Mr. American

by George MacDonald Fraser

  For Mr Franklin it was a disconcerting experience. He had a reasonable knowledge of whist, picked up in the parlours of those dimly-remembered Western school-houses where he and his father had sometimes played with a local doctor and his wife, or it might have been a parson and his sister - but that was a long time ago. Thanks to Thornhill he knew that the principle of bridge was to bid for tricks, and he kept trying to remember the little mnemonic about suit seniority: 'Solomon has ...' What did Solomon have - some kind of crockery - spades, hearts, something, and clubs; well, it must be diamonds, then ... He arranged his cards carefully, conscious of the heavy bulk of the King at his right elbow, the heavy asthmatic wheezing, and a subtle mixture of cigar smoke and pomade; to his left, even more distracting, was the perfumed beauty of Mrs Keppel, which at a range of two feet was positively overpowering; whatever he did, he must not allow his glance to rest on the white splendour of her superb bust, which was difficult, since it seemed to project alluringly halfway across the table. He shifted his legs, accidentally touched her shoe, muttered an apology, received a sweet smile of reassurance, and heard the King mutter: 'If you must kick someone, Alice, kick me - right shin for major suits, left for minors, remember!' followed by a throaty chuckle.

  'Club,' said Soveral, and the King promptly said: `A heart', and replaced his cigar, his small eyes turning challengingly in Mr Franklin's direction.

  Mr Franklin examined his cards - he had the ace, queen, ten, and two other hearts, the king of clubs, and nothing else. Which, in view of his majesty's bid, was interesting, but to a novice like Mr Franklin, of no particular use; he hesitated a second, and then for no good reason said: 'Two clubs', at which Mrs Keppel gave a little fluttering sigh and smiled winningly round the table.

  'Well, well, come on, Alice,' growled the King. 'They've got clubs, we suspect. What have you got to say?'

  'Let me see. ..'Mrs Keppel puckered her flawless brow and tapped her lips thoughtfully. 'I think ... one diamond - oh, no, of course, two diamonds. Yes, two diamonds.'

  'Double two diamonds,' said Soveral, to Mr Franklin's total bewilderment - did that mean Soveral was bidding diamonds himself? (Thornhill's instruction had not gone the length of doubling.) The King growled cheerfully, and leered across the table.

  'Shall I leave you, Alice? Or redouble, eh?' In reply to her squeak of protest he grumbled happily, said 'Two hearts', and squinted at Mr Franklin.

  'Double two spades,' said Mr Franklin, in total confusion.

  'You mean double two hearts?' said the King, staring.

  'Oh - yes, sir, I'm sorry. I should have said hearts,' said Mr Franklin hastily; he had no idea what he should have said, but he was not going to contradict royalty.

  'Just so,' said the King, frowning. 'Two hearts doubled, Alice - but at least we know where the spades are,' he added contentedly, puffing at his cigar -his notions of bidding etiquette were evidently informal, when it came to communicating with his own partner. Mrs Keppel surveyed her hand in pretty consternation, while the King grunted impatiently, tapping his cards and puffing audibly.

  'I'm not. .. I don't ... oh, dear!' Mrs Keppel hesitated, and shot a glance of entreaty at the King. 'Three ... hearts?' she wondered'." 'Really, I ...'

  'About time, too!' exclaimed the King, surveying his hand with satisfaction. 'Come on, Soveral!'

  'Double three hearts,' said the Marquis smoothly, the black eyes smiling across at Mr Franklin, and there was a mutter of alarm from the royal seat. 'Double, eh?' The King lifted his cards and frowned at them. 'Double, you say. I think you're bluffing, Soveral ... very well, then, I'll larn you. Re-double!' His cigar jutted out at Franklin in a manner that dared contradiction. 'Three hearts, re-doubled. Come on, Alice.'

  Mrs Keppel toyed nervously with an earring. 'Perhaps Mr Franklin would like to bid again?' Her face was a picture of comical despair - not entirely comical - as she laid a hand on Mr Franklin's. 'Please, dear Mr Franklin, are you sure you wouldn't like to bid again? Just a teeny little bid - to please me?'

  'Stop that!' said the King testily. 'He doesn't want to bid, so keep your wiles to yourself, and let's see dummy.'

  Mr Franklin shook his head in apology, and Mrs Keppel gave a great sigh. 'Oh, well,' she said, and laid down her cards. 'God save the King.' And added, with a flustered giggle: 'And heaven help Mrs Keppel.'

  'My God!' The King was staring at her cards in disbelief. 'And you said ... three hearts! Are you entirely out of your mind, Alice?'

  When Soveral had discreetly nodded to Mr Franklin to start leading, the slaughter commenced. Mrs Keppel's fine diamonds were so much decoration in a hand devoid of trump; it soon became clear that the power lay with Soveral, and the King's hearts, strong in themselves, fell easy prey to Mr Franklin's, lying in ambush for them. It was plainer sailing now to the American, and he collected the tricks as they fell and the King writhed and muttered; at the end of the hand, only five tricks lay before the royal place, and the storm broke over Mrs Keppel's beautiful head.

  'And why didn't you double first time round?' demanded the King of Mr Franklin. 'Every heart in the pack, dammit, and you said clubs!'

  'And thereby informed me of his heart strength,' said Soveral quickly. 'Correct, partner?' Mr Franklin tried to look knowing, and the King muttered testily that he supposed it was another of these blasted new conventions. But he shot Mr Franklin a look in which respect was equally blended with annoyance and suspicion, before returning to the demolition of Mrs' Keppel, who bore it with sweet contrition.

  The rubber continued, Mr Franklin playing in a fog as regards the finer points of bidding, but manfully assisting Soveral simply by declaring the strongest suit in his hand when he got the chance, and thereafter leaving the marquis to his fate. Since Soveral was an extremely good bridge player, and their initial disaster had reduced the King and Mrs Keppel to growling recklessness and twittering lunacy respectively, the Soveral - Franklin axis prospered, with the assistance of rather better cards than their opponents. Mr Franklin even developed a psychological trick of his own; when he knew he was going to pass he took his time about it, eventually saying 'Pass' in a soft, thoughtful tone which did not deceive Soveral for a minute but filled Mrs Keppel with alarm. The result was that the marquis and the American took the rubber in two straight games, Mr Franklin having to play only one hand, an easy two spades in which he made a couple of over-tricks. The King crashed heavily on a five-diamond bid which emerged from pure frustration and left Mrs Keppel biting her necklace in dismay; his majesty's temper was not improved on the next hand, when she passed in terrified silence after his one-club opener, and they made six.

  'And some idiots want to give them the vote!' observed the King acidly as Soveral totted up the score after the first rubber. 'Pray notice, my dear Alice, that when Mr Franklin says "Pass" it does not necessarily mean that his hand is utterly void; he and the Marquis pay heed to each other's bidding, which is the usual practice in this game.'

  'I know,' said Mrs Keppel, 'but I am so fearfully stupid, and when Mr Franklin fixes his cards with that baleful stare and says: "One heart" as though he were going to eat it, I quite lose my wits. Never mind,' she added cheerfully, lifting her evening bag, 'I shall pay for the rubber - please whisper what we owe you, Marquis, so that I am not too shamed.'

  'Nonsense!' said the King, and rummaged in his pockets; he pushed sovereigns on to the table. 'Can't have our womenfolk stumping up for us,' and he even unbent so far as to wink heavily at Mr Franklin, who realised that next to winning his majesty probably enjoyed playfully brow-beating his partner - fairly playfully, at any rate. 'Play a bit, do you?' went on the King. `Thought so; I don't quite get the hang of your bidding yet, but it's damned effective, eh, Soveral?'

  'Mr Franklin has the American gift - his face tells one nothing,' said Soveral blandly; he might have added that his partner's bidding didn't tell him much either, but tactfully forebore. 'Shall we cut for partners for the next rubber?'

  'Please do,' said the King hea
vily and Mr Franklin prayed that he would not be drawn with his majesty; the cards gave him Mrs Keppel, and the King said: 'Thank God for that' gallantly, and changed places with Mr Franklin. 'Now, Soveral,' he said, lighting a fresh cigar, 'let's have no more nonsense; we want some Yankee dollars from the rubber, what?'

  But he did not get them in the two rubbers that followed. Mrs Keppel, sparkling at Mr Franklin across the table, ran into a succession of those hands which bridge-players dream about; aces and kings dropped from her dainty fingers at every hand, long runs from the honours down seemed drawn to her as by a magnet, her singletons invariably coincided with Mr Franklin's aces, and when their opponents played a hand her queens were always there over his majesty's knaves and her kings over his queens. Twice when Mr Franklin opened in no trump she took him straight to three, and when her dummies came down - lo, there were the slams ready-made. The King growled and muttered about under-bidding, Soveral sighed and shook his head, Mr Franklin began to enjoy himself, and Mrs Keppel gleefully exclaimed: 'What? Is that another rubber to us? Splendid, partner! God bless America!' and raked in her winnings, assuring the King that it was all in the run of the cards.

  'Don't be so confounded patronising, Alice!' snapped the King. 'No, Soveral - never mind cutting. We'll stay as we are and break these Klondike sharpers yet.' He growled impatiently at the deal, picking up his cards as they were dealt, and exclaiming with disgust at each one. 'Whoever saw such rubbish! What's that, Franklin? One no-trump? Oh, lord, they're doing it again!'

  Another two rubbers went by, and Mr Franklin began to feel uncomfortable. Bad hands he had seen, in his time, but what his majesty was picking up was past belief; he seemed to have a lean note of everything from seven downward, and Mr Franklin found himself picking up his own hands with a fervent prayer that they might be bad for a change - but no, there was the usual clutch of pictures, with a couple of languid aces among them to round things off; he even resorted to the shameful expedient of passing when he knew he should have bid, to save royalty from further humiliation. But that could be dangerous, too; once he passed a powerful hand only to have to lay it down as dummy for Mrs Keppel; she shot him a quick glance over her cards, and Soveral's silence spoke louder than words, but the King only said: 'And how the deuce is one to lead into that? Go on, Soveral, let's get it over with.'

  It was well past midnight when the fifth rubber ended, and Mrs Keppel artlessly suggested a change of partners; once again, to Mr Franklin's relief, he drew Soveral, and another two rubbers were played, both of them marathons; the cards still favoured Franklin and his partner, but he sensed that Soveral was now deliberately underplaying, skilfully and subtly, and the games ran on endlessly. But still nothing could contrive the King a rubber, and Mr Franklin noticed with interest that as the royal temper grew shorter, so its owner became quieter; he had ceased berating Mrs Keppel, which obviously troubled her, and played his cards with a grim, desperate intensity.

  During one of his own dummy hands Mr Franklin took the opportunity to survey the rest of the party. Another bridge game was in progress; Smith and Lady Dalston were playing backgammon; Peggy was turning the pages of a magazine, and Sir Charles was talking to one of the other gentlemen - or rather, he was listening, with half an ear, for his attention was anxiously fixed on the royal table. Presumably he knew the King was losing; his eyes met Mr Franklin's for a moment, and seemed to be saying: `Please, forget about those unpleasantnesses of 1776 and 1812, and do me the great favour of allowing his majesty to win now and then.' Mr Franklin would have been glad to; he was not only embarrassed but extremely tired. Did no one go to bed - not even the ladies? He was unaware that protocol demanded that no one should retire until his majesty did, and that the more experienced courtiers were perfectly prepared to be there at four in the morning.

  At one point Peggy approached the table to announce that a supper was being served in the dining-room; thank God, thought Mr Franklin, at least we can stretch our legs, but to his dismay Mrs Keppel said quietly: 'Do you think we might have sandwiches at the table, my dear? - it's such an engrossing game, you see.' His majesty was at that point intent on trying to make one diamond, and going down below the nethermost pit in the process; when the sandwiches came he engulfed them steadily without a break in the play; there was a hock to go with them, but the King gruffly demanded whisky and soda. Mr Franklin stirred to ease his long legs, and received a warning glance from Mrs Keppel; the rubber finally petered out with Soveral winning a three-bid in spades which was virtually a laydown.

  He'll have to call it a day now, thought Mr Franklin; the King was looking old and tired, his cough was troubling him, and he wheezed and went purple when he exchanged his cigar for a cigarette. Mrs Keppel was prattling carelessly about the next day's programme, in the hope of reminding his majesty that a night's sleep might be in order, but she was far too clever to press the point. The King emerged, coughing and heaving, from the depths of his handkerchief, took a long pull at his glass, and said huskily: 'Cut 'em again.' Mrs Keppel did so, and this time Mr Franklin drew the King.

  And, as is the way with cards, the luck changed in that moment. Not that the hands began to run loyally to the throne, but they evened out, and they became interesting - the occasional freak deal in which three players each had only three suits, or all the strength lay in the hands of two opponents, their partners having rags. Mr Franklin had gradually got the hang of bidding during the evening, and knew enough not to disgrace himself; his play would have caused raised eyebrows in any well-conducted club, but in the slightly eccentric game in which he found himself, it served - just. He and the King squeaked home in the first rubber, to universal satisfaction, and then lost the second by the narrowest of margins; his majesty cursed the luck, but he did it jovially, and even congratulated Mr Franklin on his defence against Soveral's two-no-trump on the last hand-this came as a gratifying surprise to Mr Franklin, who had dutifully followed suit throughout.

  `Final rubber,' announced the King. `This time, eh, Franklin? Here, let's have another of your - what-d'ye-call-'em's? - Colonel Bogeys, will you? Never you mind, Alice, just mind the business of shuffling and leave me alone - you needn't shuffle the spots off 'em, either. It won't do you a bit of good.' He coughed rackingly on the cigarette, mopped his little eyes, and chuckled with satisfaction as he picked up his cards.

  He was less satisfied five minutes later, as Soveral totted up a grand slam in spades; on the next hand Mrs Keppel made five clubs having bid only two, which slightly restored the royal temper. 'Had the rubber then, if you'd had the courage,' he reproved her. `Let off for us, partner. Come along, then, we'll have to fight for it. What d'ye say, old monkey?'

  To Mr Franklin's surprise, this was addressed to Soveral - he did not know that the Marquis's unusual ugliness had led to his being christened `the blue monkey', nor did he know, of course, that Soveral disliked it intensely. But he did become aware that a change came over the marquis's play - Mr Franklin had the decided impression that the Portuguese was out to win at last; there were limits, apparently, to leaning over backward in and for royalty's favour. Mrs Keppel may have sensed it, too; she became nervous in the next hand and badly underbid, but Soveral, playing in earnest, pushed their partnership relentlessly towards game; once he was within two tricks of the rubber, and Mr Franklin, with two cards left, and Soveral's last trump staring up at him, hesitated in his discard - nine of hearts or six of spades? He had no idea of what had gone, but as he prepared to throw down the spade some perverse bell tinkled at the back of his mind and he dropped the heart instead. Soveral sighed, swept up the trick, and led - the four of spades. Mr Franklin played his six, Mrs Keppel squealed as she and the King played rags, and his majesty thumped the table in triumph and cried 'Well, held, sir! Oh, well held!' before going off into a coughing fit that had to be relieved by a further application of whisky and water.

  'He had 'em counted, Soveral!' the King exulted, and Mr Franklin wished it had been true. Mrs Keppel smiled her
congratulations, the cards went round again, and the King clinched the game with a bid in no-trump.

  He was thoroughly boisterous now, as they went into the final game, and the other guests, sensing that he was poised for victory at last, came to surround the table at a respectable distance and lend sycophantic support. The King snapped up each card as it was dealt, his face lengthening as he assembled his hand; he stared hopefully across at Mr Franklin, but Soveral went straight to four clubs and made the contract. Again he and Mrs Keppel stood within a trick of the rubber, and the King was leaning back wearily, gnawing his cigar and staring dyspeptically before him, his momentary good humour banished by the prospect of defeat. Peggy came to stand beside Mr Franklin's chair, and he glanced up at her and smiled; she was looking apprehensively towards the King, and suddenly, conscious of his own cramped limbs and slightly aching head, he thought, oh, the blazes with this: why must everyone be on tenterhooks just because one peevy old man isn't getting it all his own way in a stupid game of cards? What does it matter, whether he wins the rubber or not?

  He glanced at the people behind the royal chair, the deferential figures, the concerned aristocratic faces, the ladies trying to look brightly attentive, Clayton's worried eyes seeking his daughter's - and with a sudden insight realised that it did matter, to them. In their peculiar world, royal disappointment and ill-temper, with their implications of lost favour, were vitally important. How much face would Clayton lose among his Norfolk neighbours, among the sneering, artificial London 'society', if this royal weekend were a failure? How much might it hurt Peggy, for all her brave pretence at indifference? And it could easily depend on whether the King got up from that table a winner - on something as trivial as that. But to them it wasn't trivial - only Soveral, in that courtly assembly, didn't seem to care a damn whether the King was kept sweet or not - couldn't the man see that it mattered to Peggy and Clayton and the others? Or didn't he care? Mr Franklin felt a sudden unreasoning dislike of the marquis, and with it a reckless determination to contrive the King a winning rubber in Soveral's teeth, to send the royal old curmudgeon happy to bed, and do the Claytons a good turn - and if he failed, well, it didn't matter, he was an outsider here. anyway. He was sick of this false, uncomfortable, stuffed-shirt atmosphere and pussy-footing deference. With that reckless imp in control he leaned forward, rubbed his hands, and said: