Gambling on a Scoundrel

by Sheridan Jeane

  Tempy dipped her pen in the pot of ink and then held it poised over her paper. Lucien had been right. Her notoriety had nearly derailed the sale of his casino, just as he'd feared. Even though the article had obviously been written by the same person who'd been harassing her ever since her father died, she could see Mrs. Conner's fingerprints all over it, and if Tempy hadn't lost her temper and goaded the woman, the parts that incriminated Lucien might never have been written. It was clearly intended to cast her in a bad light. Mrs. Conner might not even have considered the effect it could have upon Lucien.

  A drop of ink dripped from her pen, landing on the paper with a plop.

  Blast.

  She yanked open one of the drawers and pulled out a small square of blotting paper that she used to wick up the worst of the stain, but her mistake was still obvious. With a sigh, she decided to ignore it for now. Given her state, it wouldn't be the last blot today, and she couldn't afford to take the time to start over and rewrite her page every time she made a mistake.

  She glanced up. When her gaze immediately landed on Clarisse's letter, she regretted looking up at all. She stood to move it. She couldn't let it sit there within her eyesight, ready to pounce on her again and distract her.

  She didn't want it in her pocket, nor anyplace within her sight, so she looked around her cozy office to find a place to hide it away. Ah, there. In that book, Wuthering Heights. Ernest had always hated it. She opened the book and placed the letter inside, and then slid it back onto the shelf.

  Unfortunately, hiding the letter out of sight didn't stop her from worrying about it. Ernest and Clarisse would be married soon, and she needed to move quickly if she had any hope of preventing it.

  Thinking about it made her shoulders tense. She needed to seduce him away from Clarisse, and she needed to do it soon.

  Her last attempt at seduction had led to some unexpected results. Had she been responsible for both Charles's and Major Payne's behavior? Had she overdone it at the dinner party? Obviously Mrs. Conner thought so.

  She needed to formulate a plan. And for that, she needed Mme Le Clair.

  Tempy sat back down at her desk, determined to work on her article. As she dipped her pen in the pot of ink, she thought about the row of quill pens on Mr. Dickens's desk. Perhaps he preferred to be obliged to sharpen them in order to give himself something to do with his hands while he was deciding what to write next. Tempy always used a desk blotter to clean her pen and draw random designs. Doing so often helped her focus her thoughts. When she was done writing each day, she'd tear off the top sheet on the blotter, revealing a fresh, clean one.

  But scribbling on her blotter wouldn't solve her problem this time. Her article was challenging, and she sensed she'd left out something. It needed balance. Perhaps if she spoke with people who no longer visited casinos, she could figure out what was missing. After all, if she wanted to understand how gambling impacted families, she should also look at some people who had turned their backs on the pastime.

  With her new goals firmly in mind, Tempy set aside her article and penned a couple of brief notes. Then she put the cap on her inkwell and cleaned off the pen nib before putting everything away.

  Tempy received replies to her notes a couple of hours later, but when she collected her mail, she was startled to discover a letter from Mrs. Lipscomb. What on earth had caused the woman to break her silence?

  With a frown, Tempy set aside the one from Ernest's mother for the moment and opened the other two first. Mme Le Clair would meet her tomorrow morning at the casino, and Millicent wanted Tempy to stop by her home today at five o'clock to meet "the perfect interviewee" for her article.

  With both of those problems firmly in hand, Tempy's sense of looming disaster eased, but only slightly.

  With some trepidation, she tore open the envelope from Ernest's mother.

  My dearest Temperance,

  First, I must apologize to you for what must seem like a callous desertion of affection. I have no excuse for my behavior. Both Ernest and Mr. Lipscomb thought it best to sever our relationship with you after his engagement, and I abided by their wishes, but I most fervently regret that decision.

  I miss you, Tempy. And I'm worried about you.

  As I'm sure you must have guessed, I read the article about you in this morning's newspaper. Of course, I realize that you have frequently been the target of unscrupulous journalists, and with that in mind, I initially dismissed it out of hand. But then Ernest told me that he'd seen you both at Hamlin House and in Bath in the company of Mr. Hamlin, and this news troubled me greatly.

  I realize I am not your mother. No mother would have abandoned her child the way I did, and for such trivial reasons. Again, I sorely regret my actions. But I feel I must caution you in regard to your continued acquaintance with Mr. Hamlin. There are things you do not know about him.

  Ernest has been to his establishment twice. On the first occasion, he won a great deal of money, but on his second visit, he lost all of it! To make matters worse, Mr. Hamlin extended credit to our Dear Ernest, so now he is in debt to the man. I am quite upset by this, as you can well imagine. Hamlin House has a reputation for not advancing credit to its patrons, so I can only assume that he did this in order to put Ernest, a former rival for your affections, into debt with him, thereby gaining some control over both him and you. This is quite upsetting.

  Please be assured that Mr. Lipscomb will pay Ernest's debt so that Mr. Hamlin will not be able to use it to manipulate either you or Ernest.

  I fervently hope that this financial indiscretion has not caused you any heartache. The thought of this man taking advantage of you is like a knife to my heart.

  Please know that I am here for you now, just as I should have been all along. You may never be Ernest's wife, but you will always have a place in my heart.

  My most sincere apologies and heartfelt love,

  Doris Lipscomb

  Tempy felt a tear slide down her cheek. It had been difficult to make the mental transition to calling this dear woman "Mrs. Lipscomb" rather than "Mother," but now it seemed more natural. Even so, Mrs. Lipscomb was still the closest thing she had to a mother.

  Poor, sweet Mrs. Lipscomb. No wonder Tempy hadn't heard from her in nearly two weeks. Even though the letter was laced with misunderstandings, at least Tempy was assured of the woman's continuing affection.

  She needed to reply. And she needed to explain that Mr. Hamlin had only extended the credit because Ernest had used his friendship with Tempy to ask for it. Tempy was certain that this would come as a surprise to Mrs. Lipscomb.

  She pulled out a fresh piece of paper and began writing.

  ###

  Precisely at five o'clock, Millicent's butler escorted Tempy into her drawing room.

  Millicent rose to greet her. She had been sitting and chatting with a conservatively dressed man who appeared to be in his early thirties. His hair was sleek and dark, thinning just above the temples, and he had thick sideburns that seemed to emphasize his hair loss.

  As Millicent brushed her cheek against Tempy's in an embrace, Millicent murmured, "Treat him gently," so that only Tempy could hear. As she stepped away, she said, "Tempy, I'd like to introduce you to Harlan Mall. He graciously consented to allow you to interview him for your article."

  "But I told you that I wished to remain anonymous," Mr. Mall said, his voice querulous as he rose to his feet from the sofa.

  "And so you shall be," Tempy reassured him. "I won't divulge your name or any other information that might allow people to identify you. I promise."

  The man still sent Millicent a peevish look, but when he turned his gaze to Tempy, his expression softened a little.

  "I can't afford to have my reputation damaged. I'm only beginning to recover from my youthful excesses, and to have you shine a public light on my life could bring me even more shame."

  "I understand, Mr. Mall. Again, I promise that I'll never use any personal information about you. Would you like to
have the opportunity to see what I write before it's published?" She paused to watch his reaction. He seemed intrigued by the idea, and that was good. "I can offer to remove anything that you believe would cause you or your family harm. But that's an easy promise to make since I don't intend to include information of that nature. My goal is to warn others so they don't travel down the same dangerous path you did."

  She could tell he was wavering. She nearly had him. "Wouldn't you like to know that your example helped save others from experiencing the same pain and anguish you did?"

  Finally, the man's shoulders relaxed. He nodded. "Little good has come from all of my mistakes, but if I can help someone else...well, maybe that would help balance the scales." He lifted his chin and looked at her steadily. "How can I help?"

  Tempy chose a spot on the pink sofa and Harlan Mall sat back down next to her. "Just tell me your story," she said. "I'll make sure I gloss over any details that might make you identifiable."

  Mr. Mall drummed his fingers on his leg for a moment and then looked at Tempy. "I suppose I should begin at the beginning, back when I first started gambling. You see, when my father died, he left all of his property to my older brother and three thousand pounds a year to me. My brother doled out the money from the income of his estate. At first, I was satisfied with things as they stood, but having so much money to spend at my own discretion was a heady experience. I went from living with a small allowance to having ample funds at my disposal. I'm afraid I let it get the better of me."

  Tempy kept her gaze focused on Harlan while she pulled her notebook from her satchel along with her pen-and-ink set. Perhaps if she were discreet in taking her notes, he might even relax enough to forget that she was taking them.

  "I frequented the casinos in London, betting on whatever took my fancy." Harlan rose to his feet and pushed past Tempy's skirt to begin pacing.

  She discretely slid her notebook on the low table in front of the sofa. Harlan didn't even glance at it.

  "It didn't take long for me to burn through my ready cash, and then through all the money I'd planned to live on for the rest of the year. I'd become used to going to my father for money whenever I ran low, but I knew my brother wouldn't be so understanding."

  Tempy dipped her ink in the pot, not worrying about leaving spots on her paper. These were just notes, after all, and only she would see them.

  "Rather than going to him, I ended up taking out a sort of 'gentleman's loan' from a lawyer I'd met." Harlan stopped pacing and slid his hands into his trouser pockets. "Some friends of mine had also borrowed from him in the past, and he was quite accommodating. He seemed to understand my embarrassment. It was a simple matter to borrow the cash by signing a piece of paper."

  One of Millicent's maids entered the room and set a tea tray on the table by the sofa, and then she left. Millicent poured cups for each of them. However, Mr. Mall hardly seemed aware of the activity around him, engrossed as he was in telling his tale. When Millicent handed him his tea, he took it absently and resumed his pacing.

  "With my gambling debts paid off, I went back to my brother's home in the country. I was convinced that the lawyer had saved me from a terrible fate, and thankful that I had a place to live until I received my annual allowance. I stayed there all summer and into the fall, but once the Season began, all of my friends returned to London. A couple of them wrote to invite me to stay with them at their club. It was a generous offer, and I decided to join them for a month or two.

  "Unfortunately, it didn't take long for me to fall back into my old habits. I tagged along with my friends when they went to a casino one night, and my resolve to never gamble again broke within an hour. Watching other men win money while I stood there with my hands in my pockets was torment. I convinced myself that I'd be able to win back everything I'd lost the year before.

  "I was wrong.

  "I bet ever larger amounts, and much more recklessly than before. Within a week, I had lost all of my money for a second time. Fortunately, my annual allowance arrived a week after that, so I was able to pay off my loan to the lawyer from the previous year, but between paying him and covering all of my new losses, I was again left with nothing."

  Harlan paused in his pacing, which prompted Tempy to glance away from her notes to look at him. He frowned as he looked down at the teacup in his hands, as though surprised to see it there. He took a small sip and grimaced. "Needs sugar," he muttered. He looked around, and Tempy was afraid he might become aware of her note-taking, but instead his gaze focused on the tea tray. He was next to it in a couple of strides and added four spoons of sugar to his cup. After stirring it vigorously, he took another sip and nodded.

  "I approached my lawyer friend again," he said, and then licked his lips. "He was happy to offer me terms to borrow more money since I had paid back the first loan as agreed. But this time, I needed much more than before. The first loan was for fifteen hundred pounds, but the new loan was for the full three thousand. I didn't know what else to do. If I didn't borrow from him, I would have nothing to live on for an entire year." Tempy could hear him swallow as he took a large gulp of tea. He smacked his lips in satisfaction.

  Tempy dipped her pen in the little pot of ink and hurried to continue taking notes.

  "I attempted to avoid the casinos by leaving town again," he said, waving his nearly empty teacup in a broad gesture toward the world outside of London. "But even after I returned to the country, I couldn't stop placing wagers. When my friends visited, we'd gamble on everything, from a race down the lane to which cow would drop the next cow patty." He reddened. "Begging your pardon, miss."

  "That's quite all right. Cow patties happen," Tempy murmured. She tried not to smile since she didn't want to interrupt his flow of words, but it was difficult. The soft scratching sound of her pen nib against the paper was the only sound for a moment.

  Harlan scrubbed his fingers through his hair, leaving it tousled, but he didn't seem to notice. "When I lost all my money for the third time, I felt as though I'd hit the bottom. I couldn't go to the lawyer because I hadn't paid back the last loan, so I was forced to go to my brother and ask him for money." Harlan's face reddened at this part of the story, but he continued on, despite his embarrassment. "When he refused, I had to confess to him what I'd done. After all, I owed three thousand pounds and had no means to repay it. My brother finally relented and loaned me what I needed to pay off the lawyer, but he said it would come out of my income for the next two years, reducing it to only fifteen hundred." Harlan stopped pacing and grimaced. "And can you believe it?" Harlan asked, locking gazes with Tempy. "I gambled it all away again."

  He shook his head in disbelief. "I couldn't stop myself. I kept going deeper and deeper in debt. It wasn't until the lawyer had some men threaten to thrash me and have me thrown into debtors' prison that I finally stopped gambling."

  Tempy stifled a sharp intake of breath at the threat of violence. She needed to tighten her grip on her pen before she was able to continue writing down his story.

  The teacup and saucer clattered as Harlan set them down too forcefully on the end table. "I had to lose it all," he said. "Even my fiancée. She left when she discovered that I would have no income at all for the next ten years. Nothing except what I could earn through my own labor."

  Harlan hung his head and shook it slowly, then let out a deep sigh. "I ended up finding a position with a shipping company. I worked for them for five years to make enough money to pay back my brother. They sent me to their India office, and I found it much easier to live on a small income there. I was able to turn a profit with some shipping ventures of my own, but I missed England. Last fall, when I was offered the chance to return, I took it. I haven't laid a single bet ever since I left for India," he said, raising his chin, "and I don't plan to. It's obvious that I'm not constitutionally suited for it. I have bad luck at it, and my pockets aren't deep enough. I've learned to leave that pastime to the extravagantly wealthy. They're the only ones who can afford it.
"

  Tempy glanced through her papers, searching for the questions she'd noted. "How many loans did the lawyer arrange for you over the years?" Tempy asked.

  "I'm not sure," Harlan said, and began pacing again. "At least five. And each time the interest rate was higher. He knew what he was doing. I'm certain of it. He presented himself as a kindly man who only wanted to help young gentlemen who were in over their heads. We just kept handing him our money, happy to get loans when we needed them. I don't know of a single one of those young men who didn't go broke."

  "He introduced you to one another?" That made sense, because if they all became friends, then taking a loan from the same man would then seem like the normal way of things.

  Harlan nodded. "He regularly hosted social events so that we could meet."

  "How do you avoid gambling now that you're back in town?" That was the key to everything, wasn't it?

  He stopped pacing for a moment and paused to look out Millicent's front window facing the street. A carriage rolled past, and his head turned as he tracked its progress. "Mostly, I avoid associating with my former friends. Of course, when I began working in the shipping business, most of them dropped me anyway." He turned to face the room again, and a mournful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  Harlan returned to sit next to Tempy on the sofa, and then he leaned back to relax against the cushions. "They found me socially acceptable when I was heavily in debt, but I was beneath their contempt when I began to earn a wage to climb out of the financial hole I'd dug for myself." He laughed under his breath, but it was a grim sort of laugh. "I have to admit, I felt the same disdain for myself when I first took that position, but that changed. Paying back the debt I owed with money I earned felt good. Now, I'm a respected member of my community, and none of my new associates are aware of my feckless past. That's why I was hesitant about this interview." His gaze fixed on hers, but he was much more relaxed now.