by Saul David
'Clever girl. You'll go far,' said George, laughing. 'Don't bother with the rest,' he said, gesturing towards his clothes. 'But if I need you later, will you be available?'
'I'm on duty all night, sir. Just ring the bell by the bed.'
'I'll do that. Thank you.'
George had never been shy around women. He knew they found him attractive, and some of the young ladies he had met while at Sandhurst had all but thrown themselves at him. And yet his only two sexual partners to date had been a kitchen girl at Harrow and a Haymarket prostitute. He often asked himself why. And the best answer he could give was that he feared awkward questions about his background; the sort of questions that lower-class girls like Lucy were unlikely to ask. He was intrigued by Mrs Bradbury, though, and looked forward to meeting her. It promised to be quite an evening.
With seven fast approaching, he dressed hurriedly in black evening dress and white bow tie, and made it to the drawing room before the clock struck the quarter-hour. It was a high- ceilinged, beautifully proportioned room with heavy silk drapes covering three picture windows that overlooked the front and side of the house. The furniture was Louis XVI, as was the large crystal chandelier that dominated the centre of the room.
'Ah, Hart,' said Harris, catching sight of George, 'come and meet the other guests.'
They were grouped in a small knot around the large Adam fireplace, some on sofas, others standing. Harris himself was leaning against the mantelpiece, a glass of champagne in his hand. Addressing the group, he said, 'I would like to present Cornet George Hart, the newest member of my officers' mess.'
Harris then introduced George to each guest in turn. 'Of course you know Bell,' he said of the penultimate guest. 'And, last but not least, Mrs Bradbury.' A pretty blonde gazed up from the sofa, her eyebrows rising ever so slightly. She was wearing a low-cut dinner dress of pale blue satin that matched her eyes, offset by a train of ruby velvet. Her hair she wore up in a chignon, with the odd ringlet falling to the nape of her neck. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Cornet Hart,' she said, extending a shapely hand in George's direction.
'The pleasure,' said George, admiring her upturned nose, 'is all mine.'
At dinner George was seated next to Mrs Bradbury on one side and Lady Fitzmaurice, a portly matron, on the other. He talked to her ladyship for the first course, and then turned and monopolized Mrs Bradbury. Her name, he discovered, was Sarah. She came from a respectable northeast farming family and had married at the age of seventeen in 1873, which meant she was only four years George's senior. Her late husband had not been wealthy, and after his death she had found work as a governess for Lady Charlton's children, at whose house she had met Colonel Harris. The colonel had been 'very kind', she told George, who thought it best not to enquire further. But one thing was obvious: she could not have afforded her dress on a governess's salary.
After the ladies had retired, port and cigars were brought out and the conversation eventually turned to cards. 'Fancy a game of baccarat later, gentlemen?' asked Harris.
'Don't mind if I do,' said Lord Fitzmaurice, a large florid- faced man. Colonel Alexander and Captain Bell also assented.
'What about you, Hart?' asked Harris, a smile on his lips.
'I can't say I've ever played baccarat, sir. We preferred chemin de fer at Sandhurst.'
'There's very little difference. You're still aiming for a points total of nine, preferably in two cards, but in baccarat the banker deals three hands rather than two. Other than that the rules are virtually the same. Interested?'
George hesitated. 'The thing is, I lost rather a lot of money gambling . . .'
'If you're worried, we'll keep the stakes low,' Harris said. 'How about a maximum bet of a guinea?'
'All right by me,' said Lord Fitzmaurice.
They both looked at George. He was desperate to say yes, not least because he loved gambling, and did not want Harris to think him priggish, not now they were getting on so well. Yet since the bombshell about his father and the stopping of his allowance, he could not afford to risk even a few pounds. Then again, what if he won? The money would certainly come in handy. He was in a dilemma. 'Perhaps I could watch the first few hands, and maybe join in later?' he said without conviction.
'Look, Hart,' said an exasperated Harris, 'if money's a bit tight, I'm happy to lend you some.'
'I appreciate the offer, sir, but I'd prefer not to get into debt.'
'Suit yourself. Well, gentlemen, I think we've kept the ladies waiting long enough. Shall we?'
George cut a tormented figure as he followed his host to the drawing room. He knew his refusal to play had disappointed Harris, and he feared the consequences; but he also knew that gambling was a pleasure he no longer had the means to indulge.
'You look pensive,' said Mrs Bradbury, as he approached the fireplace. 'Penny for your thoughts?'
'The colonel's suggested a game of baccarat. Most times I'd jump at the chance, but I thought it best to decline.'
'Why?'
George sat down next to her. 'Let's just say,' he said with a smile, 'I haven't always enjoyed the greatest fortune at cards.'
'So you've lost money. Everyone does. The good news is your luck's about to change.'
'Really,' said George. 'How can you be certain?'
'Because / always win at cards, and I'll be your lucky charm.'
'I'd love to take up your offer, but I have to confess I'm a little out of pocket this month.'
'It happens to us all! Tell you what,' said Mrs Bradbury, grinning. 'I'll bankroll your first ten pounds' worth of losses. I can't say fairer than that.'
'I can't let you do that.'
'You can and you will,' she said, grasping George's hands in hers. 'Sir Jocelyn won't let ladies play on their own, so you're my only hope.'
George looked up into the roundest, brightest pair of blue eyes he had seen. They seemed to be imploring him to say yes. The effect of that look, allied to Mrs Bradbury's subtle perfume and sensual touch, was utterly bewitching. All thought of placating his mother vanished from his head. How could he say no? 'You've found yourself a partner.'
She had been as good as her word, thought George, as yet another hand went his way. He glanced down at his growing pile of chips and estimated his winnings at around £30. And they had only been playing for an hour. If he kept this up, he would be able to move into more salubrious lodgings and have a few pounds to spare for his mother. 'I told you so,' said a happy Mrs Bradbury, seated on a chair behind his left shoulder.
He smiled back, and wondered for the umpteenth time that evening who he found more appealing, Mrs Bradbury or Lucy. The widow was clearly the more experienced and sophisticated of the two, but Lucy had all the allure and innocence of bright-eyed youth. It was a close call.
'Sorry to interrupt your pleasant musings, Hart,' said Harris, tight-lipped. 'Are you placing a bet on the next hand?'
'Of course. How much is the bank's stake?'
'Ten shillings, as before.'
'Well, I'll match it.'
'Banco, eh?' said Captain Bell on George's left. 'Probably best to make hay . . .'
'What do you mean by that?' said George, turning.
'Only that you've had a good run. It never lasts.'
'We'll see.'
Harris, the banker, dealt three closed hands of two cards each: one to the players on his left, George and Bell; one to the players on his right, Fitzmaurice and Alexander, and one to himself. George looked at his cards: a four and a king. With picture cards scoring zero, his total was four. He needed a five to give him the strongest hand, and only a six to a nine would weaken his hand. The odds were with him, but just to be sure he conferred with Mrs Bradbury, who advised taking another card. 'Carte,' he said to Harris.
It was a four, giving him a total of eight. He turned to Mrs Bradbury and winked.
Fitzmaurice had a total of five and decided to take another card. It was a nine. 'Damn,' he said, realizing his new score of fourteen was rounded down to four.
> That just left Harris, who turned over an ace and a five. Should he take another? he asked himself. Why not? He revealed another ace. 'Six,' he declared.
'Too good for me,' said Fitzmaurice, throwing in his cards.
'But not for me,' crowed George, showing his cards.
Harris shook his head and handed over two crowns.
And so it continued, with George winning at least two hands out of every three. The only sour note was when Harris queried the size of one of George's losing bets. 'I thought your stake was ten shillings?' said Harris.
'No, a crown, as you can see.'
'I could've sworn it was more. Must have been mistaken.'
A few hands later, after yet another win for George, Harris again questioned the amount he had bet. 'Surely it was half a crown?'
'You can see that it's a crown,' said George, his brow furrowing.
'It's a crown now.''
'What are you trying to say?'
'Nothing. Forget it.'
George put Harris's odd behaviour down to sour grapes and the fact that they'd all consumed a fair amount of champagne, wine, port and brandy during the course of the evening. He had, in any case, other matters on his mind. 'Gentlemen,' he said, as the clock struck two, 'I hope you will excuse me. It's been a long night and I think it's time to turn in.'
'What?' said Harris. 'And deprive me of a chance to recoup some of the bank's losses?'
'I'm afraid so, sir, though I'll gladly put my winnings on the line tomorrow night.' In truth George knew that his luck was bound to change, and he had no intention of risking his windfall. He needed the extra money badly, but that was hardly something he could admit to Harris.
'Hmm, well, if you must go,' came the grudging response.
George rose unsteadily to his feet, kissed Mrs Bradbury's hand and held her gaze a fraction longer than necessary. He was desperately hoping she would take the hint and follow him up. But she was too cool to give anything away, so he bade the others goodnight and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He undressed, poured a last glass of whisky from the decanter on the side table and got into bed.
As he lay there, flushed with alcohol and success, he did not feel like sleeping. He was suddenly anxious for female company, and found himself thinking of both the alluring, but very different, young women he had met that day. Were they thinking of him? Should he call for Lucy, who as a servant was bound to come, or wait to see if Mrs Bradbury paid him a visit? After a while, though, the alcohol got the better of him and he fell asleep undecided - or at least thought he had.
A soft click woke him. He could hear the door closing and the swish of skirts as a shadowy figure approached the bed. 'Who's there?' he whispered.
An index finger pressed against his lips. 'Who do you think, silly?'
The clipped tones were those of a lady, and that could only mean Mrs Bradbury. George could hear her undressing, then felt the soft warmth of a body climbing in beside him. 'Darling,' he murmured, 'I thought you'd never come.'
She answered with a greedy kiss. George pulled her close; her body felt muscular, yet velvety smooth. She moaned as he caressed her breasts. Fortified by drink and lust, and inexperienced as he was, George dispensed with the niceties and manoeuvred himself on top of her. Giggling at his eagerness, she guided him in with her hand. But the frantic nature of his lovemaking soon caused her to chide him. 'Slow down,' she whispered, 'you're like a bull at a gate.'
He did as he was told, but not for long. Soon she, too, had abandoned herself to the frenetic pace, and his only concern now was the steadily increasing volume of her cries and the rhythmic tapping of the four-poster against the wall. He deadened one sound with his hand, the other with a pillow, but the telltale creak of the bed was still audible. It was a relief in more ways than one when he could hold himself back no longer, his pleasure intensified by a sharp pain as she bit into his hand. 'Ouch!' he yelped, before falling away to his side of the bed, and, despite his best intentions, collapsing in an exhausted heap.
As he drifted off to sleep, he felt a hand stroking his face. A voice was murmuring, 'I'm sorry . . .' or so he thought, but he could not drag himself back to consciousness to find out what had necessitated an apology.
George woke alone with a splitting headache, a dry mouth and a dull pain in his right hand. On both sides of the heel of his palm was a neat imprint of teeth, the skin not broken but badly bruised. He remembered and laughed. With winnings of £63, topped by an accommodating bedfellow, it had been a good night. He hummed a ditty as he shaved, confident that the evening to come would bring more of the same.
The other guests, bar Mrs Bradbury, were already seated when he reached the breakfast room. Their response to his cheery good morning was a stony silence. 'Is something wrong?' asked George.
'I think you'd better ask Sir Jocelyn,' said Lord Fitzmaurice, trying to avoid eye contact. 'He's waiting for you in the library.'
George's heart was thumping as he approached the library. His lovemaking must have been overheard, he reasoned, but was that reason enough for such a frosty reception at breakfast? He suspected not, and opened the door with mounting apprehension. Harris was at a bureau, his back to the door. He turned and beckoned George over. 'Take a seat, Hart. You're going to need one. What I have to say is not pleasant, so I'll just get on with it. Two serious allegations have been made against you: first that you cheated at cards, and second that you entered Mrs Bradbury's room uninvited and tried to force yourself on her. What have you got to say for yourself?'
George stared open-mouthed. This cannot be happening, he told himself. 'I... I utterly refute both charges,' he said at last. 'Who made these claims?'
'The first charge is not in dispute. I myself thought you were altering your bets, increasing them when you won and reducing them when you lost, and mentioned it at the time, if you recall. After you departed for bed, I was confirmed in my suspicions by both Lord Fitzmaurice and Captain Bell. As for the second charge, that was of course made by Mrs Bradbury. Do you dare deny it?'
'Of course I deny it. I never went near Mrs Bradbury's room last night . . .' He was tempted to tell the truth; however ungentlemanly it might sound, it was better than being accused of attempted rape. But it quickly dawned on him that it was his word against Mrs Bradbury's. He decided not to elucidate, but said instead: 'As for cheating at cards, that's ridiculous. I announced my bet before each hand.'
'Yes, but what's to stop you altering it to suit the outcome of the hand? Bell claims he saw you doing it.'
'Well, he's a liar.'
'And he's prepared to sign a sworn statement to that effect, as is Lord Fitzmaurice. Mrs Bradbury has already done so. So upset was she by your behaviour that she left in the early hours, but not before signing this.' Harris handed him a piece of paper with five lines of writing on it.
'But it's in your hand,' protested George.
'So it is, but dictated and signed by her. And you'll note that she mentions biting your hand as you tried to stifle her cries. I see you have just such a bite mark on your right hand.'
George read the note with mounting horror. Why, he asked himself, would she make such falsehoods? And then, creeping over him like damp fog came the horrible realization that he had been set up. By coming to his room and sleeping with him, Mrs Bradbury had made it impossible for him to deny he had assaulted her. It was clear to him now that all Harris's affability over the previous few months had been a sham to lull him into letting down his guard. And it had worked. He had allowed himself to be lured on to Harris's territory, among Harris's friends. And together they had trapped him.
'I know what you're up to,' said George with more equanimity than he felt. 'And you won't get away with it.'
'Let's cut to the chase, shall we, Hart?' said Harris, a glint of triumph in his eye. 'Three separate witnesses are prepared to swear they saw you cheating at cards. That crime alone brings with it the punishment of professional disgrace and social death. But not content with one enormity
, you commit another by trying to force yourself upon a defenceless widow. She too will stand by her claim. The question now is what's to be done with you. My duty is to prevent the regiment from being dragged into this sordid affair, and to that end I'm prepared to offer you a deal. If you agree to resign your commission immediately, and of course return the money, we'll say no more about last night. I have spoken to the others and we're all in agreement.'
'And if I refuse?' said George.
'Then I'll have no option but to report your behaviour to both the Horse Guards and the local constabulary. Either way you'll lose your commission. But if you accept my offer, at least you'll retain your freedom and your honour, such as it is.'
George was shaking with fury. He was close to losing control, and knew it. 'You to talk of honour,' he said loudly 'Nothing could be more dishonourable than the underhand way you've treated me. I was a fool to believe you could change. I suppose 1 wanted to. Only now you show your true colours. I will resign, because you and your creatures have left me no option. But don't for a minute think you've won. Some day, somehow, I will have my revenge.'
