'I certainly do,' George said and, bless him, added. 'And I know your lady wife. I'm surprised that you're inclined to the cards so soon after your wedding.'
Gibbie's grin was so innocent I wondered if he knew what he was doing. 'Oh, once the inclination bites, Captain, one must follow. I'm sure you feel the same. Anyway, I have the chance of increasing my slim fortune.'
George smiled. 'Not at my expense, I hope.'
'Are we playing cards or having a social gathering?' McAra tapped his fingers on the table.
Charon waited until they were all seated before putting the three unopened packs of cards in front of him. I was scared of being recognised, although by the intensity of the players' expressions the last thing they were concerned about was a stray woman watching them.
'Faro? Whist, Loo? Piquet?' Charon did not look like a Captain Sharp as he surveyed the table. 'You may choose, gentlemen and the house will oblige.'
'I'd prefer vingt-et-un.' Gibbie said quickly. 'If that suits the rest of the company?'
'It suits me,' Turnbull said at once. 'It is an opportunity to regain my losses from last time.'
'I am surprised that you managed to find credit so quickly,' McAra said. 'You were quite cleaned out, Turnbull.'
Turnbull's laugh was high-pitched and unpleasant. 'I have found a milch-cow' he said.
I was disappointed that Gibbie laughed as loudly as Turnbull and McAra. I tried to remain expressionless as Charon offered his three packs of cards.
'Would one of these packs suit, gentlemen?'
'Yes, yes, get on with it, man,' McAra glanced at Captain Rogers. 'Good evening, Captain. I did not think you followed the cards.'
'I am not normally a gambling man,' George said. 'However, I do not object to allowing Chance to rule my life from time to time.'
'Here!' McAra gestured to the nearest woman. 'Brandy!'
The woman filled his glass, rubbing her hip against his shoulder. Gibbie watched with his mouth slightly open.
'How is Marie?' George asked.
'Very well, thank you,' Gibbie said, and again I blessed Captain Rogers.
Charon dealt with a swift flowing movement that saw one card float across the table to land in a shimmering blur face down in front of each person. 'House will act as banker,' he said. 'House rules; first hand has an upper limit of fifty sovs, and after that, the players decide the limit.'
I shifted in my seat, hoping that I had not involved Captain Roger in a game that was too rich for his purse. He sat back as the second card flicked across the table to join the first.
You will know vingt-et-un, I am sure, or twenty-one or pontoon, which are all different names for the same game. The idea is to get to the total of 21 with the fewest number of cards, although a five-card-trick is also worth having. It is probably the most simple of all gambling games. If the house had a hand equal to any of the players, the house won, giving them a slight advantage.
The second cards had been dealt face up, so each player could see one of his opponent's cards. Gibbie had the six of spades, George the eight of diamonds and Turnbull the three of diamonds. McAra had slapped a hand on top of his card, hiding it. Charon had the seven of clubs.
'Move your hand please, Mr McAra,' Charon said. 'Rules of the house.'
McAra glared at him and moved his hand, revealing the two of spades.
'We'll start with five sovereigns,' Charon slid the gold into the centre of the table, and the others followed. I watched Turnbull add his coins and knew that they had recently belonged in my purse.
'Another card,' Gibbie said at once and smiled when Charon flicked across the four of spades. 'I'll raise the pot another five sovs.'
I sat back, hoping that Gibbie knew what he was doing as the pile of gold in the centre of the table increased. Forty sovereigns sat there, as much as a skilled man earned in nine months or a soldier in three years, and the betting had barely started.
There was another round of gambling that increased the pot to eighty sovereigns before a jubilant Gibbie announced that he would see everybody's cards and revealed his first card to be the knave of spades. Sitting on twenty, he waited for the others to show their hand.
'Too strong for me, Elliot.' George folded at once.
'And for the house.' Charon also tossed in his hand.
McAra swore and showed he had nineteen while Turnbull gave a loud whoop.
'Vingt-et-un old boy!' He said. 'The cards have spoken, my luck is in, and fortune favours the turning bull.' He scooped up the shimmering pile of gold.
I met Captain Rogers' gaze and read nothing there.
'First blood to Mr Turnbull,' Charon shuffled the pack. 'Are you gentlemen prepared to continue?'
'Yes, deal the cards, damn it.' Gilbert did not hide his frustration.
The next round went to George and Charon scooped the one after that, with Gibbie and McAra both losing heavily. No longer smiling, Gibbie emptied the last of his purse onto the table and snatched at the cards as they fell in front of him.
'If the table's too rich, Mr Elliot, perhaps you should withdraw from the game,' George suggested.
'You're not forcing me away, damn you!' Gibbie scribbled a note on a scrap of paper. 'There's my IOU.'
I half rose, until George motioned me back down with a frown and a shake of his head.
Sitting at the back, I was the only person present to see McAra lift a finger to the women. The youngest, shapeliest and prettiest slipped out of her seat and crouched at Gibbie's side, pressing herself against him in a manner that Marie would have found most unsettling. I felt the increase of my heartbeat and wondered what was best to do.
'Fortunes change,' the woman whispered. 'And luck favours the brave.' She placed his hand on his thigh and allowed it to drift upward.
I opened my mouth to protest. At that moment I hated Gibbie more than anybody in the world. I had seen enough; Gibbie was as innocent as Lucifer. About to walk out, I caught George's eye.
'If you could ask your lady friend to move, Elliot,' George spoke calmly, 'we can continue with the game.'
Turnbull laughed as Gibbie placed his hands on the woman's shoulders. 'Deal the cards,' Turnbull said, ran a hand over the pile of gold in front of him, and slapped the woman's swaying backside as she passed him. Not hard enough, in my opinion, despite her little yelp.
When George met my gaze, I saw the sympathy in his eyes. He was hurting for me.
'Gentlemen,' Charon said quietly. 'We'll continue when you are ready.'
The cards continued to fall unkindly for Gibbie. He lost that round, with McAra scooping the pot, and the House won the next, with George folding early each time, so he retained at least some of his earlier winnings. Gibbie's luck altered and he won two games in a row, with Turnbull betting and losing heavily. The woman returned to Gibbie's side, perching on his lap and helping him drink.
'When you are ready, Mr Elliot,' Charon said.
After that, there was a run when each player in succession won, except Gibbie and Turnbull, who were now the most significant losers.
'Damn you!' Gibbie swore again when he gambled on a three-card twenty-one, only to lose to Charon's ace and face. 'You'll have to take my IOU.'
'You can't have much left,' George glanced at the figures on Gibbie's IOUs. 'I know you lease your property and as the youngest son you've little to inherit.'
'Bad form to discuss personal affairs, old man,' McAra said.
'Mr McAra is correct,' Charon's voice was grave. 'House rules state that every player is responsible for his own finances.'
Perspiration glistened on Gibbie's face as he drank deeply from the glass the shapely woman handed him. 'I've my gold watch and the clothes on my back,' he said.
'We'll take them,' McAra said. 'If you're willing to put them on the table.'
I wondered if he was joking until I saw the leer on Turnbull's face. 'We'll send you out naked as the day you were born, Elliot.' He thought that a great laugh.
'There's no need
for that old man.' My gallant Captain Rogers said. 'I'll gladly lend you a hundred sovs to see you through. Think of that lovely new wife of yours eh? Best take my hundred and fold for the night.'
'I'm damned if I will,' Gibbie said. 'I can still win it all back and more.'
'Don't be a fool man!' Captain Rogers said. 'Quit while you still can. My offer stands.'
Charon gave a little nod, and the shapely woman pressed closer to Gibbie, slid onto his knee and put a brandy glass to his lips.
I watched in increasing agitation as Gibbie drained the glass, took hold of the woman and gave her a resounding kiss.
'There now!' Gibbie nearly shouted. 'And another for luck.' Pushing the woman off, he called across to Charon. 'Deal the cards, Charon!'
I felt my nails digging into the palms of my hands as Charon again passed out the cards. I am not much given to praying outside a church, but I admit that I closed my eyes tight and begged the Lord to allow the cards to fall sweetly for my friend and Marie's husband Gilbert. However on that day either the Lord closed his ears or decided not to interfere with the Devil's work, for Gibbie's unfortunate run continued.
By the end of the night, Charon and McAra had divided the evening's winnings between them, with Captain Roger and Turnbull having minor losses and Gibbie as the major loser.
'You gambled the clothes off your back,' McAra reminded. 'Let's have them.'
'Come on, Elliot,' Turnbull said. 'A gentleman must always keep his word.'
I saw the dismay on Gibbie's face and had a momentary vision of him walking stark naked through Edinburgh. I bowed my head at the ritual humiliation as Gilbert stripped off his coat and handed it over.
'And the rest,' Turnbull said. 'One must pay one's dues.'
'There's no help for it, Elliot, unless you wish the world to view you as a man with no honour.' McAra watched with a small smile on his face as poor Gibbie bowed his head and peeled off his boots and breeches. I was glad to see that he wore drawers beneath. Three of the other women watched without expression while the shapely one was smiling, her gaze running up and down Gibbie's slim body.
Gibbie stood in his underwear, scarlet with mortification. 'Damn it, man, leave me some dignity.'
'All your clothes,' McAra said.
'All of them,' Turnbull was grinning, glancing at the women as if to encourage them to join in. When he looked at me, I lowered my head.
'Allow me to buy his clothes,' George offered. 'Mr McAra?'
'No,' McAra shook his head. 'A debt is a debt and should be paid. All of them, Elliot.'
'Give me one last chance,' Gibbie pleaded. I thought of the happy, confident man who married Marie only a few weeks ago and compared him to this broken creature and I hated the very name of gambling.
'Give me one last chance,' Turnbull mocked. 'You've nothing left to put on the table.'
'He's got one thing left in his life,' McAra felt the quality of Gilbert's coat and threw it carelessly on the ground. 'He has the auburn-headed Marie.'
'What?' I could not help my exclamation of shock as a hundred memories returned.
'Well, Elliot? What about it?' McAra ruffled the pack of cards. 'You asked for one last chance, and I have granted it. All you need to do is put your wife where your mouth is.'
'Come on, Elliot, your luck must turn sometime.' Turnbull encouraged. 'It's only a woman.'
Charon looked from McAra to Gibbie. 'This is a respectable house. We will not take a woman as winnings.'
'I won't lose,' Gibbie said desperately.
'It will be a private game.' McAra said.
'Not in my hall.' Charon said. 'House rules or no rules.'
'Don't be a bloody idiot, Elliot,' George said. 'You can't gamble your wife. Think what you're doing, man! I'll lend you; no I'll give you a hundred sovereigns to tide you over.'
'I'll put down a thousand guineas as the value of Elliot's wife,' McAra said. 'If the house wins, Elliot will bring his wife to me, and I will pay the house the thousand.'
Charon considered for only a moment. 'Agreed.'
'Captain!' I stepped to George. 'You can't allow this. It's inhuman! It's like a slave market.'
'It would not be the first time a woman has exchanged hands across the gaming table,' George said.
'For goodness sake, Captain, do something.'
I saw the consternation on Captain Rogers' face. I also saw Turnbull frowning and guessed he was trying to work out where he had seen me before. I hoped to God that my disguise proved itself. If not, well I would cross that bridge later.
Gibbie ignored us. 'Deal the cards, Charon. My wife against all my evening's losses.'
'George,' I whispered, 'please do something.'
George nodded. 'Elliot, that's no way to treat a lady.' He pushed back his chair. 'You're no gentleman, damn it.'
'I am the Honourable Gilbert Elliot,' Gibbie tried to look dignified as he stood in his underwear in that hellish place. 'I am a better man than you, Captain Rogers.'
'You are a blackguard, a coward and no gentleman,' George goaded Gilbert, who stiffened and retaliated with a slap that knocked my captain's head back.
'Shall we say on Tuesday at dawn?' George said. 'Lieutenant Hepburn will act as my second. He will call on your man.'
'I will act for Elliot,' McAra lifted up Gibbie's coat and trousers. 'You may wear my new clothes, Elliot until after the meeting.'
It was only then that I realised what had happened. I had encouraged my Captain Rogers to fight a duel with Marie's husband. This whole thing was my fault and nobody else's. By interfering with Gibbie's life, I may have ended it, or that of George. I stared at George, unsure what to say or do. In return, he winked at me.
Chapter Eight
At that period, duels were reasonably common in Ireland and England although less so in Scotland. They were also illegal, so the seconds had to ensure complete secrecy before the two parties met, and find at least one escape route afterwards. Duels were affairs fought between gentlemen, generally with pistols at a set number of paces although the old-fashioned contests with swords were not unknown.
Talk of the duel ended that gambling session and all the players returned home. 'I could not think what else to do,' George said to me as we left Weir's Inn.
'You have put your life in jeopardy for my sake,' I said.
George adjusted his sword belt as we walked through the dark Grassmarket. 'It was not only for your sake, Dorothea. I have known Marie longer than I have known you, and I disapprove of Elliot's actions. What I said was correct. No gentleman would gamble his wife.'
'You are a good man, George.'
'I am only a man,' George said. 'And a gentleman, I hope. Or I strive to be, for the sake of my family line.' He grinned. 'God, that sounds pompous and pretentious.'
I looked away. When George mentioned his family line, I felt uncomfortable, as if somebody had walked across my grave. His company always buoyed me up although I knew our friendship could never develop into anything more profound. And then I had the desperate, longing hope that it could.
As we walked across the cobbles with the dark tenements around and the castle frowning down upon us from atop its rock, I looked sideways at George. I was growing used to his presence, his cheerfulness and resourcefulness. Although loath to admit it, I was becoming fond of this man. I shivered and again dared to hope. Perhaps, after so long, things might work out? Had I found somebody I could trust?
'We won't find a chaise at this time of night,' George broke into my train of thought.
'It's not a long walk to Thistle Street,' I said and wondered if George would take that as an invitation.
'I'll accompany you.'
'George,' I put my hand on his chest. It was as muscled as his forearm. 'You've done too much already, and now you could be killed.'
'I could also kill your friend Elliot and make Marie a widow.' George said.
We stopped walking and faced each other at the foot of the West Bow, the street that ascended in a c
razy zig-zag toward the Lawnmarket. The night was cold and tainted with smoke from a thousand fires.
'That might be the best thing for Marie,' I said. 'Better no husband than a man who gambles her away.'
'He was drunk.' George said. 'He was frustrated, and he was scared. He's not a bad man, Dorothea, only a foolish man.'
I sighed. 'I hope Gibbie's learned his lesson. Will you kill him?'
George said nothing for what seemed a long time. Eventually, he spoke as if from far away. 'Killing is easy, Dorothea. Living with the knowledge that one has killed is not.'
I knew he had drifted away into his past. On an impulse, I took hold of his arm and squeezed tight. 'I wish you could withdraw from the duel.'
There was no fear in George's smile. 'I'm looking forward to it. I only wish it was not your friend. Now come on, step up and we'll get you home.'
I clung to his arm all the way back to Thistle Street and kissed him before he left. The night had taken an unexpected turn, and I felt sick for Marie. Yet I still watched George walk away. He looked so tall and confident in his scarlet uniform, and that is how I wished to remember him, not as a bleeding corpse with Gibbie's pistol ball through his head. Men could be so pig-headed! And now I had to see Marie.
Chapter Nine
'But Gibbie! He could kill you!' Marie said.
'He said I was no gentleman,' Gibbie had tactfully neglected to mention the real cause of the dispute. 'I had no choice but to challenge him, and Hector has agreed to be my second.'
'Hector McAra. I do not like that man!' Marie showed more sense than her husband.
I sat quietly in the corner of the room, wishing I was elsewhere, unsure if I should tell Marie what had happened and feeling utterly miserable.
'Captain Rogers is your particular friend,' Marie pointed to me. 'What right did he have to say such a horrible thing about my Gibbie?'
'Miss Flockhart was not present at the time,' Gilbert said. 'She cannot be held to blame for the actions of Captain Rogers.'
I looked from one to the other, wondering how Gilbert could possibly contemplate gambling away his lovely young wife. My opinion of men sunk even lower. I wanted to stand up and run from Tynebridge Hall and never return, yet to do so would be to leave Marie alone with this man who pretended to care for her while preparing to pass her onto Hector McAra. I could not see a way out.
A Turn of Cards (Lowland Romance Book 3) Page 11
