e·lite
/əˈlēt,āˈlēt/
noun
noun: elite; plural noun: elites
a group or class of people seen as having the greatest power and influence within a society, especially because of their wealth or privilege.
• in which the darkness-loathing heiress meets t...
"I'm going to make Irene Grosvenor fall on her knees,"
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December 25th, 1925.
Two days before the meeting in Lord Grosvenor's office.
"Here are the pointers of what I've gathered from my source, sir."
Thomas stubbed his cigarette on the crystal ashtray in front of him, listening carefully to what his recently hired private investigator, David Barclay, had to say. Thomas had hired him right after he met the wonderful young heiresses in Charlie's yard, feeling instantly intrigued by the bunch.
Someone had recommended Mr Barclay to Tommy when dealing with a more pressing matter, saying that David Barclay has worked with MI6 before taking up the mantle as a private investigator. Naturally, the man has his tentacles all over society, low or high.
Mr Barclay had a tranquil demeanour, Thomas would say. The man was much like himself, calm in every situation. Tommy reckoned it was a product of his training as a spy. "Right."
"These pieces of information are precious, sir. So I would like-"
"I will raise your fee, Mr Barclay. Don't you worry." Thomas grumbled as he took a sip of whisky, staring at the fire crackling near his desk.
Mr Barclay made a face as he cleared his throat, "Would it be more comfortable if your brothers are not here? Judging by the delicate matter, we're about to-"
Thomas's gaze moved to Arthur and John sitting by the fire, "My brothers and I are the same people, Mr Barclay. I stay, they stay."
Arthur and John raised their whiskies when the private detective turned to look at them.
"Lady Irene Celeste Deschanel-Grosvenor was born on the second week of February 1899 after the mother, Grand Duchess Marguerite Louise d'Orleans, endured an excruciatingly painful sixteen-hour labour. Five years after her older brother, Robert, was born. The Grand Duchess herself was an exiled French royal, whose family ran to England in 1848-"
Thomas's head snapped toward the private detective, "Ran?"
Mr Barclay adjusted his glasses nervously, "Ran, sir. The Grand Duchess Marguerite was one of Prince Albert's daughters. And as we all know, Prince Albert, Duke of Chartres, was the brother of the last King of The French ."
Thomas, John, and Arthur shared a look bordering between appalled and amazed. Arthur ran a hand over his hair as John finished his whiskey in one chug, "Fuck me."
"Shall I continue, sir?"
"Fucking yes."
Mr Barclay wasn't too keen on the Shelby brothers' language; it showed when he made a face toward the brothers before he continued on, "Lady Irene's grandmother, however, was an English countess named Mabel Lavinia Newcombe, Countess of Buckinghamshire. She's a second cousin to Queen Victoria's children; they all share the same great-grandparents. King George the Third. Lady Mabel even grew up with her second cousins at Osborne House. "
