Philippa Gregory - Meridon

I turned to the captain. ‘It’s the sweetest little estate you ever did see, just outside Salisbury,’ I said. ‘Not one good thing have I had out of it in my life. My father scrimped and saved and bought one little parcel of land after another until he had it all together. Not one penny would he spend on me. It’s only since his death I’ve been able to go to a half-decent tailor even! Now I’m in London I’m damned if I’ll sell myself short. I’ll put Gateley Estate on the table, up against your – whatever it’s called – and let the winner take both!’

‘Not so fast,’ the captain said. ‘Lord Perry was anxious that I keep the deeds safe.’

I shrugged. ‘I’ll sell them back to him, or gamble ‘em back to him, never fear,’ I said. ‘You talk as if I’m certain to win. I surely feel lucky!’

Will came forward softly. ‘This is madness,’ he said aloud. ‘You’ll never gamble your inheritance. The rents alone are worth four thousand pounds a year, Michael!’ In an undertone, for my ears alone he leaned forward and hissed: ‘What the devil are you playing at, Sarah?’

I leaned back in my seat and beamed at him. I had that wonderful infallible feeling I had known when I saw Sea for the first time and knew that he would not throw me.

I winked at the captain. ‘I don’t live like a rustic!’ I said. ‘I’ve come into my own at last, I’m ready to play like a gentleman, aye and live like one too.’

‘Well, good luck to you!’ said Bob Redfern. ‘Damme that calls for a bottle. Are you drinking burgundy, Mr…Mr…’

‘Tewkes,’ I said at random. ‘Michael Tewkes, Esquire, of Gateley, near Salisbury. Glad to meet you indeed.’

I let him take my hand, it was still as rough and as calloused as any working squire. They had cut my nails short in the fever, my grip was hard.

A fresh bottle was bought, and a new pack of cards.

‘What’ll it be?’ asked the captain. His eyes were bright, he had been drinking all evening but it was not that which made him pass his tongue across his lips as if for the taste of something sweet. He could smell a pigeon ripe for the plucking.

‘Michael, I promised your mother…’ Will said urgently.

‘Oh, sit down and take a hand,’ I said carelessly. ‘This is a jest between gentlemen, Will, not serious play. I’ll put my IOU for Gateley on the table against this other estate. If I come home with a house and land in my pocket d’you think anyone will complain? Sit down and play or sheer off!’

The captain smiled sympathetically at Will. ‘It’s a hard row, keeping a young man out of trouble,’ he said. ‘But we’re all friends here. We’ll put the deeds on the table if that’s your wish. But we’ll have a gentleman’s agreement to buy them back at a nominal sum. No one is here to be ruined. All anyone seeks is a little sport.’

Will unbent slightly. ‘I don’t mind games of skill,’ he said stiffly. ‘Games of skill between gentlemen for a nominal sum.’

‘Slow coach!’ I said easily. ‘Captain, get me a sheet of your paper and I’ll write out the deeds of my land fair. We’ll put them on the table with Lord Perry’s farm and they can be the stake.’

‘I’ll put my hundred guineas in,’ Will said, warming to the game.

‘Dammit so will I!’ said Bob Redfern as if he had suddenly decided. ‘I could do with a little place in the country!’

Will checked at once. ‘The properties to be re-sold at once to their rightful owners,’ he said.

Bob Redfern smiled. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘For a nominal sum. This is but a jest. It adds zest.’

‘For God’s sake, Will, we’re in polite society now,’ I hissed at him. ‘Don’t count the change so!’

Will nodded abashed, and watched as I wrote out a brief description with a line-drawing of what was, in fact, Robert Gower’s farm. I chose it on purpose. It looked real. My da always used to say, when you’re getting a gull, tell him a story as straight as you can. I thought of him as I drew in the river which flowed near the bottom field.

‘Pretty place,’ the captain said approvingly.

‘A fair stake, for a jest,’ I said.

Bob Redfern leaned forward and dealt the cards with his swift white hands. I dropped my eyelashes and watched him like a hawk.

I was not a card-sharper, I was a horse-trainer, a petty thief, a poacher. I could call up a show or ride a horse for money. I could take bets, make up a book, drug a bad horse into steadiness, or ride a wild pony into the ground for a quick sale. Here, in this London club, with a man’s hat pushed back on my forehead, sprawled in my chair like a flushed youth, I was in the grip of men who cheated at cards for a living, and for a handsome living. I was the pigeon here. The little skills I had learned at Da’s knee would not preserve me from a thorough plucking if I stayed too long. Whatever I was going to do I had best do quick.

News of the bet had spread to other parts of the room and several gentlemen had quit their own games to come and watch ours. I didn’t know whether any of them would signal to Bob or Jolyon what cards we held. I didn’t dare wait to find out. There was no time, and I did not have enough skill. For the first time in my life I wished with all my heart that my da was at my side. He was no artist, but he could spot a cheat. And I did not know if they would use the same signals with others watching.

They did. The first tricks I saw them do it. They moved like gentlemen, that was what made it alluring. When you saw Da pinch his ear or scratch his shoulder it looked foolish, as if he had nits. But when Captain Thomas brushed his collar with the tips of his fingers he looked merely debonair. I risked a quick glance at Will, he was scowling over his cards. He would know they were cheating but he would not have a clue how it was done. I could not hope that he would have wits quick enough to follow me. He had not had the training, he was no easy liar, no quick cheat. He did not know how to do it. I should have to do it alone. I should have to do it quickly. I should have to do it now.

38

They were going for me, for the convincingly pretty little farm I had drawn for them. All good card-sharping is a war of imagination in which the card-sharp convinces the pigeons of two things at once: that he is honest, and that they are skilled. I watched them under my eyelashes and saw that they thought Will too staunch, too unwilling, possibly too poor for their skills. But I was a flash young fool. They looked from the little roughdrawn map to my open eager face and licked their lips like hungry men before sweet pudding.

I tapped my cards on the table and shot a look at Will. ‘Seems you were right, Will,’ I said. ‘I’m well out of my depth here.’

Will kept his eyes down and his face still, but he must have been reeling at my sudden change of tack.

‘Let’s finish this game and be off then,’ he said. He glanced at Captain Thomas and Bob Redfern. ‘Begging your pardons, sirs, and thanking you for your hospitality. But I promised this young man’s mother I’d bring him safe home. Aye, and with his inheritance safe in his pocket.’

Captain Thomas cracked a laugh that made the dusty chandelier tinkle. ‘You’re a bear leader, sir!’ he cried. ‘I think Mr Tewkes here is a very sharp player indeed!’

He switched the card he was about to play for one further away from the cleft of his thumb. It was a low trump. He probably knew I had higher. I took the trick as he had intended.

‘Look at that now!’ he said. ‘I missed that you had a trump that high, Mr Tewkes.’

‘Let’s have another bottle,’ Bob Redfern said genially. ‘Up from the country you should enjoy yourselves gentlemen! A shame to go home with no tales to tell! They’ll open their eyes when you tell them you played here, I warrant!’