Dreaming of You (The Gamblers #2)(7)

“Mr. Craven has many enemies,” Worthy remarked, his round face troubled. “In particular a man named Ivo Jenner, who owns a rival club. But I wouldn’t have expected Jenner to do something like this.”

“Maybe not,” Derek muttered, closing his eyes. “Maybe it was someone else. Worvy…take ’er out of ’ere.”

“But Mr. Craven,” Sara protested.

“Come,” Worthy said, shushing her gently. He urged her away from the bedside. Reluctantly Sara followed him to the next room.

Left alone, Derek gave a soft laugh threaded with bitterness. “Damn you, Joyce,” he whispered, and raised a hand to touch the stitches on his face.

After Dr. Hindley departed, Worthy rang for tea and stirred the fire in the grate. “Now,” he said pleasantly, sitting in a chair near Sara’s, “we may talk without interruption.”

“Mr. Worthy, could you try to make Mr. Craven understand that I wouldn’t be a nuisance, or inconvenience him in any way? All I want is to observe the activities at the club, and ask a few questions—”

“I will talk to Mr. Craven,” Worthy assured her. “And I’ll allow you to visit the club tomorrow while Mr. Craven is indisposed.” Worthy smiled at her obvious excitement. “It is a privilege rarely granted to women, you know, except on assembly nights. There was only one other lady who has even been allowed to cross the threshold.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of her—they called her Lawless Lily. She was Mr. Craven’s paramour for a number of years, wasn’t she?”

“Things are not always what they seem, Miss Fielding.”

They were interrupted by a maid bearing a tray of tea and delicate sandwiches. Efficiently Worthy poured Sara’s tea and added a liberal amount of brandy. Balancing the cup and saucer on her lap, Sara nibbled on a sandwich, feeling as if she were slowly awakening from a nightmare. She stretched her damp feet toward the warm fire, taking care not to expose her ankles.

“There is only one condition I must ask of you,” Worthy said, settling back in his chair. “You must not approach Mr. Craven, or ask him any questions. In fact, I insist that you take care to avoid him. You will be free to talk to anyone else at the club. We will all try to be as accommodating as possible.”

Sara frowned in disappointment. “But Mr. Craven could be of great help to me. There are things I would like to ask him—”

“He is an intensely private man who has spent his life trying to escape his past. I assure you, he will not want to talk about himself.”

“Is there anything you could tell me about him?” She sipped her tea and watched the factotum hopefully.

“He’s not easy to describe. Derek Craven is by far the most complicated individual I’ve ever met. He is capable of kindness, but…” Worthy drank some brandy and contemplated the rich amber depths in the glass. “I’m afraid that all too often Mr. Craven reveals himself as a man of ruined potential. He comes from a world more savage than you could begin to comprehend, Miss Fielding. All he knows about his mother was that she was a prostitute who worked at Tiger Bay, a dockland street where sailors and criminals go to be serviced. She gave birth to him in a drainpipe and abandoned him there. Some of the other harlots took pity on the infant and sheltered him for the first part of his life in local brothels and flash houses.”

“Oh, Mr. Worthy,” Sara said in a strangled voice. “How dreadful for a child to be exposed to such things.”

“He began to work at five or six years of age as a climbing boy for a chimney sweep. When he became too old to climb, he resorted to begging, thievery, dock labor…There is a period of a few years which he will not speak of at all, as if it never existed. I don’t know what he did at that time…nor do I wish to know. Somehow in the midst of it all he gained a rudimentary understanding of letters and numbers. By his teens he had educated himself enough to become a Newmarket bookmaker. According to him, it was at that time that he conceived the idea of operating his own gambling club someday.”

“What remarkable ambition for a boy with such origins.”

Worthy nodded. “It would have been an extraordinary achievement for him to build a small den in the city. Instead, he dreamed of creating a club so exclusive that the most powerful men in the world would clamor to be allowed membership.”

“And that’s precisely what he’s done,” she marveled.

“Yes. He was born without a shilling to his name…” Worthy paused. “He was born without a name, as a matter of fact. Now he is wealthier than most of the gentry that patronizes his club. No one is really aware of how much Mr. Craven owns. Landed estates, houses, streets lined with rent-paying shops and tenants, private art collections, yachts, race-horses…it’s astounding. And he keeps track of every farthing.”

“What is his goal? What does he ultimately want?”

Worthy smiled faintly. “I can tell you in a word. More. He’s never satisfied.” Seeing that she had finished her tea, he inquired if she wanted another cup.

Sara shook her head. The brandy, the firelight, and Worthy’s calm voice had all combined to make her drowsy. “I must leave now.”

“I’ll have a carriage brought around.”

“No, no, the Goodmans live a short distance from here. I shall go on foot.”