Page 84 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

Charles inwardly grimaced He supposed he did look rather like a half-drowned bilge rat. Damn Catmull for leaving him languishing on the front step in the middle of a storm!

“Grillon’s Hotel,” he said to the jarvey before climbing into the cab.

“Righto, sir.” The jarvey clucked his horse into action.

Back at Grillon’s, Charles washed and changed. Then, he dashed off a note to Gilbert Trumble.

Kate had referred to Gilbert as Charles’s old school friend. It had been stretching the truth to the point of hilarity. But Charles and Gilbert were acquainted. They’d crossed paths occasionally at Eton. Back then, Gilbert had been part of a fashionable sporting crowd. The sort of young man who knew everything about everyone. And with Charles’s uncle and grandfather currently in the country, Charles needed a good source of information.

As luck would have it, Gilbert was sufficiently at his leisure—and sufficiently curious about Charles’s motives—to join Charles for drinks at his club in St. James’s Street later that afternoon.

The club was unusually full when Charles arrived, rain having driven most gentlemen indoors to nurse their cigars and brandy. Smoke filled the main clubroom, billowing over red leather chairs grouped around crackling fires or tucked away in private corners, shielded by potted palms and pillars displaying bronze busts of storied club members of old.

Gilbert Trumble was seated in an alcove, not far from a grizzled elderly gentleman dozing by the fire and a heavy-set fellow who had retreated behind a copy of the Times. He looked much as Charles remembered him from school⁠—pale, fair, and entirely uncomplicated.

“Oh, Catmull’s not a member here,” he said after he and Charles had ordered drinks and dispensed with the necessary reminiscences about their days at school. “Not sufficiently high in the instep. He belongs to the Venturists’.”

Charles had never heard of the place. “It must be a new club.”

“It was formed a few years ago by a group of fellows keen on finance. That’s what they do over there, as far as I can tell, talk about financial matters and investing in the newest schemes. It’s all excessively commercial. Not for our sort, though there are a few men of breeding among the members. Sir Lawrence Glade is one of them. That’s him over there behind the newspaper.” Gilbert nodded in the direction of the portly gentleman reading the Times. “He’s recently betrothed to my cousin.”

“Perhaps he might be willing to provide me with an introduction to Mr. Catmull?”

“Don’t see why not.” Gilbert raised his voice. “Glade!”

Sir Lawrence lowered his paper. “What’s that, Trumble?”

“Come and have a drink with us.”

Sir Lawrence folded his paper and rose to join them.

“I say, Heywood,” Gilbert remarked as they awaited him. “You’re awfully keen to meet Catmull.”

“Is that so unusual?” Charles asked.

“It is rather,” Gilbert replied. “He’s the sort of chap most people avoid.”

“He has something I want,” Charles said.

Gilbert squinted. “Lady Katherine, you mean?”

Charles gave him an alert look.

“She mentioned you before Christmas,” Gilbert explained. “Something about a dog in Bond Street. I told her I’d known you at Eton.”

“What has that to do with Catmull?”

“Only that some fellows say he’ll catch her one of these days,” Gilbert said. “Stupid, if you ask me. Kate’s not the sort to be caught.”

Charles’s temper kindled at the thought of anyone being so disrespectful as to bandy Kate’s name about—and in connection with Catmull of all men.

“Better she should end up with Fenwick or the Duke of Whitney’s heir,” Gilbert went on, oblivious to Charles’s darkening mood. “They’d have her for her beauty. But Catmull’s different. I reckon he wants to put her in her place. Show her he’s lord of the manor or whatnot. He’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of Gibraltar, that one.”

Sir Lawrence approached them. “Trumble.”

“Glade,” Gilbert answered. “This is Lieutenant Heywood. I was at Eton with him. Heywood, Sir Lawrence Glade.”

Sir Lawrence shook Charles’s hand. “I’m acquainted with your uncle, Lord Carlisle. He’s spoken of you often, with a good deal of pride.”