P. Chisholm - A Season of Knives

He brought himself back to the present because Lowther had raised him again by two pounds, so he thought of his bed and of the walk back to the castle postern gate with Elizabeth.

‘Well, Sir Richard,’ he mused. ‘What should I do?’

‘You could try folding,’ suggested Sir Richard.

Carey shook his head. Sir Richard had misunderstood the reasons why he had folded most of his hands in the first part of the evening; he had been betting only on the odds and very cautiously at that, in order to build himself up. Carey was flat broke again, needed to buy a new suit and pay for a new sword, and had borrowed three pounds off his own servant Barnabus in order to joint the game.

‘I’ll have to hurry you, I’m afraid, Robin,’ said Scrope’s reedy voice.

Suppressing his instant irritation at Scrope’s use of his nickname which he preferred to restrict to relatives and women, Carey nodded and continued to pretend indecision.

‘I have a number of letters which need urgent attention,’ Scrope continued in an injured tone. ‘And a message from the King of Scotland too.’

That was portentously spoken. Quite happy to let Lowther’s tension build, Carey looked up at his brother-in-law and raised an eyebrow.

‘What does His Majesty want, my lord?’ he asked.

‘Well, as you know, he’s bringing an army of three thousand men into Jedburgh soon to try and hunt down the Earl of Bothwell,’ said Scrope, looking at his fingernails. ‘He’s asked me to hold a muster for the defensible gentlemen of the March, to support him if he needs it during his justice raid.’

From the other end of the table Young Henry Widdrington whistled. ‘Won’t three thousand men be enough?’ he asked naively.

Lowther barked a laugh. ‘Not if he’s going into Liddesdale after the Earl.’

‘Mm,’ said Carey casually. ‘Of course, he’ll be disappointed. The Earl’s not there.’

‘Oh?’ That took Scrope’s attention from his fingers. ‘Where is he? Not in England, I hope?’

Carey shook his head. ‘I understand he’s gone north to the Highlands.’

‘And how d’ye know that, Sir Robert?’ rumbled Lowther.

‘I have my sources,’ said Carey blandly.

‘Of course, he’s also after the horses he lost to the raiders on Falkland Palace,’ Scrope continued after a pause. ‘I can’t tell you how many letters of complaint we’ve had about it. Practically everyone in Scotland seems to have lost the best horse in the country.’

Carey had been distracted by Elizabeth again. The other card game seemed to have finished for the moment. They were drinking spiced beer brought by John Leigh’s ugly little Scottish whippet of a servant and Elizabeth was listening gravely to some involved story from John Leigh while she counted her money. One of the two footmen standing by the door yawned suddenly and looked embarrassed.

‘Half of the horses are in England at any rate,’ said Philadelphia. ‘Thirlwall Castle’s captain had to go off in an awful hurry and I’m sure it’s because his steward told him he had the chance of some superb horseflesh while the going was good. It’s quite lucky really, because it means Lady Widdrington can stay with him on her way home.’ She stopped. ‘Oh, no, she can’t,’ she contradicted herself. ‘The packtrain’s due. Isn’t it, Mr Aglionby?’

The Mayor smiled tightly across at her.

‘Well, Lady Scrope, we try not tae gossip about the packtrains too much.’

There was a movement over by the window where Mrs Aglionby was sitting stitching at a frame underneath a candle. The woman was sitting up and looking worried.

Philadelphia’s expression became very sweet and innocent which Carey knew from experience meant that the Mayor had annoyed her.

‘I’m sure we’re all friends here,’ she said. ‘And your dear wife told me she thought I would be able to get some black velvet to mend my old bodice by Saturday.’

The dear wife shut her eyes and bit her lip. Aglionby cast a single glance at her before he answered Philadelphia.

‘Ay,’ said the Mayor, just as sweetly. ‘There’s nae doubt we’ll have a piece in the warehouse for ye when we’ve turned it out, and a pleasure to make a gift of it to the Warden’s Lady.’

‘How very kind,’ said Philadelphia. ‘So Lady Widdrington will be able to stay at Thirlwall?’

‘I dinna ken, alas, my lady,’ said the Mayor through his fixed smile.

Carey glanced under the table to be sure of his aim and then kicked his sister hard on the shin.

‘Quite right, Mr Aglionby,’ he said to cover her yelp and to have an excuse to move his own legs right out of her way. ‘It must be a constant struggle to stop the local surnames from disrupting commerce.’

‘Ay,’ said the Mayor heavily. ‘It is.’

Carey was glaring gimlet-eyed at his sister who was glaring back. Get the point, Philly, he was thinking; you weren’t this thick-headed in London, but then you were drinking less. With King James expected in the area and prices already high in Carlisle, the old Roman road from Newcastle is probably choked with plodding ponies, heavy-laden with temptation.

‘Are you going to bet, Sir Robert?’ demanded Lowther, losing patience at last.

Elizabeth was giving back half her winnings to John Leigh and receiving his note of debt in return.

‘Sir Robert?’ said Lowther with emphasis.

Carey smiled sunnily at him. ‘Sir Richard,’ he said and pushed every penny in front of him into the middle of the table. A very pregnant silence fell.

‘I’m raising you,’ he explained, unnecessarily. ‘Er…’ he waved a negligent hand, causing the engraved garnet ring he had once won off the Queen to flash in the candlelight, ‘…however much that is.’

Lowther breathed very hard. He looked at the small pile of money in front of him, checked his cards again and breathed harder.

The others round the table abruptly remembered their jaw muscles and shut their mouths, with the exception of Philadelphia who solemnly studied the embroidery of her petticoat’s false front. She had forgotten her annoyance and her face was suspiciously pink. Carey prayed she wouldn’t explode into excited giggles as she had a couple times at Court. The Queen found it charming, but he didn’t because it gave the game away.

Young Henry Widdrington came over, helpfully pulled the pile of coins towards him and counted them out and there was silence while he did it. The other players watched. Elizabeth took in the scene, looked amused and whispered into Aglionby’s ear. He glanced at her astutely and shook his head, so she whispered to John Leigh and got a nod. Carey felt light-headed with that glorious cold fizzing in the pit of the stomach which could be found only at the gaming tables and in the moment of charging into battle. Elizabeth had seen him play at the peak of his abilities at Court when she was there with Philadelphia in the Armada year and she knew what she was about when she placed her side-bet. Carey hoped Lowther hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t. He was watching Henry count Carey’s winnings of the evening, quite a lot of it originally his money.

‘Twenty-one pounds fifteen shillings and sixpence,’ announced Henry with a slight quaver in his voice.

‘All of it?’ queried Scrope.

‘Yes, my lord,’ said Carey simply.

Everybody was looking at Lowther. He checked his cards again-surely he must know what his points were by now, Carey thought. He was scowling heavily.

‘What did you say your points were?’ he asked again.

‘Eighty-four,’ said Carey. It was the point-score of the highest possible hand in primero: four sevens, each worth twenty-one points.

‘You always say that.’

‘No, I don’t. Not always. Are you going to see me?’