Chapter 3: Day Visit to the Club

Chapter 3: A Daytime Visit to the Club

After lunch, Elena and Mrs. Campbell changed into their afternoon gowns and stepped into their family carriage.

It was a small four-wheeled vehicle, pulled by a single horse, with only two seats. The roof could hold light luggage, and there were doors on either side. The front window allowed speaking with the coachman seated outside.

They set off for St. James.

Elena didn’t refuse her mother’s company, as unmarried ladies under thirty were not permitted to go out alone. They had to be accompanied by a married woman or a servant—especially since Lunnonton had no proper police force to speak of. Some districts might have officers, but most did not. Maintaining order fell to parish constables and hired night watchmen.

The streets of Lunnonton were dark as pitch at night. People soon realized that unlit streets provided cover for criminals, so patrols began roaming after dark, earning them the name "night watchmen." Thus, a finely dressed girl appearing alone outside would undoubtedly be an irresistible temptation to wrongdoers.

The Campbell residence was in the western part of Lunnonton, where the air quality was slightly better than in the city center. But as the carriage entered Charing Cross, the acrid reek of coal smoke laced with sulfur filled the air. Thick fog hung like a tangible veil, and the towering spires in the distance showed only faint outlines. Even under the bright midday sun, the entire city seemed shrouded in gray.

Yet as they approached St. James, everything changed. Fresh air swept in with the breeze as the carriage entered a long, tree-lined avenue. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled light on the ground—peaceful and serene.

The carriage stopped in front of a grand mansion, a truly imposing edifice. Standing six stories tall, it occupied the corner of two streets, dwarfing the surrounding buildings.

Two footmen stood at the entrance, of matching height and build—footmen were more expensive than maids, and their wages correlated with their stature. Mrs. Campbell let out a sigh of relief. At least this wasn’t some dishonest fly-by-night operation. Then she began worrying about her purse—this place looked expensive.

One footman directed the coachman to the stables while the other approached Mrs. Campbell. Elena presented her membership badge, and he immediately bowed deeper. "Ah, a newly joined member. Please follow me."

Puzzled, the two women followed him into a soaring entrance hall. A few steps later, they passed through an arched, carved doorway flanked by Greek-style columns, arriving in a lavish octagonal hall. A richly patterned carpet covered the center of the floor, and before a massive, roaring fireplace stood four asymmetrical armchairs. Tall side tables were adorned with palms, geraniums, and brass candlesticks. Oil paintings and metal sconces alternated on the walls, and a sweeping spiral staircase led to the upper floors.

Mrs. Campbell and Elena nearly let their awe show. The decor looked nothing like a secretive club—it resembled more the villa of a nobleman earning over ten thousand per annum.

The footman guided them to the armchairs. "Please wait here. Someone will be down shortly."

Once he left, Mrs. Campbell couldn’t sit still, carefully examining the oil paintings on the walls. Elena, with nothing better to do, looked about. Her untrained eye could only recognize the Greek influence in the archways and columns and the Rococo curves of the chairs. She guessed the designer of this hall must have had exquisite taste to blend two distinct styles so seamlessly.

"Apologies for the wait," came a familiar, raspy voice. Vera, veiled as always, descended the staircase gracefully. Only upon seeing her did Mrs. Campbell feel grounded—before this, everything had felt completely unreal.

Vera greeted them. "I’m glad you came."

"Are there… those who don’t?" Elena couldn’t help asking. What happened to those who refused?

"Good question," Vera smoothed the folds of her skirt. "Some can’t accept it and are sent to asylums by their families. Others are shipped off to the country. A few choose to end their own lives. In short, we treasure every fellow who makes it here."

She turned to Mrs. Campbell. "Madam, with your permission, I’d like to show Elena around upstairs. However, you cannot accompany us—only those like us are allowed above."

"What?" Mrs. Campbell instinctively objected. "No, you can’t take Elena somewhere I can’t see on our very first visit. I don’t even know you."

"Actually," Vera stood composed, offering a family crest, "you may know of me. My full name is Vera Somerset. My father is the Earl of Somerset."

Though Elena had guessed from Vera’s demeanor that she was likely a noblewoman, she hadn’t expected her to be an earl’s daughter.

"...The youngest daughter of the Earl of Somerset," Mrs. Campbell murmured. Having a noble husband, she was familiar with some society gossip. "I’d heard you were in France, accompanying your aunt."

"Clearly," Vera’s expression was hidden behind her veil, but her tone remained calm, "my father must devise a reason that doesn’t tarnish the family’s dignity."

Trusting the nobility’s reputation, Mrs. Campbell reluctantly agreed to let Elena go upstairs—but only if she returned before dinner.

Vera also explained how to summon a maid. The ground floor had a coffeehouse offering afternoon tea at no charge, and a maid could escort her there.

"Then, follow me," Vera said, leading Elena up the staircase. Like a proper guide, she began, "You’ve never been to a club before, have you?"

Elena hadn’t, though her father, Mr. Campbell, had joined a theatrical club, so she had a general idea.

Private clubs originated as coffeehouses. In the past, people gathered in coffeehouses to dine, drink, and socialize. These establishments didn’t just serve coffee—they offered diverse services, with some even selling insurance. Different coffeehouses attracted different crowds, allowing people to choose where to go. Over time, these evolved into the clubs of today.

Apart from drama clubs, there are many regional clubs akin to hometown associations, as well as hobby-related clubs for reading, badminton, travel, and so on. "In fact, the structure of our club is quite similar to those," Vera said. "We're just more secretive."

Entering the corridor on the first floor, they passed one closed door after another until Vera stopped before a sculpture at the end of the hallway—a winged child sculpture holding a lantern. She pulled both wings downward from the child's shoulder blades to its waist, and as she did, a small door silently swung open along the inner wall of the corridor.

"Wow," Elena gasped in surprise.

"Surprise," Vera laughed. "If an outsider sneaked in, they'd only find empty rooms."

She unlocked the small door with a key, lifted the lantern from the sculpture, and the two stepped inside. After walking through a dark passageway for several minutes, they stopped before another door. "This is the second line of security."

Vera produced another key and unlocked the second door, revealing a sun-drenched corridor. One side was lined with arched glass windows facing outward, sunlight spilling warmly across the carpeted floor.

"Welcome to the Freemen Club," Vera said, glancing at the clock. "Perfect timing. The weekly discussion is about to begin. I'll take you there first."

It was said that members living in the club gathered every Thursday in the banquet hall to enjoy afternoon tea while sharing updates on their week.

"We know every one of our kind in Lunden," Vera explained. "Some have nowhere else to go, so they come here. The club’s doors are open to all of our kind—we call ourselves Freemen."

The mansion had over eighty rooms, while the total number of quasi-vampires in Lunden was only about fifty or sixty. Excluding those sent to the countryside, those who left on their own, or those who lived elsewhere, roughly thirty to forty resided in the club permanently.

Of course, providing food and lodging for so many wasn’t easy, especially since their current appearances made it difficult to find work outside. Thus, the club had its own currency—credits. 1 pound = 1 credit.

"Many bring money when they leave home," Vera said. "Like going to a boarding school—though the food and lodging here are top-tier. If someone has no money, they can earn credits by working for wages. For example, ordinary servants are forbidden from entering floors above the first, but Freemen aren’t restricted. So those without money can work as servants or stewards to earn credits."

"Then… the ritual you performed to turn me—did my mother pay you for that?" Elena asked hesitantly.

"Yes. We charge a flat fee—two hundred pounds. A bargain for a new life, isn't it? Though not everyone can afford it." Vera shrugged. "Also, my guiding you today counts as credits. Some research ritual magic—research earns credits. Others who want to learn must pay tuition in credits. If someone no longer wishes to stay, the steward will cash out their credits and convert them to pounds to take with them."

As they spoke, they arrived at a wooden door adorned with brass inlays and intricate carvings. Vera grasped the handle and warned, "Do you need a moment to prepare yourself? You’ve probably never seen so many… unattractive kin gathered in one room."

Elena took a deep breath and nodded. The door swung inward, and she was met with a wave of crimson.

Deep red faces were everywhere, as if she had stumbled into an alien world from a horror film. Knowing no outsiders would appear, the Freemen showed no restraint, baring their fangs freely as they conversed. Crimson hands touched pristine porcelain and silver trays—the jarring contrast made her stomach churn. Never before had she felt so acutely aware that they were monsters.

Until she saw one person.

Literally, a *person*.

He sat on a sofa near the fireplace. Amid the crowd of crimson-faced creatures, it was no exaggeration to say he *glowed*. His hair was an exceptionally pale gold, shimmering under the firelight as if lit from within. Such a shade could easily look garish if not paired with the right complexion, but his skin was snow-white—a high-end version of vampiric pallor.

When he frowned slightly, it carried a natural air of mockery and boredom. Yet when he smiled, revealing flawless white teeth, there was an unsettling edge of danger—as if he might do something utterly unpredictable the next moment.

Noticing Elena’s gaze from the doorway, he didn’t look away. Instead, he winked at her. That small gesture instantly softened the aloofness his striking beauty imposed, making him seem lively and approachable.

Elena felt her vision clear, but she still whispered to Vera, "Why is there a *human* here?"

"Human?" Vera looked at her strangely. "There are only Freemen here. No humans."

Following Elena’s gaze, she added, "That’s His Grace the Duke of Berkeley. He’s a Freeman—our… master of this mansion."

*What?* Elena could hardly believe her ears. She glanced at the crowd of crimson-faced creatures, then back at the Duke, whose every movement exuded aristocratic elegance as he approached them. The question marks in her mind nearly materialized. *You’re telling me they’re the same species? This is just… unfair!*

Why did they all look disfigured while *he* got to remain so flawless?