A Rational Proposal (Furze House Irregulars Book 1)(57)
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Charles sat at the table, calculating rapidly. This hadn’t been how today was supposed to go, but aside from the very real complication of Verity being here and in danger, the situation was close to how he and Adam had planned it. They were in a place where Eastwick felt safe, they were sideways to the door so had a good chance of forcing an exit should it become necessary, and Eastwick was already underestimating Charles’s skill.
How long did he have? Eastwick’s manner regarding the necessity for finance had been urgent. Had he been referring to the Hart Street brothel fire when he said the gentleman he owed money to had made his displeasure known? If so, Eastwick himself was playing for high stakes. A creditor who thought nothing of firing a building with the residents still inside was not likely to show mercy to a man who defaulted on payment.
So, two tasks. Firstly, Charles had to win the game and have the right to remove himself and Verity, however difficult that last step was going to be in practice. Secondly, he had to arrest Eastwick for deceiving the maids with false promises of marriage and selling them to the brothel. And thirdly, he supposed, he had to get the man to Bow Street.
This was going to be an interesting afternoon.
He did have one slender advantage. Eastwick wasn’t the only man to make use of street urchins. As they’d arrived and been man-handled through the alley, young Thomas, the coal merchant’s son had pelted away in the opposite direction. The longer Charles took over the game, the more time Thomas would have to find Fitz or explain to Mr Tweedie or, as a last resort, go to Bow Street itself to say he’d seen them abducted.
As he’d been thinking and helping Verity to fashion a makeshift bandage, he’d studied the cards from the previous game that had been thrown face-down on the table. He was in no doubt that the pack would be marked in some way. This was not a den designed to leave money with its clients. He was equally in no doubt that Eastwick would call for a new pack before they started. However, since making individual plates for the backs of cards was expensive, he’d bet all Eastwick’s new packs were printed to the same design.
A gambling den and Eastwick was rattled. Those thoughts also nibbled at Charles’s reasoning. Would his opponent go all out for the kill straight away or, as he was on his home ground, would he follow a card-sharp’s customary practice of drawing the victim in gradually and make him think he was winning, before dragging him deeper until the waters closed over his head? In this particular case Eastwick didn’t need to, but if he was on edge and not thinking straight, habit might prevail.
“New cards,” said Eastwick. He broke the seal with deliberation and met Charles’s eyes. “Ready, Congreve?”
“Ready,” said Charles.
Charles had learned to play piquet at his grandfather’s knee, and had taught Julia when his older brothers refused to play with him. It only took two hands for him to identify the markings on the backs of the cards. He could do nothing about the cards in the talon, but he kept his own fan of cards as narrow as possible so his opponent did not get a chance to con them.
He won the first hand easily, declared carte blanche on the second before Eastwick could score a repique, then settled down to decide on the cards he would exchange in the third hand.
In a way it annoyed him that the cards were marked. When piquet was played properly, it was a reasonably simple matter to deduce where each card lay. Charles had realised from the outset that Eastwick was an experienced player. He shouldn’t need to cheat. Was he lazy, perhaps? Had he been cheating for so long that his intellect was blunted? In short, without markings to rely on, might his discard process be rusty?
Beside him, Verity pressed a hand to her side. If she had cracked a whip, Charles’s resolve couldn’t have crystallised any faster. What was he thinking? This wasn’t an ordinary game. He didn’t have the luxury of treating it as an intellectual exercise. He was playing for her life!
Brain and fingers working smoothly in concert, Charles knew his best chance was to unsettle Eastwick and fool him into miscalculating. He was already hiding the tops of his cards and arranging them haphazardly in his hand rather than organising them by suit. Now he would vary the pace as well. He began to play faster. Eastwick retaliated by playing slower until the onlookers started chaffing him by making bets on when his next card would be laid down. Provoked, he made a mistake and Charles took the hand.
At the end of the first rubber, Charles was the winner by a narrow margin. He didn’t trouble to hide how relieved he was. Eastwick might read strung-nerves into his demeanour and hopefully surprise at his own luck. That was all to the good. The more his opponent misjudged his skill the better. Now, should he go all out to win the second rubber, or could he afford to take it easier?
His heart said to push ahead. He wanted to win the bet and get Verity out of this foul place. His head, however, pointed out the unlikelihood of their being allowed to walk free, bet or no bet. And what of the arrest? Unlike the more high-class clubs, this den was sprinkled with Eastwick’s own thugs. Unless Fitz by some miracle managed to arrange the dispatch of a couple of Bow Street Runners here, there was very little chance of them bringing off a second coup.
Deal by deal, the points crept up in Charles’s favour. The quality of his own play was spurring Eastwick to rekindle the skill he’d presumably had in his early days, before he relied on marked cards and games that were biased in the house’s favour. An unlucky deal on the penultimate hand gave Eastwick the chance to score heavily. So be it. If this rubber went against him, then the third would give him the extra time he needed to lull Eastwick’s suspicions and plan his final actions. It might even bring reinforcements. Across the room, Lieutenant Crisp had recovered. He might be ineffectual in the drawing room, but by the look in his eyes, he was itching to take down a few of what he clearly now saw as the enemy. That could be useful, provided the man was quick enough on the uptake to see where his help would do most good.