But it seemed to have worked, for Barnett moved to a small writing desk and wrote a note — presumably the direction of his tailor. Even from across the room, Dev could see the laborious way Barnett formed his letters. Clearly his father had not bothered to pay for a decent education for his natural son.
The two stood chatting for a while, and then, in the friendliest manner, went into the dining room together.
“There,” Reggie said, with a relieved sigh. “That is the worst of it over. Humphrey has everything well in hand. The boy can always be relied upon, I will say that for him. Are you sure you do not want to go round to our little place of business tonight? It would be the greatest fun.”
“We will keep to the plan,” Dev said curtly. “And I would not agree with you that the worst is over. Tonight may be fun for Humphrey and his friends, but tomorrow will be a challenge for everyone.”
“So long as it is a challenge for Barnett most of all,” Reggie said. “Very well, then, brother, back to the hotel we shall go.”
~~~~~
The following night, there was no need to go to the club at all. A note from Humphrey had revealed that everything had gone well the previous night, and all was set for the final spring of the trap. Dev and Reggie dined quietly at the Royal Oak, and then sat in their room until the appointed hour.
It was almost dark when they set off, and the moon was not yet risen, so the streets were appropriately shadowy for the clandestine nature of their mission. The house they had chosen was supplied by a sister of the so-helpful steward, and a great deal more than a couple of sovereigns had been expended to secure it. But it was perfect, Dev had to admit — an ordinary house on an ordinary street, all extremely respectable and not in the least suspicious.
They knocked and were admitted by a nervous looking man. “Upstairs at the back,” he whispered, although there was no one else about to hear.
“Thank you. You may disappear now.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you very much, sir.” He scuttled off into the nether reaches of the house.
The two brothers left hats and gloves and canes in the hall with the many others collected there, and then trod up the stairs. The furnishings were plain, everything a little shabby and worn. Dev would have preferred something more ostentatious, but perhaps these nonthreatening surroundings would keep Barnett off his guard.
There was no question as to which room to enter, for male laughter spilt out even through the closed door.
Dev knocked, and an abrupt silence fell. Then footsteps, and Humphrey’s face, a picture of mingled nervousness and innocence which was perfectly convincing.
“Dev!” he burst out. “And Reggie! By God, I thought you were the constables and we were sunk. Come in, come in. Shut the door. There! But what are you doing here? I thought you were with Great-aunt Augusta still.”
It was wonderfully believable. Dev knew that Humphrey had done a little amateur acting, but clearly the boy had talent. He made his prepared speech about Humphrey being secretive, and coming to find out what games he was up to.
“And here I find you with a little gambling going on,” Dev said. “It is too bad of you to try to keep us out of it, you know.”
“Only found out about it myself a couple of days ago. Would have brought you in on it in time, old fellow. Glad you are here now. Come and meet our friends.”
Four of them were, indeed, friends of Humphrey’s, although he stumbled convincingly over their names as though he had only recently met them. “And this is Mr Jack Barnton.”
“Barnett.”
“Beg your pardon. So muddling, all these names. And these disreputable fellows are my brothers. The one with the Roman nose is Dev. Well, the Marquess of Carrbridge, formally. And the one with the baby face is Reggie — Lord Reginald Marford, you know. The best of fellows. Do you have any objection if they join the game?”
Nobody had. Chairs were brought, brandy was poured, coins were tossed onto the table, the cards were dealt and the play began. Dev could see at once that Barnett was more interested in his illustrious opponents than the play. He kept looking round at the three brothers, as if to memorise their faces. He could hardly believe his luck, no doubt, getting friendly with a genuine lord like Humphrey, and now an actual peer of the realm — a Marquess, no less! He was savouring the moment, storing up memories to boast about later.
Dev could almost feel sorry for him.
For an hour, they played cards, gradually increasing the stakes but allowing Barnett to win just enough to keep him enthusiastic. Dev liked how Humphrey’s friends played their parts — one noisy and appearing slightly drunk, one serious and intense, one making a joke of everything, and one cheerfully losing every point. It was very clever. When Barnett made a big win, Dev moved in for the kill.
“This is amusing enough, but tame, very tame,” he drawled, in his most languid manner. “What do you say to dice? And shall we make it more exciting? A hundred a game?”
The others jumped on it, and Barnett, with his heap of notes and coins in front of him, smiled and nodded too.
“Does everyone have dice?” Humphrey said. “I have spare sets.”
Barnett shook his head. “I don’t have mine with me.”
“Here. Have these,” Humphrey said, fishing a small box from a pocket. “The usual, Dev?”
They had agreed on the game beforehand. One of Humphrey’s friends pretended not to know it, and Humphrey explained the rules. Barnett nodded wisely, as if he had known it all along.
They began. This was the heart of the deception, and if Barnett had had an ounce of common sense, he would have been wary at this point, for the stakes were high and large sums were being won and lost on a single throw of the dice. He could not know that the dice were loaded, and his so-called friends were switching his set about to ensure that he won a little, then lost a lot, then won a little and lost a lot more. A joke or a melodramatic gesture or some business with the brandy to distract him, and one pair would be replaced with another. And as he began to lose heavily, Barnett smiled and seemed to take it as a great joke.
One of Humphrey’s friends ran out of funds very quickly, but paper was found to write IOU notes, and the play continued. One by one they dropped out, until it was only Dev and Barnett, and the pile of IOU notes was growing large.
“I believe I am out of the game,” Barnett said, after a spectacular loss, trying to smile. “You have the better of me, my lord.”
“Nonsense,” Dev said. “You have had a run of ill-luck, but that makes it highly likely that the next throw will be in your favour.”
“I am not sure…”
“Well, now, Mr Barnett, I am a fair man, and a gambler to my core, so let us have one more throw, eh? You put in — oh, shall we say a thousand? And I will wager everything on the table. Winner takes all. How does that sound?”
“A thousand? I am not sure… I may have over-extended myself already.”
“Not quite the thing, old fellow,” Humphrey said severely. “Not proper for a man of any standing in society to refuse an offer like that. Very generous, if you ask me. Dev could just take his winnings, you know.”
“Perhaps I should do just that,” Dev said. “I have had an extraordinary streak of good fortune which cannot hold. I begin to think—”
“Just one more throw,” Barnett said eagerly. “A thousand, you said?”
“Well…”
“Two thousand, then.”
“I am still not sure. I stand to lose a great deal.”
“Five thousand!”
“What a capital fellow!” Humphrey said. “Such spirit! I commend you, Barnett. I wish I had half your courage. Dev, you cannot refuse.”
Dev pulled a face in what he hoped was a convincingly dismayed manner. “Very well, although I am certain this is a mistake. Barnett, your IOU?”
The note was written, the dice were rattled, the atmosphere was genuinely tense. If this went wrong…
Barnett threw first. A four and a fi
ve. In any normal game, that would be a good throw, hard to beat. He smiled, but his hands were shaking.
Dev made a great show of rattling the dice, of nervousness, of hesitation.
“Get on with it, old fellow,” Humphrey said.
He threw. A pair of sixes. Shouts of jubilation from the watchers, and a barely audible groan from Barnett. His face was ashen. But he knew what was expected.
“How much is it?” he croaked.
Dev rifled through the notes. “Fourteen thousand six hundred,” he said cheerfully.
“Fourteen thousand!”
“And six hundred.”
“I… I shall go to my bank first thing tomorrow, my lord. You are staying at the White Rose?”
Dev said nothing, scooping up coins, bank notes and IOU notes in one sweeping motion.
“My lord?” Barnett said, an edge of panic in his voice.
With a flick of his head, Dev dismissed Humphrey’s friends, who slipped quietly out of the room, leaving only the three Marford brothers and Barnett.
Barnett jumped up, his chair falling with a crash, and made a dart towards the door. Humphrey was there before him, his intimidating bulk blocking the way.
“Do sit down, Barnett,” Dev said. “I mean you no harm, I assure you. All I want is to talk to you. Your fortune is quite safe.”
Barnett sat, his expression bewildered, as Reggie pushed a glass of brandy towards him. “My lord? I do not quite understand.”
“Let us talk plainly,” Dev said. “You cannot help the circumstances of your birth, any more than I can help being a Marquess. That is just the way the dice have fallen for each of us. All we can control is the manner of our passage through this brief mortal life allotted to us. We can tread the path quietly, in humility, with a care for our fellow humans, or we can be brash and noisy and as troublesome as possible. You, Mr Barnett, have chosen the latter course.”
“What gives you the right to lecture me?” Barnett said hotly.
Dev waved the notes he still held.
“I owe you money — so what? I can pay you, and I shan’t be ruined, either. I shall come about.”
“Maybe so, and maybe not. You will find your new friends fading away once your circumstances are reduced.”
“And if I tell them how you bamboozled me? I’ve been foolish to let myself be led on, but you’ve tricked me, my lord, and I could go straight to the constables and tell them what you’ve done.”
Dev sighed. “Do not compound your foolishness, Barnett. How do you think that would turn out? The word of a Marquess against the word of—” He paused, and all that could be heard was Barnett’s ragged breathing. “Well, let us not get into that. You are nobody, Mr Barnett, and not a soul will stand up for you against me. I say that not to cow you, but as a simple statement of fact. That is the way of the world.”
“What do you want?” Barnett snapped.
“I want you to go away. I want you never again to trouble a young lady who is very dear to me. If you do this — if you leave Brinchester and move far away — then these notes of yours need never be repaid. I do not want your money.”
“Go away? I was born and raised here. Where am I supposed to go?”
“Anywhere you like, except Brinchester, London or anywhere near my estate at Drummoor. And take your mother and sister with you. Any more of you at home?”
“Another sister.” He chewed his lip, anger giving way to calculation. “If I go, I need not pay you what I owe? I have your word on that?”
“You do.” Dev suppressed his annoyance at the intimation that he might not be trustworthy. “I shall keep your notes, of course, as a guarantee of your compliance, and if ever you turn up where you are not wanted, I shall destroy you, you have my word on that, too.”
“My mother has family in Liverpool,” Barnett said.
“Liverpool! Perfect,” Dev said. “You will find you can cut quite a dash in Liverpool, should you care to, and no one will know anything of your origins there. A fresh start for you. Are we agreed?”
He held out his hand, and after only the slightest hesitation, Barnett took it. Humphrey opened the door for him, and Barnett, without looking back, walked through it.
“You let him off lightly,” Reggie said. “I should have left him a bruise or two as a reminder.”
“And you would have him swearing vengeance on you,” Dev said. “So long as we have seen the last of him, I shall be content. And Miss Allamont need never be plagued by him again.”
“She must be quite a lady, to inspire you to such trouble on her behalf,” Humphrey said.
Dev smiled. “Indeed she is. Delightful.”
“She is the sweetest little creature imaginable,” Reggie said.
“Very rum, though, to have the two of you chasing after her,” Humphrey said. “I have a mind to meet the lady for myself, and cut both of you out.”
“That would be very bad form,” Dev said.
“Yes, you stay well away from her,” Reggie said. “Dev is keeping out of my way, and it would be too bad if you start interfering.”
Humphrey raised his hands in mock surrender. “All right, all right. But I do not understand why she would want you, Reggie, when she could have Dev. He is far better looking than you, and he has the title, you know. Much better deal for any young lady.”
“Who knows?” Reggie said, laughing. “I thought she liked Dev better, too, but she turned him down.”
“She turned him down?” Humphrey said, startled.
“She did. He botched it, she turned him down and that allowed me to try my luck. I must say, Connie has been very encouraging to me. Quite waiting for me to speak, I fancy. Now that all this business is done with, I might as well go and tie things up with her.”
“And Dev is letting you do it?” Humphrey looked from one to the other. “Not my business, of course, but I wonder you do not both go to her, and let her choose, you know. Because it may be that she regrets throwing Dev over, and would like a second chance. Her happiness is paramount, surely.”
“You see, this is exactly what I was afraid of,” Reggie said hotly. “Humph, you must not interfere, there is a good fellow. Just keep out of it.”
“Brothers cannot fight, and certainly not over a lady,” Dev said firmly. “I had my chance, and I have lost Miss Allamont’s good opinion. I wish…” For a moment the words stuck in his throat, but he forced them out. “I wish her every happiness with Reggie. She deserves it.”
“Thank you, Dev! You are too good. Tomorrow will see me the happiest of men.”
24: Sonnets And Flowers
Connie was determined to be cheerful. Any day now, she would be betrothed to Lord Reginald, and this time the engagement would be a real one, with a notice in the Gazette, and wedding clothes, and banns, and all the happiness of marriage and her own establishment and the prospect of children. She should be joyful, smiling through the day and dreaming of her future husband at night, and although Lord Reginald never disturbed her dreams, at least she managed to display a sunny countenance in company.
She was troubled, though, by darker thoughts. Often, her reflections centred on Jess. Connie’s heart ached for her friend, caught in the most difficult of dilemmas. Whenever they met, Jess was uncharacteristically subdued, all her merriment dissipated by one faithless man who had stolen her heart and then treated her abominably.
Connie was haunted, too, by Jess’s opinion of the Marquess. ‘I truly believe he loved you sincerely. He talked of you all the time…’ So she had said. If only Connie had ever heard him speak of it! If only he had approached her with respect and talked of love when he made his addresses. In that one conversation — no more than ten minutes of her life — Connie had thrown away her best, perhaps her only, chance of happiness. Regret was such a corrosive force, eating her from the inside out, and making her doubt her own mind.
Then there was Dulcie. It had shocked Connie beyond measure to discover that Dulcie had told the Marquess all her childish little s
chemes. She had never intended to trap him into marriage, only to put him in a romantic frame of mind so that perhaps he might fall in love with her. Even that innocent endeavour had given way when she had learned of his betrothal to Jess. There was no harm in any of it, and surely Dulcie had wanted her to succeed as much as anyone? Was Dulcie not her best friend and strongest ally, the one person who could always be relied upon?
Yet when she had remonstrated with her, Dulcie had only laughed a little shame-facedly. “Well, of course I wanted him to marry you, silly! I thought if he knew what you were about, he would take notice of you and that might start him on the way to love, do you see?”
“But then he naturally supposed that I was quite in love with him and made no effort to court me. He was so unromantic and cold and overbearing, Dulcie, and then I had to turn him down, and it is all your fault!”
“I was only trying to help,” Dulcie said huffily. “I am sure he would never have paid you the least attention if I had not. Besides, I never for a moment expected that he would offer for you. Who could have imagined such a thing? But I meant it for the best, sister.”
“You always do,” Connie said sadly. But this time she was not sure she could forgive Dulcie for her interference. It was painful to consider that her dearest friend had been instrumental in ruining her hopes of marrying the Marquess, and that she had done so deliberately was the cruelest discovery. Although the two sisters still shared a bedroom, all confidence was at an end between them.
And so Connie waited for Lord Reginald to pay his addresses. Each day that failed to produce such an outcome brought a brief burst of relief, only to be succeeded the following morning by the familiar knot in her stomach which ought to be happy anticipation, yet felt suspiciously like dread.
Eventually, he came. There were no flowers this time, as if signalling that the courtship was now moving into the next, less frivolous, phase. It did not surprise Connie when he suggested a walk in the garden, nor when he dallied to admire a flower so that they were left behind by her sisters.
Connie (The Daughters of Allamont Hall Book 3) Page 20
