The Lammas Curse Read Free Page A

Yes,
‘hell was other people’ and the Diogenes Club was heaven. Dr
Johnson is another who would never have gained membership. His
pithy maxim: ‘When a man is bored with London, he is bored with
Life’ was intended to sum up the eternal vitality of the City, but
to the members of the Diogenes Club it summarised exactly why they
hated London and shunned men like Dr Johnson who loved the sound of
their own voice. The one and only maxim of the Diogenes Club was
SHUTUP. Sound of any sort was prohibited. Last year, a member had
been excommunicated for six months for coughing. Another got three
months for sneezing. Appeals for clemency and mercy fell on deaf
ears. The club members were sometimes accused of being misogynist
but this was untrue and many a periwig earned a comfortable living
prosecuting such blasphemy in a court of law where the presiding
judge was himself a learned member. It was tacitly understood by
anyone with half a brain that the members hated everyone equally –
women and men, rich and poor, clever and stupid, intellectual and
illiterate, Catholic and Protestant, Tory and Whig, Jews, Blacks,
Arabs, Orientals, and so forth. They even hated each other.
    The Diogenes Club was a haven
for the unclubbable. Here, in the pin-drop silence of
unclubbableness where armchairs were arranged in groupings of one,
the members could at last breathe easy. There was no false
bonhomie, in fact, no bonhomie at all. There was no fear of the
meet and greet, hail-fellow-well-met, slap on the back, shallow
chit-chat, superficial repartee, or status conscious jockeying that
confronted them daily in the outré-kingdom. A member arrived. The
hall porter took his coat, scarf, gloves, cane and hat. There was
no verbal exchange. The member then signed himself in and did one
of two things – he proceeded up the stairs to his private chamber
to have a lie-down or he proceeded to the sitting room, library,
billiards or dining room. There was not a smoking room as such
since smoking was permitted in all of the rooms and even on the
stairs. Generally, he located a newspaper or a book, scanned for a
vacant seat, and began to read. Sleeping was permitted but snoring
was grounds for a black ball – three such balls and eviction was
swift and merciless. However, it had been five years since a member
had been black-balled for snoring as members were mindful to first
go to their rooms and avail themselves of a nap. The butlers (they
were never referred to as waiters) knew which member preferred what
drink and words were superfluous. A raised brow, a nod, a grimace,
was sufficient to convey the idea that a whiskey or brandy or
coffee was required. Chess boards were positioned in alcoves to
muffle the scrape or clink of figurines on the board should any
member wish to play a game, more often than not the members enjoyed
pitting their wits against themselves to limit excitement, likewise
for billiards. The dining room was designed for minimal
interaction. Small dinner tables were set for one, usually facing a
wall, a marble column or a Chinese screen, minimizing the chance of
eye-contact. Under no circumstance was a table to be found facing a
window that might give onto the street, reminding an inmate that
the world was still at large.
    There was, however, one room
where talking was permitted. It was a darkly panelled room,
sparingly furnished, situated on the domestic side of the marble
entrance hall. This was called The Stranger’s Room. A member could
take a visitor into this room and talk freely, albeit in hushed
tones. It was to this room that Dr Watson was ushered when he came
to speak to Mr Mycroft Holmes.
    Mycroft waited until the door
was fully closed, waving his visitor to a leather wing chair
adjacent to the fireplace where a small coal fire burned quietly in
the grate. “Congratulations on solving that nasty business in
Devon, old chap. Who could have foreseen such a dastardly turn of
events to rear their ugly head ten years after