Page 49 of Enlightened

Chapter Sixteen

Shortly after the marquess left, the servant who had first greeted David and Murdo earlier that evening approached them. He carried their greatcoats and hats in his arms.

“My lord,” he said, bowing to Murdo, then turning to David, “Sir.” He paused, a patient, pleasant expression on his long, thin face.

David glanced at Murdo, who looked coolly amused.

“I believe,” he informed David, “we are being asked to leave.”

The servant managed to demur politely, even as he handed them their hats and held their greatcoats open while they shrugged into them. The group of men who had watched the confrontation between Murdo and his father continued to silently observe, with grim, disapproving faces, as Murdo and David readied themselves to leave.

David wondered whether, despite Murdo’s unfazed demeanour, the judgment and disapproval of these men weighed on him. Surely it must do—it weighed on David and these men were nothing to him. To Murdo, they were his peers, men he’d been educated with, socialised and done business with. He didn’t have to like or respect them to feel injured by their treatment of him.

As they walked from the smaller lounge into the larger one, it was worse. Every head turned, and the murmurings of conversations came to an abrupt halt. But Murdo didn’t even seem to notice. He had spied Kinnell on the other side of the room.

Kinnell was ready to leave too, his companion from earlier back at his side. His eyes widened in alarm to see Murdo, and he turned away, making for the door.

“I hear a swift bullet to the brain is more merciful than one to the guts, Kinnell,” Murdo called after him. “If you don’t want your death to be slow and painful, do not lay a hand on your wife tonight.”

Angry murmurings rose at that further insult, and David took hold of Murdo’s upper arm, afraid he would go after Kinnell again and stir the ire of the men present. There was no doubt that Murdo was the villain of this piece in their minds, despite the accusations Murdo had levelled about Kinnell’s brutality.

Kinnell didn’t look round at Murdo’s threat, but he’d heard, all right. David was glad to see the hesitation in his step before he moved on. Perhaps he’d think twice before raising his hand to Elizabeth again tonight.

As Kinnell disappeared, a slight, nondescript man approached them. He looked like a clerk, anonymous and somewhat out of place amongst the elegant aristocrats surrounding him.

“Lord Murdo,” the man said, stopping in front of them. “I wonder if I might have a private word with you and your friend? I am the owner of this establishment, Mr. Robertson.”

Murdo glanced at the man and became, in an instant, the archetypal aristocrat, expressing with a single raised brow cool astonishment at being so addressed. To his credit, Robertson didn’t flinch, and at length Murdo shrugged.

“Very well.”

“This way, please.”

Murdo followed Robertson out of the room, and David trailed behind them, horribly conscious of the silent scrutiny of the crowd.

Robertson led them into the vestibule where they’d waited when they first arrived, closing the door with exaggerated care. He turned round, a composed fellow in his clerkish way.

“I am afraid I must apologise, Lord Murdo,” he began. “I understand that earlier this evening my employee, Mr. Hill, informed you that your membership of this club remained valid.”

David’s stomach churned as he realised what was coming.

“He did,” Murdo said.

Robertson shrugged, all embarrassed apology. He was good at this.

“Mr. Hill was mistaken. It has been so long since you visited that your membership has…lapsed.”

“Ah, lapsed, is it?” Amusement teased at one corner of Murdo’s generous mouth. He seemed perfectly unconcerned by this development, though David knew how good he was at concealing his true feelings.

“I’m afraid so, my lord. You are welcome, of course, to apply for membership again…” He trailed off, his carefully schooled expression implying, without words, that such an effort would be a waste of time.

“Tempting as that is,” Murdo replied dryly, “there would be little point. I am moving my household permanently to Scotland in the near future.”

Robertson was too good to let his relief show.

“Of course, my lord. I understand.” And with that, the little man gave a deep bow and stepped back.

An instant later, the front door that led onto the street opened, held in place by the same impassive footman who’d stood entry when they first arrived.