The September Society

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

T he dim, final strands of sunlight were failing when Lenox returned home from Scotland Yard, but he noticed that Lady Jane’s house was bright. He thought he might go over straight away but then reconsidered and went inside his own house instead. Sitting at his desk by the window overlooking the street, he wrote Major Butler and Captain Lysander identical notes, asking in a line or two whether he might call on them either at the Society or in Green Park Terrace the next day in order to discuss a troubling criminal matter in which the September Society played a peripheral role. Sending them off with Mary-still flustered by the majesty of her position in the house and curtsying at nearly every word Lenox spoke-he wondered how the two men would react.

He called Mary in again after he had taken a more leisurely look at several of the letters he had received and only glanced over that afternoon.

“I think I’ll dine out,” he said to her.

“Very good, sir.”

“Could you please keep an eye out for the nine thirty post, and for any return messages from Green Park Terrace?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“And is everything here running smoothly in Graham’s absence?” He had no illusions about his own instrumentality to the organization of the household.

“Quite smoothly, sir, though of course not as smoothly as when Mr. Graham is here, sir.” Evidently thinking this a pretty bright answer, she curtsied with a little stumble.

“All right,” said Lenox. “Thanks very much.”

Only after these little means of stalling his visit did Lenox rise with the intention of going to Lady Jane’s. Damning himself as he did it, he looked his features over in the mirror and tidied his clothes. A sort of heartsickness deep within him rose into his throat, but, as he reasoned to himself, there probably had been a Lenox at Agincourt, and he might as well walk toward certain death just as boldly as his ancestor had.

Kirk, Lady Jane’s butler, answered the door deliberatively, as befitted such an oversized man, and greeted the visitor with a grave “How do you do, Mr. Lenox?” Still with some trepidation, Lenox approached the drawing room-only to hear two voices and the rolling, silvery peals of laughter that so clearly belonged to Toto McConnell.

“Charles!” she said effervescently, rising to her feet to kiss his cheek. “How well you look!”

“Thank you,” he said. “You look lovely. Is everything well?”

“Oh, I’ve been having a delightful time listening to my husband talk dead cats over supper.” She sighed dramatically and then chuckled. “Still, better than dead fish, which he always rattles on about after he goes north.”

Lenox laughed. As it always did, her charm made him feel warmer and somehow more gallant. In turn he greeted Lady Jane, who was more subdued but also had laughter in her eyes.

“It’s awfully good to see you, Charles. How is your case?”

“Not bad, thanks. I expect we’ll have the solution out soon enough. Sad for Lady Annabelle, of course. She seems a wreck.”

“She’s going off to spend the winter in France,” said Toto. “Apparently for her health. Duch”-this was her nickname for the Duchess of Marchmain-“tried to invite her into London so that she could be among friends, but Annabelle said no.”

“Dreadful, that.”

Throughout this Toto’s face still bore its initial enchantment, which Lenox thought rather odd. Then, however, looking at Lady Jane, he saw that she had it, too. He was too polite, of course, to ask after it, but his old friend spotted it instantly.

“Toto,” she said, “you had better tell him the news.”

“Oh, Charles, I’m going to have a child!” said Toto. Her whole body was alive with happiness as he congratulated her and was rewarded with a flurry of kisses. “Oh, and I don’t know if I’m to mention it, but would you stand godfather to the baby? Thomas wanted to ask you specially. Jane will be godmother, with Duch, of course. I always believed in two godmothers because one always forgets to send presents. Jane, you’ll be the one to send presents and little silver cups and things, won’t you?”

Smiling, Lady Jane nodded her assent.

“I know it’s frightfully popish to have godparents, of course,” said Toto, fairly brimming with joy, “but it’s a great tradition in our family.”

“I know,” said Lenox. “My father stood as your father’s.”

“That’s right! At any rate you’ll just have to do it, and the two of you will make a delightful pair on the altar-of course you’ll come to the baptism-and, Charles, I do hope it’s a girl, don’t you? They’re so much nicer I think.”

“Thomas must be awfully happy,” Lenox said.

“Oh, he is! He was sorry to leave Oxford when I called him down, but he is!”

In Lady Jane’s face, which he could read so well, Lenox saw that she hoped the baby would be the panacea that Toto and McConnell needed to cure their marriage’s intermittent discontent-and he partook of both the overt happiness in the room at the news and this quieter, naturally unspoken happiness underlying it.

The conversation moved on to baby names (Toto liked the thought of Henry for a boy, and the list of girls’ names she liked was close in length to a biblical genealogy-including Margaret, Anne, Anna, Elizabeth, Louise, and dozens of others, all of them to be immediately replaced by a dozen nicknames when they were actually implemented) and then to what schools the child would go to as a boy (Eton, though Lenox made a strong case for Harrow) and what sort of person the child would marry if it was a girl (one just like her father). The room was full of goodwill and happiness, and though Lenox was delighted for Toto and McConnell, a small, ignominious part of him was sad that he didn’t have the same kind of joy in his bones.

At one point in their conversation, Toto asked Lenox what he meant to do for dinner.

“I thought I’d go to the Devonshire and hunt up a companion or two,” he said.

“Nonsense! Have dinner with Thomas-I’m going to eat with Duch and Jane later to celebrate, and probably a few other people. I can’t bear to think that he’ll be all alone, fussing over his poor dear dead animals. Won’t you take him out and have a bottle of champagne or something?”

“Terrific idea,” Lenox said. “In fact, perhaps I’ll invite a few others, too-Hilary, Dunstan, perhaps my brother, that sort of a crowd.”

“Brilliant!” said Toto and then resumed her exegesis on the perfect shade of yellow paint she would put into the nursery if the child was a girl.

Lenox excused himself and stepped out of the room to write a few notes, to McConnell and about five others, naming a restaurant in Piccadilly called Thompson’s, which he knew to be cheerful. He was looking forward to it himself. Between the death of George Payson and his reticence with Lady Jane he hadn’t realized how low his spirits had gotten, despite his determination to direct all of his energy into the case. One too many glasses of wine and a night of good company would be just the thing, he thought, to leave him ready for a fresh try the next morning.

“I’ve written the notes,” he said, coming back.

“Oh, good,” said Toto.

“Will you be in London long, Charles?” Lady Jane asked.

“I won’t, I’m afraid. Too much of the case is in Oxford-I’ll have to return tomorrow. But it will be over soon, I hope.”

“I hope so, too,” said Lady Jane, with something indeed hopeful in her voice.

But here again the line separating friendship and love was unclear, and he couldn’t decipher her feelings, usually so plain to him. He wondered for the thousandth time about the man in the long gray coat whom he had seen visiting her, and for the thousandth time reproached himself for his vulgar curiosity. The special misery of undeclared love again rose within him, but he pushed it back down and listened intently to what Toto had to say about February birthdays and their astrological luck.

Toto and her news were what both prevented and saved Lenox from speaking to Lady Jane alone, of course. But there was a moment toward the end of their conversation when Toto went off to look in the mirror in the hallway and all of the unsaid words underneath the two old friends’ conversation began to fill the room as slowly and surely as rising water. Just when Lenox had built up some particle of courage Toto came back-and the two of them left Jane a little while later, both promising to return soon.