by Ella Edon
Rather than head directly home, he took the two of them on a rapid ride through Piccadilly Circus through a long and circuitous route. Before long, it was clear that they had lost those ruffians who wanted their money. Jonathan got an idea.
“Garance, there must be many other places like this, where I could make money at cribbage. Let us ask Nathan to take us to one of them.”
“Will they not be closed at this hour?” asked Garance. “For it is past twelve o’clock.”
“I doubt it. London rarely sleeps.” He opened the door and called to Nathan. “I say, Nathan. Another sovereign for you if you can take us to another such place. I want to try my luck.”
“I was just thinking that, my Lord,” said Nathan. “If you are this good, there is a place where they specialize in cribbage and I know how to get there. It is not a fancy place, but you could make a good amount from the gamblers there. Indeed, I have done quite well there myself.
He drove them to a club that was deep within the slums of The Rookery. He had only been there once before, and that had been to attend the funeral services of his father at St. Giles-in-the-fields, but as they pulled up in front of the ignominious place, it was clear that there may be significant danger here.
“Are you sure about this?” asked Jonathan.
“You ‘ave my word, My Lord,” said Nathan. “And, My Lord, if I might give you a word of advice. Lose the coat. Bet some on Pharaoh. They have a very small operation here, and if you are willing to lose a small amount, they will peg you as a newcomer and you can make a good deal more at cribbage.”
“I thought you said they were exclusively cribbage?”
“They are, but no club in London can afford not to have Pharaoh. It’s simply too lucrative, if you know what I mean, my Lord.”
“Good and sensible advice, my good man,” said Jonathan, turning to Garance. “And what do you think my love?”
“I am very interested in this business,” she said. “I am so excited about all of it that I really do not mind if we lose. I must say it makes my blood red hot!” With that, Garance kissed him passionately, making Jonathan overwhelmed with joy.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Rookery
Inside this rundown warehouse of a place, Garance entered in a very noble manner, followed by Jonathan, who went quickly to the Pharaoh table, lit a large cigar, and purchased a hundred pounds of Pharaoh tokens. He bet it all on what he thought was a foolish bet. With Garance at his side, admired by all the men around the table, to his dismay, he won his bet, giving him a further four hundred pounds.
“Bravo, Johnny!” cried Garance, clapping her hands. This attracted the attention of several of the employees of this place, and Jonathan took his winnings and moved to the cribbage area.
“My lover has just won enough to buy me that beautiful pendant I saw in a lovely jewelry shop today. I am so pleased!” Of course, Garance was playing at the simple maid. Over by the cribbage area, there were many people sitting and playing loudly and boisterously. One man had sat down at a table and was clearly waiting for a partner.
Another of the men, who was wearing the scruffy hat of the croupier gestured to him to join this man.
“Mind if I join in?” asked Jonathan.
“You just won quite a goodly amount at the tables, I see. Why would you stop?”
“Well, to be perfectly frank, my good man, I have never been to one of these gambling establishments before. They are fascinating. I only brought a small amount for fear of thieves.”
“Oy! You ‘ave no fear of that ‘ere,” he said. “They got their men to make sure gents like you is safe. I come ‘ere most nights and I never seen a man leave without his winnin’s.”
“That is jolly good to know,” said Jonathan, puffing on his cigar. “My name is Johnny Anderson. I won a good amount at the horse track and I suppose I don’t mind if I lose it here, as long as I have a good time.”
“‘Ow much then, Johnny?”
“Oh, a huge pot!” he said. “Nearly a hundred pounds.”
“Jesus, man! Keep it down!” said the man. “Listen, mate, I am not going to lie to you. I’m ‘ere on business, and I intend to win. You look like a stripling and I won’t take advantage. I suggest you play against that one over there, nyme o’ Chris. Chris Overton. Professional gambler and longtime loser. Nobody knows where ‘is money comes from, but he regularly loses hundreds. Ask ‘im yourself if you doubt me.”
Chris Overton was sitting alone at a table. “I shall, sir. Thank you for the advice, my good man.” Jonathan rose, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air.
“Jonathan,” whispered Garance, pulling him aside. “This man did not introduce himself. He told you he works here. Is he the best person to ask for advice?”
“No, of course you are right, Garance” said Jonathan. “What do you think? You are clearly much more observant than I am.”
“Let us see him play at first,” she said. “I am pretty good at spotting a professional. I suspect they had you pegged as a mark.”
“I think you might be right, darling,” said Jonathan.
They watched from the sidelines as this fellow, Chris Overton lost hundreds of pounds and played singularly poorly.
After twenty minutes, Garance looked at Jonathan. “He cannot possibly be bluffing. He is simply a frightfully poor player. I am nearly convinced.”
The man who had just won hundreds against this man stood up, and Garance recognized him immediately as the man who had been skulking around the sidelines of the other club. “Do you recognize that man?” she asked Jonathan.
“Should I?” asked Jonathan.
“Yes. He was at the other club. I believe he may be following us. I need to get him away from you. Leave it to me.” With that, she was off.
Jonathan sat in the place of the man who had just arisen. “Hello there,” he said to the obese, sweating man sitting opposite him. His sparse hair was plastered to his forehead.
“Hello there,” he said, in a very posh accent. Jonathan was at first taken aback by the contrast between his speech and his appearance. “Shall we?”
“By all means.” Jonathan began by cutting the deck, smoking furiously and making it seem as though Chris Overton would win. However, within ten minutes, Jonathan had taken more than two thousand pounds from this man. He was astonished at his inability to play and his geniality at losing so badly.
“I beg your pardon sir, but you seem not to have a knack for this game. May I ask why you play it?”
“Well, I think I will get better the more I play. You see, my father squandered half of our fortune and I am bound and determined to make sure I learn from his - and my - mistakes.”
“I see,” said Jonathan, seeing Garance in the corner. It was a strange thing to hear another man who had the exact same idea that he had, but who was clearly not doing it correctly. “I must excuse myself though, as my lady friend seems to be in a bit of trouble.”
“By all means, and thank you for the game,” said Chris Overton, smiling.
“The pleasure is all mine,” said Jonathan.
Garance had, in fact, been cornered by this skulking man, and was trying her best to extricate herself from his clutches. “I say,” said Jonathan as jovially as he could. “There’s my lovely wife!”
The ruffian looked at Jonathan as though he had lost his mind. “Oy! Hands off, there mate. This bird’s mine.”
“I say, my wife is yours? Pish tosh.”
“Ah, husband!” said Garance moving away from the man and behind Jonathan. “We were having a fascinating conversation about the state of the government at present.”
“We was at that,” said the man. “I don’t take kindly to blokes as gets in the way of me political discussions. Makes me fink I’m not worthy. Know what I mean?”
“Well, I am terribly sorry to cut this short, but I have just had a rather catastrophic loss and need to make up some of it. You seem to know this place quite well. What is your suggestion fo
r a quick win?”
“You can’t go wrong with Pharaoh,” he said, smiling a very gap-toothed smile.
“Thank you, my good man,” said Jonathan. “You are a big help.”
Jonathan led Garance away with great care and attention to the brute who had held her hostage and moved to the Pharaoh table. “Jonathan!” said Garance. “That man is a bully and a brute and is wrong! Do not bet on the table.”
“I think I need to in order to make him sure that I am not gambling with any advantage,” he said, moving to the Pharaoh table. “I confess I was somewhat jealous of you conversing with that stranger. He looked like he made to spirit you away from me.”
“Do not worry, my love,” she said, taking his hand tenderly. “I would never leave you. Certainly not for that imbecile.” At that moment, Jonathan looked at the table and realized there were only two cards left to bet on. He put a chip for a thousand pounds on the three.
“I’m sure it will win!” he said, clapping his hands, and puffing on his cigar. The dealer looked at him, shook his head, and then looked at the ruffian, who nodded. Then he overturned the card and indeed, it was a three. “What does that mean?”
“It means we owes you thirteen thousand pounds, bucko. Want to play again?”
“Thirteen thousand pounds? How is that possible?” he said. Jonathan was genuinely shocked. It was far more than he had intended to bet and certainly the opposite of what he wanted to happen. He had hoped to lose but somehow managed to win in what was, he knew, a game of chance. He took his winnings and looked at Garance. “Do you think that fellow is going to follow us?”
“Yes, I do,” she said. “Allow me to create a diversion and you make haste to the carriage.
She headed in the direction of the man, while Jonathan hurried to the carriage. “Nathan,” he said with alarm. “I need to sit in this carriage and lock it, and I need you to take this pistol and get Garance immediately, for she is in terrible danger.”
“Yes, My Lord,” said a clearly rattled Nathan, taking the pistol. He held it as though it might blow up in his face, but he ran inside. He spotted Garance bravely blocking the path of the ruffian. Nathan saw her and ran to her side. “My Lady,” he said breathlessly. “We must away. My Lord is overcome with a terrible headache.”
“You must excuse me, my good man,” said Garance, putting Nathan between herself and the ruffian. Nathan moved swiftly to end the conversation and took her by the arm, pushing through the crowd of bettors.
While Garance leapt into the carriage, Nathan jumped on top of the carriage and drove off quickly. Minutes later, there were no people following him and he realized he could take them home. Nathan descended from the carriage and knocked on the door. “I believe it’s safe, My Lord,” he said. “Shall I take you to Mademoiselle Garance’s place or yours?”
“Let us go to her home, Nathan. You know it’s location.”
“Yes,” he said. Moments later, they arrived at her apartments.
“Let us call it a night, Jonathan,” Garance said. “I am terribly tired, but I would so love to have you call on me tomorrow.”
“I agree, my darling,” said Jonathan, smiling. He kissed her passionately at the door, for it was the middle of the night and he knew nobody would be there. She kissed him back, not having a care in the world that she would be seen.
“Good night, my love,” said Garance, caressing his handsome brow. “You are the bravest man I have ever known.”
“I am inspired to this bravery by your beauty and your intelligence,” said Jonathan, turning, smiling, and retreating to the carriage.
“Take me to Josiah Braithwaite’s place of business,” said Jonathan.
“My Lord, it is nearly four in the morning. He will not be there.”
“You make a good point,” said Jonathan. “Let us go home then. We shall do this business in the morning. Or perhaps in the afternoon.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” said Nathan, clearly tired from the evening’s activity.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The Cutpurse
The following morning, Garance was awakened by the memory of her exciting evening with Jonathan. As Camille entered, she looked at her, smiling.
“You seem very pleased with yourself,” said Camille.
“Oh Camille,” said Garance. “Jonathan Anderson-Reese is the most wonderful fellow. I truly believe I am in love with him. Perhaps I should marry him!” She spoke blithely as she smiled.
“Garance, my lady, you must get this idea out of your head immediately, for this Englishman would never– would never be allowed to marry a French woman such as yourself. Remember, it is less than a decade since our nations were mortal enemies. And besides, today you have a visit from a very important gentleman. I encourage you to look to your business, instead of frittering your evenings with this English fop.”
“You are a cynic, my dear Camille!” laughed Garance.
“I am a realist!” she responded.
Jonathan awoke early and roused a very tired Nathan to take him to the business of Josiah Braithwaite in Cheapside.
“Nathan, I need your services at once,” said Jonathan, as Nathan stood in the door of the breakfast room, half dressed and bedraggled.
“But My Lord,” said Nathan. “It’s eight in the bleedin’ morning. I was driving you around London until four. Surely it can wait.”
“This simply cannot wait!” he said. “I must pay this money back immediately.”
“Very well, My Lord,” said Nathan, rolling his eyes and backing out the door. “Please allow me to dress and get the ‘orses roused. They is tired too, My Lord.”
Jonathan said not a word, but waited patiently for twenty minutes, at which point, Nathan appeared at the front door. Jonathan stepped outside and into the carriage. “Thank you so much Nathan, for your service. I am in your debt.”
“We are going to Cheapside you say?”
“I have given you the address and I hope you can get me there as soon as humanly possible.”
The carriage sped through the city, and arrived in front of the establishment of Josiah Braithwaite, by nine o’clock, just as the poor clerk was unrolling the metal blinds. Jonathan leapt out and accosted the poor man. “Is your employer within?” he asked.
“Why of course he is, My Lord. He lives there.”
“I have business to conduct with Mr. Josiah Braithwaite. It cannot wait another moment.”
The clerk looked fatigued and frustrated but showed Jonathan into the waiting room. “One moment, My Lord,” he said.
Moments later, he returned. “Your name?”
“I am Lord Jonathan Anderson-Reese, Earl of Yarmouth,” he said.
“I see,” said the clerk, retiring. Before a minute had passed, Josiah Braithwaite was in the room, surprised to see him.
“Good morning, Mr. Anderson-Reese,” said Braithwaite. “To what do I owe the honor of your presence?”
“I have come to repay the loan my father took out from you,” said Jonathan.
“I beg your pardon?” said Braithwaite, incredulous. “I was told you had no money to spend on your daily expenses. How on earth could you possibly have enough to pay me back?”
“Never you mind about that. That is my affair. The debt I owe to you is financial, and I am afraid there is nothing else you can ask me. My affairs are my affairs. And so, I trust, we can say good day, can we not?”
“Now, now. Not so fast, Mr. Anderson-Reese. Where is the money, then?” asked Braithwaite, his hands rubbing together despite himself.
“It is here. You may count it if you wish, but it is in the sum of ten thousand guineas, exactly.” Jonathan handed over the sum in a leather envelope, fastened with metal clips, which Mr. Braithwaite opened, taking the bills out and counting them slowly in front of Jonathan. It took him several minutes, but he finished and looked up at Jonathan suspiciously.
“Tell me then, where does this come from?” he was trying to smile but it came out as a sort of sneer.
“Sir, it is all there, as you can see. I owe you no explanation. Suffice it to say, it took a great deal of effort. Now, if you are satisfied, I shall depart. I have no further business to transact with you. Good day.”
He left as quickly as he could, and Braithwaite was clearly annoyed. As Jonathan closed the door, he could hear Braithwaite still trying to convince him to tell him how he got so much money.
“Mr. Twiddle!” thundered Braithwaite, annoyed that his employee had admitted Jonathan to his inner sanctum. “Why did you admit that young man?” he demanded.
