Pinnacle (ONGOING)

Chapter Twenty

     "Gentlemen!" A man said from somewhere over the sea of hats. He clapped to disarm their conversation, and obedient, the procession fell silent.

     "I am inclined to say as the head of White's council, you have chosen well."

     A cacophony of clapping jolted me, and I couldn't help but be influenced by the excitement the room rippled with as I found myself clapping along.

     "Now, I will call you all one by one to come and choose a ball from the box." He instructed, "A white ball is rare, but means you are in. A black ball- well... you are black-balled."

     The crowd bubbled with laughter at his pun, and I grew nervous.

     "First up, Lord Byron."

     I looked up and didn't have to strain my neck to view the tall young man. He was incredibly handsome, with uniquely romantic features and a pair of light eyes. There was something polished about his appearance that went beyond the average man, and he strode with a slight limp, which he attempted to disguise with the use of a gold cane. I heard a small gasp at my side which drew my attention. Campbell was so enraptured with the man that he did not even acknowledge my awareness of his state. Apparently they knew each other.

     Suddenly, there was a stomping and a great rousing dissonance from the crowd as they hyped up the selection process. Lord Byron looked unmoved and almost discomfited by the cacophony, but stoically he reached a hand into the wooden box which was before a row of older gentlemen. There followed, a deep quiet which was furnished with anticipation and interrupted only by the occasional sound of roiling balls as the man's hand seemed to search for a white one. Finally he let go of his breath as the object was secured, and even _I_ felt on edge at the otherwise silly display as I craned my neck to view the verdict. I saw it then in his hand, a certifiable white sphere, orange in the candle light.

     The assembly exploded in hurrah's and uproarious stomping. He wore a humorless smile, and placed the ball into his pocket, receiving a good amount congratulatory pats and felicitations from the crowd as he sought his seat. For a moment I felt a deep sense of jealousy of the man. All I wanted was one man of my acquaintance to respect me, yet this man who was bedecked in wealth and friends was indifferent.

     "Up next is... Lord Windle?" The man called, confused, and I could hear him whisper to the bouncer, James, saying, "I thought he was already a member?"

     "I am his son, sir." I said, raising a hand. I was lucky to have a naturally deeper voice for a woman, but even so, it was a touch too high for their ears and the crowd turned to stare. Campbell's face was aghast upon receiving this information, and I did not turn to face him.

     "His son, hm? I had not known he had died." The old man pronounced, skeptically. "Come forward boy, let me look at you. I obliged and wove through the crowd, nerves aflame. The man had donned a pair of bifocals and grabbed my chin to get a better read. Viewing him from this distance, I immediately recognized the man as the elder Mr. Wells. I secretly prayed he would not recognize me, and better yet, that the younger Mr. Wells was not present.

     "Indeed you do look his very picture, young man. Though, why are you not out in society, young man?"

     I had always wanted to look like my mother who was an unrivaled beauty in her youth, but for my current purposes, my likeness to my father was hugely beneficial.

    "I am just turned 16 sir. I will enter this fall."

     "I see." He said, surprised taking in my small stature. Again, I was thankful for this body of a 12 year old boy I had grown up loathing. It seemed every fault I possessed had worked in my favor for my current purposes.