"Pardon me, sir," said Grantham. The flash of his eyes showed that he had recognised Kirby too. "I do not believe we have been properly introduced. My name is Grantham. Percy Grantham."
"Captain Richard Kirby."
"We have some acquaintance in common, I believe."
"Is that so?"
Grantham was rattling the dice around in his hand in a most irritating manner. Kirby cleared his throat. "What is the stake, gentlemen?"
"Ten shillings," said a red-faced fellow to Kirby's left.
"Then I'm in." Alice could hardly object to such a piddling little bet as that. He nodded Grantham on. "Go ahead."
The gentlemen leaned over the table to see where the dice fell.
"A three!" cried the red-faced fellow. "Hard luck, old chap. Two throws remaining."
"I shall keep the main at seven." This was the number he needed to throw to win – seven being the safest choice. What did that say about young Grantham, Kirby wondered?
"You are not commonly seen at Mallory's," Kirby began, as Grantham again began his ritual of passing the dice from hand to hand.
"This is my first experience of his fine establishment, Captain." Grantham blew on the dice and threw again. Another three. Hisses of sympathy and the barely-concealed anticipation of winnings ensued from around the table. Kirby remained impassive.
"Are you acquainted with Mr Mallory?"
"I've had the honour." The dice clacked in Grantham's nervous fingers. "He seems a fine gentleman."
The corner of Kirby's mouth turned up at the younger man's naivety. "That's the first time I've heard Mallory referred to as such."
"Really?" Grantham cast the dice again. He blinked at the number on the table. "I say!"
"Excellent throw, old boy," said the red-faced gentleman, disappointed. He clapped Grantham on the back and reached for his purse. Kirby set his own money down on the table and pushed it towards Grantham without any outward sign of regret. He would easily win it back at a game of skill.
Grantham collected his winnings and, to Kirby's surprise, nodded him an invitation as he rose from the table. "Are you a whisky-drinker, Captain Kirby?"
"I've been known to indulge."
This drew a wheezing laugh from the red-faced gentleman, who admonished Grantham to keep his winnings to himself before Kirby drank them away.
"Please," said Grantham, ignoring the warning. Kirby could not imagine what he wanted with him.
"I've been given to understand Mallory is more than meets the eye," Grantham remarked, when they were seated together at a table in the corner with a bottle of whisky between them. The proud jut of his chin suggested he was bragging, though why he should wish to brag to Kirby was a complete mystery. "He has many fine connections – he told me so himself."
The young man was clearly infatuated with his first experience of London's underbelly. Kirby declined to indulge him.
"I would not set much stock by what Mallory tells you." He drained his whisky and was about to reach for the bottle when Alice's warning rose unlooked-for in his mind. He set his empty glass down. She was right. Better to keeps his wits sharp, even for a fool like Grantham.
"Well, Captain, it is your opinion which concerns me most this evening." Grantham leaned forwards, cupping his glass in his hands. "I was extremely pleased to see you here this evening. It was a stroke of luck I had not looked for."
"Are you looking to join the regiment?" asked Kirby. It seemed a stretch, but it was the only reason he could conceive of to explain Grantham's interest in him.
The younger man let out a bark of raucous laughter. "Heavens, no! The regiment? I, an officer of the militia? Dear me."
"Then I am afraid I am at a loss to imagine what assistance I can render you."
"It concerns a certain person with whom you are intimately acquainted."
Ah. Of course. The young man was a title-chaser – hankering after some connection to the Duke in the hope of bettering his own position. Kirby and Westbourne had been dear friends since the Duke was no-one more than Mr Harry Marsden, and their friendship sprang from deeper motives than Grantham could conceive. It was not the first time Kirby had felt the nip of an upwardly-mobile youngling at his heels since Harry inherited the dukedom.
"I can certainly arrange an introduction between you and Westbourne," he drawled, disinterested now that Grantham's secrets had turned out so mundane. "How you comport yourself afterwards, and whether you catch his favour, is entirely your own affair." And Westbourne was not known to be fond of title-sniffers, as he called them.
But Grantham was shaking his head. "The Duke of Westbourne does not concern me," he said. "Except in the loosest sense. I wanted to enquire...what do you know of his sister by marriage?"
"Mrs Agnes Blakely?"
"Who?"
"The elder of the Sharp sisters. She was married some years ago to a parson in Larksley. That introduction will be more difficult to arrange, but –"
"You are toying with me, Captain."
"Perhaps," Kirby admitted. Something in him revolted at being the first to mention Alice in conversation with such a man, in such a place.
"I am asking after Miss Alice Sharp."
"She is well, as far as I know."
"But that is not what I meant. You see, it is my humble desire to become... more closely acquainted with Miss Sharp than I am at present. I think her a very charming sort of girl."
"Not charming enough to grace with your attentions when there is a Colonel Moore to chase for favour."
Grantham waved his hand dismissively. "We are men of the world, Captain. You and I – we understand the demands of Society."
"All too well." Kirby was growing to dislike Grantham more by the minute. His fingers itched for the whisky bottle, though he could not say whether he intended to drink from it or bring it thumping down on Grantham's head.
"I wish to present my affections to Miss Sharp in the best possible light," Grantham continued. "She is a Duke's sister by marriage, yes, but it would not do for me to be refused by a mere gentleman's daughter. You know, I think, that my father is Viscount Lanley."
"I did not. I am grateful for the information." If Grantham noticed the bite of sarcasm, he chose to ignore it.
"I wish to know any details about Miss Sharp that seem pertinent to you. Her favourite music, perhaps – the types of flowers she appreciates – whether she has a love of art. You know, the sort of thing that women occupy their minds with. Any information you can give me will be most...gratefully...received." He raised his eyebrows and gave his plump purse a little pat to emphasise his meaning. Kirby was filled with disgust.
"That will not be necessary. Do you think me a pauper?"
"I am sorry to have offended," said Grantham steadily, but he did not take his hand from his purse.
Kirby leaned back in his chair and mulled over his options. The route which presented itself to him was a devilish one, to be sure, but... Well. He had never pretended to be virtuous.
He leaned in, nose to nose with Grantham. "Miss Sharp detests the colour blue."
"Blue?" He blinked in surprise.
Kirby recalled how fresh and delightful Alice had looked in her blue riding habit. "She abhors the colour and believes it were better left out of fashionable clothing entirely."
"Noted." Grantham was nodding enthusiastically. "Anything else?"
"She is fond of lilies. Excessively fond. Indeed, she demands that her rooms are kept fully stocked with fresh lilies."
"Good, good. This is exactly the sort of thing I was after!"
"Dancing offends her sensibilities. Oh, she'll dance as much as good manners require, but when pressed she will admit to loving nothing more than sitting indoors with a good book."
"Thank you!"
"She is an unsteady horsewoman. She is such a delicate creature, you know, and the great beasts frighten her."
"How peculiar!"
"Yet it is so. And finally... her preferred music is baroque. She is
not a woman to be enthused by a waltz or a lively jig. If you are ever fortunate enough to hear her at the pianoforte, be sure to request only the most difficult pieces at your disposal. She loves to display her proficiency with tricky pieces."
"Kirby, you're a goldmine!"
"Grantham," he answered, imitating the young man's familiarity with a barely concealed smirk. "I wish you every success in your endeavours."
"Allow me to pour you another drink."
"No, no." Kirby waved him away. "I have some small matters of business to settle with Mallory this evening. It behoves me to keep a clear head."
"A man of wisdom, I see." Grantham winked and poured himself another measure of whisky. Kirby left him chuckling to himself in the highest of spirits.
A tall, sour-faced man was standing discreetly in a corner, watching the goings-on with sunken yet sharp eyes. To the casual observer he would have seemed a nobody, but Kirby was an expert in the workings of a London gaming hell and he knew how to read the subtle signals which the man made to the various security thugs patrolling the hall. This was Mallory's enforcer, known only as Mr Silver, and he was notorious for his heavy-fisted approach to maintaining order in the club.
It was not without a touch of trepidation, then, that Kirby approached him. An officer of the militia had little to fear from a backstreet gambling host, to be sure, but Kirby had long ago learned that it paid to be cautious.
"I have a business matter to discuss with Mr Mallory," he murmured. Mr Silver nodded, his eyes never ceasing their scan of the club.
"He is not expecting you, Captain."
"Nevertheless, I think I have an offer that will interest him." Kirby lowered his mouth to the man's ear and spoke very quietly. "I am in the market to buy a particular item of jewellery."
"Mr Mallory is not a jeweller."
"I have reason to believe he may be able to...help me acquire this specific piece. I am after a necklace – a sapphire necklace set about with diamonds." Kirby shook his purse meaningfully. "There will be no trouble as to the cost."
For a moment, Mr Silver's eyes flicked from their ceaseless circuit and widened in what looked like shock. "How the devil –"
Silver clamped his mouth shut as quickly as he had opened it and made a quick beckoning motion to someone on the other side of the room. Kirby assumed he intended to send a messenger to Mallory, and was surprised, therefore, to find a heavy hand descending on his shoulder.
"Escort Captain Kirby to the door," said Silver tightly. "His games are finished for the evening."
The huge man whose grip was sending a crackle of pain through Kirby's collarbone gave a grunt of understanding.
Kirby knew better than to struggle. He could hold his own in a fist-fight, to be sure, but he was vastly outnumbered and on hostile territory. Only a fool would have fought to hold his ground.
He allowed himself to be steered to the exit. He could say this much for Mallory's men – they were discreet. No-one so much as raised an eye from their card tables as he was propelled past. Then again, in a place like this it was better not to look. The clientele knew better than to volunteer themselves as witnesses.
He half-expected a blow to the face once they were out on the moonlit street. Instead, all he received was a sharp push to the back which sent him staggering. His attendant did not bother waiting to see if he kept his feet. The door slammed closed with a very final bang.
Kirby brushed himself off, straightened his cravat, and set off down the street, hoping that no-one he knew had seen the debacle. So! He was now persona non grata at his favourite gambling establishment. And all thanks to that saucy minx, Alice Sharp!
But no. No, it was not her fault. He had actioned her plan of his own accord. Clearly Mr Mallory was a subtler quarry than they had given him credit for.
What did it all mean? Silver had recognised the description of the necklace – there was no doubt of that. Could Mallory really have stolen it? If so, why? Kirby rubbed the sore spot on his shoulder where the brute had seized him and tossed the matter over in his mind. None of it made sense.
Not yet.
If a Captain of the militia was not equal to the task of unravelling Mallory's web, who would be?
CHAPTER TEN
A card party was always pleasant, in Alice's mind, though of course it could never equal the enchantments of a ball. She was grateful to receive an invitation from Mrs Davidson. It might serve that horrid Colonel Moore right to see Alice forming a firm friendship with his sister!
The only thing which rendered the evening at all notable was that Captain Kirby had been invited along with the rest of the household.
"Doubtless she wishes to curry favour with my husband," Catherine said as she watched the maid fix Alice's hair to her satisfaction. "No – not like that. It is too severe pinned back in that manner. Here, let a few curls fall." She touched Alice's cheek fondly. "Red hair may not be the fashion, but I have always been dreadfully jealous of yours. It would be a shame not to have it on display."
"If only the gentlemen of the ton thought the same."
"Now, now! I am sure there are plenty who admire it – but you can't possibly imagine that a gentleman would be so uncouth as to comment on it publically?"
"Publically, privately," sighed Alice. "I would take the compliment as it came."
"You are trying to rile me, I see, with your scandalous imagination."
"Now you sound like Agnes," smiled Alice, speaking of their older sister. She held up the letter which lay on her dressing-table. "She has written me just today to tell me to guard my tongue in company."
"She only wants the best for you," said Catherine. "Poor Agnes – sometimes I feel that taking on the role of mother to us reckless young girls was a little hard on her!"
"I think she did admirably – and found herself a loving husband to boot. Which is more than I have managed."
"There is plenty of time yet. And you have more admirers than I should know how to manage, Alice! I am surprised to hear you complaining. Is there a particular gentleman whose attentions you are sighing for?"
"No-one in particular," Alice stammered. The image of Captain Kirby rose unbidden in her mind, leaving her at some pains to conceal her confusion. It would do her no good at all to go sighing after him. Handsome he might be, brave and dangerous too, but he had made it quite clear he saw her as little more than a silly girl. Pleasant enough to indulge, perhaps, but not notable enough to be taken seriously. The thought was painful.
Catherine smiled fondly. "Well, I will not press you. Finish your preparations as soon as you can. It is the first invitation to an evening party we have received from Mrs Davidson and it will not do to arrive overly late."
Quite the proper Duchess Catherine had become! Alice forgot her own troubles as she admired the change in her sister. What once had been a wallflower, disdainful of everything but her books and her country walks, had been transformed by marriage into one of the very finest ladies of the ton!
Alice wondered what changes her own marriage would bring about. Was she destined to become just as formal and proper, the wife of some Viscount or Earl? She could not deny that the thought of having even half as many fine things as Catherine was appealing.
Yet if you had asked her in that moment, she would have set her sights far lower. What might become of her as the wife of a Captain? Travelling about the country from one end to the other at the mercy of the posting of his regiment. Surrounded always by dashing men in red coats – and able to call the most dashing, the most handsome, the most exciting one of all her own.
Alice pushed the thoughts from her mind again. She could not possibly expect Captain Kirby to return her feelings. Indulging such an infatuation would be a sure way to end as a lonely spinster.
Mrs Davidson's card parties had such a reputation that even the Dowager Duchess thought herself well enough to attend. Alice found her own disappointment mirrored on Catherine's face when the Duke and the Captain announced that they would
take the curricle, leaving the comfort of the town coach to the ladies.
"It will make no difference, my sweet," said the Duke, seeing that Catherine was downcast. "We will arrive together."
"You will go tearing off down the streets in that dangerous contraption and leave us behind," she corrected him. "I am no fool."
"Perhaps you would feel better, Cathy, if Captain Kirby rode in the town coach with the Duchess and myself, and you took his place in the curricle?" Alice suggested.
To her surprise, Catherine visibly paled. "No, no – it is a good thought, but quite impossible. I have not the stomach for the curricle today. Not with the reckless way my husband drives!"
This last part came out teasingly, drawing the others' attention away from Catherine's uncharacteristic refusal of a bracing drive in the open air. Alice was not so easily distracted. Too tired to ride, too cautious for the curricle? She resolved internally to discover what strange ailment had taken hold of her sister before the evening was through.
The Davidsons owned a very large, beautiful house on the outskirts of London. Mrs Davidson was lucky; though she had not managed to gain a title by her marriage, she had ensnared one of the ton's wealthiest gentlemen. Though there was the shadow of a trade fortune only a few generations in Mr Davidson's past, the size of said fortune meant that his company was highly sought-after regardless of his origins. While the others admired the opulent décor and the extravagant collection of artwork on the walls, Alice wondered how on earth the bright and friendly Mrs Davidson managed being married to such an elderly bore. Mr Davidson was a frail man of few words entering his latter years. All the money in London would not set Alice's heart aflame for such a fellow!
She would never dream of mentioning it, however, and was thoroughly charmed by the warmth of Mrs Davidson's welcome. The lady evidently still suffered from the memory of her brother's slight to Alice, and was at pains to receive the party from Amberley House with every grace and attention.
"I long to have a word alone with you," she murmured to Alice as she was being summoned away to greet another set of guests. "I wish to hear all about the adventures of your first Season! How wonderful to be young and Out in London for the first time!"
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