The Waiting Room Read online

  RSVP not required.”

  I felt my head spin. I was to become a member of this most elite club at last! Finally, my elevation to a club that was worthy of the highest in the land was assured. I read the invitation again, my mind reeling. I felt like shouting aloud, and it was now that I missed my wife for I had nobody to tell my news to. I could tell a servant of course, but that would almost be as if I were sullying my elevation, for what would they know of the world of grander things viewed from their scrubbing tubs and boot polish? Nothing! Nothing at all! I paced the dining room impatiently waiting for any signs of a servant or even breakfast, but as I waited I realised that my attention was elsewhere now. So the weekend was lost to me and soon I was on my way back to London, the preceding days but a blur.

  Upon the commencement of my duties in my office on the first few days of my return to work were at best obscured from my usual careful and most measured attention. All I seemed capable of holding in my mind and attention was the invitation that I had received. The day to day routine and administrative tasks that I was honoured to perform on behalf of his Majesty’s government were now little more than a distraction to me.

  The days slowly passed and on the evening of Wednesday the 15th December I retired from my office early and made my way back to my residence in the city to get myself ready for what promised to be a night I had been waiting for quite some time, and though I was not over surprised at my sudden elevation, I was perhaps begrudgingly disgruntled somewhat to realise I had been waiting for it for so long, such had been its certainty to me, if not at least to the Earl of Ranleigh himself.

  Upon returning home however I found that my city residence could hardly be described as a veritable hive of activity. My servants however seemed to have been instructed exactly what was expected of them and I was pleased to see as I entered my dressing room to see my best dinner jacket hanging in my wardrobe, and upon further investigation that a bath that had been run and was ready for me. This was strange as for some reason I could not seem to recall instructing them to perform these tasks, though obviously I had. Obviously my attention was fully on my imminent elevation and I had little thought of anything else at all.

  I will admit that on this evening I allowed myself a little more time than was necessary to complete my ablutions, for I did not wish to hurry. Indeed, I wished to savour the preparation and therefore the moment for which I had long dreamt of and anticipated. I dressed carefully and regarded my appearance carefully in the looking glass. I felt that I looked more than acceptable, and thus took to pacing the floor of my study, invitation in hand until the appointed time of collection by the Earl of Ranleigh’s coach slowly arrived. As the clock in the hall rang the last chime of seven I heard a loud knock upon the front door and therefore made my way along the hallway to greet whoever was upon the doorstep. The identity of the visitor was obvious though, so precise was the timing of his arrival. I felt my blood race. I did so admire precision and punctuality!

  Upon opening the door, I was greeted by the sight of an immaculately dressed coachman, gold braid and uniformed, waiting for me on the doorstep. He bowed politely to me as I stood in the doorway and announced in a deep voice that he was upon my convenience waiting to convey me to dinner at the Earl of Ranleigh’s Gentleman's Club in Pall Mall. He added also that we had better be underway as the snow was getting heavier, and was already deep and drifting.

  Judging by the chill blowing through the half opened door to my residence I thought perhaps a hat was required as well as a thick coat and so I took my best Derby from the hat stand and placed it on my head carefully. As I was doing so the coachman made his way back out into the snow, obviously keen to set off. I glanced in the mirror beside the door and adjusted my outerwear, reviewing my appearance. I must say that judging by how smart I looked that I am not in full agreement with the scribe Dickens, who insists that great men are seldom over-scrupulous in the arrangement of their attire. The reason for my fine apparel was of course that I was about to join the company of greats, and if I may say so myself, my reflection in the looking glass did indeed show me in a dashing manner. Finally fetching a pair of gloves and my cane to complete my outfit I was ready and stepped out into the cold night.

  The snow was indeed falling heavily, the wind fierce, blowing snowflakes around me and into my face, obscuring my view. I raised one hand to steady the Derby on my head and as I did so I also staggered towards the coach that was waiting for me at the kerb. What a sight this coach was! Two huge black horses stood blinkered and almost nonchalant at the head of the carriage, upon which covered, guttering oil lamps hung on each corner of the livery. There was one more at the front too I noted through the clouds of swirling snow that blew around it. The framework of the vehicle was ornate, and varnished a deep black. The coachman stood to one side, holding the door open for me as I approached, and he helped me mount the step into the inside of the vehicle, closing the door behind me.

  Immediately the raging of the wind ceased, and I was surprised to see four smaller oil lamps inside the carriage too. This was most certainly a sign of great opulence, and a satisfactorily expectant beginning to what promised to be most probably the most important evening of my time on this Earth yet. Then the coachman called out to the horses and we were underway, the glass covered windows now assailed by snow on all sides, whilst in stark contrast the interior of the carriage gave an impression of a most perfect calm and warmth. It was without question the vehicle of a gentleman of note. I brushed the slowly melting snow from the collar of my coat as I settled myself in the opulent interior of the carriage that had been sent to ease my passage to the Earl of Ranleigh’s club in Pall Mall, relishing our journey as I glanced through the coach windows as we made our way into the city.

  It was not a long journey from my London residence to Pall Mall of course, but the weather made progress across the city slow and cautious. Several times I heard the coachman call to the horses in alarm. As the journey progressed the snow continued to blow against the carriage windows and increased in intensity, almost as if the cold night was driven by some form or purpose, as if it were trying to enter the relative warmth of the coach itself. Yet I am not a man for fancies or imaginings, and so I cast my gaze about the lamp-lit carriage in which I sat., astounded once again by the opulence of the inside of the cab and dismissed these wayward thoughts from my mind. The oil lamp lit interior displayed two lions rampant on the crest of the Earl of Ranleigh which was engraved upon the inside of the elegantly trimmed doors, the entire cab smelling discretely but distinctly of freshly polished leather.

  Outside the weather continued to assail the carriage as we made our way to our destination. I gazed through the glass windows, observing the snow racing around the oil lamps, flakes caught in the reflection they were casting, like moths to a flame. Yet the movement of the vehicle did not trouble me at all, so well made were its springs and general construction

  Soon we had turned into Pall Mall, and eventually made it to our destination. The carriage drew to a halt outside the Earl of Ranleigh’s Club, and I heard the coachman steady the horses, his voice loud yet still trailing off in the strong wind gusting outside. There was a short pause, presumably during which the coachman disembarked from atop the carriage, and then the door opened and huge gusts of snow whirled in, the cold hitting me like a thing demented. The coachman helped me down the coach step and as I clutched my Derby to my head he assisted me up the stairs that lead to the rather opulent entrance to the club itself.

  The location of the club was of course no surprise to me at all, for many a time I had stood outside on the pavement gazing avidly as gentlemen came and left, busy about their day. This was not a frequent occupation of mine I should hasten to add, but infrequently I would feel the need to come and gaze on the good and powerful as they went about their business.

  I knew from a newspaper article I had closely examined that the inside of the club itself was both large and made of the finest materials, from the
ceiling to the spoons, though this could equally be deduced from the facade of the building itself if one paid heed to the surroundings with more than just a passing glance. Twenty-two wide and long marble stairs led up from the street to the entrance, almost as if the physical elevation of the building was imparting important information with regards to the elevated heights of the persons gathered therein. Twin columns stood astride the entranceway, flanked by two immaculately dressed doormen, gold braid about their shoulders, white gloves and uniforms gleaming like a brazier in the cold winter air.

  The coachman left me now and the doormen doffed their caps and opened the doors. Glad to be free of the onslaught of the weather I made my way into the lobby and approached the reception desk. Several gentlemen milled about the place, going about their business but the room was relatively quiet, no doubt due to the weather.

  “Good evening Sir.” said the tall thin man behind what I assumed was the reception desk. He was also suitably dressed in a stiff and smartly pressed uniform, the brass buttons on his jacket gleaming brightly in the lamplight. I presented my invitation, at which the staff member glanced at me briefly before ringing a small bell on the counter. A butler appeared from behind me almost instantly, and relieving me of my hat, coat, cane and gloves led me down a long side corridor at the end of which was a large set of double doors, from which a small chink of light seemed to glow beneath the door frame. The butler knocked loudly on the door and I heard a voice from within inviting us into the room. Holding the door open for me I walked confidently into what was obviously a dining room, and the butler announced my name.

  The area itself was not terribly wide but most definitely very long. A huge oblong wooden dining table ran almost the entire length of the room which at its far end consisted almost entirely of a huge roaring log fire. The heat was extremely comforting, and a definite remedy to the cold through which I had just travelled outside. It most certainly was a contrast!

  The table was set for a large banquet, tall sweeping candelabra placed along the table, candles guttering in their holders, throwing soft warm light across the vast array of silver cutlery carefully arranged with what looked like military precision across the table. Slender wine glasses stood at each setting, and I was surprised to see that I seemed to be the last guest to arrive, for I slowly counted eleven other gentlemen gathered about the table, most of whom turned to look at me expectantly as I arrived. I nodded to them in a general greeting, and the fact that no man there seemed be in involved in conversation with another seemed to convey to me that all of these gentlemen were in fact strangers, as was I to them. Still I gave them a cursory glance and a quick nod, for we were surely all cut from the same cloth here, that is to say all expectant to elevation to society’s crème de la crème as the beastly French are wont to say.

  My attention was drawn to the head of the table and was somewhat startled to find a young man sitting there, his chair back and his booted feet resting on the table. He seemed to lazily cast an eye over me, and nodded for the butler to close the door, which he did. The man with his boots on the table had a rakish air about him, short hair curled at the brow and dark in colour arranged neatly about his thin face. His eyes gleamed in the light of the log fire behind him, giving his pupils a tinge of red, the smile on his face turning almost into a leer, his blood red lips down turned. Yet at the same time a half smile played about his face.

  I felt as if I were a mouse led before an especially large cat, and then the man seemed to recover his sense of where he was almost; to gather his wits A large friendly smile ran across his face. Instantly the boots were removed from the table and he stood and crossed behind the table to greet me. He was surprisingly tall, and as he approached me he held his hand out, shaking mine robustly with a good firm grip.

  “Artemis Apollyon.” he introduced himself as, concluding with his title, “Twenty seventh Earl of Ranleigh.”

  “Your Lordship.” I bowed, giving the Earl his correct address. “I am greatly honoured by your invitation.”

  “Nonsense.” He said, patting me on the shoulder and leading me to the last empty seat at the foot of the table. He of course sat at the head of the table, five other place settings being laid out on each side. He did not seem to be in any hurry to return to his place however, as he stood motionless, looking at me with great interest for a short time. Suddenly he spun on the spot, waving his arms to take in a great number of portraits that hung about the four walls, some of which by their styling and general condition seemed to be very old indeed.

  “My forefathers.” he announced, laughing aloud suddenly. “A gathering of Ranleigh’s if you would.” He winked at me over his shoulder as I took my seat. “A clan as it were.” He laughed once again and returned to the top of the table. As he did so I took the opportunity to examine the other ten men who were collected about the table. They certainly seemed to be a mixed gathering. There were without doubt gentlemen of distinction amongst them, though it did not seem true of them all. I recollected what Mr Dickens had said about great men’s attire and considered for a moment if my opinion had been over hasty, but I dismissed it as no doubt all would be revealed sooner rather than later. I was surprised to see that the gentleman sat at the Earl’s immediate right bore an extraordinary likeness to my coach driver, Gabriel Moon, no less! Stifling the urge to laugh I took my time to examine the room instead.

  As I had already noted the room was long and relatively narrow, being filled almost by the dining table. The log fire was sufficiently placed at the back of the room as not to cause too much discomfort to the host who sat at the top of the table, but nevertheless it must have been considerably warmer at the head of the table than it was at the foot though I must say that I was extremely comfortable where I had been seated. A single door was placed on the far wall through which I had just entered, and at the end of the room to the left of the fireplace a wide set of firmly closed double doors stood leading to who knows where.

  “Gentlemen.” said the Earl as he stood at the head of the table. All eleven of us focused our attention on the tall man stood there, as if entranced by his pedigree and standing in society. “Welcome to my club.” We all uttered our thanks and the Earl took his seat. “Shortly I shall make introductions and of course later we shall all take a turn to tell a tale. But for now let us eat.” He clapped his hands and the single door through which I had entered almost burst open, a seemingly endless stream of butlers and servants entering carrying a multitude of platters, plates and voluminous silver tureens and began to place them on the table before beginning to serve the food.

  I must say I was pleased to eat straight away, for I had been a victim of nerves since I had received the invitation and could barely recall having eaten anything since then. As we ate the Earl continued with light but short conversation.

  “You must try the soup. This beef is superb!” he said apparently at random to some of those seated at his table. Several of the gentlemen about the table gave polite replies and so I found that the silence was not uncomfortable but companionable almost.

  And what food it was too! Everything I tasted was superb, my mouth watering as I ate it. As par for the course the bill of fare was of course in French, which I shall not bore you with here for I consider a flowery and feminine language, much given to the waving of the hands and shaking of the head. It is without doubt not a language fit for a gentleman. Nevertheless, the Julienne soup was a delight, the finely chopped vegetables soft and succulent. The first course consisted of a delicately cooked slice of whitebait followed by an entree of a huge roasted joint of beef with delicately cooked vegetables. A huge meringue was the dessert, and by the time we reached it I would consider that every gentleman in that room could not have eaten another if it had presented itself to him.

  I reflected upon the fact that if once I was a member that this was an indication of the quality of the repast available then I would be making fewer trips home at the weekend, for the cook at my country residence could no
t begin to parallel this repast, her fare consisting almost entirely of pale pies and country confections that hardly raised any interest to the palate at all.

  Eventually the servants cleared the tables and brandy was passed around, and cigars, matches, cigar cutters and ash trays appeared in front of us all. I poured myself a large brandy to assist with my digestion and cut off the end of my cigar and lit it. Quality had not been compromised here either and I exhaled smoke across the table in satisfaction Finally the Earl rose and clinked his cigar cutter against his glass to get our attention. This was despite the fact that towards the end of the meal there had been little conversation actually proceeding at all. I had spoken to the gentlemen on either side of me once or twice, and they had of course replied politely, but the top of the table may as well have been the other side of London, so distant was the Earl from where we at the far end of the table were sat. This may be a slight exaggeration of course, but I feel it is still a valid observation nonetheless. I did from time to time cast a glance at the man who resembled Gabriel Moon at the far side of the room but he always seemed to avoid my eye somehow, which I must say I took as a lack of a mark of distinction. In addition to this his apparel seemed not to be that of a gentleman either.

  “Gentleman all!” Said the Earl distinctly. “I hope you have filled yourselves with such fine repast, and now it is time for our entrance examination as it were.” He chuckled slightly to himself as if in appreciation of his own words. A huge smile played across his lips whilst several of the other gentlemen, myself included I must add, looked a little disconcerted. “I jest of course.” he continued. “It is merely a tradition. Each one of us must tell a ghost story and if I consider it to be worthy of my attention then I shall allow you admittance to my club.” He pointed to the large double doors behind him which stayed resolutely closed. “Through there. Yet never fear I know in my heart that all gentlemen in this room are more than worthy of inclusion.” He produced a small bag and placed it on the table. “I shall pass this bag around from which you shall all take a ticket. This shall indicate the order in which the tales are told. Whilst you pass the bag around I shall make introductions.” He threw the bag to the man on his left who he had referred to as “Flanagan” I seemed to recall, oddly ignoring the man who resembled Gabriel Moon altogether. I saw Flanagan draw a ticket from the bag before he passed it on, the small sack now heading in my direction. The Earl remained standing.