The Shadow of Great Britain

It’s worth noting that the Athena Club only issues 9 honorary membership invitations each year, and Sir Arthur occupying one of them highlights the weight of his achievements.

Incidentally, joining alongside Sir Arthur were Mr. Eld Carter and Mr. Charles Darwin, who had just received the Royal Medal.

As for British literary treasures like Dickens, Disraeli, and Tennyson, they were already honorary members years ago.

The doors of the Athena Club never ”swing open”; on the contrary, it always embraces those outstanding masters destined for immortality.

The waiter inside wore a dark tailcoat, though appearing unassuming, he needed no introduction to recognize any member, identifying them in his mind the instant they stepped in.

”Good evening, Sir Arthur.”

Though Arthur had never met this server before, it did not prevent him from returning the greeting: ”Good evening, Charlie.”

Charlie was the uniform name of every waiter at the Athena Club.

In almost any club of stature in London, there was a custom that, should you work there, your codename became ”George” or ”Charlie”. Members couldn’t be expected to remember every waiter’s name, but calling someone ”hey” or ”that guy” would affront the ”good” manners of gentlemen, so calling waiters ”Charlie” became an unwritten rule over time.

Arthur had just handed his cane to a waiter when another quickly took his coat, moving as smoothly as if he had served Arthur for years.

No one asked if he’d like dinner or needed a drink; the answer was already penned in the ”Daily Preferences Book” tailored for prominent club members.

There were always a few undisturbed seats reserved by the fireplace.

This was not a written rule but another unspoken one within the Athena Club — these seats typically belonged to the honorary members invited to join the club.

Arthur hadn’t even settled by the fireplace when he heard familiar laughter.

He looked toward the sound and saw several familiar faces gathered around a round table near the junction of the reading and card rooms.

Disraeli, in red and green, had his back to the fireplace, one leg draped over the other, holding his cards loosely, clearly indifferent to winning or losing.

Dickens, on the other hand, was the opposite. He leaned back in his chair, sleeves slightly rolled up, and despite his best efforts to hide it, a keen eye would easily discern the grand cards in his hand.

As for Eld, his card skills hadn’t improved over the years. Although he had deliberately pulled his chair back half a foot, his feigned professionalism couldn’t stop Arthur from understanding it was Eld’s little bluff.

And Darwin?

The fact that this poor man with thinning hair could sit patiently at the card table was already a miracle.

”Portrait of Benjamin Disraeli” painted by French artist Alfred de Orsay in 1835

”Portrait of Charles Dickens” painted by Irish artist Daniel MacLise (who had an affair with Mrs. Sikes) in 1839

”Portrait of Charles Darwin” painted by British artist George Richmond in the late 1830s

Eld glanced down at his cards, his brow flickering slightly.

It was an expression only familiar ones could recognize, not of tension but of knowing this hand was doomed.

Yet, doomed or not, before the end, Eld still wanted a last struggle, having bet a full ten pounds on this hand!

He first slowly sifted his cards through his fingers, then nonchalantly spoke, ”I say... Charles, no, no, Mr. Dickens, I don’t mean you, I’m talking about the bald one.”

Darwin was just sliding a card back into his hand: ”Eld, you looking for trouble again today?”

”Trouble? How could that be?” Eld casually tossed a 6: ”I’m saying, have you been... quite busy lately?”

”Busy?” Darwin shrugged helplessly: ”Not just busy, I just finished revising the Beagle’s ’Expedition Diary’, and the Royal Society is urging me to publish the research reports on species specimens collected during the voyage. Since returning to England, I’ve been occupied with these every day without a moment’s rest. Last September, I felt unwell, my heart pounding and sometimes with shortness of breath. The doctor urged me to cease all work and rest in the countryside for a few weeks, but I found that each time I returned to Shrewsbury and Stafford, my father’s and mother’s relatives would visit and incessantly ask about my maritime experiences. Once or twice is okay, but almost every day, I have to entertain two or three waves of people, which is more exhausting than cooping up to do reports.”

Dickens was calculating his hand but paused upon hearing this: ”And how do you feel now? I mean, your health.”

”Much better than last fall,” Darwin smiled: ”Ever since sneaking off to London alone, at least for the moment, that tightness in my chest doesn’t seem to come around as often.”