Malcolm held up both hands palms out. “No refunds. I told you that last time.”
“Some expert you are.”
“Give the man back his money,” a bookmaker with whom Malcolm had exchanged angry words a week ago called out.
Malcolm gestured for him to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t need that kind of help. He placed his hand on the angry man’s shoulder to encourage him to walk with him, but he shoved it away. Too many people watched, preventing Malcolm from doing what he wanted to do—plant a fist in the man’s stomach.
People like this man were the reason blackmail appealed to Malcolm. Offering threats from a distance was preferable and less likely to cause him harm.
“Why don’t we take a look at today’s race?” Malcolm forced himself to try to appease the man. “Since the last race didn’t go according to plan, the least I could do is offer you some free advice for this one.” He glanced around as if making certain no one overheard them and lowered his voice. “But only if you promise not to share it.”
“I have no money left to spare.” Yet the light of interest filled his dark eyes as if he were tempted by the offer.
“The bet doesn’t have to be a large one,” Malcolm said, trying to convince him. He opened the sporting paper he held and looked over the coming race as if he hadn’t already done so. An unhappy customer was too likely to share his opinion with others. People spread bad news more quickly than good. He had to find a way to change the man’s mind. “Let’s see what we have here.”
Within a few moments, Malcolm convinced him to place a small wager then drew a relieved breath as the man stepped into the betting enclosure. He searched for his next target only to see the man in the fancy suit lingering nearby. Watching. A shiver of unease skittered along his spine.
Christopher Easton, Viscount Beaumont, according to the lad he’d paid to follow him. Malcolm had a name and knew where he lived, but little else. Certainly, nothing that explained why the man kept showing up in the same places as Malcolm.
His presence was no coincidence. Malcolm knew that in his bones. What was he about? Malcolm refused to wait to see. He much preferred to take control in situations like this. He strolled toward Beaumont, trying to gain his measure. Did he attempt to chase him off or hide his suspicion for now?
“Thinking of placing a bet, are you?” he asked, deciding on the latter option.
“Perhaps. Do you have some advice?” The lord studied him with cool green eyes, intelligence shimmering in their depths, causing Malcolm’s unease to spike. A man like him might have deep pockets, but he was no easy target. Malcolm told himself he was up for the challenge despite the wariness rolling over him.
“I like to think I have something of a magic touch,” Malcolm said with a confident nod.
“How helpful. Does that mean you’re willing to guarantee who wins the next race?” A smirk curled the lord’s lip as if he already knew the answer.
“Gambling carries no guarantees, but I’m willing to tell you my opinion for the right price.”
Beaumont smiled, though it wasn’t a friendly one. “How much?”
On a normal day, Malcolm would’ve kept his distance from a man like this. But how could he when this was the third time he’d spotted him?
“Depends on the type of advice you need,” Malcolm said, keeping his tone friendly. He shared his usual story about how his father was a trainer, and that was why he knew so much about the horses, their jockeys, and the trainers.
Malcolm didn’t know if the man believed a word, but he pressed on. As he had with the last person, he opened the sporting sheet and studied the horses listed for the next race, rubbing a finger along his chin as if debating the merits of each one. “I see an obvious winner in the next race.”
“Which one would that be?”
“Who’s to say you would pay me once I share my expertise?” Malcolm asked. “I need payment upfront.”
Beaumont studied him for a long moment before reaching into his waistcoat pocket to withdraw a note. “Will this do?”
Malcolm looked at what he held and doubled his normal fee. The lord handed it over without hesitation.
Malcolm pocketed the money, wondering what the chances were of taking him for more. Though he knew he should avoid the lord, greed said otherwise. The more Malcolm watched him, the more he thought he had the potential for an even bigger play. It might be worth his time to follow him further to see if he could discover any secrets.
Malcolm watched as the lord entered the betting enclosure. He was too far away to hear how much the man wagered but, by the bookmaker’s expression, it was a substantial amount.
Malcolm rocked forward on his toes with excitement only to correct himself. The lord might not want to purchase more advice nor have any dark secrets. He needed to calm himself and proceed with caution. If he paid too much attention to the lord, it might arouse suspicion. Beaumont might be following him for some reason, but the tables had just turned.
Chapter Eleven
“This is but a plain and unmistakable intimation, on the part of the advertising blackguard, that his dupes should stick at nothing to raise money to bet on the ‘forthcoming great event.’”
~The Seven Curses of London
Amelia drew a deep breath as she exited the house two days later. This was her first full day off since she’d started, and she looked forward to visiting her mother. But she’d miss Charlotte and Ronald.
When Mrs. Wimbly had advised her that her day off was approaching and encouraged her to enjoy it, Amelia had been surprised. She’d occasionally received a half-day while working at the academy, but Aunt Beasley often found additional projects for Amelia that prevented her from leaving.
Amelia had written her mother twice and received responses but hadn’t seen her since Christmas nearly four months ago. There hadn’t been time to visit her before interviewing for this position. She looked forward to spending a few hours with her and knew it was a good idea to have time away from her duties and everything that went with them, including Christopher.
Not that she’d seen him of late, but he was never far from her thoughts. His presence was everywhere. Whether it came from a certain look or gesture of the earl’s or from something one of the children said, she was reminded of his presence throughout the day.
Each time she closed her eyes before she fell asleep at night, he filled her thoughts. And she had no idea what to do about it.
“Miss Tippin?”
Amelia turned to see the footman hurrying after her. “What is it, Charles?”
“We have instructions from Viscount Beaumont to have the carriage take you wherever you’d like to go.”
She could only blink at the man. “Truly?”
He nodded and gestured toward the house. “I’ve already ordered it.”
How kind of Christopher. She was touched by his thoughtfulness. Yet she couldn’t imagine having the carriage take her to the shabby lodging house. She didn’t care for the idea of this world touching her own.
“Perhaps a ride to the train station,” she said. The offer was generous and would save her funds, leaving her more to share with her mother.
Charles assisted her into the carriage when it was brought around and advised the driver where to take her.
In a short time, she was boarding the train that would take her to the outskirts of London where her mother lived. It was crowded with others venturing to rural areas and escaping the city for the day.
From the train station, she walked to the lodging house, hoping her mother remembered she was coming. During moments like this, she missed the home where she’d been raised. How pleasant it would have been to return there for her day off. There was no point longing for what couldn’t be, though it seemed she hadn’t yet learned that lesson.
She set aside the thought as her mother opened the door and smiled.
“Amelia. How lovely to see you,” she said with a hug.
“It’s wonderful to see you to
o.” Amelia drew back to study her. “You look well.” Rebecca Tippin was slightly shorter than Amelia with similar coloring. The years since her father’s death had taken their toll, and she appeared older than her fifty-five years. Her dark hair held hints of grey at the temples and the brackets lining her mouth and forehead spoke of worry. But her hazel eyes were alight with happiness at the moment, warming Amelia.
“I’m so pleased you came to visit.” She gestured for her to come inside. The sparsely furnished room was tidy, but nothing here spoke of home except for her mother’s presence.
“Tell me all about your new position. From what you wrote in your letters, the children sound wonderful.” They both sat in the small sitting area.
“They truly are. Both Charlotte and Ronald are well behaved and clever. I enjoy teaching them.”
“I’m so proud of you.” She clasped her hands together, a smile softening her face. “I was so surprised when you described your position in your letter. I didn’t realize my sister allowed you to take classes at the governess academy.”
“She didn’t.” Amelia hesitated, uncertain how much to share. If she told her the truth, that she’d taken the position under false pretenses, she feared her mother would worry too much. Amelia was doing enough of that for both of them. “However, I learned a considerable amount during my years there. The children lost their parents just over a year ago in a carriage accident.”
“How terrible.”
“They are adjusting quite well thanks to their uncle and their grandfather.”
“And do you like your employer? Is he married?”
“The viscount is kind.” She looked away, hoping her feelings for Christopher weren’t apparent. “He’s not married, but his aunt and the earl live there as well. The earl is an inventor. Can you imagine? He is brilliant but sometimes different, much like Uncle Tobias.”
“He used to do the strangest things,” her mother said with a shake of her head. “Do you remember?”
Amelia nodded. “It sounds as if the previous governesses didn’t know quite how to take his popping into the schoolroom frequently. But the children like it and he often adds to our lessons.”
She did her best to speak as little about Christopher as possible as the conversation continued, not wanting her to realize how Amelia felt about him.
“What of you, Mother? Have you been well?” Amelia asked. “Mrs. Clarke wrote to me and said the two of you ventured to Cremorne Gardens.” Amelia paid the widow who lived down the hall a small amount to look in on her.
“We’ve gone twice. It’s quite the diversion though I should like to go at night to see the lights. So many different sorts of people there.”
After they’d spent some time catching up on each other’s news, her mother sat forward. “How shall we spend our day together? Perhaps we should go out since the weather is so fine.”
The odd look on her face had Amelia hesitating. “What did you have in mind?”
“The horses are running at Newmarket today. We could take the train and watch a few of the races.”
“Mother, you promised not to wager anymore.” Her heart sank at the idea that she was gambling again.
“And I have kept my promise,” she insisted. “I haven’t placed any wagers. But the races are still thrilling to watch. Besides,” she continued as she glanced around the tiny room, “you don’t want to sit here with me all day. Let’s do something entertaining.”
“We’re only going to watch?” Amelia asked, wanting her word.
“Of course.” Her mother waved her hand to dismiss Amelia’s worry. “Perhaps we can look at the sporting sheet and each pick a horse we think might win, just to make it more exciting.”
The look of anticipation on her face made it impossible to say no. “That sounds like a fine idea.”
They gathered their things and walked to the station to catch the train to Newmarket.
Amelia had never been to the races. As they entered the gates and joined the crowd, excitement filled the air, making her realize why her mother enjoyed the atmosphere of it. All manner of people were present, from factory workers to fine ladies and gentlemen dressed in beautiful clothing and everyone in between.
Her mother retrieved one of the sporting sheets lying on the ground and studied it eagerly. She read aloud the upcoming races and pondered the merits of the horses and jockeys. Her obvious pleasure kept Amelia from offering further caution. Hopefully, her mother had told the truth about not placing bets anymore.
Aunt Beasley had given Amelia frequent lectures about the evils of gambling. Amelia had resented every moment of it, but how could she argue when her mother had indeed lost what little money they had by wagering?
Her mother had been so grateful to her sister for offering Amelia an opportunity that Amelia hadn’t told her of the lectures or belittling that had occurred.
The few mending jobs her mother found didn’t pay well and her sewing skills weren’t strong enough to do much else. It didn’t seem to matter whether it was her own money or what Amelia gave her, she couldn’t keep hold of it. Each time she heard of a chance to win, she seemed compelled to try it. It was difficult to argue with her when she became so hopeful she’d win. To Amelia’s knowledge, she had yet to do so.
There had been dark days when there hadn’t been enough money for food and they had both gone hungry until they could find a way to barter for work for a few things to eat. Amelia never wanted to live like that again. But neither did she want to work as a maid.
She had to think of a way to convince Christopher to allow her to keep her position if he seemed inclined to release her from employment once he knew the full truth of her past. Her mother needed her but lying to keep her position wasn’t worth the risk.
“Will you tell me what’s wrong?”
Amelia glanced over to see her mother staring at her with concern.
“I don’t know what has you worried,” she said gently, “but either tell me or let it go so we might enjoy our brief time together.”
Amelia reached out to squeeze her arm. “You are quite right, Mother. My apologies. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Are you certain?” She continued to study her, but Amelia refused to allow her to see her fears.
“Yes, I’m quite certain.” Amelia forced a smile and drew a deep breath then allowed her gaze to sweep over the crowd. “Not only can we watch the horses but the people as well.”
Her mother chuckled. “I knew you’d like it. Did you know they say Newmarket is haunted?”
“Truly?”
“By the ghost of a jockey.” She shivered yet her delighted expression suggested she found the idea intriguing. “Shall we walk closer so we can better see the horses?”
They walked toward the track where the horses were being readied for the first race. The horses were beautiful with their long legs and shining coats. Some had braided manes with bright ribbons. Her mother glanced between the horses and the sporting sheet, a gleam in her eye that spoke of her interest.
“Most of these are three-year-old colts and fillies,” she explained. “This is a flat race, meaning it’s run on grass on the level. That makes it all about speed and stamina. The jockeys need to know where to best position their horse and when to urge it on. This race is a practice run for the 2000 Guineas Stakes that will be held here next week.”
Amelia was amazed at her knowledge.
“Mrs. Johnson down the hall told me that young people are betting more frequently.” At Amelia’s raised brow, she continued, “Everyone from butcher boys to inky printer boys has taken to betting on the Derby and the other large races.” Her mother shook her head. “After a race is held, they gather on the Strand where the sporting newspaper offices are situated. So many congregate to learn the results of the race that they have to send for the police to keep order. All because they’re anxious to find out whether their horse won. Can you imagine?”
Amelia frowned at the idea of the youth of the cit
y spending their hard-earned wages on gambling. “That’s terrible.”
“Isn’t it just? A penny saved is a penny earned.”
Amelia studied her mother in surprise, wondering if she truly believed the saying, considering how often she’d wasted money on gambling in the past.
But no hint of guilt showed on her face. Had she finally realized wagering was an endeavor for someone who could better afford it? Perhaps hearing about the young people becoming ensnared in its painful grip made her see the truth.
“Which one do you think will win, Mother?” Amelia selected hers based on its appearance alone—and its name. Pretender’s sleek black coat glistened in the sunshine. The jockey in its saddle ran a hand along its neck, speaking quietly as if to calm the anxious steed.
“Prince Charlie. Just look at him. He’s being ridden by John Osborne, Jr., who won the race last year. No doubt he’ll be a winner. If not this race, then the one next week.”
Once again, Amelia found her mother’s knowledge both admirable and alarming.
After they’d selected their horses, they found a place along the rail to watch. Amelia looked over the crowd, wondering what brought them there. Was this a pleasant outing or had they come with the intent to wager and win?
The jockeys rode their horses to the field and soon they were off, shouts and cheers coming from the spectators lining the one-mile track.
Her mother was right along with them, calling encouragement to the horse she’d chosen. The pounding of hooves on the grassy expanse could be felt under her feet when the horses galloped past, the sensation adding to the excitement. Her horse was near the lead as they drew close to the finish line. She couldn’t help but cheer him on. She bounced on her toes alongside her mother, thoroughly enjoying the experience.
But when Pretender came in fourth and Prince Charlie sixth, she was doubly glad they hadn’t placed wagers. From the disappointed look of some of the faces around her, she and her mother were among the few who hadn’t lost money.
While the horses were still in the winner’s circle, her mother shifted her attention to the next race, studying the horses and jockeys listed. The day remained a fine one and Amelia bought them lemonade to sip as they watched two more races, both equally as thrilling.
Gambling for the Governess: A Victorian Romance (The Seven Curses of London Book 9) Page 14