Page 7

S ilas had been invited to join John and Raoul at a dinner party on Saturday night, and since Ezra was out of town for a series of fights, he had eagerly accepted. He arrived at their apartment on Russell Square in Bloomsbury.

“Where is your lover tonight?” Raoul asked Silas.

“Newcastle,” Silas said. “It is his first chance to be in the featured fight. One last night and one tonight, and he returns to London tomorrow afternoon.” He relaxed on the divan in John and Raoul’s apartment. “Tell me again the reason for this party.”

“It is to celebrate the thirtieth birthday of the Honorable Sylvia Cooke,” John said. “She is a childhood friend of Magnus.”

“Will it be stuffy, with all lots of titled people?”

“Not at all,” John said. “Sylvia and Jess are hosting a tea this afternoon to which Sylvia’s posh connections will be invited. Then when they are gone, we will join them for dinner and dancing afterward, in what I expect will be very louche company.”

“Magnus and Toby have sent their houseboy and cook to help prepare the food and the decorations,” Raoul said.

Then they walked to the home the Sylvia and Jess occupied in a narrow house in a mews directly off Jermyn Street. It had the advantage of a prestigious address, yet was compact and perfect for an unmarried woman of the gentry and her companion. They had a housemaid and a cook. Because Jenny and Marian were a Sapphic couple as well, no one ever mentioned that Sylvia and Jess shared the same bed.

The three of them ran into Magnus and Toby on Jermyn Street.

It was easy to discern Toby Marsh’s hand in Magnus Dawson attire. His cravat was tied to perfection and he wore an elegant waistcoat, suit jacket, and knee-length topcoat.

Magnus’s waistcoat was black with a collar of maroon velvet. Toby’s was of a similar color but without a contrasting collar. They had matching top hats—purchased at the same time from the same vendor. They never knew which belonged to each, and wore them interchangeably.

The door was opened by a tall woman of athletic bearing, in a long dress in pale pink satin with a voluminous skirt. It perfectly complemented her English-rose complexion.

“I hardly recognize you out of your normal attire of trousers under a nipped waistcoat,” Magnus said. “I hate to celebrate your birthday, my dear, because it means that mine will soon follow,” Magnus said, as he kissed Sylvia’s cheek.

“And yet when we were children we were so eager for our birthdays to occur,” Sylvia said.

“You look particularly fetching today,” Toby said, as he kissed Sylvia’s cheek. “One could easily assume you were just past your debut.”

“Oh, that awful year,” Sylvia said. “Do you recall, Magnus? You were my constant attendant at all those parties. We must have danced our feet off.”

“We did indeed. You know John and Raoul, of course. And this is their friend Silas, who is a barrister’s clerk at the Inns of Court.”

“Happy birthday,” Silas said, as he leaned down to kiss Sylvia’s outstretched hand.

“Lovely manners,” Sylvia said. “You may keep him.” She turned to all of them. “May we offer you a cocktail? Will is engaged, but I know Magnus can find his way around a bar.”

“Indeed,” Magnus said. “There is champagne, sugar and water to hand, as well as some sliced fruit left over from the tea garnish. Shall I make a round of champagne cobblers?”

“That would be delightful,” Sylvia said.

Magnus led the way to the bar at the side of the sitting room. The wing chairs had been upholstered in a satin fabric of Chinese look, with colorful birds and flowers. Soft, natural light filtered through the large windows that faced the mews, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere.

“How was your tea party earlier?” Magnus asked.

Jess joined them from the kitchen, where she had been supervising the preparation of the hors d’oeuvres. She had a long face that was emphasized by her straight blonde hair, which hung like a curtain over either ear. Her dress was a dark green velour with a full skirt and a white lace collar. She kissed the cheeks of the gentlemen.

“The tea party went off without a hitch,” Jess said. “We had a string quartet, and a lovely table of petits fours and other desserts. We must have had twenty women in all, mostly those of London society.”

She turned to Sylvia. “You must tell them about your newest acquaintance, the chair of theSoup Kitchen for the Jewish Poor at Spitalfields.”

“Yes, Mrs. Rebecca Curiel,” Sylvia said. “I have had occasion to attend some of her charity fund-raisers and thought it appropriate to invite her here, so she could recruit other donors.”

“Mrs. Curiel?” Silas asked in astonishment. “Is her husband by chance a boxer?”

Sylvia looked at him. “I am not surprised you recognize the name. He is known as the Hammering Hebrew, and Magnus has mentioned attending his fights.”

“I have been on occasion, though I would not call myself a devotee,” he said. He turned to Silas. “Are you a fan of his?”

Raoul and John began to laugh, and everyone turned to them, as Silas’s pale face reddened.

“Silas is a bit more than a fan,” John said, when he was able to stop laughing. “He is the boxer’s lover.”

“That explains a great deal,” Sylvia said. “I mentioned that Magnus has been known to attend the fights, and that I might suggest he look for her husband. She said that she could not advise Magnus to bet on him, as of late he has been quite distracted at home, and she worried that will carry over to the boxing ring.”

Silas was still too embarrassed to say anything.

“According to his wife, he has no other talent beyond his fists, you see, and she fears what will happen to him when his career is ended,” Jess said. “It was unusual for a woman to speak so frankly about her husband, though perhaps Mrs. Curiel’s unfamiliarity with high society led her to be open. Or she considered me somewhere between the ladies and the help and could more easily confide in me.”

“I was delighted when the last of the ladies left,” Sylvia said. “I thought they would never go,” she said.

“If you didn’t want a party, why have one?” Toby asked.

“I owed many social obligations, and this seemed a useful way to pay them back. And I was able to arrange some introductions between wealthy donors and charity volunteers. Mrs. Curiel secured contributions from several of my more moneyed acquaintances. So it served its purpose.”

“We all must have a purpose,” Raoul said. “Of course you know of John’s broadsides. I know that he is champing at the bit to ask you about his latest project.”

“I do not appreciate being compared to a horse, my love,” John said. “But your infelicitous comment does allow me to raise my question. I have been chasing down a story for my next broadside. What do any of you know of this deal for Britain to purchase shares in the Suez Canal?”

“Just that the deal cannot go through until Parliament returns in session,” Magnus said. “Prime Minister Disraeli does not have the personal funds to advance her majesty’s government the four million pounds necessary.”

“Ah, but his friend Lionel de Rothschild does,” John said. “There are rumors that he will provide Disraeli a loan until the government can convene to approve the expenditure.”

“And what does Janner think of that?” Toby asked.

Janner was the nom de plume that John used when publishing his broadsides. He’d adopted the name because it meant an English person born within ten miles of the sea, and he thought it suited him, as he was a Cornishman through and through, connected to the peninsula where he had been born and raised. It also served a shield between his noble title and his rabble-rousing work.

“Janner does not believe the government should take any action without proper debate,” John said. “What if this deal turns bad? Who will be at risk? Her majesty’s government cannot be called to account for a deal it has not approved.”

“Then it will be between Mr. Disraeli and Mr. Rothschild, won’t it?” Raoul asked. The year before, after a scandal involving his boss, Raoul had ascended to that man’s position, as undersecretary for British affairs at the French embassy. “Wouldn’t that be interesting, if one of London’s biggest banks went into partnership with my government, which Britain still regards as a potential enemy.”

“What is the official French position about giving up partial control of the Canal to a British consortium?” Magnus asked Raoul as he sipped his champagne cocktail.

Raoul shrugged. “We would rather that control of the canal remain completely within French hands, for the purposes of security. However we are not opposed to the sale of shares to Britain because it will bring better political stability to the region.”

Silas didn’t have much of an opinion on politics or financial deals, but he enjoyed the company of his friends. It was much better than sitting at home alone and missing Ezra.

Ezra was providing him a source of both joy and consternation. He had never felt so deeply for a man before and he worried about that. He did not think himself a candidate for the kind of settled domesticity that his friends enjoyed. In the past, he’d been eager to taste the next cock, and easily bored by the same.

But there was something different about his feelings for Ezra, and that worried him. The man was a public figure, first. If he were revealed to be a sodomite, he’d surely lose his boxing career, and the consequent income. He was devoted to his religion, which Silas knew little about, but he assumed it was not welcoming toward men who loved men.

He had also noted the way that Ezra worried when they were in public, afraid that someone might recognize him and understand his inclinations. Magnus and Toby, and Raoul and John, had no such problems. None of them were public figures, and they were insulated by the titles that Magnus and John held.

The biggest obstacle, of course, was the marriage between Ezra and Rebecca. Silas could not imagine moving into the home they shared. They would be doomed to casual meetings for sex, which should have been enough, but clearly was not.

He was impressed when they entered the ladies’ dining room. The dining table was the centerpiece of the room and was meticulously set with dinner plates, soup bowls, and dessert plates, all arranged with precision.

It was the first time Silas had ever been invited to such an elegant dinner, and he struggled to fight his feelings of insecurity. Despite his friendship with these higher-class men, he was still a laborer’s son from Sheffield.

He marveled at the crystal glassware, including wine glasses, water goblets, and champagne flutes, glistened in the candlelight. Polished silverware, including forks, knives, and spoons, were placed in order beside the plates. The table was adorned with the fresh flower arrangements and candles flickered, casting a warm glow over the room.

He made sure to sit beside Raoul so he could copy his friend’s attention to the meal, and hopefully avoid any faux pas.

“Toby and Magnus’s cook Carlo has worked with ours to create an Italian-themed menu, to celebrate a visit Sylvia and I made to Italy last summer,” Jess said as they sat. “The first course is a stracciatella, a soup that combines shredded chicken, spinach, basil, peas, grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, and eggs. Sylvia and I first tasted it in Portofino, and it reminds us of that lovely sun-drenched city.”

Silas could not imagine having the means and the time to make such a trip. He hadn’t left London since he had arrived.

“I found it interesting that you invited Mrs. Curiel to your tea this afternoon,” Magnus said to Sylvia as they sipped the soup.

“Because of her religion?” Sylvia asked.

“Well, that, first,” Magnus said. “The Jews tend to keep to themselves, don’t they? Unless they are like Disraeli and have converted to the Anglican faith. I am familiar with a wine merchant by the name of Samuel Steingrob, and while we have knowledgeable discussions about wine I would never think to invite him to share my table. Nor would he expect that, given the dietary restrictions his people follow.”

Magnus surveyed the table. “And I am surprised that you invited a boxer’s wife, as well. I have seen some boxers engaged in their fights, and I would never expect to see one in my home.”

“Because you are a prig, Magnus dear,” Sylvia said, and the group laughed. “Just because a man works with his hands is no reason to exclude him, or his wife.”

“But surely there are different classes of men who work with their hands,” Magnus said. “We have had the man who makes our hats to dinner, and we have had excellent conversation.”

“But a hatmaker you would employ surely works with the elite, and is comfortable chatting while measuring your cranium. Would you invite a bricklayer? A blacksmith?” Sylvia asked, as Will appeared to take away the soup bowls. Carlo was right behind him with a serving platter of spaghetti Bolognese, which he served to each guest.

At least Silas recognized that dish. “I am but a clerk,” he said. “And you tolerate me at your home.”

“There is no but about it,” Magnus said. “You are charming and well-spoken, and you educate yourself constantly about the law. I should not be surprised to see you move to up to the position of senior clerk with a barrister any time. And I would be happy to speak with any man if he had something to say,” Magnus said.

“If you would take the time to speak to a bricklayer, or a blacksmith, you might be surprised,” John said. “I regularly speak with men on the street of all occupations and backgrounds. Some, admittedly, are common louts, but others are surprisingly well-spoken, though they have not had the advantages of education as you and I have.”

“I had little formal education past the eighth grade,” Jess said. “That’s when I was sent to a cousin’s to become a nanny. I spent my next six years in the company of children rather than my peers, so my education was stunted. Is that very different from a tradesman who left school at the same age?”

Silas felt comforted to know that he and Jess shared a similar background.

“I can see I am falling into a trap,” Magnus said. “And so I shall withdraw my comment. John, if you would allow it, I should like to accompany you sometime to see the kinds of people you associate with, and perhaps learn to adjust my attitude.”

“You are quite welcome to join me,” John said. “On Monday, I will be visiting some of the properties my father owns in the East End to see how the tenants feel about being displaced, with the potential of relocation to better housing.”

“How would you do that?” Lady Sylvia asked. “Surely the tenants must vacate their property for it to be demolished and then rebuilt. Where would they live in the interim?”

“That would be a matter for the developer,” John said. “The American philanthropist George Peabody has set up a donation fund to assist with the development of properties and the relocation of those who are displaced.”

They had finished their spaghetti, and once those plates were cleared Will brought out servings of roast rabbit accompanied by winter vegetables. “Carlo calls this course the secondi,” he said, giving the last word an awkward attempt at Italian pronunciation.

The food smelled delicious, and everyone began to eat. “It is important that those of us who have been blessed with wealth and education should show some leadership,” John said. “There are many laws in this nation which deserve adjustment, not the least those that face us because of our sexual situations.”

“As everyone in this room should,” Toby said. “Magnus and I face very different penalties, should we be arrested for the act of loving each other. As a lord, he might pay a fine, while I should be sentenced to hard labor.”

There was a collective shudder in the room. Silas saw himself in that comment. He was from a poor background, though his connection with Richard Pemberton gave him a small bit of status. And Ezra, despite his reputation and the money he earned, was an immigrant and a Jew. He would have no one to protect him.

“Enough of such stuff,” Sylvia said. “It is my birthday, and I command that we speak only of happy ideas. Jess and I were fortunate enough to see many great sights during our tour of Italy. The architecture, the art, the scenery. And of course the food, which Carlo has so deliciously imitated for us.”

Carlo was brought out to accept applause from the diners, and he announced that he had prepared a special dessert for them, a tiramisu. “It is a creamy dessert of espresso-soaked ladyfingers surrounded by lightly sweetened whipped cream and a rich mascarpone,” he said. “I hope you will like it.”

“I am sure we will,” Sylvia said.

They retired to the lounge after dinner to await the arrival of additional guests. During that time Will and the ladies’ maid cleared the dining room and prepared it for dancing.

The tone of the party changed considerably as the new guests arrived, many of them male couples, or those in which one man assumed the attire of a female. There was much commentary over attire and makeup.

The quartet struck up a tune, and couples assembled for dancing. Though Magnus danced one round with Sylvia, as a birthday courtesy, Silas noted he seemed happiest to partner with Toby, who fit quite well in his arms. He regretted not having Ezra by his side, and wondered if the grace with which he boxed lent itself to dancing as well. He spent some good time fantasizing about what it would be like to twirl around the room with his lover.

All in all, he thought, it had been quite an enjoyable time. But he still waited eagerly for Ezra to return from Newcastle.