The Scoundrel and I - Katharine Ashe Page 0,60

Government if it distributes the sorely depleted Treasury of our Noble Kingdom hither and yon without recourse to prudence, justice, or reason?

Gravely so.

Irresponsibly so.

Villainously so!

As you know, I have made it my crusade to make public all such spendthrift waste. This month I offer yet another example: 14½ Dover Street.

What use has Society of an exclusive gentlemen’s club if no gentlemen are ever seen to pass through its door? — that white-painted panel graced with an intimidating knocker, a Bird of Prey. But the door never opens. Do the exalted members of this club ever use their fashionable clubhouse?

It appears not.

Information has recently come to me through perilous channels I swim for your benefit, Fellow Subjects. It appears that without proper debate Lords has approved by Secret Ballot an allotment to the Home Office designated for this so-called club. And yet for what purpose does the club exist but to pamper the indolent rich for whom such establishments are already Legion? There can be no good in this Rash Expenditure.

I vow to uncover this concealed squandering of our kingdom’s Wealth. I will discover the names of each member of this club, and the business or play that passes behind its imposing knocker. Then, dear readers, I will reveal it to you.

— Lady Justice

~o0o~

Fellow Britons,

I vowed I would not relent in my pursuit of information concerning the exclusive gentlemen’s club at #14½ Dover Street. I have not. I am now in possession of a curious fact. It is called The Falcon Club. Its members go by the names of birds. I haven’t any idea the reason for this, but when I know I will tell you.

It would be wonderful if I discovered them to be a society of bird-watching experts. I might even join them if I could spare the time. But I doubt I will find that. Bird-watchers are quiet folk, but not to my knowledge particularly secretive.

— Lady Justice

~o0o~

Fellow Britons,

I recently received the following communication through my publisher:

Dear Lady Justice,

Your impertinence astounds me. But your tenacity must be commended. I fear I have already, in fact, come to admire you for that. But, dear lady, if you wish admittance to the Falcon Club so desperately, you have only to discover the names of its members and apply to join. One, I regret to report, has recently left us. But four of us remain. Among these is myself,

Your servant,

Peregrine

Secretary, The Falcon Club

Impertinence, indeed. This Peregrine seeks to intimidate me with soft words and flatteries, common methods by which the powerful and wealthy cajole and control society. Rest assured, my head will not be turned. I shall continue to seek out wasteful expenditures of funds and lay them open to examination before the entire kingdom.

— Lady Justice

~o0o~

Fellow Britons,

The people of our great kingdom must not see another farthing of their livelihoods squandered on the idle rich. Thus, my quest continues! In rooting out information concerning that mysterious gentleman’s establishment at 14 ½ Dover Street, the so-called Falcon Club, I have learned an intriguing morsel of information. One of its members is a sailor and they call him Sea Hawk.

Birds, birds and more birds! Who will it be next, Mother Goose?

Unfortunately I have not learned the name of his vessel. But would it not be unsurprising to discover him to be a member of our Navy or a commissioned privateer? Yet another expenditure of public funds on the personal interests of those whose privilege is already mammoth.

I will not rest until all members of the Falcon Club are revealed or, due to my investigating, the club itself disbands in fear of thorough detection.

— Lady Justice

~o0o~

Madam,

Your persistence in seeking the identities of the members of our humble club cannot but gratify. How splendid for us to claim the marked attentions of a lady of such enterprise.

You have hit the mark. One of us is indeed a sailor. I wish you the best of good fortune in determining which of the legion of Englishmen upon the seas he is. But wait! May I assist? I am in possession of a modest skiff. I shall happily lend it to you so that you may put to sea in search of your quarry. Better yet, I shall work the oars. Perhaps sitting opposite as you peer over the foamy swells I will find myself as enamored of your beauty as I am of your tenacious intelligence—for only a beauty would hide behind such a daunting name and project.

I confess myself curious beyond endurance, on the verge