One Too Many: a story

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(This is my effort for this week's "Hinckley Scribblers" story. The theme is "The Club") ************************************************************ Jacob Bounderby was proud to be a member of the 100 Club. This was an exclusive London gentleman’s club, founded in 1767 for the leisure and entertainment of a select band of members, who were never more than a hundred in number. There were many well-to-do gentlemen in the city who would love to have become members, but as long as the membership list had its exact one hundred names, there would never be a vacancy. Naturally enough, when such a vacancy arose, which could only be by the death or resignation of an existing member, there was intense speculation as to who would be invited to fill the gap. Nobody was allowed to apply for membership – this could only be granted when three existing members proposed and seconded somebody and the committee agreed that the nominee was a suitable person to invite. It had long been the opinion of many members of the 100 Club that the invitation issued to Jacob Bounderby must have been a mistake. Might there perhaps have been two Jacob Bounderbys around at the time and the invitation had gone to the wrong one? Could the proposer and his seconders have been bribed by the nominee and kept quiet about it ever since? Whatever the reason, everyone now agreed that Jacob Bounderby was a thoroughly unworthy member whose presence in the 100 Club was much to be regretted. His antics had long incurred the wrath of just about everybody else, members and club servants alike. Jacob Bounderby got immense pleasure from extending a foot just as a bar steward, carrying a tray of brandies, passed by his chair. Of course, Bounderby never did this when the brandy was heading in his own direction. Members soon became wary of accepting an offer of a drink from Jacob Bounderby, when they discovered afterwards that the tab that had been charged was their own, not his. Should a rainstorm descend on London between Jacob Bounderby’s arrival at and departure from the Club, and he had forgotten to bring an umbrella, he would happily steal that of another member and, the next day, have a new name label attached to it so that the proper owner could never discover what had happened to it. Jacob Bounderby was keen on all the games of skill and chance offered by the Club, as long as he always won. If anyone had a spare ace up his sleeve at poker, you could be sure that the sleeve was that of Jacob Bounderby. On occasions when the places in the bridge room were filling up, Jacob Bounderby thought nothing of stopping the last player who was just about to beat him to the table by telling him that there was an urgent telephone call from his stockbroker, and then taking his place. In short, Jacob Bounderby was easily the least popular member of the 100 Club and the other members would have loved to get rid of him. But the rules were clear and undisputed. The Club had no means of blackballing a member or forcing him to resign. This had to be by his own volition, and however unpleasant he made himself, the other members still stuck by the code of the gentleman, inculcated in them from earliest youth, that they could not bring themselves to be unpleasant in return. The other option was for Jacob Bounderby to die, and unfortunately he appeared to be in robust health. Some members did consider murder as a possibility, but soon dismissed it on the grounds that doing a life sentence for a cad like Bounderby was too much to ask. However, one member then had a brilliant idea, which he took to the Committee who, after thinking about it at some length, agreed that it was the only option. The plot was hatched at the annual chess tournament which, naturally enough, Jacob Bounderby entered. People did wonder how he could cheat at chess – maybe by surreptitiously moving pieces when nobody was looking – but on this occasion no-one was all that bothered. The reason was that everyone was told in advance that Jacob Bounderby was going to be allowed to win every match and thus claim the first prize. Given the object of the exercise, it was a sacrifice worth making. The prize in question was certainly worth winning, namely two weeks at a luxury hotel in Antibes, just along the Mediterranean coast from Nice and Monaco. This was a clubman’s paradise of a prize that should attract fierce competition. Had Jacob Bounderby been anyone other than Jacob Bounderby he might have wondered at the lack of competition he actually faced. In none of the matches was he ever placed in check, and he won some of them in a ridiculously low number of moves. He just thought that he must be an even better player than he already knew he was. It did, however, amaze him that none of his intended cheats was ever needed. So off he went to Antibes, where he had a thoroughly good time. He played the tables at every casino within reach and cheated his way to a sizable amount of cash. He looked forward to bragging about his success when he returned to London, so as soon as he left the boat train at Victoria Station he hailed a cab and asked to be taken to the 100 Club. “Where did you say?” the cabbie asked. “The 100 Club in Piccadilly”. “Sorry mate, it’s not there any more.” “What do you mean, it’s not there”, said Jacob, “Of course it’s there. It’s been there for more than 250 years”. “I’ll take you there if you like”, said the cabbie. “You can see for yourself”. So that is where they went. They stopped outside what had been the 100 Club, its gates barred shut, the windows firmly shuttered. “There’s a new club just opened round the corner in Albemarle Street”, said the cabbie. “Do you want a look?” A few minutes later Jacob Bounderby found himself staring at a brass plate that read “The 99 Club”. He walked up to the front door where he recognized the doorman from the 100 Club. “Members only”, said the doorman. “I am a member”, said Jacob. “You know I am”. “Only if you’re on my list”, said the doorman. “What name is it?” “Bounderby”, said Jacob, “You know full well it is”. “Let me see”, said the doorman, “Boothby, Bordesley, Boston, Bowker – sorry, nobody named Bounderby on this list.” Jacob became aware of the sound of cheering. He looked up at the windows of the Club, from which as many as possible of the ninety-nine members were waving at him, all with broad grins on their faces.