Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3) (22 page)

“That is about the long and the short of it.”

“No wonder poor Connie was so distraught. She said she wished she might never see any of them again.”

“Miss Allamont,” Dev said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Her name is Miss Allamont. You do not have the right to call her anything else. Not yet,” he added in lower tones.

“True.” Reggie chewed his lip. “Dev, you will not interfere, will you, or cut me out? You will leave her to me?”

“Have I not said so? Good God, whatever makes you imagine that I
could
cut you out. She will not have me, Reggie, and there is an end to it. I shall keep well out of your way.”

“Thank you! You are the best of brothers! Although if you are keeping out of the way, I am not sure what you are even
doing
here. You could have stayed in town until the end of the season, and looked about you for someone else.”

This was so out of line with his wishes that Dev jumped up, and paced across the room. “I do not have to account for my movements to you or anyone else,” he said testily. “But perhaps I
can
be useful, now that I am here. Enhance her comfort, that sort of thing. If Barnett upsets Miss Allamont, then Barnett must be dealt with.”

“Dev, what bee have you got in your bonnet now?”

The Marquess chuckled. “A good game, I assure you. But we shall need Humphrey and his crowd of disreputable Oxford cronies. They will not mind coming down for a few days, and I am sure the college will not miss them. Quick, let us find pen and paper and ink.”

23: Games Of Chance

Lewis’s club for gentlemen was not as exclusive as some of the London clubs, but it was quiet and discreet, and pleasingly deferential towards its newest members, the Marquess and his brothers. Dev and Reggie sat in a secluded corner, hidden behind newspapers, waiting. Across the room, Lord Humphrey Marford sprawled in a wing chair, twirling a glass of claret and making himself conspicuous. He was as unlike his two older brothers as could be imagined. Where they were slim and dark-haired, Humphrey was splendidly broad-chested, with bright blue eyes and a mop of unruly blond curls. He fancied himself rather as a Corinthian, so his attire was stylishly flamboyant. Amongst the dark coats of the burghers of Brinchester, he stood out like a peacock amongst hens.

Thanks to the willingness of one of the club’s stewards to accept a sovereign or two in exchange for information, the brothers had not long to wait. Mr Jack Barnett strolled into the room as if he owned it, smirking at the stewards and nodding in an over-familiar way to one or two of his acquaintance. He stared at Humphrey as he passed him by, and Humphrey raised a hand and said, “Good evening to you, sir!” in a jovial way, that one who did not know him well might suspect to have been affected somewhat by drink.

Barnett murmured a greeting in return and settled himself in his usual chair. Stewards rushed forward with his regular glass of claret and a newspaper. For a few minutes, the room lapsed back into its customary quietude. Then Humphrey’s voice, loud in the stillness.

“More of your excellent wine, steward, if you please.”

When the decanter was brought, there was a murmur of conversation between Humphrey and the steward, after which the steward led him across to Barnett and made the introductions.

This was the dangerous moment. There was no hiding Humphrey’s identity, and if Barnett were at all astute socially, he would remember the name Marford, and immediately connect Lord Humphrey Marford with Allamont Hall. And if he made no demur at that, there was still the matter of Humphrey’s very flimsy excuse for requesting an introduction. Dev shuddered at the thought of it — a Corinthian like Humphrey, fitted out by the finest tailors in London, pretending to admire the coat of a provincial like Barnett.

But it seemed to have worked, for Barnett moved to a small writing desk and wrote a note — presumably the direction of his tailor. Even from across the room, Dev could see the laborious way Barnett formed his letters. Clearly his father had not bothered to pay for a decent education for his natural son.

The two stood chatting for a while, and then, in the friendliest manner, went into the dining room together.

“There,” Reggie said, with a relieved sigh. “That is the worst of it over. Humphrey has everything well in hand. The boy can always be relied upon, I will say that for him. Are you sure you do not want to go round to our little place of business tonight? It would be the greatest fun.”

“We will keep to the plan,” Dev said curtly. “And I would not agree with you that the worst is over. Tonight may be fun for Humphrey and his friends, but tomorrow will be a challenge for everyone.”

“So long as it is a challenge for Barnett most of all,” Reggie said. “Very well, then, brother, back to the hotel we shall go.”

~~~~~

The following night, there was no need to go to the club at all. A note from Humphrey had revealed that everything had gone well the previous night, and all was set for the final spring of the trap. Dev and Reggie dined quietly at the Royal Oak, and then sat in their room until the appointed hour.

It was almost dark when they set off, and the moon was not yet risen, so the streets were appropriately shadowy for the clandestine nature of their mission. The house they had chosen was supplied by a sister of the so-helpful steward, and a great deal more than a couple of sovereigns had been expended to secure it. But it was perfect, Dev had to admit — an ordinary house on an ordinary street, all extremely respectable and not in the least suspicious.

They knocked and were admitted by a nervous looking man. “Upstairs at the back,” he whispered, although there was no one else about to hear.

“Thank you. You may disappear now.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you very much, sir.” He scuttled off into the nether reaches of the house.

The two brothers left hats and gloves and canes in the hall with the many others collected there, and then trod up the stairs. The furnishings were plain, everything a little shabby and worn. Dev would have preferred something more ostentatious, but perhaps these nonthreatening  surroundings would keep Barnett off his guard.

There was no question as to which room to enter, for male laughter spilt out even through the closed door.

Dev knocked, and an abrupt silence fell. Then footsteps, and Humphrey’s face, a picture of mingled nervousness and innocence which was perfectly convincing.

“Dev!” he burst out. “And Reggie! By God, I thought you were the constables and we were sunk. Come in, come in. Shut the door. There! But what are you doing here? I thought you were with Great-aunt Augusta still.”

It was wonderfully believable. Dev knew that Humphrey had done a little amateur acting, but clearly the boy had talent. He made his prepared speech about Humphrey being secretive, and coming to find out what games he was up to.

“And here I find you with a little gambling going on,” Dev said. “It is too bad of you to try to keep us out of it, you know.”

“Only found out about it myself a couple of days ago. Would have brought you in on it in time, old fellow. Glad you are here now. Come and meet our friends.”

Four of them were, indeed, friends of Humphrey’s, although he stumbled convincingly over their names as though he had only recently met them. “And this is Mr Jack Barnton.”

“Barnett.”

“Beg your pardon. So muddling, all these names. And these disreputable fellows are my brothers. The one with the Roman nose is Dev. Well, the Marquess of Carrbridge, formally. And the one with the baby face is Reggie — Lord Reginald Marford, you know. The best of fellows. Do you have any objection if they join the game?”

Nobody had. Chairs were brought, brandy was poured, coins were tossed onto the table, the cards were dealt and the play began. Dev could see at once that Barnett was more interested in his illustrious opponents than the play. He kept looking round at the three brothers, as if to memorise their faces. He could hardly believe his luck, no doubt, getting friendly with a genuine lord like Humphrey, and now an actual peer of the realm — a Marquess, no less! He was savouring the moment, storing up memories to boast about later.

Dev could almost feel sorry for him.

For an hour, they played cards, gradually increasing the stakes but allowing Barnett to win just enough to keep him enthusiastic. Dev liked how Humphrey’s friends played their parts — one noisy and appearing slightly drunk, one serious and intense, one making a joke of everything, and one cheerfully losing every point. It was very clever. When Barnett made a big win, Dev moved in for the kill.

“This is amusing enough, but tame, very tame,” he drawled, in his most languid manner. “What do you say to dice? And shall we make it more exciting? A hundred a game?”

The others jumped on it, and Barnett, with his heap of notes and coins in front of him, smiled and nodded too.

“Does everyone have dice?” Humphrey said. “I have spare sets.”

Barnett shook his head. “I don’t have mine with me.”

“Here. Have these,” Humphrey said, fishing a small box from a pocket. “The usual, Dev?”

They had agreed on the game beforehand. One of Humphrey’s friends pretended not to know it, and Humphrey explained the rules. Barnett nodded wisely, as if he had known it all along.

They began. This was the heart of the deception, and if Barnett had had an ounce of common sense, he would have been wary at this point, for the stakes were high and large sums were being won and lost on a single throw of the dice. He could not know that the dice were loaded, and his so-called friends were switching his set about to ensure that he won a little, then lost a lot, then won a little and lost a lot more. A joke or a melodramatic gesture or some business with the brandy to distract him, and one pair would be replaced with another. And as he began to lose heavily, Barnett smiled and seemed to take it as a great joke.

One of Humphrey’s friends ran out of funds very quickly, but paper was found to write IOU notes, and the play continued. One by one they dropped out, until it was only Dev and Barnett, and the pile of IOU notes was growing large.

“I believe I am out of the game,” Barnett said, after a spectacular loss, trying to smile. “You have the better of me, my lord.”

“Nonsense,” Dev said. “You have had a run of ill-luck, but that makes it highly likely that the next throw will be in your favour.”

“I am not sure…”

“Well, now, Mr Barnett, I am a fair man, and a gambler to my core, so let us have one more throw, eh? You put in — oh, shall we say a thousand? And I will wager everything on the table. Winner takes all. How does that sound?”

“A thousand? I am not sure… I may have over-extended myself already.”

“Not quite the thing, old fellow,” Humphrey said severely. “Not proper for a man of any standing in society to refuse an offer like that. Very generous, if you ask me. Dev could just take his winnings, you know.”

“Perhaps I should do just that,” Dev said. “I have had an extraordinary streak of good fortune which cannot hold. I begin to think—”

“Just one more throw,” Barnett said eagerly. “A thousand, you said?”

“Well…”

“Two thousand, then.”

“I am still not sure. I stand to lose a great deal.”

“Five thousand!”

“What a capital fellow!” Humphrey said. “Such spirit! I commend you, Barnett. I wish I had half your courage. Dev, you cannot refuse.”

Dev pulled a face in what he hoped was a convincingly dismayed manner. “Very well, although I am certain this is a mistake. Barnett, your IOU?”

The note was written, the dice were rattled, the atmosphere was genuinely tense. If this went wrong…

Barnett threw first. A four and a five. In any normal game, that would be a good throw, hard to beat. He smiled, but his hands were shaking.

Dev made a great show of rattling the dice, of nervousness, of hesitation.

“Get on with it, old fellow,” Humphrey said.

He threw. A pair of sixes. Shouts of jubilation from the watchers, and a barely audible groan from Barnett. His face was ashen. But he knew what was expected.

“How much is it?” he croaked.

Dev rifled through the notes. “Fourteen thousand six hundred,” he said cheerfully.

“Fourteen thousand!”

“And six hundred.”

“I… I shall go to my bank first thing tomorrow, my lord. You are staying at the White Rose?”

Dev said nothing, scooping up coins, bank notes and IOU notes in one sweeping motion.

“My lord?” Barnett said, an edge of panic in his voice.

With a flick of his head, Dev dismissed Humphrey’s friends, who slipped quietly out of the room, leaving only the three Marford brothers and Barnett.

Barnett jumped up, his chair falling with a crash, and made a dart towards the door. Humphrey was there before him, his intimidating bulk blocking the way.

“Do sit down, Barnett,” Dev said. “I mean you no harm, I assure you. All I want is to talk to you. Your fortune is quite safe.”

Barnett sat, his expression bewildered, as Reggie pushed a glass of brandy towards him. “My lord? I do not quite understand.”

“Let us talk plainly,” Dev said. “You cannot help the circumstances of your birth, any more than I can help being a Marquess. That is just the way the dice have fallen for each of us. All we can control is the manner of our passage through this brief mortal life allotted to us. We can tread the path quietly, in humility, with a care for our fellow humans, or we can be brash and noisy and as troublesome as possible. You, Mr Barnett, have chosen the latter course.”

“What gives you the right to lecture me?” Barnett said hotly.

Dev waved the notes he still held.

“I owe you money — so what? I can pay you, and I shan’t be ruined, either. I shall come about.”

“Maybe so, and maybe not. You will find your new friends fading away once your circumstances are reduced.”

“And if I tell them how you bamboozled me? I’ve been foolish to let myself be led on, but you’ve tricked me, my lord, and I could go straight to the constables and tell them what you’ve done.”

Dev sighed. “Do not compound your foolishness, Barnett. How do you think
that
would turn out? The word of a Marquess against the word of—” He paused, and all that could be heard was Barnett’s ragged breathing. “Well, let us not get into that. You are nobody, Mr Barnett, and not a soul will stand up for you against me. I say that not to cow you, but as a simple statement of fact. That is the way of the world.”

“What do you
want
?” Barnett snapped.

“I want you to go away. I want you never again to trouble a young lady who is very dear to me. If you do this — if you leave Brinchester and move far away — then these notes of yours need never be repaid. I do not want your money.”