by Liese Anning
'Melrose, I have no idea what you are up to, and, quite frankly, I do not wish to know. However, from what I have witnessed, over the past week, you have much in common with these dice. The outside looks the same as any other good quality pair of dice; ready to be thrown and randomly fall, with equal probability, on any side. But, they do not. Their outcome is determined by the person who throws them.' James stopped, for a moment, and then looked at Melrose, who stood perfectly still by his desk, his face expressionless. 'I have a theory that you are like those dice. To the world, you appear to be an esteemed and well-regarded member of society, but under that thin veneer of respectability; the fine clothes and impressive properties, all you will find is a cheat. A man that could deceive even the most honest and worthy of his fellow man.'
'What do you want, Mitford?' Melrose said in a steely tone.
'Just answer this question. Why was I invited here?' James said, then quickly added, 'and do not tell me it was a chance invitation by Ellington. I know that is not true.'
'I needed a card player and Ellington assured me that you were the best.' Melrose answered coolly. 'The gentlemen who visit us, want to enjoy themselves, and one of the many entertainments, I provide, is to play cards with the very best players. I do not know why you should be so surprised that you were chosen, you have developed a reputation as a cad. Ellington had told me that over the past months, you have inhabited every gaming hell in London, drinking yourself into a stupor night after night and playing deep.' Melrose stopped and sat down opposite James. 'Tell me, Mitford, why would a once respectable gentleman, with a spotless reputation suddenly throw it all away? Ellington told me it was something to do with the death of a Spanish slut that you foolishly married.'
James just shook his head. 'Now, Melrose, if you are trying to rile me, you must do better than tasteless insults.'
Melrose looked at him, his eyes bright with anger. 'We thought that it did not matter to you where you played cards, or, for that matter, where you drank yourself into a stupor. You did not seem that fussy when you were in town.'
James sighed, 'I do not like being deceived, by you, or anyone else. I would rather be in a grubby gaming house, than here with you.'
'What has brought on this change of mind? You have been here a week, performing your duties to perfection. Every night, you have provided my guests with excellent entertainment. And in return, you drink my best whisky and have the opportunity to indulge in the activities I provide my other guests.'
James leant back in the chair. 'Melrose, since I came to Highfields, I have concluded that I do not like either you or any of your guests.'
Melrose just shrugged his shoulders, 'I don’t care, one way or another, what you think of me, Mitford. You are a nobody. A spent tin soldier, who lost his mind over a Spanish doxy.'
James just laughed, 'I’m leaving tomorrow, and we have not yet played cards together. It would be a shame for us not to play. You may be able to win back some of the money I have won from your guests.'
Melrose could never resist a challenge. He turned around to face James, 'as you are my guest, I will let you choose the game.'
'I prefer games of skill, not chance. How about Piquet?'
Melrose rang the bell and requested a card table to be brought into the study. Once it had been set up, James said to Melrose, 'shall I prepare the deck?' Melrose gave his consent, and James discarded the unwanted cards.
The two men took their places opposite each other, and James put the prepared deck on the green baize. 'Would you like to make the first cut?'
Melrose made the cut and presented the card to James. 'The Queen of Hearts,' he said confidently, 'you will find that difficult to beat.' James then placed his selected card face up on the table. Melrose laughed when he saw the Jack of Clubs, 'I have the advantage, therefore, I shall deal.'
Melrose dealt twelve cards to James and himself, placing the remaining cards face down in the middle of the table. As Melrose had the advantage, he began to exchange his cards. Once all the preliminary exchanges had taken place, the players started to make their declarations. Melrose, still with the advantage, declared first.
James observed Melrose, soon learning that he liked to take risks. On many occasions, this worked out to his benefit, but, more often than not, he lost games due to his recklessness.
During the first partie, which consisted of six games, James played cautiously, and, as a result, he lost. 'Maybe you are not as good as I thought you were,' Melrose said as he retrieved his winnings. James remained silent, biding his time.
They continued for many hours, each winning and losing an equal number of parties. All the time James observed his opponent, learning his strengths and weaknesses in his play. James also noticed that Melrose kept on continually drinking whisky and was becoming more inebriated as the night wore on. James kept the decanter within reach and continued to refill Melrose’s glass at regular intervals.
It was getting late, and Melrose's speech was becoming increasingly slurred. This was when James decided it was time to challenge him further. 'Melrose,' he said decisively, 'we have been playing for money all evening, and we appear to be evenly matched. Why not make our final partie a little more interesting?'
Melrose smiled, 'yes,' he said, reaching for his glass, 'how about the winner takes all?'
'I was hoping for a different wager.' James replied, leaning back in his chair, 'we could certainly wager all the money, but...' he paused and then said, threading his fingers together, 'let us wager something worth more to us than mere money.'
Melrose shrugged his shoulders and said, 'it depends on what?'
'The deeds for Hadlands and the contract you forced Miss Stanford to sign.' James said, leaning towards Melrose and putting his wrists on the card table. 'As well as...say five thousand pounds.'
Melrose laughed. 'Oh!' he said, 'now this all makes sense. You have been talking to the lovely Miss Stanford.' He stood up and walked over towards a sideboard and picked up another decanter, and poured himself a large drink. He walked back to the table, still chuckling to himself. 'And what could you possibly wager in return. Money? You are not a wealthy man.' He paused and looked up at the ceiling. 'There again, there may be something you could do for me.'
'What do you have in mind?' James asked curiously.
'You,' he replied nonchalantly, 'well, your services, for a fixed period; shall we say two months, or until you return to active duty?’
'What would you require from me?' James said, looking at Melrose coldly.
'I have plenty of jobs that require a man of your skills.' He began to smile, as a thought struck him, 'there is a matter in which I could use your help.' He drank his drink and put the glass on the table with a thud. 'You could transport the lovely Miss Stanford to her new residence in London. Then you could escort her to her various liaisons and make certain that she satisfies my clientele.'
James tried not to show his disgust at the suggestion. If he wanted to win back her freedom, he needed to keep his composure. 'I agree to the wager,' he said soberly.
'Good,' Melrose said. 'I will get the deed, the contract and a draft for the money. We will draw up a document for your part of the wager.' He walked over to his desk, unlocked a drawer and pulled out the documents. 'We will need a witness. I know, I’ll call Ellington.'
Once he had summoned Ellington, Melrose scribbled on a piece of paper what he required from James. The door of the study eventually opened, and a somewhat dishevelled looking Ellington walked into the room. 'This better be good Melrose. You interrupted me at a very inopportune moment.'
'She will have to wait,' Melrose said, laughing at his cousin. 'Mitford and I are involved in something far more important than your personal satisfaction.' Melrose explained the wager to his cousin, and Ellington agreed to witness the documents between the two men.
Once everything had been settled, and all the relevant documents were on the desk, the two men began their game. The cards were shuffled, and Melro
se and James cut the pack to determine who would deal. Once again, Melrose selected the highest card.
Melrose dealt twelve cards to both players and placed the remaining eight in the middle of the table. During the exchanges, when both players discarded and picked up new cards, there was silence. The only communication between them, occurred as they made their declarations.
James and Melrose were evenly matched. They were both skilled players, and during the game, James thought he might even lose. However, Melrose, due to the whisky, was inattentive and did not always play to his advantage, throwing away points on reckless hands. James never let his guard down, he always played cards with care. He had spent the evening analysing his opponent’s tactics, and this was beginning to pay off.
As the last partie was played, the result was a foregone conclusion. Melrose, knowing he had lost, said nothing during that last hand, he just slammed down his cards, on the green baize, in bad grace. Once the final declaration had been made, James stood up from the table and walked over to the desk. He picked up the documents and said to Melrose, who was now staring at the floor, 'I would say it has been a pleasure, but that would not be true.'
Melrose looked up, 'I think you better leave, Mitford, I find I have grown bored of your company.'
'Do not worry,' James replied, 'I will leave at first light.'
As James was leaving the study, Melrose growled at him, 'once you get back to town, you had better make yourself scarce. If I see you I’ll...'
James interrupted him, 'if I were you, Melrose, I would be careful about making empty threats. I may be a younger son, with a rather rackety reputation, but I still have the protection of my family name. My brother, the Earl of Wrexham, would not take kindly to your threats. Goodbye, my Lord, I hope that you will keep your word.' James then walked towards the door. As he turned the handle, James looked around to Melrose and added, 'if anything happens to Miss Stanford, I will hold you personally responsible.'
Chapter 8
That night, Verity did not sleep. She tossed and turned as unwelcome thoughts invaded her conscience. She did not have the strength to vanquish them; they only became more intense and disturbing as the morning drew nigh.
She thought about her brother Reggie and remembered the conversations they had conducted the week before their father's funeral. Her brother had been furious with his oldest sister and her interference in his affairs. He had told her that he was old enough, with the help of his appointed guardians, to look after his future.
Verity had tried to warn him, repeatedly, about the full extent of their father's mismanagement. But he did not believe her. How could she, a mere woman, know anything about his estate. His guardians, two of father's old cronies, had told him that everything was in order. She tried to find out the reason why they were concealing the truth from their ward, but she could not.
Verity could hardly blame her brother for his opinion of her. He had listened, for years, to their father repeatedly assassinating her character. After all those lies, why should he trust her?
Despite his hostility, Verity still felt loyalty towards her brother, and just wanted to protect his interests. At least, when she signed Melrose's contract, Verity secured a brighter future for him. One in which he would, at least, have land and income. He may, in a few years, and with careful management, have enough to look after Cassie and provide her with a dowry. Her brother and sister would never need to know what she had sacrificed to secure their financial future.
That morning, as usual, Cassie had left the house early. She had told Verity that she was going to visit her friends. Verity did not want to deny her those last few days of freedom. It would not be long before her sister would be leaving to start her new life as a governess. But, Verity was concerned. Yesterday, there was something about her sister's behaviour that was unusual, and this unsettled her.
The day before Verity's visit to Highfields, she had met one of the young women her sister was always mentioning in conversation. Miss Taylor, the vicar's daughter, had known Cassie for many years. They had been childhood friends and knew each other well before Cassie went to school. When Verity met her by chance, Miss Taylor had denied seeing Cassie for several days. But, suddenly, as if she remembered something crucial, her story changed.
'Oh, dear me,' she suddenly said, 'I am such a scatterbrain. Cassie came to visit me yesterday and accompanied me to church...' Verity was sure that the young woman was fishing around her mind for a plausible excuse for her friend's companionship. After a brief pause, where she stared at her feet, she continued. 'She helped me to arrange the flowers for the Sunday service.' Miss Taylor smiled, apparently happy with the excuse she had given.
Verity was not convinced with the tale and asked. 'You arranged the flowers, for Sunday morning, on a Wednesday. I would have thought that was a little early. Surely they would wilt before the end of the week.'
A look of terror flashed in Miss Taylor's eyes. 'Oh...' She said, flustered. 'Yes, I see, but...' Again, Verity was sure that Miss Taylor was looking for some excuse that would explain the need for the church to be decorated mid-week. As if she had struck upon a fabulous idea, she smiled and said. 'Papa wanted them arranged a few days early, because...' Again, Miss Taylor floundered. 'Choir practice.' She said quickly, and with more confidence. 'Papa wanted them ready for choir practice on Wednesday evening. He says that they brighten up the place, and make everyone sing with more feeling.'
'Oh,' said Verity still not convinced, but not entirely sure why Miss Taylor would conceal the truth, 'I have never heard...'
Miss Taylor, now confident in her story, continued. 'Oh yes. Papa always likes the flowers to be in church on a Wednesday.'
'And Cassie,' Verity added, 'she was with you all the time?'
'Cassie is marvellous with flowers. Truly marvellous.' Miss Taylor said clasping her hands together. 'She has a gift.'
The unfolding tale, of Cassie's talents, did not ring true. Verity always thought that her sister lacked a certain patience, and had to be continually reminded to stick to a task. Arranging flowers, for hours on end in a cold, damp church, was the last thing that Verity thought her sister would have done willingly.
Miss Taylor, sensing Verity's unease, became a little jittery, and quickly drew the conversation to a close. 'I must dash,' she said, looking towards the village, 'Papa asked me to be back for tea. I must not keep him waiting. Good afternoon, Miss Stanford.'
As Verity watched Miss Taylor, trot nervously away, she came to the grim conclusion that the vicar's daughter was not telling her the truth. Verity thought long and hard about what her sister could be hiding from her. But, even now, two days later, as Verity thought back to that conversation, she was still none the wiser.
She was still worried about Cassie when her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a carriage coming up the drive. Her heart began to pound, and she thought it could be Melrose coming to take her away before the week was over. The carriage stopped outside the front entrance. She was relieved when she recognised the gentleman that stepped out onto the gravel drive: It was Major Mitford.
Verity quickly left the drawing-room and opened the front door. As he came through into the hallway, he greeted her with a smile, 'Shall we go through to the drawing room,' she said, smiling back at him, 'it is freezing in the hallway.'
'It is indeed cold outside,' he replied, as he followed her down the hall into the drawing room.
'Please come in and sit by the fire,' she said, motioning to a chair that had been positioned to take full advantage of its heat.
They both sat down in silence. Verity looked at Major Mitford and could not help but notice the look of exhaustion on his face. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his cheeks lacked colour. 'Are you well?' She said at last. 'You look tired.'
He smiled and nodded. 'I did not get much sleep last night.'
'Would you like some tea?' She said, in reply. 'It would be no bother to make a fresh pot.'
'No thank
you. I cannot stay long. I am travelling back to London today, and I only came to visit you, to give you these.' He opened a leather document case, that he had been carrying under his arm, and pulled out a document. Verity immediately recognised the contract she had signed the day before.
'The contract,' she said as she took the paper from him, in disbelief. 'The one I signed yesterday. How did you get it?'
Major Mitford smiled, and said, 'I think it might be best if you didn't know.'
He opened the flap of the case again and pulled out a larger document and handed it to her. 'The deed, for Hadlands,' she said quietly, almost in a whisper, taking it from him. 'Thank you.'
'There is something else,' the Major said, as he opened the case once more and gave her the rest of its contents. 'This will help your brother restore Hadlands to its former glory.'
Verity took the last paper from him and looked at it in disbelief. 'This is a banker's draft for five thousand pounds. I cannot possibly accept this.'
'That, I am afraid, is a matter between you and Melrose,' Major Mitford said as he closed the document case, putting it on the floor next to his feet. 'The money, I do believe, is in the form of an apology. He hopes it will go some way to compensate you for any inconvenience his behaviour has caused.'
'I do not believe you for a moment.' Verity said, looking at him. 'Lord Melrose never thinks of anyone but himself.' They sat quietly for several minutes, until Verity, at last, broke the silence. 'I do not know how I am ever going to repay you?'
'There is no need,' Major Mitford said, leaning forward and turning to face Verity.
Verity could only imagine what Major Mitford had done to retrieve the contract and the deed. His tired expression and dishevelled appearance were a testimony to what he must have been through to get them. No one had ever come to her aid before, and she was still puzzled to why he assisted her. 'Why did you help me?' She eventually asked.
'We all occasionally need a friend. And yesterday, Miss Stanford, you were in dire need of one.'
