Daughter on his Doorstep (HC #2)

19: Pride Surprise Odd

Thomas had an energy about him that night. As they alighted from the carriage, there was a lightness in his step that had him almost prancing along the curb, running his fingertips along the brickwork and continually glancing backward as if to check Vincent still followed him.

Which of course he did, though his pace was far more docile.

In truth, Vincent was nervous: although this was not an uncommon feeling for him, it was still unenjoyable. And on top of the anxiety, he felt guilty for feeling anxious because Thomas was so clearly excited to show him his club.

Generally speaking, Vincent did not like Gentleman's cubs. They were loud, dimly lit rooms filled with cigar smoke and husbands breaking promises they'd never intended to keep. He would much rather be reading than allowing men he didn't know or like to coax him to a gambling table or offer poorly hidden insults about his quietude.

But Thomas was excited, so an anxious and guilty Vincent was going.

As a clock tolled ten in the distance, Thomas – with a look backward, of course – turned down a laneway to the left, taking them away from the lit street lamps. The alley was lined with empty crates with ragged pieces of hemp draped between, and Vincent made the conscious decision to ignore the rustling and squeaking that emanated from those gloomy depths.

Another, cloaked and hooded, had ventured down that darkened laneway, hurrying towards them. Whether it was the anonymity afforded by evening or the general unnerving nature of the alley, the man never lifted his chin, even when his shoulder collided with Vincent's. He stumbled back slightly, catching himself against the wall, and waited in vain for any apology.

Thomas stepped in front of Vincent, tossing his own scowl after the rude stranger. His hands rose to rest on Vincent's lapels, straightening what had been knocked askew.

Vincent aimed for humour. "Not one of you patrons, I hope?"

The other man simply shrugged. "Could be. Discretion is a key tenet of membership at Pride's." He patted Vincent gently on the chest, his excitement returning with a wide grin. "Come, we're almost there!"

Vincent swallowed his sigh and continued on after him. It was not that he thought an establishment owned by Thomas would be of ill-repute, simply that it would be as all gentleman's clubs were: loud and uncomfortable.

With a final corner, they entered a laneway that ended only with a large black door. Thomas fell into step beside him.

"Now, this will not be what you are used to..."

That was an understatement.

"... but give it a chance."

Vincent was determined to do just that.

They reached the door and Thomas leaned forward to issue two firm knocks. Then, he turned to grin at Vincent, one eyebrow cocked.

"Oh, and do try not to stare."

Vincent was thinking about thinking about asking what he meant when a small slot, about the side of a hand, opened in the door. A park of dark eyes slid into position, squinting into the shadows.

"Password?" The voice was nasal and irritated.

Thomas' eyes narrowed, though his grin stayed in place. "I hope you've not been greeting all our guests that way Jerome."

The eyes squinted, squinted again, and then went wide as their owner let out a gasp. "Oh, Mister Thomas! We did not expect you this evening!"

The slot in the door closed sharply, but before Vincent could even flinch at the sound the entire door was heaved open, swinging into the darkness behind it and revealing a squat silhouette of a man with a lit cigar in one hand. He released a puff of smoke as he gestured them inside. As Thomas squeezed between the rotund man and the wall, he raised a sceptical eyebrow.