Ralph arrived at Torrington Place just after midnight. Hepworth had picked him up in his own carriage from Fallbrook House after he had excused himself from the planned trip to the theatre. As the carriage had drawn up to his house, he noticed how new it looked. It was black and shiny without so much as a streak of grease on the paintwork and Hepworth's family crest had been expertly painted on the doors. It was being pulled by four perfectly matched black horses that were pawing eagerly at the ground. Once Ralph was inside, he was impressed by the plush velvet upholstery that covered the well-sprung extremely comfortable seats. It was not the carriage of a man that was seriously in debt.
As they drove towards Greenwich, Ralph remembered the events of the afternoon in Haverstock's office. He had spent most of the time, along with his brother, finalising the plans for the evening. Alex had left soon after the initial meeting and had returned with Miss Rachel de Havilland. She was a woman in her early thirties who had arrived severely dressed in a dark brown shapeless dress. It was difficult to believe that she had spent twelve years working in Melrose's exclusive brothels and had been the mistress of some of the most influential men in the capital. She looked quite dull and frumpy in a lace cap that covered her hair and made the angular features of her face sharp and unappealing. She now ran a school for girls' who had been rescued from the streets of the East End. She certainly looked every bit of the schoolmistress now.
However, she had been a confident woman who spoke with authority and was not, in the least bit, intimidated by Haverstock. There was a familiarity between her and Alex. They always addressed each other by their given names, but Ralph could tell that they were not lovers. They communicated with the easy comradery of good friends who respected each other's opinions.
Deveraux, who had remained for the first part of the afternoon, had been in awe of Miss de Havilland. If Ralph was not very much mistaken, the young man was definitely taken by her. However, she showed no sign of returning his regard. Instead, she addressed his questions with cool, haughty hauteur, as though he had been one of her pupils asking the most basic, simplistic questions.
Haverstock had the original architectural plans for Torrington Place sent to his office. Once he had spread them out on his desk, Miss de Havilland made them aware of a few amendments to the floorplan. She then went through the rooms on all three floors and instructed them on how they would be used during the evening and by whom. In particular, she brought to their attention Melrose's private rooms. These were situated on the ground floor at the back of the house, looking out over the rear gardens. His rooms included a sitting room, where he was known to entertain society's most influential leaders and a study that was solely reserved for business meetings with his closest allies. A ball on this scale was the perfect opportunity for him to gather together the country's ruling elite. It was not just Westminster; he was trying to infiltrate, but financial institutions, such as the Bank of England. He was also gaining influence amongst the industrial magnets that controlled the country's ever-growing economy.
'This will be an important evening for Melrose,' Miss de Havilland had said when they had finished looking at the plans. 'He will have specially selected the guest list, only inviting those he feels he could influence. He would have spent some time researching them and will already know vast amounts of information regarding their personal preferences and habits. Melrose will make sure that each guest's particular tastes are catered for. He always appeals to their primitive, barbaric base nature. At Torrington Place, he encourages them, even if it is just for one evening, to abandon their moral code and indulge their wildest fantasies.'
Miss de Havilland looked at each of them in turn, then continued. 'The only reason why I am going back into that revolting and obnoxious place is that I want to see it annihilated. It has already destroyed far too many lives. Ralph saw her look over at Alex with compassion in her eyes and knew that she was speaking about him.
YOU ARE READING
A Woman of Honour
Historical FictionHelen Wakefield had thought that any chance of love had died many years ago. Since the death of her husband, she had spent the last six years as the companion of the overbearing Lady Helford. Separated from the son she loved, Helen buried all her em...