“Oh, these are very good,” said Mrs. Corvey approvingly. “Upon my soul, dear, you have a talent for photography.”
“Are they to be used for blackmail?”
“Beg pardon? Oh, no; which is to say, only if it should become necessary. And if it should, this one — ” she held up the second photograph, with the Major lying on the settee — “can be copied over onto a daguerreotype, and presented as an inducement to cooperate. For the present, the pictures will go into his file. We keep a file, you see, on each of the customers. So useful, when business is brisk, to have a record of each gentleman’s likes and dislikes.”
“I expect it is indeed. When does it become necessary to blackmail, if I may ask?”
“Why, when the Society requires it. I must say, it isn’t necessary often. They’re quite persuasive on their own account, and seldom have to resort to such extreme measures. Still, one never knows.” Mrs. Corvey hung the prints up to dry. She turned the lever that switched off the De la Rue’s lamp and they left the room, carefully shutting the door behind them. The two women walked out into the hidden corridor that ran between the private chambers. From the rooms to either side of the corridor could be heard roars of passion, or pleading cries, and now and again the rhythmic swish and crack of a birch rod over ardent confessions of wickedness.
“Are all of the customers men of rank?” Lady Beatrice inquired, raising her voice slightly to be heard over a baritone bawling Yes, yes, I did steal the pies!
“Yes, as a rule; though now and again we treat members of the Society. The fellows whose business it is to go out and manage the Society’s affairs, mostly; the rank and file, if you like. They want their pleasures as much as the next man, and most of them have to work a good deal harder to earn them, so we oblige. That is rather a different matter, however, from servicing statesmen and the like.
“In fact, there’s rather a charming custom — at least I find it so — of treating the new fellows, before they’re first sent on the Society’s business. Give them a bit of joy before they go out traveling, poor things, because now and again they do fall in the line of duty. So sad.”
“Is it dangerous work?”
“It can be.” Mrs. Corvey gave a vague wave of her hand. They entered the private chamber that served as Mrs. Corvey’s office, stepping through the sliding panel and closing it just as Violet, the maid-of-all-work, entered from the reception area beyond.
“If you please, Mrs. Corvey, Mr. Felmouth’s just stepped out of the Ascending Room this minute to pay a call. He’s got his case with him.”
“He’ll want his tea, then. How nice! I was hoping we’d be allotted a few new toys.” Mrs. Corvey lifted a device from her desk, a sort of speaking-tube of brass and black wax, and after a moment spoke into it: “Tea, please, with a tray of savories. The reception room. Thank you.”
She set the device down. Lady Beatrice regarded it with quiet wonder. “And that would be another invention from the Society?”
“Only made by them; it was one of our own ladies invented it. Miss Gleason. Since retired to a nice little cottage in Scotland on the bonus, I am pleased to say. Sends us a dozen grouse every Christmas. Now, come with me, dear, and I’ll introduce you to Mr. Felmouth. Such an obliging man!”
FIVE:
In Which Ingenious Devices Are Introduced
The reception room was rather larger than a private parlor, with fine old dark paneling on the walls and a thick carpet. It was lit by more De la Rue’s lamps, glowing steadily behind tinted shades of glass. A middle-aged gentleman had already removed his coat and hat and hung them up, and rolled up his shirtsleeves; he was perched on the edge of a divan, leaning down to rummage in an open valise, but he jumped to his feet as they entered.
“Mr. Felmouth,” said Mrs. Corvey, extending her hand.
“Mrs. Corvey!” Mr. Felmouth bowed and, taking her hand, kissed it.
“And may I introduce our latest sister? Lady Beatrice. Lady Beatrice, Mr. Felmouth, from the Society. Mr. Felmouth is one of the Society’s artificers.”
“How do you do, sir?”
“Enchanted to make your acquaintance, Ma’am,” Mr. Felmouth said, stammering rather. He coughed, blushed, and tugged self-consciously at his rolled-up sleeves. “I do hope you’ll excuse the liberty, my dear — one gets so caught up in one’s work.”
“Pray, be seated,” said Mrs. Corvey, gliding to her own chair. At that moment a chime rang and a hitherto concealed door in the paneling opened. A pair of respectably clad parlormaids bore in the tea things and arranged them on a table by Mrs. Corvey’s chair before exiting again through the same door. Tea was served, accompanied by polite conversation on trivial matters, though the whole time Mr. Felmouth’s glance kept wandering from Lady Beatrice to the floor, and hence to his open valise, and then on to Mrs. Corvey.
At last he set his cup and saucer to one side. “Delightful refreshment. My compliments to your staff, Ma’am. Now, I must inquire — how are the present optics suiting you, my dear?”
“Very well,” said Mrs. Corvey. “I particularly enjoy the telescoping feature. It’s quite useful at the seaside, though of course one must take care not to be noticed.”
“Of course. And the implant continues comfortable? No irritation?”
“None nowadays, Mr. Felmouth.”
“Very good. Happy to hear it.” Mr. Felmouth rubbed his hands together. “However, I have been experimenting with an improvement or two… may I demonstrate?”
“By all means, Mr. Felmouth.”
At once he delved into his valise and brought up a leatherbound box about the size of a spectacle case. He opened it with a flourish. Lady Beatrice saw a set of optics very similar to those revealed when Mrs. Corvey had removed her goggles, as she did now. Lady Beatrice involuntarily looked away, then looked back as Mr. Felmouth presented the case to Mrs. Corvey.
“You will observe, Ma’am, that these are a good deal lighter. Mr. Stubblefield in Fabrication discovered a new alloy,” said Mr. Felmouth, unrolling a case of small tools. Mrs. Corvey’s optics extended outward with a whirr as she examined the new apparatus.
“Yes indeed, Mr. Felmouth, they are lighter. And seem more complicated.”
“Ah! That is because… if I may…” Mr. Felmouth leaned forward and applied a tiny screwdriver to Mrs. Corvey’s present set of optics, losing his train of thought for a moment as he worked carefully. Lady Beatrice found herself unable to watch as the optics were removed. “Because they are greatly improved, or at least that is my hope. Now then… my apologies, Ma’am, the blindness is entirely temporary… I will just fasten in the new set, and I think you will be pleased with the result.”
Lady Beatrice made herself look up, and saw Mrs. Corvey patiently enduring having a new set of optics installed in her living face.
“There,” said Mrs. Corvey, “I can see again.”
“Splendid,” said Mr. Felmouth, tightening the last screw. He sat back. “I trust you find them comfortable?”
“Quite,” said Mrs. Corvey, turning her face from side to side. “Oh!” Her optics telescoped outward, a full two inches farther than the range of the previous set, and the whirring sound they produced was much quieter. “Oh, yes, greatly improved!”
“It was my thought that if you held your hands up to obscure them at full extension, you could give anyone observing you the impression that you are looking through a pair of opera glasses,” said Mr. Felmouth. “However, permit me to demonstrate the real improvement.”