Chapter 32
Wednesday, 3 October, 1888
Good morning, Doctor, the steward said, accepting Alastair’s coat and hat. I trust you have recovered from your adventures.
The doctor gave Ronald a sidelong glance. The man seemed to know everything. I’ve quite recovered, thank you for asking.
It will be no surprise for you to learn that certain members of The Conclave are quite upset about your time at the police station.
Alastair smiled wolfishly. Excellent. Perhaps that might play to my advantage.
Precisely my thought, Doctor, the man replied, deftly opening the door and announcing him.
Alastair steeled himself for whatever the quartet might choose to emulate. Instead of some garish display, they were dressed appropriately, drinking brandy and smoking cigars as if this was any other gentlemen’s club in London. His eyes bounced along the row of faces from right to left: Hastings, Stinton, Cartwright, Livingston. War, Famine, Pestilence and Death. They were far more impressive as purveyors of the Apocalypse than in their current forms. One of them was en mirage: Livingston, he thought.
Doctor! Hastings called, waving him in. Come, come, we must talk. Alastair sat in the proffered chair, and this time he took advantage of their fine brandy and a cigar. As Ronald lit the cheroot for him, Alastair noted a faint smile of approval on Livingston’s lips.
Hastings jumped in with both feet. We are pleased you have come to us. No doubt, the loss of your clinic has been quite a shock; however, we are willing to make good on our offer.
Alastair gave a lazy shake of his head, followed by a long puff on his cigar. The smoke curled toward the embossed tinplate ceiling. He wondered if he could still execute a smoke ring. I’m not here to take your offer, Hastings. I’m here to collect.
Collect? the fellow asked, face coloring.
I have learned that the two men who assaulted me also pressed the mob to sack my clinic. They are your bullies, and so I hold you accountable. I will be submitting a bill for damages—
That’s unacceptable! Cartwright spouted, right on cue.
I note you do not deny it was your thugs who did the damage.
Alastair shook his head. Certainly you do not wish me to go the police and swear out a complaint against them. What a spectacle that will be when the public learns you ordered a clinic to be destroyed in the very heart of Whitechapel. Extremely bad publicity—especially now, when the slightest bit of calumny might ignite a revolt.
Hastings’ face darkened, and his fingers tightened on his brandy snifter. Stinton’s expression told Alastair he’d rather be anywhere else than in the middle of this debacle. Perhaps that might be the wedge.
I believe recompense is appropriate, Hastings, Livingston interjected. As it was your decision to send these fools after the doctor without our consent, the money should come out of your pocket.
No, no, this is not acceptable! Hastings snarled. He pointed at Alastair. You will be leaving London today. You have proved too much of a disturbance to our community. What with your arrest the other evening—
Alastair rose, sending an elongated smoke ring in Hastings’
direction. The brandy had hit home, augmenting his courage.
After all, they’d started this war.
On the contrary, I was not under arrest at any time and have been completely cleared. In fact, I have been touted as a hero by some of the news reports. He took another lengthy puff, playing out the moment like an actor. However, I shall be reasonable. I will not submit a bill for the damage to the clinic, file a report with the police nor relate my story to the newspapers if you grant me one concession.
Hastings’ eyes narrowed. Which is?
A seat on The Conclave. Any of you may step aside, I am not particular—though to be honest… He shifted his eyes toward Livingston at this point, I would rather you stayed on.
Is that a compliment? Livingston teased.
More caution on my part. Better to keep an eye on you.
This is nonsense! Hastings shouted. You cannot barge in here and demand to be placed on this august body. That would require a vacancy, and none of us are inclined to resign.
There was a moment of silence. Alastair bided his time, concerned that his bluff might not work. He blew another smoke ring to calm his nerves. Come on, take the bait.
As Alastair began to despair that he’d overreached, Stinton cleared his throat.
Ah, actually, now that you mention it, I don’t wish to do this anymore, he said, glancing at his fellows. It’s been hard on my nerves. I’d sooner tend to my collection.
What is it you collect? Alastair asked politely.
Satsuma tea bowls from Japan. They are quite exquisite.
I am impressed, sir.
A nod. Stinton rose from his chair. I hereby resign my position on The Conclave. He reached into a pocket and extracted a palmsized theatrical mask cast in copper, handing it to Alastair. I designate Dr. Montrose as my successor, as is my right. He leaned close. They’re your problem now.
You can’t resign! Hastings growled, but the former member paid no attention. As Stinton exited into the antechamber and Ronald’s care, Livingston clapped as if he’d just enjoyed a magnificent opera.
Well done, Stinton. Well done, he called. He gestured toward the empty chair. Welcome to The Conclave, Doctor. I hope it’s all you believe it to be.
Alastair moved his drink and his person into Stinton’s stillwarm seat. He’d barely sat down when Hastings hefted himself upright and marched out of the room, swearing under his breath.
Cartwright stared first at the newcomer and then at Livingston in what amounted to abject panic.
I…I must go, he said, bolting for the door.
After another sip of brandy, Livingston pointed toward an ivory chess set on a nearby gaming table.
Do you play? he asked, voice honey-smooth again.
Yes, I do. Alastair finished off the last of the brandy, his ears burning from the strength of the liquor and his heart pounding from the exhilaration of conquest.
Livingston drew out a chair and indicated the board, Let’s start a game, then, Doctor.
Alastair joined him. Staring directly into his adversary’s eyes, he replied, I thought we already had.