The Last Gamble

by Mary Nichols

  The book dropped from her lap, as she sat straining her ears for signs the game was finishing, for cries of goodnight, footsteps coming up the stairs, the gentle knock at the door. She would not let him in, of course, but just to hear him say goodnight was all she wanted. She was so very, very tired.

  She heard the clock strike one and then two. Had he even arranged for a room for himself? Was he going to roll into the straw of the stable as dawn lightened the sky? Would he lose? What would that mean to him? Ruin, just as Papa had been ruined? Oh, why did she let it trouble her so much? She stirred herself and stood up to undo her dress. It was nothing to do with her what he did with his life or his money and she was being foolish worrying about him. She finished her toilette and climbed into bed, too weary to think about it any more.

  Duncan had intended to play cards, had even had his hand on the door of the taproom, when he thought better of it. He would not have his mind on the game and he would be bound to lose. He was not enough of a gambler to risk that. He went out into the town for a walk. The rain had eased a little but the wind was cold and it was wet underfoot. He was glad of his greatcoat and the good leather hessians he wore. But the air cleared his head. Not that it helped him to come to any conclusions about Miss Helen Sadler.

  It had been the height of folly to allow himself to become involved with her, but what else could he have done? He could not have turned his back on her. Their lives seemed to have become intertwined, at least for the duration of the journey, but after that? He did not even know her final destination; all she had said was that it was Scotland and then she had been speaking to their travelling companions, not to him. Almost everything he had discovered about her, he had learned through a third party, as if talking directly to him demeaned her in some way. Was she afraid of him? He did not think that for a minute.

  She was a consummate liar, of that he was certain. Her manner was at odds with her supposed station in life and her clothes, though black, were exquisitely cut in the most expensive materials, not what you would expect a lady’s companion to wear mourning her employer. She was so spirited and headstrong he wondered why she had not come to a bad end long before. But her apparent innocence was her greatest strength, making people protective of her, as he was. But she wasn’t the one needing protection, he was.

  She had managed, in the space of three days, to aid a pickpocket, assist in an elopement, set free a deserter and upset the whole schedule of a notable coaching company and, in the process, charm everyone with whom she came into contact, himself included. He had said he was immune but that was far from the truth; he had become ensnared and he would have no peace while she continued to wreak havoc all around, particularly with his heart.

  Slowly he made his way back to the inn and up the stairs to his room. Outside her door he paused, then smiled and crept away. Tomorrow was another day.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HELEN dreamed she was sitting at a card table opposite Captain Blair. His features were clear enough though the other two players were hazy; she thought one of them was her father. There was a pile of money and jewels heaped up in the middle of the table. She looked down at her hand. King, knave, ten of hearts. Who had the queen? Dare she risk all on it being the Captain? Could she stand up and walk away? Which was the greatest gamble? She felt a sense of panic, of not being able to breathe, of someone shaking her.

  ‘Miss, the Captain said I was to wake you at five. The coach is due to leave at six.’

  Helen opened her eyes, to find herself looking into the face of a chambermaid, only inches from her own. ‘The Captain said he thought you would like breakfast in your room, so I’ve brought it up.’ She indicated a tray on the table beside the bed, lit by a lamp she had just placed beside it. ‘There’s bread and butter and ham and eggs. And a pot of coffee.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Helen struggled to sit up. Supper in her room and now breakfast; she felt like a naughty schoolgirl being punished for some misdemeanour, too mischievous to be allowed to eat in the dining-room. Not since she was fourteen had such a punishment been dealt out to her and she could not remember now what she had done to deserve it.

  ‘He said to help you dress and make sure you weren’t late,’ the girl went on. ‘Very particular, the Captain is.’

  ‘Too particular,’ Helen said, throwing back the covers. ‘You need not stay, I can manage.’ She found her reticule and handed the girl a coin. ‘Please ask someone to come in fifteen minutes to take my trunk and bag down.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ The girl bobbed and left, grinning.

  As soon as the maid had gone, Helen scrambled from the bed, washed in the hot water which had been brought along with the breakfast and then searched in her trunk for a warm dress. The further north they went, the colder it was likely to become, and she did not want the Captain to misinterpret her shivering.

  She pulled out a merino round gown with a fan-shaped silk insert in the bodice front. It had leg o’ mutton sleeves and white fur trimming around the hem. With her mantle and ankle boots, she would be warm enough. Having packed her trunk again and fastened the lid, she picked up the tray and carried it down to the dining room.

  Captain Blair was sitting at one of the tables, calmly enjoying his breakfast and reading a newspaper, with no sign of the raucous night he had passed in the taproom. He looked wide awake and his clothing was as pristine as it was possible to make it under the circumstances. Although he wore the same coat, he had changed his shirt and put on a brand new cravat. She carried the tray over to where he sat and set it on the table. ‘Captain, if I wish to have my meals in solitary splendour then I will request it myself.’

  ‘Good morning, Miss Sadler,’ he said, looking up at her angry little face. ‘You must have slept well, you are as sharp as ever, I see.’

  ‘I slept tolerably, sir.’

  ‘I am glad to hear it,’ he said, deliberately returning his attention to his newspaper.

  She sat down opposite him and made a pretence of enjoying the food, though by now the ham and eggs and the coffee had gone cold. ‘There is something of import in the paper?’

  He put it down. ‘Not unless you count the collapse of that idiotic trial.’

  ‘The Queen has been found guilty?’

  ‘No, that farce has degenerated into slapstick. Liverpool moved that the Bill do pass this day six months, which is a parliamentary term for abandoning it.’

  ‘Does that mean she is still Queen and the King has to acknowledge her?’

  ‘In theory, yes, but in practice…’ He shrugged. ‘It is impossible to make a man love someone he holds in aversion and I doubt he will live with her again. But it does make the succession a problem. While Caroline is Oueen, the King will never have another legitimate offspring. It might not have been so bad had Princess Charlotte or her child survived…’

  ‘All that fuss, all those months of accusation, stirring up the most disgusting evidence,’ she said. ‘All that hate and invective, and nothing has changed. I feel for them both, I truly do. I could never enter into an arranged marriage.’

  ‘Sometimes, there is no choice, noblesse oblige and all that.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘But you are a princess. Is that your problem, a marriage you do not relish?’

  ‘No, certainly not,’ she said, deciding not to persist in telling him she was not a princess. He didn’t really believe it anyway; it was all a game to him. ‘I shall marry whom I please. There is no one to gainsay me.’

  ‘And the poor man who has the misfortune to fall in love with you?’ he ventured. ‘What of him?’

  ‘There is no such person.’

  ‘No?’ he queried softly. ‘I’ll wager otherwise.’

  ‘Then you would lose your money.’

  ‘Oh, I do not think so.’

  ‘My goodness, how confident you are. But isn’t that what gambling is all about, betting on something you can have no knowledge of?’

  ‘There is skill as well as luck involved, Miss Sadler. It comes down to usin
g the information you have to make rational judgements.’

  ‘I collect you were going to play cards last night,’ she said. ‘Did you win?’

  ‘I almost always win,’ he answered evasively, wondering why he did not tell her he had been nowhere near the card table.

  ‘And that attitude is the height of folly. Sooner or later, everyone loses, even you.’

  ‘And you are an authority on the subject of risk, I presume.’

  ‘No, but I abhor gambling. It is the worst of vices.’

  ‘The worst?’ He raised one eyebrow at her, a tiny smile playing about his lips. ‘I should think pretence and deceit are equally abhorrent. At least, they are to me.’

  ‘Oh.’ She looked down at her plate to hide her confusion and shame. He knew she had lied! But he didn’t know why. Should she tell him? Should she confess and hope that he would understand and forgive? He did not seem to be in a forgiving mood, judging by his coolness since the episode with the deserter. She allowed the opportunity to pass.

  ‘Do you never gamble, Miss Sadler?’ he went on.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then, pray, what are you doing now? Life is a gamble, Miss Sadler, and yours more than most, and I’ll gamble on that too.’ He leaned forward the better to look into her eyes and was surprised to see tears glistening on her lashes. He had touched a raw spot and wished he had not teased her. He reached out to her hand but thought better of it and picked up the coffee pot instead.

  ‘You are still angry with me,’ she said.

  ‘I would not be so uncivil.’

  ‘Oh, yes, you would. If I am cause for annoyance, why did you stay? You could have gone on.’

  ‘And left you to fall into more scrapes. First it was the young shaver who stole from you and then you must help Dorothy and Tom and yesterday was worst of all. We could both have been in the most serious trouble. You did untie that man, didn’t you?’

  ‘I felt sorry for him. And he promised me he would let me tie him up again after he had scratched his nose.’

  He suppressed a smile. ‘And you believed him!’

  ‘He seemed so honest.’

  ‘Honest? I doubt a single word of what he said was true and even if it were, I hold no brief for him. You can have no idea what it is like to be in the middle of a battle and have to depend for your life on the man either side of you doing his duty and staying firm. Breaking ranks can have disastrous consequences. Courage does not come into it.’

  ‘But have you never been afraid?’

  ‘Often, and any soldier who tells you differently is a liar, but I have never turned my back on my companions.’

  ‘No, I cannot imagine you would, but all men are not so steely.’

  ‘That is not the point, Miss Sadler. The point is that the man was under arrest, being taken back to a court martial, which is not a matter to be treated lightly. What you did was criminal and I would have been the one to be blamed if he had got away.’

  ‘But you were not the one who set him free,’ she cried.

  ‘I said you were my wife. I would be held responsible for your actions.’

  ‘But you did not have to let them think that, did you? You could have denied it. We are strangers sharing a coach, that is all.’

  ‘Yes, that is all,’ he repeated. ‘Strangers on a coach, ships that pass in the night. But when one of those ships looks set to founder, then the other must come to her aid, it is the unwritten law of the sea. Now, eat up, you have twenty minutes before the coach leaves, I would advise you to waste no more time.’

  ‘You do not mean to hide the cutlery again, then?’ she queried with a smile, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

  ‘Not today. Those tricks are for schoolgirls. There is none here.’

  She put down her cutlery and stood up. ‘Excuse me, I have to pay my bill and I believe I heard the coach arrive.’

  He rose, inclined his head in a sketchy bow and watched her leave, then he returned to his breakfast and his newspaper, chuckling at the salacious evidence brought by the Queen’s accusers. He did not doubt for a minute she was an adulteress, but she knew how to use publicity to her advantage. She was wildly popular wherever she went and even people who had never seen her in their lives, swore her innocence. The poor King had not stood a chance.

  Miss Sadler was right, arranged marriages were full of pitfalls. On the other hand, an arranged marriage eliminated the greater hazard of falling in love. He had escaped both, not quite unscathed, but as near as made no matter and he meant to keep that way.

  ‘Anyone for Carlisle?’ a voice boomed from the doorway. He looked up to see a guard, muffled in a greatcoat with at least six capes and with a wide brimmed hat pulled firmly down on his brow, indicating the weather outside was no better. ‘The Rob Roy is about to depart.’

  Duncan rose hurriedly. Where was Miss Sadler? They could not go without her. He strode outside to find she was already in her seat, along with a florid gentleman in a yellow waistcoat, checked trousers and a huge neckcloth; a thin faced man with a wart on the end of his nose; a woman in widow’s weeds and a young boy of about twelve who was obviously the woman’s son. They were back to the discomfort of six inside passengers. He took his place beside Helen, the grooms stood back from the horses and they were off once more.

  The girl beside him was silent, brooding about what he had said no doubt, but then she had asked for it, always sparring with him, causing mayhem. But now the fire had gone from her eyes and she looked tiny and vulnerable. He had not noticed her lack of stature before because of her apparent self-confidence, but now he wanted to take her in his arms, tell her everything would be all right, he would always protect her; she need not look so worried.

  ‘Hartley,’ the man in the yellow waistcoat said, leaning forward and offering Duncan his hand. ‘I am in cotton, import the stuff from the Americas. Visiting the mills hereabouts.’

  ‘Captain Duncan Blair, Prince of Wales’s Own Hussars,’ Duncan said, shaking the man’s hand. ‘I am going home on leave.’

  ‘Where are you bound, Captain?’ the widow asked.

  ‘Scotland, ma’am.’

  ‘Oh, then we shall be travelling together until Lancaster.’ She leaned forward and smiled at Helen in friendly fashion. ‘My name is Mrs Goodman.’

  ‘And mine is Helen Sadler.’ What else could she say? Lies were becoming second nature to her now.

  ‘Oh, then you are not…’ She stopped, looking from Helen to Duncan. ‘I am sorry, I thought…’

  ‘Unfortunately not,’ Duncan said with a smile.

  ‘Oh, I beg your pardon.’ This to Helen. ‘I would not for the world…’

  ‘Oh, please, think no more of it,’ Helen said. ‘Unhappily I am obliged to travel alone and I am glad to have congenial company.’

  Mrs Goodman poked her son in the ribs. ‘Say how do you do to Miss Sadlert, Robert.’

  He obeyed with a mumble.

  ‘I am very pleased to meet you, Robert,’ Helen said.

  ‘You have also recently suffered a bereavement?’ Mrs Goodman went on, indicating Helen’s black clothes.

  ‘Yes. My father. He died two months ago.’

  ‘Your father?’ Duncan queried. ‘But I thought…’

  She turned to him and smiled. ‘What was that you said about using the information you have to make rational judgements, Captain?’

  ‘Touché, Miss Sadler. But I wish you had told me.’

  ‘Would it have made any difference?’

  ‘Of course it would. May I offer my condolences now?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And are you also going to Scotland?’ Mrs Goodman asked her.

  ‘Yes, I am going to Killearn.’

  Killearn! How many more surprises was she going to spring on him? Killearn was his home town. He found himself mentally listing everyone he knew, wondering who might need a companion or a governess, but he could think of no one. It was probably another of her fabrications; perhaps she did know who he w
as, after all and was baiting him. One day, perhaps, she would surprise him with the truth.

  ‘I have just buried my husband,’ Mrs Goodman volunteered. ‘I had the boy home for the funeral. I am taking him back to school now.’

  ‘Oh, I am dreadfully sorry.’

  ‘He weren’t my father,’ the boy said, almost defiantly.

  ‘Father or stepfather, what’s the difference?’ his mother snapped. ‘He brought you up, provided for us.’ She smiled at Helen. ‘I’ve buried three husbands now. Robert’s father was the first, when I was very young indeed, no more than a child bride.’

  ‘Oh, how dreadful for you,’ Helen said, then added hastily, ‘losing your husbands like that.’

  ‘Careless, you mean,’ Duncan whispered in her ear.

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Mrs Goodman had thankfully not heard the comment. ‘But they left me well provided for.’

  Helen heard Duncan mutter, ‘And now she’ll be looking for a fourth,’ and smothered a smile with some difficulty.

  ‘My husband, the last one, died of wounds received last year at Peterloo. You have heard of that, Miss Sadler?’

  ‘Indeed, yes. My condolences, ma’am. Such a dreadful thing to have happened. It was intended as a peaceful demonstration, wasn’t it, a meeting to air the grievances of the handloom weavers? I believe they have been very distressed by all the new machinery coming into use.’

  Duncan groaned inwardly. This could be contentious, especially with a cotton importer in the coach with them, but Helen never seemed to sense danger. She jumped straight in with both feet and was surprised when she found herself in deep water. And the meeting had ostensibly been about Parliamentary reform, a platform for Orator Hunt.

  ‘That’s no reason to start a riot,’ Mr Hartley said. ‘Workers have to move with the times, it is the only way. Shouting the odds and demanding rights they do not have, is no way to go on.’