The Gamble

by Joan Wolf

  I said to Catherine and Frank, “This is the girl who saved my life. Her name is Maria Sarton. And this is her son, Reggie.”

  Catherine, whose essential kindness one could always count on, responded immediately. “We shall be eternally grateful to you, Maria. We have been terrified for Georgie ever since she was kidnapped from Vauxhall.”

  “That is so,” Frank agreed. For the first time I noticed that he had a swollen eye and a puffed-up lip. Once again he asked urgently, “Are you all right, Georgie? Nothing . . . terrible . . . happened to you?”

  “Nothing,” I said firmly. “Thanks to Maria.”

  “I want to hear the whole story,” Frank said grimly.

  “I will tell you, but first Maria and I want to get warm and to eat. We’re starving.” I looked around for Mason, who appeared as if by magic. I was certain that he had been listening avidly from some secret post of his own.

  “Mason, have some food brought to my dressing room,” I said. “A nice spread, if you please. Cold meat, eggs, muffins, chocolate, coffee . . .”

  “Yes, my lady,” Mason said.

  I steered Maria toward Mansfield House’s magnificent circular staircase. I was taking her to my dressing room because it was the coziest room I could think of, and I wanted her to be comfortable. I knew she would be extremely uncomfortable in the grandeur of the dining room, and I did not want to expose her to the haughtiness of the servants in the kitchen, who would most certainly treat her with less respect than we would.

  I also thought that my dressing room was one place where we would be safe from Lady Winterdale.

  “You can come, too, Frank,” I said over my shoulder.

  And so all of us filed up the stairs and into the privacy of my dressing room. We settled the baby on the chaise longue, with Maria beside him, and the rest of us took the three other chairs in the room.

  I proceeded to tell my tale to Catherine and Frank.

  The food was delivered and Maria and I ate. I continued to talk, but Maria ate silently and seriously and we all left her alone to concentrate on filling a stomach that quite obviously had not been properly filled in a very long time.

  Frank was bitterly angry with himself for having been careless enough to put me in danger and then for not being capable of protecting me.

  Catherine was upset that it was she who had coaxed me into going to Vauxhall in the first place. And then she said, with a very uneasy look in her eyes, “It appears that Philip is acquainted with this man Claven, Georgie.” She bit her lip nervously. “You don’t think that Philip had anything to do with your abduction, do you?”

  I went up in flames.

  “How can you even suggest such an outrageous thing?” I said furiously. “Claven is the person who rescued me, Catherine! Philip is working with Claven to try to find out who is responsible for all these attacks on me.” I glared at her. “I can’t believe that you, of all people, could be so stupid.”

  She continued to bite her lip and look miserable. “I’m sorry, Georgie. It’s just that I don’t understand why these things should be happening to you. It doesn’t make sense. You aren’t a threat to anyone. Why should someone want to kill you?”

  Frank and I were sitting opposite each other on either side of the fireplace and now we looked at each other. I had told Frank about my father’s blackmailing scheme, but I did not want to tell Catherine. After all, her father had been one of my father’s victims. I had never got the impression that Catherine was overly fond of her father, but one never likes to discover that one’s parent was a cheat.

  Also, selfishly, I didn’t want to ruin Catherine’s good opinion of me. She had become such a dear friend, and I didn’t want to lose her regard.

  I looked at her. She was perched on the small white beechwood chair that belonged to the dressing table, and I could see from the look on her face that she was not convinced of Philip’s innocence.

  Regretfully, I decided that Catherine’s regard for both her father and for me was going to have to be sacrificed. I could not have her blaming Philip for something that was not his fault.

  I sighed and said, “I see that I shall have to tell you all. This is not a pretty story, Catherine, so prepare yourself.” And I launched into the all-too-familiar tale.

  When I finished, Catherine’s eyes were huge behind her spectacles.

  “Papa had money troubles?” she said in amazement. “I never knew that.”

  “Philip found it out when he inherited. That is why he spends so much time with all of these business people. He is trying to bring the Winterdale estate back to what it should be.”

  “I always thought that Papa was just mean,” Catherine said with wonder.

  “No, he was broke. Then he tried to acquire some money by cheating at cards, and my papa caught him.”

  Catherine leaned toward me, reaching out her hand. I put mine into hers and she squeezed it. “I am so sorry, Georgie,” she said. “It must have been a terrible shock to you to discover that your papa was a blackmailer.”

  I stared at my friend. “Catherine, my father was blackmailing your father! Don’t you hate me for that?”

  “Of course I don’t hate you,” she returned. “What does anything our fathers did have to do with you and me?”

  I took my hand away from hers. “Didn’t you just hear me? After my father died, I came here and blackmailed Philip. That is why he presented me. I was just as bad as my father.”

  “Not at all,” she returned serenely. “You did it for Anna, not for yourself. If it was not for Anna, you would have married Frank and not blackmailed anyone. Isn’t that true?”

  Frank made a sound indicative of extreme pain.

  I winced. I might have said such a thing once, but I was horribly afraid that Catherine’s remark was making the wrong impression on Frank.

  At this point, Reggie began to cry. I turned to Maria, who was sitting on the chaise longue, holding her son, and listening to us with a mixture of bewilderment and wonder.

  “I imagine the baby is hungry, too,” I said to her with a smile.

  “That he is, my lady.”

  I had been thinking about where to put Maria and I decided now that for this night she could have Anna’s old room. Lady Winterdale and the housekeeper would have a fit, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t putting Maria in with the servants, who I was certain would treat her like a whore.

  Well, she was a whore, but it wasn’t her fault.

  As soon as Philip returned to London, I would talk to him about sending Maria into the country.

  I stood up. “Come along with me, Maria, and I will show you to your room, and you will be able to feed Reggie in peace.”

  * * *

  Philip got back to Mansfield House at six o’clock that evening. I was in my dressing room getting ready for dinner when he came in the door, exuding such an aura of danger that he made poor Betty drop the hairbrush she had been holding. It clattered to the top of the dressing table and we both jumped.

  “That will be all for now, Betty,” he said in a clipped voice. “I want to talk to her ladyship alone.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Betty said, and she scuttled out the door as quickly as she could.

  The door wasn’t even closed behind her before Philip demanded, still in that same clipped voice, “All right. What happened?”

  I swung around on the beechwood chair and faced him bravely. “What have you heard?” I asked.

  “My aunt met me with the news that you went to Vauxhall with Catherine and Frank, that you disappeared for the night and are now harboring a ‘young person of dubious respectability,’” he replied grimly.

  “Your aunt is a menace, Philip,” I said hotly. “She is forever poking her nose into my business. This was for me to tell you about, not her!”

  He folded his arms. There was a white line about his mouth. “Then tell me about it, Georgie,” he said.

  “I have every intention of doing so,” I replied with dignity. Then I told him th
e whole story. The only thing I left out was the bit about Alf’s desire to rape me. I had a feeling that that little extra might be the final spark that would cause Philip to ignite.

  When I had finished he skewered me with his coldest, bluest stare. “I strictly forbade you to leave this house while I was gone.”

  I tried a placating smile. “I know you did, Philip, but I couldn’t find it in my heart to deny Catherine. She desperately needed me as a chaperone. And I took Frank along. Good God, he’s been through a war! I thought he would be sufficient protection.”

  “Well he wasn’t, was he?”

  I sighed and shook my head. “The poor man looks as if he took a sad pummeling. I feel bad. It was all my fault.”

  By now there was a white line around his nostrils as well as his mouth. “It certainly was your fault. If you had obeyed me and remained at home, none of this would have happened.”

  All of this talk about commanding and obeying was beginning to set my back up.

  “I’m not your dog, Philip,” I said irritably. “In retrospect, I agree with you that it was not wise of me to have gone to Vauxhall, but at the time it didn’t seem like such a dreadful thing to do.”

  His eyes narrowed. I added hastily, before he could say or do anything else, “Claven said he wants to see you. He was going to try to put his hands on Alf and Jem to find out for whom they were working.”

  A little silence fell between us. He still had that white look that made me nervous. I plucked at the muslin skirt of my dress and bravely held his gaze.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  He said, “Did you even think to tell Catherine not to mention to anyone that you would be going to Vauxhall with her?”

  I bit my lip. I shook my head. I felt like an idiot.

  “So not only did you make the foolish decision to go to an open, unprotected place such as Vauxhall, but you took no precautions to make certain that no one would know you were going to be there.”

  I was feeling more stupid with every passing minute.

  “No,” I said glumly.

  At last he moved away from the door, going over to the fireplace and resting his hands on the mantel. With his back to me, he stared down into the glowing coals, and said, “From what you are telling me, then, the only person who is responsible for the fact that you did not find yourself raped and murdered and dumped in an alley is this young woman my aunt was holding her nose about.”

  I hadn’t said anything about rape, but I suppose he knew the type of men I had been dealing with.

  “Yes,” I said.

  His hands clenched on the mantelpiece turning his knuckles white with pressure.

  “Where is she?” he asked.

  “I put her in Anna’s old bedroom. I did not want to expose her to the snobbery of the servants.”

  He turned to face me once more. A lock of black hair fell forward across his forehead. “You can’t keep her in Anna’s bedroom forever. It won’t be comfortable either for her or for us.”

  “I know. I was thinking—perhaps you could find a nice little cottage for her at Winterdale Park? She is from the country originally.” I leaned forward in my chair. “She told me the most horror-filled story, Philip. You cannot imagine what has happened to that poor girl.”

  His face was bleak. “I can imagine very well,” he said.

  “No, but listen . . .” And I told him everything that Maria had told me.

  “It happens every day, Georgie,” he said wearily.

  “What kind of man would take advantage of a poor, helpless girl like that?” I asked in disgust. “I don’t understand it at all.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “And that part of London where I was being held!” I shuddered. “It isn’t right, Philip, that some people should live so luxuriously while others live surrounded by such dreadful filth and poverty.”

  “The world is not an easy place to live in, Georgie. And if one expects to encounter justice in this life, then one is a fool.”

  There was so much bitterness in his voice that I winced. His face was hard and shuttered.

  “Well . . . will you find a cottage for Maria?” I asked helplessly.

  “Yes.”

  He turned to go. He had not touched me once.

  “Philip?” I said in a small voice.

  He turned back. I stood up and ran to fling myself into his arms. “I’m sorry,” I said into his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to put myself into danger, truly I didn’t.”

  His arms came up to hold me, and for just one moment he pressed me so tightly against him that I thought my ribs would crack.

  Then he let me go.

  “I know, sweetheart,” he said. “Let us hope that Claven has some information that will help us to put this matter to rest.”

  And he was gone.

  * * *

  Philip left the house immediately after our conversation and he did not return to Grosvenor Square until two in the morning. When he came into the bedroom I knew immediately that he had been drinking.

  I pushed myself into a sitting position and stared at him. I could see his face in the light of the candle he was carrying, and his eyes looked heavy-lidded.

  “Did Claven find anything out?” I asked.

  “Oh, are you still awake, Georgie?” he asked in a too-carefully articulated voice.

  I was definitely annoyed. Actually, I was more than annoyed. I was furious.

  “Can’t you and Claven ever get together without drinking yourselves into a stupor?” I snapped.

  He put the candlestick cautiously on the bedside table and got into bed beside me. “Claven managed to get ahold of the two men who kidnapped you, but all they knew was that they had been hired by a fellow who makes a business out of hiring out profeshional—professional—villains.”

  “That must be Lamey,” I said.

  He turned to look at me. His eyes were a much darker blue than they usually were. “How did you know his name?”

  “I heard it mentioned. Can’t Claven find out from Lamey who the man who hired him was?”

  “Lamey runs his own operation. He and Claven pretty well let each other alone.”

  “How delightful. Does this mean that Claven can’t help us?”

  He grunted. “Looks that way.”

  “Well, you’re a great help, Philip,” I said sarcastically. “You go away and leave me so that you can inspect a stupid canal, then, when I’m almost raped and killed, you can’t even find out who kidnapped me! All you can do is go off with your disreputable friends and get drunk!”

  He blew out the candle plunging us into darkness. “I’m not drunk,” he said.

  “You are, too,” I hissed. “And I don’t believe that Claven challenged you to a drinking contest this time, either.”

  “We had a few glasses of blue ruin while we were discusshing your problem,” he said.

  “You had more than a few glasses,” I returned bitterly.

  “I did not.”

  “You did, too!”

  He pulled up the coverlet. “I will talk to you in the morning, when you are more reasonable.”

  “I think you are disgusting,” I said.

  Silence. In a few minutes I heard the sound of a gentle snore.

  Tears pricked my eyes. I had desperately wanted him to make love to me, and instead he had come home drunk. Our marriage, which had started so gloriously at Winterdale Park, had been going downhill ever since we returned to London.

  I don’t know what upset me more, the fact that I was the target of a murderer or the unraveling of my marriage.

  As I lay there thinking, it occurred to me that my second problem was inextricably linked to the first. If I could solve the mystery of who it was who was trying to kill me, then Philip would cease hanging about with Claven (who was obviously a bad influence) and perhaps he would come back to me. So far I had been rather passive about the situation that confronted me. I had been leaving it to Philip to handle.

  From
now on, I determined, I would take a hand.

  I needed to put this would-be murderer into a position where he had to try to kill me himself. That was the only way to find out which of the four men I had so foolishly written to was responsible for all of my accidents.

  For a moment I remembered my recent episode with Alf and Jem, and my heart quailed. Then I recited to myself the lines of poetry that had become my talisman:

  He either fears his fate too much

  Or his deserts are small,

  That puts it not unto the touch

  To win or lose it all.

  The Marquis of Montrose had known what he was talking about when he wrote those lines, I thought.

  I gave Philip a push to make him turn over and stop snoring, and began to plot.

  CHAPTER

  twenty-three

  IT WASN’T UNTIL THE FOLLOWING MORNING, WHEN I was going through the invitations that had arrived during the week, that I hit upon the scheme that I needed. I was sitting at the breakfast table with Catherine and Lady Winterdale, sipping coffee and looking through the cards that were piled next to my plate, when I picked up one from the Marquess and Marchioness of Amberly.

  It was an invitation to a garden party at their home on the River Thames, some miles above Hampton Court.

  I tapped the card on the table thoughtfully and said to Lady Winterdale, “I see that Philip and I have received an invitation to a garden party at Thames House. What exactly is Thames House like, my lady? I’ve been told that it is situated directly on the river. Is that indeed so?”

  Lady Winterdale’s whole face pinched up as if she were eating an extremely sour pickle. Finally she managed to articulate the words that were making her so miserable. “Since you are now my nephew’s wife, Georgiana, I think it would be proper for you to call me ‘Aunt Agatha.’”

  I goggled at her.

  She shot me a distinctly irritated look and snapped, “Do try not to look more of a fool than nature intended you to be, Georgiana.”