The Lord’s Desperate Pledge Page 13

  “That is it, Mr. Gentry.” In a kinder tone, she said, “I wonder if I might advise you.”

  Mr. Gentry seemed to perk. “You will give me some trick to winning? he asked.

  “No,” Lily said firmly. “I will give you a trick to avoid losing. Do not play—I imagine you are skilled at a great many things, but piquet is not your game.”

  Mr. Gentry hung his head. “I was foolish, I suppose. I told my friends I could beat both you and Lord Ashworth if I had a mind and they laughed at me. So then, I was determined, you see.”

  “I do see,” Lily said. “Though, if they are really your friends, they will not mind you being foolish on occasion. We have all been guilty of it.”

  Mr. Gentry nodded sadly and said, “I will settle the debt promptly.”

  Lily smiled, hoping she had convinced Mr. Gentry to cease throwing away his money. Her attention was drawn to an audible gasp coming from Lord Ashworth’s table. Lily presumed the lord was trouncing Mr. Shine.

  “Let us remove and watch the play,” she said, rising. Lily held out a high hope that Lord Ashworth might dispatch Mr. Shine speedily and there would be time for her to play him. That was, if Mr. Shine had the stomach for it, which he might not after playing the lord and noting how little his scholarship of the game had actually advanced his prospects.

  Mr. Gentry nodded resignedly, and they moved to Lord Ashworth and Mr. Shine’s table.

  As Lily gazed down at the scene, she at first could not quite discern what she was seeing. What she had expected to see on the two men’s faces were confidence from Lord Ashworth and chagrin from Mr. Shine. The picture was a deal more muddled than that. Lord Ashworth appeared some combination of irritated and confused. Mr. Shine seemed nervous and elated.

  Mr. Medham, the young gentleman who had played Lord Ashworth earlier, stood next to her and said softly, “Extraordinary. That fellow is about to prevail.”

  Lily did not see what was so extraordinary about Lord Ashworth prevailing. After all, he was a very good player and Mr. Shine was a very bad player. The outcome could not be more predictable.

  The gentleman on the other side of Mr. Medham answered him. “His reputation will be made. It is not often that Lord Ashworth loses.” The gentleman colored slightly, seeming to realize that she was nearby. Since Lady Montague’s party, she had grown used to being known for her victories over Lord Ashworth. “Not often, anyway,” he murmured.

  Lily turned back to the game. It was impossible that Lord Ashworth lose to Mr. Shine. She had played the man; she knew precisely how unskilled he was. Something was not right.

  Lily moved behind Mr. Shine to see his hand. It was strong.

  There was some mystery here. Perhaps Lord Ashworth had been taken ill and fought on despite it, thereby affecting his play. Or more likely, perhaps Mr. Shine had all along been an expert and had concealed that fact—over-confidence could lead to ruin and Lord Ashworth may have fallen for the ruse. If that were the case, Lily must admit she’d fallen for the ruse, too. It was a strategy as old as the hills—lose one gamble with utter incompetence and then come back for a far larger wager and reveal one’s true skill. Lily would never lower herself to such tricks, but she did not doubt the oily Mr. Shine would.

  Could he actually be that good? And then, Mr. Shine was a cousin to Lady Carradine. Certainly, he would not dare introduce such trickery into her club. So, if it was not that, what was happening? She dearly wished to know the cause of this strange circumstance.

  As she had often done, when she looked for an item either about her somewhere or in her mind, Lily pulled back her view. Rather than attend to one thing or the other, she wished to see the scene in its entirety. Often, when she looked at a thing in such a manner, something would leap out at her and call her attention to it.

  As if gazing at a painting, Lily saw the tiniest scratch in the wood near the corner of the table—it was new, it had not been there the last time she’d come. There was a faint ink stain on one of Mr. Shine’s fat fingers. Lord Ashworth’s fingernails were buffed, and there was the smallest droplet on the table near the corner of one of Mr. Shine’s cards, as if someone had been careless of a drink. Her eyes roved over the slight fray on one of Mr. Shine’s cuffs, the minutest imperfection in the weave of Lord Ashworth’s cravat, the cards laid down that had been played…

  Suddenly, like a rising flame on a candle just lit, she unlocked the mystery. It was there in Lord Ashworth’s hand, it was there laid on the table.

  It was the backs of the cards.

  Lady Carradine’s packs had so far been all alike. It was clear she used a skilled printer to ensure no defects. This pack of cards was similar, but not identical to the cards she’d seen before. Nor were they identical to one another. The changes were subtle indeed, but Lily could throw each version of the card up in her mind and examine them minutely.

  Lady Carradine’s regular packs and this pack depicted similar scenes on the back—a garden gate enshrined with blooming pink roses. It was a busy pattern with greenery in the background and a gold-leafed border. The pack that was in play between Lord Ashworth and Mr. Shine was similar, but showed the smallest of differences between cards.

  The tiny lock on the gate was not uniform. The rose closest to the lock did not contain the same amount of petals.

  Lily stared at the cards and let her mind do its work. Searching, searching for a pattern.

  It came to her in a moment. There appeared to be four variations in the locks, they must be the suits. The number of petals ran widely—they must indicate the number of the card.

  To confirm her idea, she took note of the cards in Mr. Shine’s hand. If she were right, when he laid them face down, she would be able to decipher them using the lock shape and number of petals.

  As cards were played, Lily watched Mr. Shine lay down a jack of hearts. He took the trick and laid it face down. Yes, just as she’d thought—the lock slightly oblong and the petals numbering eleven. The cards were marked. She was certain Mr. Shine was the author of it, as it thoroughly explained his newfound success.

  He’d been clever about it. The shapes of the locks were only minutely different and not at all obvious. The heart was not shown as a heart shape, which might easily have given away the cheat, but rather just a hair more oblong than the spade lock. The diamond had one slightly sharpened corner and the club had the smallest round protrusion.

  The same had been done with the petals, they were not boldly shown. In fact, for the higher cards, some petals only peeked out from behind others.

  As she finished working out the system, Mr. Shine laid down his last card. He had won the match.

  Hushed whispers swirled around her and the observers moved away. As if they were a flock of birds startled to flight, the gentlemen went running for their overcoats. Lily supposed all who had witnessed the game wished to be the first to tell their friends that there was a new gambler in town. She understood that gentlemen often stayed at their clubs until dawn and it was just on half past one—these fellows would race to be the first through the door to tell the tale.

  As the room emptied, and Lady Carradine followed her guests to the front of the house to supervise various departures, Lily moved closer to the table.

  “I congratulate you, Mr. Shine,” Lord Ashworth said stiffly. “It was a well-played game.”

  Mr. Shine graciously nodded. “I have made piquet my study, my lord, and hope I have grown proficient.”

  Lily picked up a card and said, “I beg to differ, Mr. Shine.”

  Both gentlemen looked up, surprised.

  “Lord Ashworth,” Lily said steadily. “These cards are marked.”

  “What?” Lord Ashworth exclaimed, picking up some of the discards. He stared hard at them.

  Mr. Shine had paled, but he did not falter. “Do not be ridiculous, Miss Farnsworth. As much as we have enjoyed your presence here, I am afraid an insult such as this must lead to an end to your welcome at our club. You may take your foolish notions e
lsewhere.”

  Lily did not respond to this spirited defense. She only said, “See here, these small locks on the gates are slightly different shaped, they are the suits. And this rose here, the number of petals changes to match the number of the card.”

  As Lord Ashworth bent over Lily’s hand to look closer, Mr. Shine rose and drew a pistol from his coat. He slowly backed away.

  “Mr. Shine!” Lily cried.

  Lord Ashworth laid a hand on her arm to caution her.

  Mr. Shine had reached the door. Though Lily fully expected the man would make his escape, he ominously closed it and turned the lock. He advanced back to them in quick steps.

  “One word from either of you,” Mr. Shine said, “and I’ll shoot one of you on the spot. There is a back way out and I can be on my way before anybody gets here with a key. Stand up, Ashworth.”

  Lily was horrified at the specter of this new Mr. Shine, and she was horrified at herself. Why had she not thought it through? Why had she not realized that to corner a man who was willing to mark cards would be exceedingly dangerous? She should have bided her time and told Lord Ashworth privately, who then could have taken up the matter with Lady Carradine.

  Certainly, Lady Carradine could not know of it?

  Certainly, when Lady Carradine returned and found the doors locked, she would perceive that something was wrong.

  Certainly, someone must come to their aid.

  *

  Lady Carradine had been exceedingly surprised that Lord Ashworth had lost to Mr. Shine, but she did not have time to wonder at it. She had hustled out the last of the guests, but for the lord and Miss Farnsworth who had stayed behind. She supposed they would get up another game between them and she hoped Mr. Shine would be interested in viewing that game. She could not be certain of it, though, so she must hurry to accomplish her aim before Mr. Shine was upon her. Were he to discover her making off with the bank, she had no doubt she’d find herself buried in the basement.

  She had dismissed the servants. They would not think it unusual, she did so on occasion, and they were happy enough to come early on the following day to tidy the place. She then hurried to the bank room. She emptied most of the bank into a satchel, laid bricks in the bank chest and covered the bricks with small notes. She locked it back up and prayed Mr. Shine would have no cause to count it until the morrow. She often retired as soon as the guests departed and she hoped that was exactly what Mr. Shine would think she’d done.

  Earlier, when all eyes had been on the play between Lord Ashworth and Mr. Shine, she’d taken her portmanteau from the house. The porter had looked inquiringly but she had only hurried past him, declining his assistance. After the guests departed, she would send him home. He would not be asked whether he’d seen her with luggage until the following morning. Her jewelry had been sewn into her clothes that afternoon.

  Lady Carradine, or Nancy Manton as she would go back to calling herself, pulled on a heavy traveling cloak and hurried out the door. She told the porter he might go, and she handed him a series of letters with direction that he was to take them home and then see that they were delivered on the following morning. She wished for those who might wonder where she’d gone to understand that she fled from Mr. Shine. In each of the missives, she claimed Mr. Shine was a cheat. She had no proof of it, but she was all but certain he would cheat given the slightest opportunity. In any case, even a whiff of an idea in that direction would shut him down for good. He might have the house, but she would not allow him to carry on with the club.

  Nancy pulled her hood low and fled to a hired carriage waiting in the shadows.

  Everything she would take with her, including the bank, was gone from the house. All of this must be left behind. She was bound for New Orleans and would never look back.

  *

  Mr. Shine had forced Hayes and Miss Farnsworth out a door at the far end of the room, toward the back of the house. Hayes had deftly guided Miss Farnsworth in front of him so that he might remain between the lady and Mr. Shine. There was never anybody more dangerous than a man wielding a pistol he’d probably had little practice shooting. For every step they took up the flight of stairs, Hayes expected to hear the loud report of gunfire.

  Even if Mr. Shine were not to shoot them on the stairs, what would he do? The man was deranged. Anybody finding themselves caught marking cards, and with a pistol in hand and a means of escape, would have taken the rational step of escaping. Instead, Mr. Shine had taken them prisoner.

  Why? What was his plan?

  They had gone up past the living quarters and were now in the attics. It should have been servant’s quarters, but as they passed the open doors, Hayes could see that the rooms were devoid of furniture. Apparently, Lady Carradine did not employ a live-in staff and Mr. Shine had been all too aware of it.

  Hayes felt the barrel of the pistol in his back. “To the right,” Mr. Shine said.

  He and Miss Farnsworth were forced into a small room. It was as empty as all the others and the sort that would have been assigned to two housemaids, had there been any. The floor was bare, unvarnished wood. The walls had been plastered but cracks now ran a riotous pattern across them. There were lighter rectangles visible where some long-ago picture had hung and protected the plaster from the smoke of a fire. The fireplace itself was empty and cold, with only a layer of old ash to say that anybody had ever lived there.

  “You will stay here, for the time being,” Mr. Shine said. “The house is empty, or will be shortly. Should you be so foolish as to attract attention by making a sound, I will shoot whoever hears you before doing you the same courtesy.”

  “Mr. Shine,” Lily said, “what can you possibly—”

  The door slammed shut before Miss Farnsworth could finish her sentence. The lock turned with a resounding clack.

  Hayes looked around the room sharply, hoping to see something, anything, that he may not have initially noticed. Something they could use to their advantage. It was entirely empty.

  “What does he mean to do?” Lily asked quietly.

  “I do not know,” Hayes said, “but he has not taken the rational course, which means he is not a rational man.”

  “He will kill us, then,” Lily said. “So that his secret is not discovered.”

  “He might try,” Hayes said. “Though I am not inclined to allow him to succeed.”

  Miss Farnsworth wrung her hands. “How would he ever be able to explain it? He was the last to see us. Lady Carradine must look for us even now. My aunt will expect me home. He could not possibly believe he could get away with this.”

  “I imagine he has not thought that far, which is what makes him particularly dangerous,” Hayes said.

  “He’ll think better of it,” Lily said. “I am sure he will. He will come to his senses and get himself away.”

  Hayes was not so certain. Mr. Shine had brought a pistol to the card table. He must have been prepared to use it if things went awry. That part, he understood. What he did not understand is why Mr. Shine had not simply fled the scene. A man who’d taken a bizarre and risky step such as this might be counted upon to do anything.

  He strode to the windows. It was clear they had been not been opened in some time—the panes were darkened with soot and the hinges were rusted over. He forced them open, the joints grating and creaking for lack of oil.

  “Lord Ashworth, we are on the third floor,” Lily whispered.

  He held up his hand and peered down. It was true they were on the third floor, but ten feet below was a balcony, and then below that a portico whose edge seemed close enough to an old black poplar with sturdy branches. He had spent an entire childhood making escapes such as this. It could be done by him, he was certain of it. The question was—could it be done by Miss Farnsworth?

  Hayes turned to her. “I am unarmed. My pistol is in my carriage. We cannot afford to linger and discover what Mr. Shine intends. I am going to lower myself down to a balcony. Then, you must put yourself out the window and trust me
to catch you. Can you do it?”

  Seeing the look of alarm on Miss Farnsworth’s face, Hayes almost hesitated. He feared he would get out and then her nerves would fail her. He would not likely get back in again. He could not leave her to her fate. Hayes had begun to get the idea that Mr. Shine might be one of those individuals who would shoot now and regret later.

  He watched Miss Farnsworth take in a deep breath. “I can do it,” she said resolutely.

  There was no time to wonder. The lady claimed she could do it and they must try. Mr. Shine might return at any moment and Hayes did not think it likely they’d survive many minutes after he did.

  *

  Mr. Shine had gone halfway down the stairs and then stopped. He must think what to do. He’d panicked, never an ideal situation, and now he must calm himself and think of a way out.

  That damned Miss Farnsworth! How had she noted the differences in the cards? It was near impossible, even if one were to examine them minutely. The moment he’d seen the original design on the club’s cards he’d known he might easily replicate and mark them. They were a fussy pattern, nothing easier. He’d marked cards all his life, he knew how to find a printer willing to print them for a hefty fee. He’d never been caught except once in those early years when the Duchess of Carlisle had found him out. There had been so many highly-placed people at that particular gambit that he’d been forced to decamp to America.

  But all that was so long ago. He supposed most of those people were dead by now, or if not dead, then doddering around their country estates. He’d long grown tired of Baltimore, and even more tired of Americans, and it had begun to seem the right time to return to England. Then, he’d known it was the right time when he’d discovered Nancy Manton’s ruse.

  At the time, his run of luck had been very bad and he’d been forced to take a job as a clerk. It had been his duty to record the sales of property and when he examined the sale of the Carradines’ property, he knew he looked at a forgery. The signature was too deliberate. It had been written too slowly. The pen had been pressed too hard. There were obvious stops and starts. All amateur mistakes. He had looked into the matter, and after he’d tracked down a servant who had been dismissed, he began to put it all together.