by Nicole Byrd
Barrett frowned, and at last led with a ten of hearts. From his smug expression, he was confident that all the higher cards of this suit had been played. Gabriel got rid of his last heart and held his breath as the man on his left added a eight. But David, unexpectedly, seemed to do something right; he threw down a five of spades. Trump. Gabriel tried not to laugh at Barrett’s expression of fury as David took the trick. Another point for Gabriel and his partner.
“Have you no hearts left?” Barrett demanded. “Or are you too drunk to know what you’re doing!”
“Nope,” David said cheerfully. “I’m heartless, you might say.” He laughed lustily at his own lame joke.
Gabriel couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
Barrett’s partner looked guilty under the force of Barrett’s glare. Their signals had gone awry. And the next hand was no better; as the man on Gabriel’s left reached to make the usual signal, Gabriel, with casual nonchalance, stomped on the man’s foot.
“Oww!” The man said, and he dropped a jack of clubs into the hand.
“Careless of me, so sorry,” Gabriel said. Barrett fumed, David revived enough to throw down the queen of clubs Gabriel had been betting he held, and they took another trick.
David led with a ten of clubs, and Gabriel had the ace. He had control of the game.
Taking a deep breath, Gabriel smiled sweetly at Barrett’s grimace. He held his cards close to his chest, and he played with consummate skill, for David’s fortune, for his own future.
More tricks fell to Gabriel, or to David. But the score was too close; they could not afford to lose another trick. On the very last round, Gabriel knew there was an errant queen of diamonds lurking in someone’s hand. Judging by Barrett’s play, Gabriel though it was his opponent’s.
The rest of the room was very quiet; Barrett’s face was drawn with tension, and his henchmen seemed afraid to distract him by even a cough. The smoky air was even thicker than usual, as if the tension could be felt from wall to dirty wall.
David put down his last card, a ten of diamonds, and yes, Barrett played the queen, smirking with triumphant. But Gabriel had been hoarding the ace of diamonds. He laid it down slowly, and heard a hiss of indrawn breath as Barrett saw his sweet victory waver.
It came down to Barrett’s man; did he have a diamond left, or would he trump the hand and win it all?
According to Gabriel’s count of suits and cards played, there should be another diamond left. If he was wrong–they all waited, watching the fourth player, and the room grew even more still. Gabriel had been watching all night to make sure no one switched a card, and now he narrowed his eyes, watching the man’s hands more than his face.
The man’s expression was twisted into a nervous grimace, and he held the last card so tightly it was nearly crumbled in his hand.
“Play it, you idiot,” Barrett barked.
Glancing at his employer, the man put down his card–a jack of diamonds. Barrett swore, his voice thick with anger.
“Yes!” Gabriel said, and David whooped with glee. The game was theirs.
Gabriel reached across and caught up the all-important deed, tucking it safely back into his inner pocket. Then he took the crumbled IOU which had David’s signature upon it and tore it into tiny pieces, afterwards scooping up the stack of coins that lay beside it.
Barrett’s eyes glittered with an anger almost impossible to contain.
“Skill does come through, when the trickery is put aside,” Gabriel told him. “I win again,”
“Dead men don’t collect their spoils.” Barrett spoke slowly, as if having trouble moving his jaw. He seemed rigid with fury.
Gabriel had considered that problem, too. David was drunk and unlikely to be much help. He glanced around the room, checking for quick exits, but the murky hazy air obscured any easy answer.
“David,” Gabriel said. “We are going now, Get up.”
David stood, swaying a little. “So s-soon? But we won. It was a g-great game. Wanna play another hand?”
“No, I have some very fine brandy you need to taste,” Gabriel told his childhood friend. “It’s time to leave.”
“Oh, right.” David took one step and swayed again.
Gabriel felt stiff with apprehension; he would never be able to get them both out of here alive. And to give that rat Barrett the pleasure of winning, by fair means or foul–
He heard loud voices from the other room, then three large men pushed their way past a protesting servant in a dirty set of livery.
“Baker, what–what are you doing here?” David looked unhappy.
Gabriel was not; he took a long breath and felt his shoulders relax.
“Milord, you should not have escaped us.” The man approached their table, the other two stalwart servants behind him. ”Your mother will be worried. We’ve searched every hell in London for you tonight.”
Against the wall, Gabriel saw Annie; the harlot had left the room some time ago, he realized; he’d been absorbed in the game and barely noticed. But her eyes showed a gleam of victory. Was this how David’s guard dogs had been summoned to his–their aid?
Gabriel flashed a quick smile of thanks, and she nodded, then slipped out of the room before Barrett should recognize her involvement.
“Your timing is excellent,” Gabriel murmured to the first Westbury bodyguard.. “His lordship and I were just about to leave.”
The servant gave Gabriel a quick appraising glance and apparently decided he was acceptable. “Yes, sir, just as you say, sir.”
“My old friend Gabriel,” David said, looking more cheerful as he threw one arm around Gabriel’s shoulders. “Got some scotch for me to judge or was it brandy? Oh hell, I’ll try the scotch and the brandy. I’ve a fine palate, you know.”
“Yes indeed, we will go now.” Gabriel signaled to the burly servants, who looked around at Barrett’s men. Two of the ruffians had risen from their seats, and they seemed to be waiting for their employer to give the word.
But Barrett apparently knew a lost cause when he saw one. Two of the bodyguards held thick canes and the third had the unmistakable bulge of a pistol in his pocket. “So, you win tonight, Sinclair,” he said. “But remember what I said; you still must live long enough to enjoy your earnings.” His tone sent a wave of coldness down Gabriel’s back, but he kept his expression even.
“I plan to,” he said.
With David walking unsteadily beside him, and David’s men guarding their back, Gabriel left the gaming den and strode into the darkness. But the night was past its nadir. Light touched the eastern sky, a faint glow just visible beyond the low rough buildings that lined this narrow street. In his relief, Gabriel thought that even the open sewer-laced ditches stank less than usual.
“David, give me your word you will not come to this section of town again,” he told his younger friend.
“Eh?” David stumbled over a loose rock, and one of the men grabbed his elbow. David angrily shook it off. The next time he stumbled, Gabriel put out his hand to stop the manservant. He watched David tumble forward.
“Let him fall in the mud,” Gabriel told the servants, his tone calm. “It might teach him to think a little next time.”
He reached over to pull the younger man back to his feet; David had hit his nose when he landed, blood dripped upon his muddy evening dress, and he smelled like a cistern.
“Bloody hell,” David said, trying to wipe away the drops and only smearing the muck even more.
“Don’t drink so much, next time on the town,” Gabriel told him. David shrugged off his words, but this time, he kept his footing. Gabriel retained his own counsel. The lectures would have to wait till David was sober again. Right now, they had to get out of this neighborhood before Barrett called in the rest of his gang. So they hurried their steps and watched the shadows.
As David stumbled along, and the servants murmured among themselves, Gabriel walked in silence, chilled to the bone by the thought of how much he had wagered, and how clo
se he had come to losing. Never again; he was rapidly losing all taste for gaming, he thought. No, he just wanted to claim his new estate and learn to manage it well. Show Barrett he was the better man, certainly he would be a better landlord. Show Gabriel’s father that his younger son was not the wastrel his father had proclaimed him to be, prove to him what Gabriel was really made of.
And maybe prove it to himself, as well.
As they walked, the streets became gradually wider and less littered with trash. Behind them, the pale light grew stronger until at last the sun lifted its golden head over London’s East End. Just as in Gabriel’s life, another day and another new beginning had dawned.
He did not intend to waste it.
Chapter 12
After the near escape at the gaming hell, Gabriel was reminded that he must stay inside as much as possible, out of sight of Barrett and his gang. But since he was also trying to stay away from Psyche and her family, he found himself so bored the next day that he wandered down to the bookroom to chat with Green, the ineffective actor, who seemed more than happy to put down his pen.
“Terrible ’ard this is on the wrists, me lord,” the little man said, pushing back his frayed and slightly grimy shirt sleeves to rub his forearms. “Don’t know how these scribblers do this, day after day.”
“Take a break,” Gabriel suggested. He rang the bell and when a footman appeared in the doorway, said, “Bring us two glasses of wine, if you please.”
Green brightened as the footman went away again. “Thank’ee, me lord, eh, my lord.”
Gabriel wasn’t surprised that the man had not found success on the stage. “You must live your role,” he advised him. “Be a secretary, think as a secretary thinks, every minute of the day.”
The little man gazed at him. “You sound like a man who knows, my lord. You acted a lot, you have?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Gabriel agreed. He sometimes felt as if he had been playing a role for years, playing the scapegoat, the rogue, the scoundrel. Was that who he was? He wasn’t sure that he knew. He’d been hardly more than a boy when he’d been sent away in disgrace, and since then, his role-playing had been largely a matter of survival.
The footman returned with two glasses of port on a silver tray. Gabriel took the glass the servant offered and sipped it while Green eagerly accepted the other glass, then the servant bowed and departed, shutting the door behind him.
“I never afore acted off the stage, so to speak,” Green continued. “I suppose the lady has ’er reasons.”
“And we would do well not to question them,” Gabriel said firmly, nodding toward the fire on the hearth and the comfortable chairs set before the narrow desk. He lifted his glass; the wine was excellent. “There are advantages, after all, to this unusual venue.”
“Of yes, indeed, my lord,” the little man agreed.
Gabriel put down his glass. “I will leave you to your work.”
“If you say so, my lord.” Green sighed and stretched his fingers, then once more picked up his pen.
It wouldn’t do to linger here; the actor was too inclined to gossip. Gabriel left the room and hesitated in the hallway, not sure where to go. Gabriel had tried to tell himself he was only interested in sanctuary, in the long-denied luxuries of a vermin-free bed and a warm bath. But since he had begun to voluntarily exclude himself, as far was reasonable, from the family, he had realized he had been enjoying something much more valuable.
The pleasure of Psyche’s company and the constant beguilement of her charm, the open acceptance of a bright and unusual child, even Sophie’s tart observations which made him chuckle–Gabriel had allowed himself the illusion of being in the midst of family; it was a sweet fantasy, and he had relished it too much.
But he had seen the shock and revulsion in Psyche’s eyes when she’d realized that he was not just an actor, that he had a real sin in his past, one that he had hoped she would never have cause to know. The disgust he had glimpsed in her candid blue eyes had chilled him, had–be truthful–wounded him, he who by all rights should be impervious to further scorn. After all, he had had enough of that for a lifetime. So he had withdrawn from them and had tried to stay as aloof as possible. He would not worry his lovely employer, nor bring that look of revulsion back to her face.
But he missed them. He could spend the evenings at a series of gaming clubs repairing his empty pockets, but the days–when he must stay inside in order to escape detection by Barrett’s gang–the days were very long.
He wandered into the morning room, which fronted the street, and glanced out the lace-draped window. The sunshine was golden, and the street busy with carriages and the occasional tradesman’s cart. A dandy with white-topped boots rode by on a elegant bay whose neck was just a little too short; on his way to Hyde Park, likely, to impress the ladies with his horsemanship.
A man in a brown suit stood in front of the house next door; he looked out of place, and Gabriel’s gaze focused on him. Why did–
He heard someone call his name. Gabriel looked around toward the open door, but the doorway was empty. He realized that the sound came from above. He crossed the room and into the hall, on to the staircase and glanced up; two landings over his head, Circe leaned over the mahogany railing.
“Come up and talk to me,” she suggested.
He was tempted, but he shook his head. “I am conversing with my–um–secretary,” he told her.
“Then I shall come down.”
And expose her to two impostors? Even worse.
“No,” Gabriel said. “I’ve completed my instructions.” He took the stairs at a rapid pace, thinking that he would pay a brief visit, only.
On the nursery floor, he found Circe waiting. “Come into the school room,” she said. “We can sit down.”
Her precocious poise made him hide a smile, but he did as she bade him, taking a seat at the battered round table.
“Where is Tellman?” he asked, looking over his shoulder for the governess.
“She went down to make me a tisane. I told her I had a headache,” Circe told him.
Gabriel frowned. Psyche would not like that he was having a private conversation with her sister. “Perhaps I–”
”No,” Circe said, taking her seat across from him. “Don’t make an excuse; that’s why I sent her away. I wish to talk to you. I don’t really have a headache.”
“No?” Gabriel tried not to laugh. When it came to plots and schemes, he would back Circe against any comer. “Then why the deception?”
“I wanted to know why you have been avoiding me. Are you angry at me?” Her clear green eyes studied his face.
Gabriel sighed. “Of course not.”
“Then why haven’t you come to see me? I had enjoyed our conversations.”
“As did I,” he agreed. He would not lie about that, no matter what Psyche allowed.
“Then–”
”Your sister does not think I am a suitable companion for you,” he said simply. “And she is right.”
“Why?”
Gabriel found this child’s straightforward inquiry harder to answer than a magistrate’s, and he’d had some experience with those august personages, too.
“Because I have–I have experiences in my past that make me less than perfect as an acquaintance.”
“I know that,” Circe agreed calmly.
He was startled enough to demand, “You do? How?”
She reached forward to touch his face, her touch light and impersonal. “Those lines around the eyes–the upstairs chamber maid, Jane, has the same. And the way your mouth clenches when you are disturbed–”
“Lines come with age, my dear,” Gabriel protested, trying to laugh. “It means Jane and I are older than you, that is all.”
Circe shook her head. “Not just age,” she said. “Jane lost her husband to scarlet fever years ago. That’s why she went into service, to support herself. She’s happy here, mostly, but she still carries the sorrow with her. And I think you
carry sad memories, as well. I should like to draw you, some day.”
Gabriel was speechless.
“Lily, one of our laundry maids, is the same age as Jane, but she has eight brothers and sisters, and both her parents are still living.” Circe paused, looking wistful at Lily’s good fortune. “She visits them on her days off. Her father is a baker, and she has jolly times and brings me back fresh sweet rolls. And she’s happy in her job, even though her fingers are always wrinkled from the laundry tub. She says she likes the smell of clean laundry, and she doesn’t mind hard work–her arms are as well-corded as yours.”
Gabriel gazed at this extraordinary child, who saw with her artist’s eyes so much more than anyone would expect. “A hundred years ago, you would have been in serious danger, you know. Witches were often thrown into the closest pond.”
Circe flashed her wide smile. “But I have no black cauldron nor book of spells,” she pointed out.
Gabriel was spared having to answer by Tellman’s return with a tea tray and the tisane for her charge. The governess frowned when she saw Gabriel, but Circe cut off whatever rebuke the woman was about to offer.
“I shall drink it in just a moment, Tellman, thank you.” Circe glanced back at Gabriel, who was silent, aware that he had earned the governess’ frown. He should have avoided Circe, as he knew that Psyche wished. But Circe seemed to be just as determined as her older sister.
“I am going to show him my newest watercolor,” Circe continued.
Gabriel knew that his brows had risen. Tellman’s expression changed, too. She looked at her charge in surprise. “But, Miss Circe–”
”We shall have some tea in a moment,” Circe said, her voice calm. “Would you like to see my painting?” She turned back to Gabriel.
He nodded. “Very much.”
What had made her decide to grant him this token of her trust? He wasn’t sure, but he rose and followed her to the far side of the room, where her easel stood beneath the largest window. Its glass panes revealed the back courtyard with its carriage house and stables and two large oak trees. The water color was covered with a cloth. Circe lifted it and stood back, waiting in silence for Gabriel to inspect her work.