In the Land of the Long White Cloud (6 page)

“It’s a shame that we won’t get to our game today, but we wouldn’t want to bore our guest,” he remarked.

Gerald Warden caught the undertones. If he were a true gentleman, Jeffrey wanted to imply, he would make up some reason to retire to his rooms. But Gerald was no gentleman. He had played that role well enough until now; it was now time to get down to his real business.

“Why don’t we play a little card game instead?” he suggested with an innocent smile. “One plays blackjack even in the salons in the colonies, eh Riddleworth? Or would you prefer a different game? Poker, perhaps?”

Jeffrey Riddleworth looked at him with disgust. “I beg your pardon! Blackjack…poker…one might play such games in port town pubs but certainly not among gentlemen.”

“Well, I’ll gladly play a hand,” Terence declared, glancing eagerly at the card table. He did not seem to be taking up Gerald’s offer simply to be polite. “During my time in the military, I played often, but here we hardly ever do anything on social occasions other than talk shop about sheep and horses. Hop to it, Jeffrey! You can deal first. And don’t be stingy. I know you make a fine salary. Let’s see if I can’t win back some of Diana’s dowry.”

Terence Silkham spoke bluntly. During dinner he had partaken heavily of the wine, and upon entering the salon had tossed back his first scotch quickly. Now he gestured eagerly for the other men to take their places. Gerald Warden sat down happily, while Jeffrey did so reluctantly. He reached for the cards against his will and shuffled clumsily.

Gerald set his glass aside. He had to be alert now. He noted with pleasure that the tipsy Terence opened with a high ante. Gerald readily let him win. A half hour later, a small fortune in coins and notes lay before Terence and Jeffrey. The latter had thawed somewhat, even if he still did not appear entirely enthusiastic. Silkham helped himself to more whiskey.

“Don’t lose the money for my sheep,” he warned Gerald. “You’ve already played away another litter of pups.”

Gerald Warden smiled. “Who doesn’t dare, doesn’t win,” he said and upped the ante again. “How is it, Riddleworth, going to call?”

The colonel was no longer sober either, but he was mistrustful by nature. Gerald Warden knew that he’d have to get rid of him—while losing as little money as possible in the process. When Jeffrey went all in, Gerald struck.

“Blackjack, my friend,” he said almost regretfully as he laid his ace on the table. “My unlucky streak had to end sometime. Another hand! Come, Riddleworth, win your money back double.”

Jeffrey stood up peevishly. “No, deal me out. I should have quit sooner. Oh well, easy come, easy go. I’m not putting any more money in your pockets tonight. And you should quit too, Father. Then you’ll at least come out ahead.”

“You sound like my wife,” Terence remarked, though his voice sounded a little unsure. “And what do you mean ‘come out ahead’? I didn’t call last time. I still have all my money. And my luck’s holding! Today’s my lucky day anyway, eh, Warden? Today I’m really lucky.”

“Then I hope you keep having fun,” Jeffrey said icily.

Gerald Warden breathed a sigh of relief as Jeffrey left the room. Now the coast was clear.

“Then let’s double your winnings, Silkham,” he encouraged the lord. “How much is that now? Fifteen thousand altogether? Lord almighty, so far you’ve lightened my wallet by more than ten thousand pounds. Double that and you’ll have as much as you got for the sheep!”

“But…but if I lose, then it’s all gone.” The lord was now having misgivings.

Gerald Warden shrugged. “That’s the risk. But we can keep it small. Look, I’ll deal you a card and myself one as well. Peek at it. I’ll uncover mine—and then you can decide. If you want to play, all the better. I can, of course, also decline after I’ve seen my first card.” He smiled.

The lord received the card doubtfully. Didn’t this peek go against the rules? A gentleman should never look for loopholes or shy away from risks. Nevertheless, he stole a look at his card.

A ten! Except for an ace, it couldn’t have been better.

Gerald, who kept the pot, revealed his card. A queen. That counted for ten points. Not a bad start. Still the New Zealander wrinkled his brow and seemed doubtful.

“My luck doesn’t seem to be holding,” he sighed. “And how about you? Shall we play, or leave it be?”

The lord was suddenly very eager to continue.

“I’d gladly take another card,” he declared.

Gerald Warden looked at his queen with resignation. He seemed to be wrestling with himself, but dealt another card anyway.

The eight of spades. Eighteen points total. Would that be enough? Silkham broke out in a sweat. But if he took another card, he was in danger of going bust. Better to bluff. The lord attempted a poker face.

“Ready when you are,” he declared curtly.

Gerald revealed another card. A two. So far twelve points. The New Zealander reached for the cards again.

Terence Silkham prayed for an ace. Then Gerald would go bust. But still, his own chances weren’t bad. Only an eight or a ten could save the sheep baron.

Gerald drew—a three.

He let his breath out sharply.

“If only I were clairvoyant…” he sighed. “But, no matter, I don’t imagine you have any less than fifteen. So I’ll risk it.”

The lord trembled as Gerald drew his fourth card. The danger of going bust was huge. But it was the four of hearts.

“Nineteen,” Gerald counted. “And I’ll stay. Cards on the table, my lord!”

Terence revealed his bluff. He had lost by one point. And he had been so close!

Gerald Warden seemed to see it the same way. “By a hair, my lord, by a hair. That cries for revenge. I know I sound crazy, but we can’t let that stand. Another hand.”

Terence shook his head. “I don’t have any more money. That wasn’t just my winnings, that was everything I had to bet. If I lose any more, I’ll be in serious trouble. It’s out of the question; I’m out.”

“But I beg you, my lord!” Gerald shuffled the cards. “It just starts getting fun with high stakes. As for a bet…wait, let’s play for the sheep. Yes, the sheep you wanted to sell me. That way, even if things go badly, you won’t lose anything. After all, if I hadn’t suddenly shown up to purchase the sheep, you wouldn’t have had the money in the first place.” Gerald Warden flashed his winning smile and let the cards pass nimbly between his hands.

The lord emptied his glass and prepared to stand. He swayed a little as he did so, but he still articulated his words clearly: “That would suit you, Warden! Twenty of this island’s best breeding sheep for a few card tricks? No, I’m done. I’ve lost enough. Maybe such games are common in the wilderness you come from, but here we keep a cool head.”

Gerald Warden raised the whiskey bottle and filled the glasses once more.

“I would have taken you for a braver man,” he said regretfully. “Or better said, for a more daring one. But maybe that’s typical of us kiwis—in New Zealand, you are only considered a man if you dare to take a few risks.”

Terence Silkham frowned. “You can hardly accuse the Silkhams of cowardice. We have always fought bravely, served the Crown, and…” The lord found it visibly difficult to find the right words and stand at the same time. He let himself sink down once more into his chair. But he wasn’t drunk yet. He could still ante up to this rogue.

Gerald Warden laughed. “In New Zealand we serve the Crown too. The colony is developing into an important economic engine. In the long run we’ll pay England back everything the Crown has invested in us. The queen is braver than you on that count, my lord. She’s playing her game, and she’s winning. Come, Silkham! You don’t want to give up now, do you? A few good cards, and you’ll have been paid twice for the sheep.”

With those words he threw two cards facedown on the table. The lord could not have said why he reached for them. The risk was too great, but the prize was tempting. If he won, not only was Gwyneira’s dowry secure, but it would also be large enough to please even the best families in the region. As he slowly picked up the cards, he saw his daughter as a baroness…who knew, maybe even a lady-in-waiting to the queen…

A ten of diamonds. That was good. Now if the other one…Silkham’s heart began to beat loudly when he uncovered a ten of spades. Twenty points. That was hard to beat.

He looked at Gerald triumphantly.

Gerald Warden took his first card from the deck. Ace of spades. Terence groaned. But it didn’t mean anything. The next card could be a two or three, and then the chances were good that Gerald would bust.

“You can still back out,” Gerald offered.

Terence laughed. “Oh no, my friend, that wasn’t the bet. Now play your card! A Silkham keeps his word.”

Gerald took another card.

Terence suddenly wished he’d shuffled the deck himself. On the other hand…he’d watched Gerald shuffle; he hadn’t tried anything. Whatever happened next, he couldn’t accuse Warden of cheating.

Gerald Warden turned the next card over.

“I’m sorry, my lord.”

The lord stared at the ten of hearts lying in front of him on the table as though hypnotized. The ace counted for eleven; the ten made an even twenty-one.

“Then I can only congratulate you,” he said stiffly. There was still whiskey in his glass, and he threw it back quickly. When Gerald moved to refill it, he covered the glass with his hand.

“I’ve already had too much, thank you. It’s time that I stop…drinking and playing before I not only cheat my daughter out of her dowry but my son out of house and home as well.” His voice sounded choked. He attempted to stand up again.

“I thought that might be the case,” Gerald remarked in a conversational tone, filling his own glass. “The girl is your youngest, is that right?”

Terence nodded bitterly. “Yes. I’ve already married off two other daughters. Do you have any idea what that costs? This last wedding will ruin me. Especially now that I’ve lost half my capital at the gambling table.”

Lord Silkham wanted to go, but Gerald shook his head and raised the whiskey bottle. Slowly the golden temptation flowed into Terence Silkham’s glass.

“No, my lord,” said Gerald, “we can’t leave things like this. It wasn’t my intention to ruin you, nor to rob poor Gwyneira of her dowry. Let’s play a final hand, my lord. I’ll bet the sheep again. If you win this time, then everything will be as it was.”

Terence laughed derisively. “And what would I bet against that? The rest of my flock? Forget it!”

“How about…how about your daughter’s hand?”

Gerald Warden spoke softly and calmly, but Terence reeled as though Warden had struck him.

“You’re out of your mind! You don’t seriously mean to woo Gwyneira? The girl could be your daughter.”

“I would wish for just that with all my heart.” Gerald tried to imbue his voice and gaze with as much sincerity and warmth as he could muster. “Because my proposal is not for myself, naturally, but for my son, Lucas. He is twenty-two years old, my only heir, well bred, full grown, and clever. I could easily picture Gwyneira at his side.”

“But not I,” Terence retorted rudely, stumbling and seeking support from his chair. “Gwyneira belongs to the high nobility. She could marry a baron!”

Gerald Warden laughed. “With almost no dowry? And don’t fool yourself; I’ve seen the girl. She’s not exactly what the mothers of baronets dream of.”

Terence Silkham was incensed. “Gwyneira is a beauty!”

“That’s true,” Gerald reassured him. “And no doubt she’s the jewel of every fox hunt. I wonder if she’d shine as brightly in a palace though. She’s a wild young thing, my lord. It’ll cost you twice as much to fetch the girl a husband.”

“I should challenge you to a duel!” Terence Silkham exclaimed in a rage.

“I’ve already challenged you to one.” Gerald Warden raised the cards. “Let’s play. You shuffle this time.”

The host reached for his glass. His thoughts were racing. This was entirely contrary to custom. He couldn’t bet his daughter in a card game. This Warden had lost his mind. On the other hand…such a transaction wouldn’t hold up. Gaming debts were honorable debts, but a girl was not an acceptable wager. If Gwyneira said no, no one could force her aboard a ship bound for faraway shores. Then again, it wouldn’t even have to come to that. He would win this time. His luck had to turn sometime.

Terence shuffled the cards—not ponderously as usual, but fast, as though he wanted to put this debasing game behind him as quickly as possible.

Almost in a rage he dealt Gerald a card. He gripped the rest of the deck with trembling hands.

The New Zealander turned over his card without showing any reaction. The ace of hearts.

“That’s…” Terence didn’t say another word. Instead, he drew a card himself. Ten of spades. Not bad at all. The lord attempted to deal with a steady hand but shook so much that the card fell onto the table in front of Gerald before he could reach for it.

Gerald Warden did not even make an attempt to keep the card hidden from view. He serenely laid the jack of hearts next to his ace.

“Blackjack,” he said calmly. “Will you keep your word, my lord?”

T
hough this was not her first time here, Helen’s heart raced as she stood before the office of St. Clement’s parish priest. She usually felt quite comfortable inside these walls, so like those of her father’s parish. Reverend Thorne was, moreover, an old friend of the late Reverend Davenport. A year earlier, he had helped Helen secure the position at the Greenwoods’ and had even taken her brothers in for a few weeks before Simon first, and then John, found rooms through their student fraternity. Though the boys had been happy to move out, Helen had been less pleased about it. Thorne and his wife not only let her brothers live with them for free but even helped out a little, while room and board in the fraternity house cost money and offered the students distractions not necessarily conducive to their academic progress. Helen often aired her grievances to the reverend over that. In fact, she spent many of her free afternoons in the Thornes’ house.

However, she didn’t expect to enjoy a relaxing cup of tea with the reverend and his family on her visit that day, and the booming, joyful “Enter with God!” with which he usually greeted his flock did not sound from his rectory either. Instead, Helen could hear a woman’s voice, one that sounded accustomed to giving commands, coming from inside the office after Helen finally worked up the nerve to knock. This afternoon in the reverend’s rooms Lady Juliana Brennan awaited her. The wife of a pensioned lieutenant from William Hobson’s staff, she was formerly a founding member of the Anglican parish in Christchurch and more recently a patron of the London congregation once again. Lady Brennan had answered Helen’s letter and arranged this meeting in the parish rectory. She was eager to see in person the “decent women, well-versed in housekeeping and child rearing” who
had answered her advertisement before she introduced them to the “highly esteemed, well-situated members” of the Christchurch community. Fortunately she was flexible and able to meet them at their convenience. Helen had only one afternoon free every two weeks, and she was loath to ask Lucinda Greenwood for additional time off. Lady Brennan had agreed immediately to Helen’s suggestion that they meet that Friday afternoon.