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Pompeia's, one of the newest, most unusual, most exclusive clubs in all of London. Membership was, of course, by invitation only and nonmembers had no real notion of just what went on in Lady Arbuthnott's drawing room.
    Outsiders assumed Lady Arbuthnott amused herself by conducting one of the many fashionable salons that appealed to the ladies of London society. But Pompeia's was much more than that. It was a club, patterned along the lines of a gentlemen's clubV that catered to modern-thinking females of the
ton
who shared a certain unconventional outlook.
    At Augusta's suggestion the club had been named Pompeia's after Caesar's wife, the one he had divorced because she had not been completely above suspicion. The name suited its membership. The ladies of Pompeia's were all well bred and quite socially acceptable, but they were generally considered to be Originals, to say the least.
    Pompeia's had been carefully designed to emulate the fashionable gentlemen's clubs in several respects. But the furnishings and decor had been given a decidedly feminine twist.
    The warm yellow walls were covered with paintings of famous classical women. There was a nicely done portrait of Panthia, the healer, at one end of the room. Beside it was a beautifully rendered picture of Eurydice, mother of Philip II of Macedon. She was portrayed in the act of dedicating a monument to education.
    A depiction of Sappho composing her poems with a lyre hung over the fireplace. Cleopatra on the throne of Egypt graced the opposite end of the long room. Other paintings and statues illustrated the goddesses Artemis, Demeter, and Iris in a variety of graceful poses.
    The furniture was all in the classical style and an assortment of judiciously placed pedestals, urns, and columns had been artfully scattered about to give the drawing room the look of an ancient Greek temple.
    The club offered its patrons many of the amenities offered in White's, Brooks's, and Watier's. There was a coffee room in one alcove and a card room in another. Late in the evenings club members with a taste for whist or macao could frequently be found at the green baize tables, still elegantly garbed in the gowns they had worn earlier to a ball.
    High-stakes playing was strongly discouraged by the management, however. Lady Arbuthnott made it clear she did not want any enraged husbands knocking on her door to make inquiries about their ladies' recent heavy losses in her drawing room.
    A variety of daily newspapers and journals including the
Times
and the
Morning Post
were always available in the club, as were a cold buffet, tea, sherry, and ratafia.
    Augusta swept into the room and was immediately enveloped in the pleasant, relaxed atmosphere. A plump, fair-haired woman seated at the writing desk glanced up and Augusta nodded to her as she went past.
    "How is your poetry going, Lucinda?" Augusta inquired. Lately it seemed that every club member's burning ambition was to write. Augusta alone had escaped the call of the muse. She was quite content to read the latest novels.
    "Very well, thank you. You are looking in fine form this morning. Can we assume good news?" Lucinda gave her a knowing smile.
    "Thank you, Lucinda. Yes, you may assume the best. 'Tis positively amazing what a weekend in the country can do for one's spirits."
    "Or one's reputation."
    "Precisely."
    Augusta sailed on down the length of the room to where two women were enjoying tea in front of the fire.
    Lady Arbuthnott, patronness of Pompeia's and known to every member of the club as Sally, was wearing a warm India shawl over her elegant, long-sleeved, rust-colored gown. She was ensconced in the chair closest to the flames. From that vantage point she commanded a view of the entire room. Her posture was, as always, elegantly graceful and her hair was piled high in a fashionable coiffure. Lady Arbuthnott's charms had once been the toast of Society.
    A wealthy woman who had been widowed shortly after her marriage to a notorious