Amanda Scott (46 page)

As he entered the main subscription room, he wondered if Robert Yarborne might be in league with one of the groom-porters there. He supposed it would be possible to suborn one of these men. Since the Billingsgate apparently encouraged young men like Oliver to wager stakes they could not afford, the standards set for their servants could not be too high. He saw Lord Yarborne talking with another gentleman, but he did not see Robert or Oliver. Moving from table to table, he made no attempt to place bets but was twice delayed by friends anxious to commiserate with him over the results of the Derby, which they had learned not long after the race, thanks to the excellent services of the carrier pigeons. Since Prince Florizel had placed second, just as he had hoped, these conversations did not divert Nick long from his purpose.

He made his way at last to the card room. Here, play was quieter, and he quickly spied Oliver on the far side of the room, near the opposite door, at a table with a second man. The room was large, most gentlemen were absorbed in their cards, and no one called out to him. Not recognizing the man with Oliver, Nick took a seat at a table as far removed from the pair as possible and signaled to a footman, asking him to bring wine and a pack of cards.

“Are you expecting someone else to join you, my lord?”

“Yes, shortly,” Nick said. “I’ll amuse myself until he arrives, but bring us a piquet marker, will you?”

Tommy arrived fifteen minutes later. He, too, slipped into the room quietly, drawing no attention to himself. “Who the devil’s he playing with?” he muttered, reaching for the wine decanter and glass the servant had brought for him.

“I’ve never seen the fellow before. Oliver’s winning, I think, but not enough to make him do more than smile occasionally. He’s been letting him win, I’d guess, but if a move’s to be made, the fellow ought to make it soon.”

“Thought you expected to see Robert Yarborne here.”

“I did. Yarborne senior is in the main subscription room, but the younger one’s nowhere to be seen.”

“Think his lordship is in it, too?”

“I don’t know,” Nick said, “but I wouldn’t be surprised. I spoke to my father at Epsom. Well, I could hardly keep this to myself,” he added with a sardonic smile when Tommy raised his eyebrows. “It’s his money they’re after.”

“All the same, you might have made a push to settle this without telling him.”

“Not without knowing whether they have already approached him in some way. They haven’t, but he’s returning tonight. He’s leaving this to me, however, so stop bristling, Tommy. I thought you wanted Oliver to learn a sharp lesson.”

“I did. He deserves one. Be a good thing for Ulcombe to know what queer stirrups he’s got himself into, too. Can’t deny that.”

Nick grinned at him. “But you’d like to, Tommy. You complain about Oliver all the time, but you wouldn’t split on him any more than I wanted to.”

Tommy grimaced. “You think you know everything.” He sat up straighter. “Don’t look now, Nick, but Yarborne’s come in—not the youngster, his lordship.”

Nick began to deal cards for a hand of piquet. “What’s he doing?”

“Just wandering about, speaking now and again to someone. He looks like a host, chatting up his guests at a ball, if you ask me.”

Nick said evenly, “He’s a cold-blooded man, Tommy. The only reason it hasn’t become apparent before now is that whenever anyone notices one of his vices, he seems adept at opposing them with proof of a contrary virtue.”

“You never seemed to care about him one way or the other before,” Tommy said. “What’s happened, Nick?”

Nick was watching Oliver’s table and did not answer, for Oliver was clearly losing now. Quietly, he said, “Do me a favor, Tommy. Find out who that fellow is.”

“I’ll get us another bottle of wine,” Tommy said in a normal tone of voice.

Nick noticed that he was careful to keep his back to the table where Oliver sat with the stranger, but he thought it would not have mattered if Tommy had turned toward them, because both men were absorbed by their cards. Oliver was frowning, but before Tommy returned, he had begun smiling again.

Tommy said, “You won’t credit this, Nick. He’s a dashed Belgian count.”

“You’re right, I don’t credit it. A Captain Hackum, perhaps, but that fellow is no nobleman, Belgian or otherwise. I wonder who introduced him to the Billingsgate?”

“Seems a bit nearsighted, the way he keeps peering at his cards,” Tommy said.

“So he does,” Nick agreed, still watching the pair. There could be no doubt now that Oliver was winning again, and winning a considerable amount by the look of it. Moreover, Nick soon realized just how he was winning. No one else, as far as he could see, was showing any interest in that particular table, which was a good thing. Oliver was not very accomplished yet in his cheating. Evidently, he, like Tommy, believed that the “count” was exceedingly nearsighted.

When the hand was done, Oliver’s opponent smiled and said something. Oliver nodded, put down the cards he had been about to deal, and stood up, stretching a little.

“Looks like they’re stopping,” Tommy said.

“Just to have supper, I think. Don’t watch so openly, for God’s sake. I want to keep an eye on them, but if you keep looking that way, too, they’re bound to notice us.”

“Give me the cards then,” Tommy said. “I’ll deal the next hand. Shame I ain’t betting on this game though. I’d be sure to take you for a monkey at least.”

Nick smiled, but he did not look at Tommy, for Oliver had turned away from the table, and in that instant, the Belgian “count” exchanged the two packs of cards on their table for two others. If Nick had not been looking at him, half expecting such a move, he would not have seen it. As it was, the exchange was so practiced, so smoothly and confidently accomplished, that he nearly did not see it anyway.

“What is it?” Tommy demanded. “You’re looking like thunder.”

Nick picked up the hand Tommy had dealt him and began to sort his cards, muttering, “That rogue just switched packs while Oliver’s back was turned.”

“The devil he did!” Tommy put his hand down. “By Jupiter, let’s go explain to him that, in England, that sort of thing just ain’t done.” He began to get up.

“Sit down,” Nick growled. “Oliver’s playing in water deep enough to drown in, but I want to see what rig’s being run, and he deserves whatever is coming to him.”

“Dash it, Nick, he don’t deserve to be cheated!”

“I take three cards,” Nick said flatly, doing so.

“Damn you,” Tommy muttered, but he returned his attention to his hand, adding a moment later, “Dealer takes five.”

“Point of five,” Nick said.

They played idly for the next half hour, neither man keeping his mind on the game. The card room was quiet. Lord Yarborne had left some time before. Nick did not know whether the older man had seen them, but he was not surprised that Yarborne had not included them among the friends with whom he had stopped to speak.

A footman refilled the decanter on Oliver’s table and put down fresh glasses. Otherwise, no one took any notice of that table. Forty minutes passed before the players returned, and Nick half expected Oliver to see him then. Doubtless believing Nick still at Epsom, Oliver was not keeping watch, but the fact that he clearly had no thought beyond his next hand spoke volumes to an experienced gamester.

Tommy apparently noticed Oliver’s concentration, too. As Nick shuffled for the next deal, he said, “He didn’t even glance around. By Jupiter, look at the way he’s snatched up the cards to deal them. He’s shuffling. Seems most intent, Nick.”

“Yes. He wants the money, Tommy. He owes Robert Yarborne a considerable amount, I believe—more than he ever confessed to my father—and if I don’t mistake the matter, he put borrowed money on my nags to win.”

“Young lunatic, but you know, Nick, you ought to be flattered by his confidence in your horses, and by the fact that he tries to be like you.”

“I’d be better pleased if he would try less to emulate me and act sensibly.”

“You being such a pattern card of sense yourself.”

Nick grimaced. Glancing at the other table, he saw that Oliver was looking in bewilderment at the hand he had just dealt himself. As play began, the look changed quickly to amazement, then fear. When the hand was played out, the “count” spoke first, but Oliver shook his head, gesturing in agitation. His opponent signaled to a footman, spoke to him, then leaned back in his chair, as if waiting for something.

Oliver’s complexion had paled from fiery red to a bloodless white. Judging it time to intervene, Nick put down his cards, saying, “I believe I want a closer look at that game now, Tommy. You with me?”

Tommy got quickly to his feet. “By Jupiter, yes. Young Oliver looks as if he’s swallowed a spider.” He would have moved quickly, but Nick slowed him with a touch, then stopped him when Yarborne entered by the supper-room door and bent to speak to the “count.” The latter spoke briefly, then gestured toward Oliver.

Oliver said something in agitation to Yarborne. Then, as Nick and Tommy strolled within earshot, Yarborne said, “I’m afraid the club cannot allow you to extend your credit further, Mr. Barrington. You will have to cover your losses at once. I believe the best thing, if the ‘count’ will agree to it, would be to sign your vowels over to me. Since he is leaving the country, I will cover what you owe him and then apply to your father for payment. I daresay that Ulcombe, grieved though he—”

“No,” Oliver said. With his attention on Yarborne, he still had not seen Nick or Tommy. He said grimly, “I’ll pay my own way, sir. I-I can’t quite manage to put my hand to the money tonight, but I’ll come about. I assure you, if you will be kind enough to cover what I owe, I’ll repay you as soon as I’m able.”

“Mon Dieu,
milord Yarborne, but that will not serve,” the “count” said haughtily. “This young man, you see, he tried to play me false. Those cards are shaved, as you will find if you but examine them. He is a cheat, but me, I was too skillful to be caught.”

Flushing, Oliver straightened and drew a breath, but before he could speak, Nick said, “I’ll guarantee my brother’s losses, Yarborne, but I’d like an opportunity to win the money back.” He looked steadily at the supposed “count.” “Shall we say one game of piquet, sir, winner take all?”

The “count” bowed. “I would like to accept such an offer, sir, but how am I to know that you, too, will not attempt
un petit tour de fripon?”

Yarborne said, “The man makes a point, Vexford. I’d never have suspected that Mr. Barrington would attempt such a knavish trick as to cheat an opponent, so how can I speak for you, sir?”

Nick said calmly, “I don’t recall asking you to speak for me, Yarborne. Just what concern is this of yours?”

When Yarborne hesitated as if considering his answer, the “count” exclaimed in surprise, “But,
mon Dieu,
surely you know that milord
owns
this grand establishment!”

Making no attempt to hide his astonishment, Nick raised his eyebrows and shot a sardonic look at Yarborne. “Is that a fact?” he said. “How very … commonplace.”

Flushing, Yarborne said in a voice filled with meaning, “My honored friend spoke out of turn, but I feel sure I can rely on your discretion, Vexford. I admit I would not like it noised about that I hold an interest in this club—not any more, I feel sure, than you would like certain other matters talked about publicly.”

Nick smiled, but there was no amusement in the expression. “It was not Oliver who switched the packs on the table before the two went down to supper,” he said in a voice that he knew would carry to nearby tables. “I saw this fellow switch them, and I believe my brother was set up for duping. I’ll wager you will find, if you examine these cards, Yarborne, that they are shaved just as your
honored friend
claimed they are, but I’ll wager, too, that if both Oliver and the Belgian turn out their pockets, you will find the original packs with the Belgian.”

Indignantly, the Belgian said, “He lies! Never would I so demean myself. However, if he desires to try to win his brother’s money back, I shall oblige him. Me, I do not wish to make a scandal for so elegant a club. Sit down, monsieur.”

“We’ll have a fresh pack, if you don’t mind,” Nick said, taking Oliver’s seat.

A servant approached and gave a folded message to Yarborne, saying, “I was told to hand this to you at midnight, my lord.”

“Thank you. Fetch these gentlemen a fresh piquet pack, at once.”

Nick said gently to the “count,” “I’d be obliged to you if you would take off your ring, and put it in your pocket I won’t suggest that you have been using it to mark your cards. I’d just feel better if you were not wearing it while we play.”

Without a word, the “count” took off the heavy signet he wore and slipped it into his pocket. Other players had left their tables to stand nearby and watch, but although the principals had apparently dropped the notion of turning out anyone’s pockets, no one suggested doing so. Yarborne, having read his message, said curtly, “You will have to excuse me, gentlemen. I’ve business to attend to.”

They played swiftly, and Nick’s luck was in. In the second hand, the “count” found himself piqued, repiqued, and capotted.

“You play exceedingly well, monsieur,” he said. “The stakes, they are even now. Would you like to play another game?”

“No,” Nick said flatly, “I don’t stay. Come along, Oliver.”

Following obediently in his wake, with Tommy behind, Oliver was silent until they were outside on the pavement. Then, looking from one man to the other, he drew a deep breath, looked into Nick’s eyes, and said wretchedly, “He was right, you know.”

“I know.”

“Then how the devil did you dare suggest to Yarborne that he look for any packs in that fellow’s pocket? Did he really switch them on me?”

“He did. I saw him. A reverse pack, I’d wager. You dealt to him what you thought you had dealt yourself.”

“That’s it, exactly. I knew my tricks weren’t working, but I couldn’t think why.”

“Those who set you up, Ollie, and taught you how to cheat, knew exactly what you’d do, but I gambled that your nearsighted Belgian wouldn’t dare produce your cards to prove they’d been shaved. To do so, he’d have had to admit he’d cheated, too. But I’ve got a question for you,” he added gently. “You were clearly winning before dinner.”