almanac

  Pall Mall, London December 15th 1858 Midnight

  (An Epilogue)

  “It is a capital mistake to theorize

  Before you have all the evidence.

  It biases the judgment.”

  (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,

  “A Study in Scarlet”)

  Pall Mall, London

  December 15th 1858 7pm.

  (A Prologue)

  Hush.

  Hush now. Be still, for the library is ahead and the night grows dark. Listen to me well! This commotion you make would drive away the most gregarious of spirits, make no doubt of that! Come. Hold this candle and I shall strike a match.

  There. Yes, yes. I know that it is but a pauper’s candle. You think that I cannot see how the flame is weak and guttering, the light it brings to this chill corridor pale and pallid? Yet it will suffice. Come. We must draw closer.

  My, how the library door creaks and moans from lack of oil when it opens. Please try not cry out when it slams shut behind us. You will disturb our visitor if you do!

  It sets my mind wandering as it always does when I stand here in the library, for it is the quietest of places, both dusty and cold, lit only by the sickly light from this torpid wick. Observe how the tired and reluctant wax slowly pools in the candle holder in which I hold it.

  Yet if a library is indeed the quietest of places, what then if all the words in these books could speak? Then surely it would be the most tumultuous of rooms, would it not? Every word, every vowel screaming out aloud for attention in a maelstrom of speech and words. Just think of it! If every book was a tale of a life, or perhaps many lives. What a seething mass of humanity would whirl and rage about us here! The lies, the sin. The joy, the happiness. The unrequited love and the solitary fool. All would rage and vie for our attention I am sure.

  And yet. My imagination runs away from me, for there is naught but silence here. As quiet as the grave this place. Yet over on the far side of the room another man sits, candle on table, silently reading.

  He does not know that we are here of course.

  How could he?

  So shall we approach, you and I? Come. Look at his clothes. Fine cloth and fancy cologne I fear. Let us lean over and peer at what occupies his attention so. We shall be the spirits at his shoulder you and I.

  Come close.

  Come close and see what it is that he reads….

  I have a fancy sometimes that each man’s life is like a book, a thing to be peered into and examined; assessed even. It is a curious use of my imagination for in my day to day life I fear that I am not prone to either distraction in the form of daydreams or to sally forth on flights of fancy. Yet if I were a book then what would my assessment of myself be? My opinions are sure, and strongly held. This I feel is a good thing to be a man who has short shift with any feelings of self-doubt.

  It is said by many that manners maketh a man, but in my humble opinion this is quite simply not true. In my experience I have found that this will never be the case for I believe that it is more commonly found that a man’s standing is not governed by his ability to feign a kindness or indeed to express an interest where logically there is no interest at all! Manners and pleasantries are for the weak and I, Jacob Ewan, solemnly declare that I have often felt that a man’s ability to gauge his proper and correct station in life can always be measured by the prosperity of his day to day existence; by the condition of his financial standing in property or bonds as well as the regard he is held in by his peers or indeed the worthies of his profession. It is true of all levels of society of course. The lowliest pauper may by his demeanour prove himself to be looked upon with suspicion and distrust. His lowly ranking in a fair and decent society is apparent to all he may encounter. The same rules simply cannot be applied to the highest in the land or to those of an elite standing, whose superiority may be considered to be without question.

  A gentleman's quality however (although it may be by his ranking assumed), is at best of almost a higher calling; for here he is forever a product of his club and his school. It is most certainly the case that it is these venerable institutions that define who he is and how his place in society is secured. It therefore hardly needs noting that both my school and club are beyond reproach; of the highest note.

  This is of course what I deserve, since my breeding and standing were secured by my parent’s place in society before me. I was destined from an early stage for the highest public school, and my membership of my club was sure to follow. Within the elite amongst whom I move on a daily basis there are very few whom I would consider my betters, though I am sure that those I do consider to be placed in a higher ranking position in society than I would no doubt look favourably upon me because of the circumstance and elevation of my birth.

  Yet I spend too much time reminiscing, which is unlike me! Suffice to say that gone now forever are the halcyon days of my youth, the debauchery and frivolity of my school days by now a long forgotten and time shrouded memory. Now I am a pillar of society, and my elevation is to all ends and purposes a result of good solid hard work and an eye on bettering my position that is the result of nobody’s efforts other than my own.

  In short, I prosper; and it is my ongoing aim and desire to reap the rewards of my advancement to ensure I receive that which I consider is now due to me.

  One of these objects of my desire is that of a much sought after membership of the Earl of Ranleigh’s club, for
acceptance as a patron of this fine gathering of gentlemen of refinement and quality is a sure sign of one’s worth by society’s great and good. Long have I desired membership of this seemingly unattainable plateau of social advancement. Yet this was out of my own hands, for acceptance by this fine band of elevated brothers is by invitation only.

  It is said that the secrecy surrounding who is, or indeed who is not a member of this fine body of men was fierce, for all those already in possession of membership were sworn to secrecy. However, once a gentleman of quality became a member then so elite were the people therein that advancement in society was supposedly assured. All of this of course served to make my desire to become a member even stronger. My current club suited me as a means to an end, but it was this elevation that I sought out with my every waking hour.

  In my administrative work within the civil service, of which I am permitted to say no more than that, I feel that I had brought my talents and pedigree to the attention of my superiors, and my advancement has been rapid. Upon taking Emily as my wife and siring two fine sons I was then recognised as a family man, and this was also seen by my elders and betters to be a sign of my dependability and good sense. Marriage and a family were expected of a man of my station of course, and I attended to my new duties as a father and husband as society demanded but no more.

  No, my joy was my work and it was into this that I threw all my attention and vigour. I had by now settled very nicely into rural life in the Home Counties, but during the week my place of abode was accommodation in the better half of the city. Here I maintained several servants, travelling to my home at the end of the week, before returning somewhat gladly to the city on the seven fifteen steam train on a Monday morning.

  It was while residing at my country residence on a cold and wintery Saturday morning that I received the invitation. It was early in December and the weather had been appalling. On my journey from the city back to my country residence I was of the mind on several occasions that the train would surely be unable to reach its journey’s end, so frightful were the blizzards and howling gales that seemed to buffet the railway carriage in which I sat as it made its way into the countryside. The guard had made his way along the train first class section of course, assuring all and sundry that we were in no peril whatsoever, yet I was not so sure and so therefore I was of good heart when we finally reached journeys end and I spotted my hansom cab waiting outside the station, the lit oil lamps illuminating the gloom about the path, snow fluttering about Gabriel Moon, the driver, as he sat shivering atop the cab waiting for my arrival.

  It may seem to be an oddity on my behalf to name my driver by his given Christian and surname, but it is such a strange name that the two words seem almost to belong together. It is certainly not my habit to be over familiar with servants. A man of my station has to keep a firm hand on his staff, and yet when I think of him it is always as, “Gabriel Moon”, and not just “Moon” which is how I would address my other servants, if indeed I address them at all. The household I am sure you realise is Emily’s task and by and large I leave her to it. A sharp word here and there and an occasional raised voice on my behalf seem to be sufficient to keep them on the straight and narrow.

  Having left the train and slid along the snow and ice covered path I entered my carriage, and now I watched Gabriel Moon urging the horse on through the snow and therefore towards my home. I reflected upon the fact that I had often considered the hansom to be an affection on my behalf, for it was not suited at all to the rutted and tortuous country roads that led from the station to my estate. Yet I felt it gave my journeys from home to station an air of exclusivity, and quite often I was pleased to note workers on farms or on the fields pausing in their labours as I passed by to observe my fine carriage with envy and I suspect, humility.

  Not this night however, for man and beast were not straying far from their abodes, so cold was the weather. I pondered upon this as the snow blew about the vehicle as Moon slowly and carefully delivered me homeward. I toyed with the idea that I would have to do something about the cab, though I was not at that point quite sure what. I had noted on several of the more exclusive hansoms that they sported glass enclosures on the windows ensuring total comfort for the passenger. Sadly, this was not the case on my hansom where I sat unprotected from the worst of the weather and the snow, sitting blinking in the light of the oil lamps, snow threatening to gather on my lap. Luckily Moon had anticipated this and I was now wrapped from head to toe in a thick woollen coat that he had brought with him. Nevertheless, the cold nipped at my nose as we drove along the lane like a drunken sailor, the window howling about us as we went.

  At one point I must have dozed off despite the cold and the extremities of the weather, my dreams all spoke of ice and thick, swirling banks of drifting snow. Quite probably for the first time in my life I truly understood what it was like to be cold, and I can say quite clearly without any fear of repudiation that it is not an experience I would wish to repeat.

  Soon however I was startled awake and glad to see the lights of my home shining dimly through the blizzard. The cold if anything had increased and I felt chilled to the bone, my teeth chattering loudly.

  So I was glad when I arrived at my destination and Moon had vanished to stable the horses and carriage to warm myself in front of the log fire that burned in my study as if it were waiting for me. I lost myself for a while in the flames dancing in the fire as I stood watching them as if entranced, but once I had warmed myself and had recovered from the onslaught of the snow outside I found that I was not feeling particularly hungry and so I drifted off to bed and slept soundly.

  The next day the house was quiet too, my wife having taken my two sons to her sisters on the coast the week before, and they were not set to return until mid-week at best, weather permitting. I will not pretend this was a hardship for I was glad to relax at the weekend and allow my staff to tend to my needs. As I settled myself down into bed to sleep the next night I noted the snow still battering at the leaded window, and extinguishing the lamp I let the warmth of the bed comfort me. I had spent a full day at home by now but it had been uneventful and I had made such a restful time of it that I struggled to remember the day’s events though I did recall spending a lot of time in front of the fire in my study reading. Soon however I was asleep and my dreams were uneventful and untroubled.

  The next day I awoke and looked through the window to the sight of thick, blanketed snow lying about the grounds of the house. The snow had stopped falling by now however and the sun lay upon the banked snow as if attempting to blind me, so fierce was the reflection of light. Nevertheless, I noted a long line of footprints in the garden outside, both approaching the front door of the house and then departing again.

  This was almost certainly as the result of that day’s postal delivery I mused, for they seemed to be much more efficient now than they had been before my last complaint about their tardy service. Like the servants, a strong word here and there seemed to work wonders.

  I dressed and made my way down to the hallway, heading for the dining room and a hearty breakfast. As I passed the door I looked to see if there was any mail on the cabinet by the door. It was the custom of the servants to leave it there for me to collect but today the cabinet was bare, which was a trifle odd, what with the footprints outside in the snow. Frowning I headed to the dining room. This was of course empty as my family were away and the servants were no doubt busy somewhere else, preparing breakfast or the like. I must say that to my surprise I did not feel particularly hungry, but it did not seem to matter for although the breakfast table was set, there did not seem to be any food or even tea about the place.

  I seated myself at the table in my usual seat and instantly my attention was captured by what I must say was the most handsome envelope I have ever set my eyes upon, so exquisite was its design. The paper looked so fine and cream coloured as if it were made of some exotic cotton from the Indies. It looked as if it had a weight to the paper too, t
hough unusually the envelope had been opened and placed face up on the tablecloth in front of me, the letter face up too by its side.

  The writing on the envelope was obviously written by a hand skilled in the art of calligraphy. My address as exclusive as it was, appeared to be even more select, so beautiful was the writing on the envelope. I glanced briefly at my name on the front of the paper, but of course such an item delivered to this address could only be for I and no other. I noted the postmark and was surprised to find it had been posted only the day before. Having passed through one of the major London sorting offices its delivery had obviously not been compromised by the poor weather. My stern words to the local postmaster most certainly seem to have done the job!

  I tore my attention away from the envelope, ignoring for the moment my outrage at my staff for opening my mail, though I would be sure to address that later. Peering down at the letter on my table I began to read. The writing was clearly that of a superior hand and even more impressive than that of the envelope. Avidly I began to read, steadying myself with my arm on the table at the words contained in the invitation, for that is what it was, began to sink in. It read thus:

  “You are invited to an investiture dinner at the Earl of Ranleigh’s club on Wednesday the fifteenth of December in the year of our Lord One thousand eight hundred and fifty eight at seven thirty pm. Please be prompt. Your acceptance as a member into this much revered gentlemen’s club will be held in the company of nine other attendees who will have also been invited to join the much revered members of the Earl of Ranleigh’s club. Dinner dress is expected. A cab will be sent to the address below at seven O’clock precisely to purvey you to the club and return you to the same address later. Dinner will be hosted by The Twenty Seventh Earl of Ranleigh himself, his Lordship Artemis Apollyon, whom you are invited to join for brandy and cigars after dinner, whereupon all potential members will be required to relate a ghost story of their own experience. Those deemed to have told a worthy story will be granted permanent membership to the club thereafter.