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Marguerite pulled the carriage up in front of the club. Torches with flickering gas lit the entrance. Red sat across from Clara, shifting uncomfortably. He looked quite dashing in his borrowed coat and tie. Only his rough hands gave away his working status. He carefully placed his calloused fingers into the white gloves.
Marguerite climbed off of the carriage and opened the door. She gave Clara and Red a wink. "I might need to consider a new profession," Marguerite jested. "Better guard your job, Red."
He smiled at her. "You're a natural. I'll trade shifts with you any day."
Red stepped out and had to stop himself from going over to give Daisy a grateful pat.
"Careful, Red," Marguerite warned. "You're giving yourself away."
He caught himself and stepped back, holding out his hand to help Clara out of the carriage.
"Stay close by," Clara murmured as she looked up at the front of the club with apprehension. "We may need to make a hasty retreat."
"I wouldn't dream of going anywhere else," retorted Marguerite. "Now, you two kids enjoy yourself." Marguerite closed the door and climbed back towards the driver's seat. She jerked her chin to the park across from the club. "I'll wait right over there for you. If you need me, come to any window and get my attention. I'll be there faster than a hound after a hare." She looked back at Clara and Red. "Remember you're going into a den of snakes. Try not to stir them up."
Clara took Red's arm and said reassuringly. "We shall hope they don't even realize that we're here."
Marguerite nodded grimly and, with a tip of her hat, drove away.
Clara and Red turned back towards the club. The marble steps led up to the large brass doors. There were four columns holding up a neoclassical roofline. Clara looked down at her dress. It was brown in color and borrowed from Marguerite's closet. Marguerite said she had it made with the particular instructions for it to be the most non-descript, boring dress ever fashioned. The neckline was modest. The ornaments only the most plain. It had minimal ruffles and bows, just enough to get by in society. Mrs. Nan had worked wonders putting the shoe polish in Clara's hair, reducing the bright scarlet to muted brown. Everything about her seemed to say, "Look elsewhere for anything of any value!"
Clara put her hand in the crook of Red's arm. He looked over at her. The lines of his face were tense but determined. He pulled the envelope with the invitation out of his pocket and tapped it nervously on his leg.
"Stop fidgeting," Clara whispered kindly. "Pretend that you belong and no one will think otherwise."
He swallowed, but then squared his shoulders and stepped forward towards the door of the club. A staff member opened the door for them and ushered them in. He took their invitation and glanced it over.
"Viva les Quatre Portes," said Clara.
The man nodded that all was in order. "Thank you. I did not recognize you as one of our regular members."
"We are here at the invitation of Lord Trevor Beltza," Clara informed him, and then added, "acting on his behalf since recent tragic events keep him away."
The man inclined his head slightly. "Please pass along my deepest condolences on the loss of his mother. Let us hope that soon death will not hold us in its grip."
"Indeed," said Clara, trying not to let the man know how puzzling his words were.
The man opened his arm to the club, inviting them in. "This way, sir and madam. Please enjoy yourselves."
Clara and Red traveled past the foyer and into the main hallway. The floor was cream colored marble and laid in the center was the symbol of the room with four doors. Several footmen carried trays of drinks and appetizers. Red was so taken by their surroundings, he backed into one of the servers and almost knocked his tray from his hands. Only quick reflexes kept them from becoming the center of attention.
"Steady," Clara muttered, taking two champagne glasses from another passing tray and handing it to her friend. Red took a healthy swig, Clara was sure to steady his nerves, but she refrained, knowing that she needed a clear head for the evening. The glass was no more than an accessory, something to keep a well meaning host or hostess from feeling the need to come over and encourage her to partake.
Red and Clara strolled quietly into one of the main reception rooms. There were groups of people clustered about in conversation. The men and women around them were speaking in jovial tones with no mark of self-consciousness or worry. Unfortunately, all of the conversations they overheard were on more mundane topics of life and how long it had been since they had seen one another. It was the least threatening group of people Clara could have imagined.
"I cannot think why they are all gathered here," Clara whispered to Red.
It was as if her curiosity had acted like a catalyst, for it was at that moment a gong rang. The doors in the room opened and the entire party milled their way into the other room. Clara gave a little gasp as they walked in.
The entire room was painted to look almost as if they had stepped into an Egyptian tomb. The walls had crude reproductions of hieroglyphs painted on the walls. Seated on pillars around the room were real artifacts. As Clara and Red walked in, the wait staff handed them long red robes with embroidered collars, as if some seamstress had tried to recreate the look of the collars worn by the ancient Egyptians in cloth. Cane chairs were set up in rows. The other guests were merrily finding their seats, but many of them paused to gawk at the treasures in the room. Clara was relieved to feel like they were not the only fish out of water.
A servant in tails rang the gong once more with his white gloved hands. It seemed to be a sign. Clara and Red sat down and an elegantly dressed woman leaned over. "Hello! I'm afraid I don't know you."
"We're new," stated Clara.
"Well, welcome! Vive le Quatre Portes!" said the woman, raising her fist spiritedly.
"Indeed," replied Clara, raising her fist in kind.
A robed man walked to the front of the room and took his place behind a podium. The entire gathering rose to their feet.
"Vive le Quatre Portes! Vive le Quatre Portes! Vive le Quatre Portes!" the entire crowd chanted in rhythm, lifting their fists.
"We know that death—" started the man.
"—is just the beginning of life," the crowd finished.
"We fear not death—"
"—for with the sun we rise."
And then the crowd sat down. Clara and Red had followed along as best they could, but Clara wondered what other strange traditions might catch them off-guard. So far, the people around them seemed to be ordinary citizens, albeit of the upper class. But she did not understand the need for such secrecy and the fear which had been built up around their existence. What was it they did which caused her husband to fear them?
"Ladies and gentlemen..." The man at the front of the room's voice droned on. He spoke of upcoming business and meeting minutes from their last gathering.
But once he was finished with the administrative duties, his speech began to talk on a much more interesting bent.
"I thank you for joining us tonight. I direct your attention to the artifacts we have brought from the Egyptian fields. Tonight, I bring you tidings of great joy on our quest to end the finality of the afterlife. An artifact of great worth and unimaginable power has come into our possession." He pulled back the curtain and a man dressed in purple robes stepped forward carrying a gold leafed staff. "This staff is said, in the ancient writings, to be able to open the four doors each of you have built, to invite the dead to rejoin us, to cast aside the barriers between this world and the next. It was with great personal risk that this object was brought to you, to reunite you with those you have lost, to regain the bonds that death has severed." There was an excited murmur which ran through the crowd. The man silenced them, though, raising up his arms to quiet them down. "Alas! This object is missing a piece and, as such, its power lies dormant." The murmur ran through the crowd again, this time in disappointment. The man pointed at the top of the staff in between the teeth of the cobra. "A ruby of great value was stolen from this staff, but we believe we have located it. Alas, the funds to purchase this object were stolen from the personal bank account of one of our members..."
Clara felt herself go cold. She was almost certain the funds they spoke of were the ones her husband took.
"And so, we require donations from all our members to purchase this ruby!" the man continued, his voice filled with passion and furor.
And that was the moment that Clara realized that this group was getting hoodwinked greater than any gathering Wesley had gathered around a table. The Quatre Portes was after Trevor for money while also taking money from their members. They were bilking people right and left for funds.
"Trevor Beltza assures me that with your generous donation, the ruby is all but ours!"
A basket was passed down the row. Although the people around her dug deep into their wallets, Clara placed only a handful of low value coins in the basket before daintily closing her handbag.
"We are so delighted to have guests of Lord Trevor Beltza here tonight," said the man. His arm was outstretched and pointing at Clara and Red. Clara froze. The entire room turned to look at Clara and Red. She felt the cabbie stiffen beside her, tensed as if he were prepared to bolt. "I hope that we can entrust you to inform him that his request has been fulfilled."
Clara bowed her head in acquiescence hoping that her confusion was not playing across her face.
The room turned back to the speaker. "By vote of all those here, failure to produce this ruby shall result in Lord Beltza's death."
"Death?" squeaked Red, his eyes as round as saucers. Clara banged his knee to keep him in line. Nervously, she glanced around.
She thought that the people in the room were raising their hands to vote, but then they clenched their hands into fists and said in unison, "Vive les Quatre Portes."
It felt as if a giant hand wrapped itself around her heart and was squeezing. It felt as if her breath had been pushed out of her lungs. The hands released and once more, she felt her heart begin to beat. She looked over at Red. He was bent and pale. The room broke out into polite applause.
"Your votes have been noted. To his colleagues, please send Trevor Beltza our message and our commitment to his request." The man at the front of the room smiled at Clara and Red. "Shall we move on to the next order of business?" He looked down at his paper. "Ah! Yes! It is with great pleasure that I inform you that a precious member of our company, one whom we thought lost, has come back to the fold. Peter Nero has returned!"