The Gentleman and the Thief

by Sarah M. Eden

  Eventually, the Raven, his smile tight, suggested they get to the matter at hand. His eyes flashed in Hollis’s direction, his anticipation easy to interpret: he expected Hollis to grow very suddenly worried.

  “Excellent,” Hollis said firmly.

  The Raven sat in the chair directly across the table from Hollis. “What is your game?”

  “I’ve mostly played faro here, though I do not object to other games. I enjoy baccarat. Some people prefer whist.”

  “Sitting-room variety games,” the Raven said. “Surely you’re familiar with something a bit more . . . challenging.”

  The chest-thumping was to begin early, it seemed. This called for a game requiring focus and skill as well as a healthy dose of luck. “Piquet, perhaps?”

  “You consider yourself well enough versed in it to match me?” The Raven clearly doubted it.

  “We could indulge in a game of beggar-my-neighbor, if that would make you more comfortable,” Hollis casually tossed out.

  Snickers and barely concealed smiles filled the room around them. Fletcher, actor extraordinaire that he was, didn’t move a single muscle.

  “You would insult me with a child’s game?” The Raven said, his voice slow and tense.

  Emotion would make the man less careful.

  “You worried the other games were above my ability,” Hollis answered, coolly. “I then suggested something very simple. A self-directed insult, you see.”

  The Raven narrowed his gaze, thinking that through. Emotion and confusion. Exactly as Hollis had intended.

  “Shall we?” he suggested, not allowing even a hint of impatience or annoyance to enter his voice.

  “We did not select a game.”

  Hollis shrugged. “Deal me in. I’ll see if I can sort out what the game is quickly enough to beat you at it.”

  The Raven looked intrigued. For a self-proclaimed master gambler, he was utter rubbish at hiding his thoughts. Perhaps he did better once the game was being played. That was, after all, the reason Hollis undertook this bit of showmanship and banter before a match: he could learn to read his opponent while the man’s guard was still down. He’d been doing that with the Raven since arriving at the Thompsons’ place that day.

  Narrowed gaze with mouth the tiniest bit agape: confusion.

  Lips pressed on the right while the tiniest bit pursed on the left: frustration.

  Small lift in the middle of the left brow: curiosity.

  Hands on the table, index fingers steepled: excitement.

  Slouching left: confidence.

  Slouching right: pretended confidence.

  There would be other giveaways, but those were the most crucial ones.

  With a flourish, the Raven broke the seal on a new deck. He fanned the cards in a few different directions, cutting and shuffling the deck with one hand. Many people turned a simple game into a theatrical production. It wasted energy.

  After a thorough shuffling, more flips of the cards, and several glances at the gathered crowd, the Raven dealt Hollis three cards, then three to himself, followed by another two to each of them. Then he turned over the top card in the remaining stack. An odd dealing pattern, but one that gave the game away.

  “Écarté,” Hollis said, his cards still facedown on the table. “A rare game.”

  “If you don’t know how to play it,” the Raven said, “I can select something else.”

  Hollis shrugged, casual and unconcerned. “I know how to play.”

  “Then place your first wager.”

  Hollis tossed in a half-guinea. “Three tricks.”

  The Raven matched it. “Three tricks.”

  Hollis took up his hand, organizing it. They each exchanged a few cards before game play began. They took a slow pace, each adopting an attitude of minimal concern. Hollis knew the Raven was doing the same thing he was: studying his opponent. The stakes were lower than they would be as the evening progressed. Wagers weren’t the point of the first game.

  For all his showiness, the Raven really did know how to play. He gave away more clues than he ought, but all in all, he was proving a worthy opponent. The first round ended three tricks to two in the Raven’s favor.

  Hollis dealt the next hand. No flourishes. No showiness. Just business. The same bets were placed, and Hollis won back what he’d lost the previous hand.

  The room filled as they played. Hollis recognized a few dealers from previous games. One of the footmen hovered nearby, his gloves dirtied and livery disheveled. The household staff weren’t precisely sticklers for propriety.

  The wagers rose on the next hand. Hollis took the first trick. The Raven did an admirable job of hiding his feelings about that, though he did allow his mouth to purse a bit to the left. He hadn’t expected to lose that trick.

  Hollis didn’t know how many hands they would need to complete this game, nor how many games they would play that night. But he knew he couldn’t let the man grow too comfortable. Throwing him off-balance was a good thing.

  “Shall we break a moment for a bite to eat?” the Raven suggested.

  “I didn’t come to eat.” Hollis shuffled quickly, expertly, efficiently. “You’re welcome to snack through the next trick if you can do so without mussing the cards or slowing the play.”

  “You aren’t at all hungry?” The Raven slouched, but to the right. The man wasn’t as sure of himself as he’d like to be.

  “I can eat when we’re done.”

  “A dram of brandy, then?” the Raven offered.

  “I don’t drink while I play.” More shuffling, more pointed waiting.

  “I happen to be able to do both.” The slouch shifted to the left. An odd thing to take real pride in, but so be it.

  Hollis motioned for him to proceed.

  The Raven snapped at one of his staff and pointed to the empty spot on the table beside him. “Brandy, girl. Quick.”

  The man certainly didn’t address his staff with any degree of consideration. Freeing them from this house felt as important as freeing his brother from exile.

  Hollis kept shuffling, kept waiting. He’d learned long ago that equilibrium was essential to winning.

  The maid, in a dress of startlingly bright blue, its fine fabric and less-than-serviceable style an odd choice for a servant, slipped over and set a glass of amber liquid at the Raven’s elbow.

  The Raven gave her an assessing once-over before tossing an all-too-slick gaze in Hollis’s direction. “Once you graduate from the kiddie tables on the ground floor, you get to enjoy the company of our more . . . pleasant staff.”

  Considering Hollis knew of Four-Finger Mike’s connection to people who ran brothels and prostituted women on the streets, the comment was not a particularly pleasing one. Equilibrium, he reminded himself.

  “As I said, I’m here to play cards.” Hollis cut the deck. “Everything else is just distraction.”

  The Raven examined the maid once more. “Some distractions are worth it.”

  The maid dipped a quick curtsey and stepped away. Doing so brought her face into view for the first time. If Hollis could get a good look at her, he might be able to describe her well enough to see if Móirín and Brogan could make certain she had somewhere safe to go.

  He looked directly at her. For the first time in his long and storied career as a gambler, Hollis was completely upended.

  The maid was Ana. His Ana.

  The cards slipped a little in his hand, enough to throw off his shuffle but not enough for most to notice. The Raven did, though. He most certainly did.

  This was not good.

  Not good at all.

  “That one’s been about the place since we arrived,” Fletcher said. “I could count on five fingers the number of times I’ve seen her.”

  So Fletcher had interacted with her already. Perhaps the situati
on wasn’t as dire as it seemed. And “five fingers” was too pointed a phrase to be accidental. Four fingers would have made more sense, considering who they were attempting to find. Unless four was the wrong number.

  “Did she bring you anything?” Hollis asked.

  “Brought me heartache, she did. Dropping a word of warning, like I was a great hairy dog.”

  Warning. Great hairy dog.

  Blue blimey.

  The Mastiff. He was connected to all this. Closely, apparently. Mercy, they were in trouble.

  “Can’t say I blame the bird,” Hollis said to Fletcher. “You are a bit of a mutt.”

  Fletch shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “Are the two of you meaning to finish this game today, or ought we all find a corner for sleeping in tonight?”

  “Oh, we’re going to finish it.” He looked across at the Raven. “We are going to finish this.”

  The Raven gestured to the table with a flourish. He always grew more elaborate when he was feeling cocky. That was a good thing at the moment. Hollis still felt more than a little off his game, seeing Ana nearby, trapped in this den of villainy. If the Raven was overconfident, that would even things up.

  Hollis dealt. The room held its breath.

  “Will you allow the exchange?” the Raven asked.

  “No.”

  The room took a collective sharp breath. A dealer took a great risk in denying cards to be exchanged. If he lost the round, his opponent would receive an extra point, which could be enough to win the game.

  “I’m declaring the king in the trump suit,” the Raven said.

  Hollis nodded in acknowledgment. That earned the Raven a point, and it meant he was guaranteed to win at least one trick. Hollis wasn’t in the most optimal position, but neither was he sunk. He held the ace, knave, and queen in the trump suit. His other cards weren’t terrible.

  The Raven played the seven in the trump suit. Hollis played the ace. One trick in his favor. He played the king in a lesser suit, knowing it would force the Raven to play any trumps he held.

  For just an instant after the Raven pulled his chosen card from his hand, Hollis thought he counted five cards. The man ought to have been down to four. But the ten in the trump suit was dropped on top of Hollis’s king, taking the trick, and leaving—Hollis counted—three cards visible in his hand.

  A man who utilized all the flourishes the Raven did would most certainly be adept at sleight of hand. Was that how he cheated, a simple matter of slipping cards in and out of his hand?

  The Raven played the ace in a lesser suit. As Hollis slipped the trump ace from his hand, he saw the same flash of extra cards in the Raven’s hand. But they were gone in the next instant.

  “When I first began seriously playing faro,” Hollis said, rearranging his cards, “I often encountered players who improved their odds by tucking useful cards in their sleeves.”

  “A terrible thing,” the Raven answered.

  “It was, indeed. Those who would cheat at cards weren’t welcome at future tables.”

  The Raven moved a card in his hand, slipping it first in front of the last card, then zigzagging it behind. At the same time, the hand holding his cards turned the tiniest bit, hiding his wrist from view. The perfect opportunity to slip a card up his cuff.

  “Do you know how we guarded against that particular style of sharping?” Hollis managed to make the comment both offhand and pointed.

  “How?” The Raven’s lips pressed and pursed. He didn’t care for the direction of this conversation. Good. Let him stew. Let him worry if he’d been caught out.

  “We played with our jackets off and shirtsleeves rolled up past the elbows. Harder to tuck a card away. Harder to retrieve it.”

  He slouched. To the right. The man was on the defensive. “Why do we not simply strip from the waist up?” The Raven’s laugh was forced. Others followed his lead, discomfort obvious throughout the room.

  Hollis poked a little at that wound. He laid his remaining cards facedown on the table and began the task of rendering himself bare-chested. Heavens, this would be far easier to accomplish with equanimity if Ana weren’t in the room. He had to pretend though.

  Hollis tugged his necktie off, his eyes fixed on his opponent. “Are you afraid to take off your jacket? Something to hide?”

  “I have nothing to hide.”

  Hollis caught Ana’s eye as he pulled off his jacket. “Girl.” He hated being so haughty with her, but what else could be done? They both had masks to maintain. “Open the curtains, shine some light on the situation.”

  “I like them closed,” the Raven growled.

  “You also like your jacket on, apparently.” Hollis unbuttoned his cuffs, leaning his head toward Fletcher. “Make certain the light shines in the most helpful direction. I don’t want anyone missing anything.”

  “Right you are, guv.” Fletcher rose and joined Ana at the window. He would use the curtains to send a coded message across the street.

  Hollis tossed his shirt onto the back of Fletcher’s empty chair. He gestured to his own bare chest, then to the Raven. “You’re the only one hiding anything now.”

  “I’m not hiding.” The man yanked at his jacket with an odd, awkward movement. He was trying to remove his jacket without the sleeves hanging open. He nearly had his right sleeve off when the tiniest corner of a card peeked out.

  Hollis all but dove across the table and snatched the sleeve, pinching it between his fingers with the card corner trapped and visible.

  “Now, isn’t this interesting?” He pulled the card the rest of the way out. A king of spades. “A high card, and a useful one.”

  “Are you accusing me of cheating?” The Raven spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Are you expecting anyone in this room to believe that card was in your sleeve without your knowledge?” Hollis tightened his grip. “Or perhaps that playing cards grow in the fabric of your clothing? Or that you create such a hospitable climate for them that they crawl up your sleeves of their own accord in order to be closer to you?”

  All eyes were on their host. “You’re attempting to make me look a fool.”

  Hollis raised an eyebrow. “You don’t need my help with that.”

  The Raven jumped to his feet, trying to pull free of Hollis’s hold on his jacket. His hot, angry eyes bored directly into him. “I will not stand for this.”

  “Or sit for it, apparently.” Hollis kept his cool by sheer willpower. He didn’t like the anger he saw. If this man was the Mastiff, he was dangerous. Mightily so. Hollis and Fletcher weren’t going to bring him down on their own. “Take off the jacket. Show us what else is hidden there.”

  “I will not be harassed in my—”

  “Show us what else is hidden,” Lewiston demanded. “You bested most of us in this room, and we deserve to know how.”

  The Raven met the eye of one of his dealers. “This ends,” he growled coldly.

  The room erupted. Servants and dealers dove to extricate the Raven from Hollis’s hold. Gentlemen who now realized they’d been cheated jumped into the fray. Fists flew. Voices shouted. How long before knives were produced?

  Ana needed to get out. They all did.

  “Fletch,” Hollis called out over the ruckus. “Get her safe.”

  The Raven rushed past him in that moment. Hollis lunged for him, grabbing the cheat by his collar and slamming him against the wall.

  “You’ve won plenty of money,” the man spat at him. “Enough to buy your silence.”

  “I can’t be bought. I expect you to return the jewels and money and fortunes you’ve cheated men out of here.”

  “Cain’t. It weren’t mine to keep.”

  “This house wasn’t yours to keep either.” Hollis tightened his grip. “Run like a coward, if you must.” He wouldn’t get far. The lads across the street had been wa
tching. “The money on the table is mine to redistribute.”

  “You cain’t do that.” For the first time, the man looked truly panicked. “I ’ave to make m’payment.”

  “To whom?”

  The Raven didn’t answer. He swallowed audibly, terror entering his eyes. He wasn’t the Mastiff. How vast and complicated was this web?

  “He’ll find us,” the Raven said. “He always finds us.”

  He’ll kill me if he finds me. Very Merry had said that of the man who’d required her to steal and turn over her loot to him. The man who turned out to not be Four-Finger Mike but the Mastiff.

  A pounding at the door below momentarily silenced the room. Someone pulled open the curtains of another window and looked below. “It’s the police.”

  The Raven jerked out of Hollis’s grasp.

  “Help them find your boss,” Hollis suggested. “They’d likely offer you protection.”

  “They’re no protection against him.”

  In the next instant, the house filled with the sound of hard stomping of feet on the flagstone entryway. Even knowing he was on the right side of the encounter, Hollis was nervous.

  The Raven flew from the room, trailed by many of those who’d come to watch and all of the staff. Hollis pulled his shirt on, then his jacket. He carefully tucked the thick pile of money from the table into his inner jacket pocket.

  He met Fletcher’s gaze. “Shall we?”

  “I think we’d best.” Fletcher offered his arm to Ana. “Care for a stroll, miss?”

  “I don’t think she was part of the wager,” one of the few remaining spectators said.

  “Would she like to be?” Fletcher had a way of asking potentially scandalous questions that made them sound more amusing than offensive.

  “If it’ll let me bunker off, I’ll jump in.” Ana could do a fantastic lower-class accent. A woman of vast talents.

  The three of them walked casually from the room and onto the first-floor landing. The police were rounding up staff and players on the ground level below. It was chaos. The mess would eventually be sorted, but not without a great deal of hassle and annoyance. And it was entirely possible Hollis’s winnings would be confiscated in the process.