Lavender House was large, but in no way ostentatious. Only the marble tubs of fragrant lavender that stood on either side of its door distinguished it in any way from the houses to either side. The curtains were drawn, but shadows passed now and then beyond them, and the murmur of male conversation and occasional bursts of laughter seeped through the hanging velvet.

“It sounds like what goes on at those gentlemen’s clubs in Curzon Street,” Byrd said, sounding faintly puzzled. “I’ve heard ’em.”

“It is a gentlemen’s club,” Grey replied, with a certain grimness. “For gentlemen of a particular sort.” He removed his hat, and, untying his hair, shook it free over his shoulders; the time for disguise was past.

“Now you must go home, Tom.” He pointed the way, across the park. “Do you see that light, at the end? Just beyond is an alley; it will take you to a main street. Here—take some money for a cab.”

Byrd accepted the coin, but shook his head.

“No, me lord. I’ll go to the door with you.”

He glanced at Byrd, surprised. There was sufficient light from the curtained windows to see both the dried tears on Byrd’s round face and the determined expression under them.

“I mean to be sure as these sodomitical sons of bitches shall be aware that somebody knows where you are. Just in case, me lord.”

The door opened promptly to his knock, revealing a liveried butler, who gave Grey’s clothes a disparaging glance. Then the man’s eyes rose to his face, and Grey saw the subtle change of expression. Grey was not one to trade on his looks, but he was aware of their effect in some quarters.

“Good evening,” he said, stepping across the threshold as though he owned the place. “I wish to speak to the current proprietor of this establishment.”

The butler gave way in astonishment, and Grey saw the man’s calculations undergo a rapid shift in the face of his accent and manner, so much at variance with his dress. Still, the man had been well-trained, and wasn’t to be so easily bamboozled.

“Indeed, sir,” the butler said, not quite bowing. “And your name?”

“George Everett,” Grey said.

The butler’s face went blank.

“Indeed, sir,” he said woodenly. He hesitated, plainly uncertain what to do. Grey didn’t recognize the man, but the man clearly had known George—or known of him.

“Give that name to your master, if you please,” Grey said pleasantly. “I will await him in the library.”