by Ken Follett
"In a way I feel the same, you know. I'm never going to live the way my mam did, always on the edge of destitution. I'm going to have money, I don't care what I have to do."
As gently as he could, Hugh said: "Is that why you go around with Solly?"
She frowned, and for a moment he thought she was going to be angry, but that passed and she smiled ironically. "I suppose that's a fair question. If you want to know the truth, I'm not proud of my connection with Solly. I misled him with certain ... expectations."
Hugh was surprised. Did that mean she had not gone all the way with Solly? "He seems to like you."
"And I like him. But comradeship isn't what he wants, and it never was, and I always knew that."
"I see what you mean." Hugh decided she had not gone all the way with Solly, and that meant she might not be willing to do it with him. He felt both disappointed and relieved: disappointed because he was so hungry for her, relieved because he was so nervous about it.
"You seem pleased about something," said Maisie.
"I suppose I'm glad to hear that you and Solly are only comrades."
She looked a little sad, and he wondered if he had said the wrong thing.
He paid for their dinner. It was quite expensive but he had brought the money he had been saving for his next suit of clothes, nineteen shillings, so he had plenty of cash. When they left the restaurant the people in the gardens seemed more boisterous than they had earlier, no doubt because they had consumed a good deal of beer and gin in the interim.
They came upon a dance floor. Dancing was something Hugh felt confident about: it was the only subject that had been well taught at the Folkestone Academy for the Sons of Gentlemen.
He led Maisie onto the floor and took her in his arms for the first time. His fingertips tingled as he rested his right hand in the small of her back, just above her bustle. He could feel the warmth of her body through her clothing. With his left hand he held hers, and she gave it a squeeze: the sensation thrilled him.
At the end of the first dance he smiled at her, feeling pleased, and to his surprise she reached up and touched his mouth with a fingertip. "I like it when you grin," she said. "You look boyish."
"Boyish" was not exactly the impression he was trying to give, but at this point anything that pleased her was all right with him.
They danced again. They were good partners: although Maisie was short, Hugh was only a little taller, and they were both light on their feet. He had danced with dozens of girls, if not hundreds, but he had never enjoyed it this much. He felt as if he was only now discovering the delightful sensation of holding a woman close, moving and swaying with the music, and executing complicated steps in unison.
"Are you tired?" he asked her at the end of the dance.
"Certainly not!"
They danced again.
At society balls it was bad manners to dance with the same girl more than twice. You had to lead her off the floor and offer to fetch her some champagne or a sorbet. Hugh had always chafed at such regulations, and now he felt joyfully liberated to be an anonymous reveler at this public dance.
They stayed on the floor until midnight, when the music stopped.
All the couples left the dance floor and moved on to the garden paths. Hugh noticed that many of the men kept their arms around their partners, even though they were no longer dancing; so, with some trepidation, he did the same. Maisie did not seem to mind.
The festivities were becoming unruly. Beside the paths there were occasional small cabins, like boxes at the opera, where people could sit and dine and watch the crowds walk by. Some of the cabins had been rented by groups of undergraduates who were now drunk. A man walking in front of Hugh had his top hat playfully knocked off his head, and Hugh himself had to duck to avoid a flying loaf of bread. He held Maisie closer to him, protectively, and to his delight she wound her arm around his waist and gave him a squeeze.
There were numerous shadowy groves and bowers off the main footpath, and Hugh could dimly perceive couples on the wooden seats, although he could not be sure whether they were embracing or just sitting together. He was surprised when the couple walking in front of them stopped and kissed passionately in the middle of the path. He led Maisie around them, feeling awkward. But after a while he got over his embarrassment and began to feel excited. A few minutes later they passed another embracing couple. Hugh caught Maisie's eye, and she smiled at him in a way that he felt sure was meant to be encouraging. But somehow he could not summon up the nerve to just go ahead and kiss her.
The gardens were becoming more rowdy. They had to detour around a scuffle involving six or seven young men, all shouting drunkenly, punching and knocking one another down. Hugh began to notice a number of unaccompanied women, and wondered if they were prostitutes. The atmosphere was turning threatening, and he felt the need to protect Maisie.
Then a group of thirty or forty young men came charging along, tipping people's hats off, pushing women aside and throwing men to the ground. There was no escaping them: they spread out across the lawns on either side of the path. Hugh acted quickly. He stood in front of Maisie with his back to the onslaught, then took off his hat and put both arms around her, holding her tight. The mob swept by. A heavy shoulder hit Hugh in the back, and he staggered, still holding Maisie; but he managed to remain upright. On one side of him a girl was knocked over, and on the other a man was punched in the face. Then the hooligans were gone.
Hugh relaxed his grip and looked down at Maisie. She looked back at him expectantly. Hesitantly, he leaned down and kissed her lips. They were deliciously soft and mobile. He closed his eyes. He had waited years for this: it was his first kiss. And it was as delightful as he had dreamed. He breathed in the scent of her. Her lips moved delicately against his. He wanted never to stop.
She broke the kiss. She looked hard at him, then hugged him tight, pulling his body against hers. "You could spoil all my plans," she said quietly.
He was not sure what she meant.
He looked to one side. There was a bower with an empty seat. Screwing up his courage, he said: "Shall we sit down?"
"All right."
They made their way into the darkness and sat on the wooden seat. Hugh kissed her again.
This time he felt a little less tentative. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him, and with his other hand he tilted her chin; and he kissed her more passionately than before, pressing his lips to hers hard. She responded enthusiastically, arching her back so that he could feel her bosom crushed against his chest. It surprised him that she should be so keen, though he knew of no reason why girls should not like kissing as much as men did. Her eagerness made it doubly exciting.
He stroked her cheek and her neck, and his hand fell to her shoulder. He wanted to touch her breasts, but he was afraid she would be offended, so he hesitated. She put her lips to his ear, and in a whisper that was also a kiss, she said: "You can touch them."
It startled him that she had been able to read his mind, but the invitation excited him almost beyond endurance--not just because she was willing, but that she should actually speak of it. You can touch them. His fingertips traced a line from her shoulder, across her collarbone, down to her bosom, and he touched the swell of her breast above the neckline of her gown. Her skin was soft and warm. He was not sure what he should do next. Should he try to put his hand inside?
Maisie answered his unspoken question by taking his hand and pressing it to her dress below the neckline. "Squeeze them, but gently," she whispered.
He did so. They were not like muscles or kneecaps, he found, but more yielding, except for the hard nipples. His hand went from one to the other, stroking and squeezing alternately. Maisie's breath was hot against his neck. He felt as if he could do this all night, but he paused to kiss her lips again. This time she kissed him briefly then pulled away, kissed then pulled away, again and again, and that was even more thrilling. There were lots of ways to kiss, he realized.
&nb
sp; Suddenly she froze. "Listen," she said.
Hugh had been vaguely aware that the gardens were getting very noisy, and now he was hearing shouting and crashing. Looking toward the footpath he saw that everyone was running in different directions. "There must be a fight," he said.
Then he heard a police whistle.
"Damn," he said. "Now there'll be trouble."
"We'd better leave," Maisie said.
"Let's find our way to the King's Road entrance and see if we can pick up a hansom cab."
"All right."
He hesitated, reluctant to leave. "One more kiss."
"Yes."
He kissed her and she hugged him hard.
"Hugh," she said, "I'm glad I met you."
He thought it was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.
They regained the footpath and headed north, hurrying. A moment later two young men came hurtling along, one chasing the other; and the first crashed into Hugh, sending him flying. When he scrambled to his feet they had gone.
Maisie was concerned. "Are you all right?"
He brushed himself off and picked up his hat. "No damage," he said. "But I don't want it to happen to you. Let's cut across the lawns--it might be safer."
As they stepped off the path, the gaslights went out.
They pressed forward in the dark. Now there was a continuous clamor of men shouting and women screaming, punctuated by police whistles. It suddenly occurred to Hugh that he might be arrested. Then everyone would find out what he had been up to. Augusta would say he was too dissolute to be given a responsible post at the bank. He groaned. Then he recalled how it had felt to touch Maisie's breasts, and he decided he did not care what Augusta said.
They kept away from paths and open spaces, and picked their way through trees and shrubbery. The ground rose slightly from the riverbank, so Hugh knew they were headed the right way as long as they were going uphill.
In the distance he saw lanterns twinkling, and steered toward the lights. They began to meet up with other couples going the same way. Hugh hoped there would be less chance of trouble with the police if they were in a group of obviously respectable and sober people.
As they approached the gate a troop of thirty or forty policemen entered. Fighting to get into the park against the flow of the crowd, the police started indiscriminately clubbing men and women. The crowd turned and began to run in the opposite direction.
Hugh thought fast. "Let me carry you," he said to Maisie.
She looked puzzled but said: "All right."
He stooped and picked her up, with one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders. "Pretend you've fainted," he said, and she closed her eyes and went limp. He walked forward, against the press of the crowd, shouting: "Make way, there! Make way!" in his most authoritative voice. Seeing an apparently sick woman, even the fleeing people tried to get out of the way. He came up against the advancing policemen, who were as panicky as the public. "Stand aside, constable! Let the lady through!" he shouted at one of them. The man looked hostile and for a moment he thought his bluff would be called. Then a sergeant shouted: "Let the gentleman pass!" He advanced through the line of police and suddenly found himself in the clear.
Maisie opened her eyes and he smiled at her. He liked holding her this way and he was in no hurry to lay down his burden. "Are you all right?"
She nodded. She seemed tearful. "Put me down."
He put her down gently and hugged her. "I say, don't cry," he said. "It's all over now."
She shook her head. "It's not the riot," she said. "I've seen fights before. But this is the first time anyone ever took care of me. All my life I've had to look after myself. It's a new experience."
He did not know what to say. All the girls he had ever met assumed that men would take care of them automatically. Being with Maisie was a constant revelation.
Hugh looked about for a cab. There were none to be seen. "I'm afraid we may have to walk."
"When I was eleven years old I walked for four days to get to Newcastle," she said. "I think I can make it from Chelsea to Soho."
3
MICKY MIRANDA HAD BEGUN to cheat at cards while he was at Windfield School, to supplement the inadequate allowance he received from home. The methods he invented for himself had been crude, but good enough to fool schoolboys. Then, on the long transatlantic voyage home which he had taken between school and university, he had tried to fleece a fellow passenger who turned out to be a professional cardsharp. The older man had been amused, and had taken Micky under his wing, teaching him all the basic principles of the craft.
Cheating was most dangerous when the stakes were high. If people were playing for pennies it never occurred to them that someone would cheat. Suspicion mounted with the size of the bets.
If he were caught tonight it would not just mean the failure of his scheme to ruin Tonio. Cheating at cards was the worst crime a gentleman could commit in England. He would be asked to resign from his clubs, his friends would be "not at home" any time he called at their houses, and no one would speak to him in the street. The rare stories he had heard about Englishmen cheating always ended with the culprit's leaving the country to make a fresh start in some untamed territory such as Malaya or Hudson Bay. Micky's fate would be to go back to Cordova, endure the taunts of his older brother, and spend the rest of his life raising cattle. The thought made him feel ill.
But the rewards tonight were as dramatic as the risks.
He was not doing this just to please Augusta. That was important enough: she was his passport into the society of London's wealthy and powerful people. But he also wanted Tonio's job.
Papa had said Micky would have to earn his keep in London--there would be no more money from home. Tonio's job was ideal. It would enable Micky to live like a gentleman while doing hardly any work. And it would also be a step on the ladder to a higher position. One day Micky might become the minister. And then he would be able to hold his head high in any company. Even his brother would not be able to sneer at that.
Micky, Edward, Solly and Tonio dined early at the Cowes, the club they all favored. By ten o'clock they were in the card room. They were joined at the baccarat table by two other club gamblers who had heard of the high stakes: Captain Carter and Viscount Montagne. Montagne was a fool, but Carter was a hardheaded type, and Micky would have to be wary of him.
There was a white line drawn around the table ten or twelve inches from the edge. Each of the players had a pile of gold sovereigns in front of him, outside the white square. Once money crossed the line into the square it was staked.
Micky had spent the day pretending to drink. At lunch he had wet his lips with champagne and surreptitiously poured it out on the grass. On the train back to London he had accepted the offer of Edward's flask several times, but had always blocked the neck with his tongue while appearing to toss off a swig. At dinner he had poured himself a small glass of claret then added to it twice without ever drinking any. Now he quietly ordered ginger beer, which looked like brandy and soda. He had to be stone-cold sober to perform the delicate sleight-of-hand operations that would enable him to ruin Tonio Silva.
He licked his lips nervously, caught himself, and tried to relax.
Of all games the cardsharp's favorite was baccarat. It might have been invented, Micky thought, to enable the smart to steal from the rich.
In the first place, it was a game purely of chance, with no skill or strategy. The player received two cards and added up their values: a three and a four would make seven, a two and a six would make eight. If the total came to more than nine, only the last digit counted; so fifteen was five, twenty was zero, and the highest possible score was nine.
A player with a low score could draw a third card, which would be dealt faceup, so everyone could see it.
The banker dealt just three hands: one to his left, one to his right, and one to himself. Players bet on either the left or the right hand. The banker paid out to any hand higher than h
is own.
The second great advantage of baccarat, from the cheat's point of view, was that it was played with a pack of at least three decks of cards. This meant the cheat could use a fourth deck and confidently deal a card out of his sleeve without worrying whether another player already had the same card in his hand.
While the others were still making themselves comfortable and lighting their cigars he asked a waiter for three new decks of cards. When the man came back he naturally handed the cards to Micky.
In order to control the game Micky had to deal, so his first challenge was to make sure he was banker. This involved two tricks: neutralizing the cut, and second-card dealing. They were both relatively simple, but he was stiff with tension, and that could make a man bungle the easiest maneuvers.
He broke the seals. The cards were always packed the same way, with the jokers on top and the ace of spades at the bottom. Micky took out the jokers and shuffled, enjoying the clean slippery feel of the new cards. It was the simplest of operations to move an ace from the bottom to the top of the pack; but then he had to let one of the other players cut the cards without moving the ace from the top.
He passed the pack to Solly, sitting on his right. As he put it down he contracted his hand a fraction, so that the top card--the ace of spades--stayed in his palm, concealed by the breadth of his hand. Solly cut. Keeping his hand palm-downward all the time to conceal the ace, Micky picked up the pack, replacing the hidden card on top as he did so. He had successfully neutralized the cut.
"High card gets the bank?" he said, forcing himself to sound indifferent as to whether they said yes or no.
There was a murmur of assent.
Holding the pack firmly, he slid the top card back a fraction of an inch and began to deal fast, keeping the top card back and always dealing the second until he came to himself, when at last he dealt the ace. They all turned over their cards. Micky's was the only ace, so he was banker.
He managed a casual smile. "I think I'm going to be lucky tonight," he said.
No one commented.
He relaxed a little.
Concealing his relief, he dealt the first hand.
Tonio was playing on his left, with Edward and Viscount Montagne. On his right were Solly and Captain Carter. Micky did not want to win: that was not his purpose tonight. He just wanted Tonio to lose.
