Lord Ashford's Wager (16 page)

“Take them away, John.”

“My lord, if I may be so bold—”

“You have never shrunk from it before, so I don’t know why you hesitate now,” said Tony with a smile.

“If you do not go out, people will be convinced of your guilt, despite the magistrates’ verdict, my lord.”

“Let them. If I do go, they will only avoid me or smile hypocritically while they turn down my invitation to a dance or supper. I wouldn’t be surprised,” said Tony, lifting one card and then dropping it back down into the pile, “if old Hunt refused me admittance entirely.”

His valet gave up for the moment, knowing it would not work to push his employer when he was in this mood.

“What do you have planned for this afternoon, m’lord, so I can lay your things out?”

“Do I have any clothes left, John?” joked Tony.

“Enough to get by for a few days, my lord.”

“Well, you may put out my buckskins. I’ll ride this afternoon, before the crowds.”

* * * *

Tony’s ride cleared his head. Other than pacing his little room at Newgate, he had had no real exercise for days. As he was leaving the park, he spied Colonel Bain coming in, and he guided his horse over, wondering what the response would be.

“Good afternoon, Colonel. I am greatly in your debt.”

The colonel smiled and fell in beside him. “Nonsense. I was very happy to be a witness for you. It was ridiculous that they suspected you in the first place.”

“I don’t know, Bain. Now that I am free, I realize how reasonable their suspicions were, given the information they had. I was very fortunate.”

“What are your plans?”

“Spend a few more days here, clearing off my immediate debts, and then taking myself back to Ashford. It is time I assumed my responsibilities.”

“No more gaming? I am glad to hear that, Tony. Too many young men have been ruined at the tables.”

“I think I have learned that lesson, Bain.”

“We will miss you on the Continent, Captain Varden,” said Bain, extending his hand as Tony began to turn his horse around.

Tony took it, grateful for the expressions of friendship and trust. “Thank you, sir,” he said with a catch in his throat as he rode off.

* * * *

That evening, however, after he finished dinner and dismissed his valet, he wondered if he had learned his lesson. He had picked up one of the books Joanna had sent him, which John had brought back from Newgate. Unfortunately, it was Aurelius again. He had finished Miss Austen and supposed he was stuck with philosophy. But his attention would not stay on the page. All he could see in front of him were numbers, not words. “Thirty. One
après.”
He could hear the calls, see the hands of the dealers as they turned the cards, feel the excitement at the table. He had the money back. The six-hundred pounds that the court had held had been returned. He could take a hundred pounds and spend a few hours at St. James Street. Surely a few hours would do no harm. And at least he knew he would be welcome there.

But he had promised Claudia. A promise he had intended to keep. But things were changed now. What did his promise matter, now that Claudia was dead? When there was no way but his brother’s torturously slow solution to save Ashford. Why
not
spend a few hours in forgetting?

He sat there for a long time, the book forgotten in his lap, the struggle an internal one. Every time he was about ready to fling the old Roman into the fire, dress, and get the hell out of his depressing rooms, his depressing situation, he would see Claudia’s face in front of him. She had believed in him and she had loved him.

But she’s dead, so what possible difference does it make to her what I do?
a part of him would say. And then he would see Joanna’s face. His old friend who had the same faith in him, though only God knew why. Joanna had risked her reputation to visit him in that hellhole. Joanna had hired Naylor. How could he let either of the women down?

He finally fell into bed exhausted by the struggle and was surprised in the morning to see a ring of red welts on his right hand. Then he remembered that when the temptation was the strongest, he had bitten down on his hand almost hard enough to break the skin.

He got the Barrands’ invitation that morning and sent back an immediate refusal. He couldn’t imagine facing them, especially Joanna. He was deeply grateful to her, but was also very shamed that a woman to whom he was connected only by friendship had come to his rescue. And he had already decided that his withdrawal from society was the best course.

When he got Joanna’s note, however, threatening to call on him if he didn’t come to supper, he gave in. Damn her, he thought, ripping the note in half and throwing it in the fire, she would do it, too. Risk her reputation again for him. Why wasn’t she a meek and mild little miss, this old friend of his, instead of such a strong-willed, stubborn woman? He fired a note back, accepting the dinner invitation only.

Joanna was relieved when she saw Tony’s response, for she had been afraid she had gone too far. She dressed very carefully that evening, trying on one dress and then another, before settling on her apricot silk. This was so unusual for her that her abigail remarked upon it to the housekeeper: “After all, it is only Lord Ashford come for dinner, and my lady has known him from childhood!” The housekeeper said nothing aloud, but added to herself,
And loved him since then too, I would wager.

At first, Tony wasn’t sure whether the fact that it was only the family for dinner made it easier or more difficult. At first, they all uttered platitudes: “So glad to see you free, lad.” “Happy to be so, sir.” After all the polite nothings had been said, however, there was an uncomfortable silence at the dinner table until Tony broke it and finally opened the topic that was on all their minds.

“This is a meal made in heaven after Newgate fare, Lady Barrand.”

“Was it really dreadful, Tony,” she asked, reaching over and patting his hand.

“No. Well, yes,” he admitted. “I was very lucky that I could buy my way into a private room. I hope I never have to see the place again.”

“It is unlikely that you will, Tony,” Joanna’s father commented.

“The magistrates warned me that I could be arrested again were any further evidence found.”

“Well, I have great hopes that Mr. Naylor will find something,” said Joanna matter-of-factly, although her hands were shaking at the thought of Tony back in Newgate.

“I am ashamed I haven’t thanked you all for hiring him,” Tony said, flushing with embarrassment. “It was very difficult to accept such generosity.”

“Nonsense,” Lord Barrand answered. “We are old friends and neighbors. It is the least we could do. And besides, it was Joanna’s idea, you know.”

“Yes, I do know,” Tony answered in a dead voice.

Joanna looked over at him. She had never given any thought to how Tony might experience her interference. She had acted immediately and from the heart. But men had very strange ideas about honor and pride, and she realized that although they were old friends, Tony might feel uncomfortable about being under such an obligation to her. All of a sudden she felt terrible. She had never wanted that. She had only wanted to help him.

“You had a report from Mr. Naylor, didn’t you, dear?” asked Lady Barrand, very conscious of the sudden heavy atmosphere at the table.

“Yes. He has discovered the identity of the missing under-footman, Tony. Jim’s real name is Rooke, and he was employed as a clerk at Halesworth Limited until a few weeks ago.”

No matter what he felt about Joanna’s interference, Tony could not help but be interested in such a piece of information.

“Surely Mark Halesworth would have known him, then? Has Naylor questioned him yet?”

“No. But that is his next step. As well as continuing his search for Jim.”

Tony groaned. “The man could be anywhere in London.”

“Maybe Halesworth will have some information,” said Lord Barrand reassuringly.

* * * *

When it was time to leave for the theater, Tony made it clear that he had no intention of making the Barrands a target for gossip.

“We invited you to fight the gossip, Tony,” protested Joanna, with a touch of impatience in her voice.

“Perhaps I don’t want you to help, Joanna,” he said, so softly that her parents, who were on their way to the door, didn’t hear. “And you risk your own reputation,” he said, conscious that he had allowed his irrational resentment of her help to escape.

All the color left Joanna’s face and then flooded back, as she first blocked and then felt the full impact of his remark. Her eyes flooded with tears and she had to quickly turn her face to avoid further humiliation.

Tony wished himself back in Newgate for his thoughtlessness. For the first time in all the years they had known each other, he had purposely wounded Joanna. He immediately realized that he had never even imagined she had the capacity to be hurt like this or that he had the power to do it. In a few seconds he had caught a glimpse of a vulnerable Joanna, a Joanna he had never known existed.

“Jo,” he said hesitantly, reaching out to touch her shoulder, “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I am very grateful for what you have done for me.”

Joanna quickly wiped the tears off her cheeks and took a deep breath before she turned and said in a low, fierce voice, “Well, I don’t want your damned gratitude, Tony. I want—” She caught herself just in time. “I wanted to help you because it is what any old friend would wish to do for another.” She smoothed her dress and stood up, becoming the old Joanna again, imperturbable, humorous, and self-contained. “Now, are you going to retreat, or are you going to take on the gossips as you took on the French?”

Tony smiled, relieved that his old Jo was back. “When you put it that way, my lady, what choice do I have?”

* * * *

While Tony and the Barrands were taking on the
ton,
Gideon Naylor was sitting in the Garrick’s Head drinking ale with a few of his out-of-work actor friends. He was basically a quiet man and enjoyed their company, for he could always count on their volubility. Indeed, by the end of an evening he could count on one or the other of them giving a fully declaimed monologue from one of his last roles. Naylor became their audience of one, and they played to him shamelessly. Occasionally they would push him to show one of the characters he used from time to time in his investigations, and they all agreed that he could have a career at the Drury Lane anytime he wanted to quit the Runners.

On this night, he was quieter than usual and seemed even a little distracted. Only a particularly dramatic rendering of Hamlet’s third soliloquy, given by one of his friends to show that he, Robert Carthy, would have made a Dane superior to Kean’s, that
he
would have gradually worked toward a grand crescendo, caught Naylor’s attention.

“Well, you didn’t have much crescendo in your Fortinbras, did you, Bob?” teased one of his companions.

Gideon sat there, letting it all flow around him, Hamlet’s insight that “one can smile and smile and be a villain,” repeating itself in his mind. Somehow it seemed important to his present case to remember that. What was Lord Ashford really like? Did his smile come from the inside, from genuine amusement, or was it only assumed? Did Lord Ashford “seem,” or, like the Dane, did he “know not seem”? Someone poked him in the ribs. “You are more than usually silent tonight, Gideon. Working on a new case?”

Gideon nodded. “A capital case,” he replied. “The murder of Lady Fairhaven.”

“The Fairhaven case? Didn’t they already get Ashford for that?”

“I arrested Ashford,” Gideon remarked with a modest smile.

“But I heard he got off,” said Bob.

“Not enough hard evidence,” admitted Gideon.

“What do you think, then, Gideon?”

“I try not to.”

“Oh, no, here he goes again with his peculiar methods. We ought to call him a Bow Street Walker. Plod, plod, plod, and then, all of a sudden, inspiration, and our Gideon has solved the case!”

“Well, but he does solve some cases like that,” Bob protested.

“I’ve walked miles already for this one, lads,” said Gideon with a smile, as he got up from the table. “And I have miles more to cover, I’m sure. I’m off. I need my rest.”

“Ah, homeward to a cold and empty bed. Farewell, Gideon.”

“His bed is no colder nor emptier than ours.”

“And that is the truth!”

Gideon turned at the door and looked affectionately back at his friends. They were good company, actors, and he was very glad of the proximity of Bow Street to Covent Garden and the theaters. His bed was usually empty until he himself climbed into it, and on nights like tonight when he was tired and lonely, it was good to distract himself by lifting a pint or two with his friends.

His rooms were only a few streets away. The house was clean, the rent reasonable, and the landlady a decent woman who had grown quite fond of her quiet lodger. Most of the time, Gideon was content with his chosen career and his cozy flat. But once in a while, like tonight, he wanted something more.

When he had returned from Portugal and gone home to Somerset, he had hoped that Mary Booth, with whom he had walked out a few times and from whom he had stolen a few kisses, might be waiting for him. But four years was a long time, and of course she had married. Not that they’d made any promises, but he was fond of her and had dreamed of her, and it did hurt, although he couldn’t blame her in the least.

“I waited as long as I could, Gideon,” she had told him as she stood there with a toddler clinging to her skirts and another one clearly on the way. “You were my favorite,” she said with lowered eyes, “but Samuel and I are very happy.”

Gideon had wished her well and not stayed around to embarrass her or himself. With his mother gone, and the rest of his family settled down and his old love unavailable, it was easy to see the city as a place of promise and a better future.

And so it had turned out to be, up to a point. He could never have stomached a job in service. Nor had he been drawn to factory work or farming. And after the army, he found he needed a certain amount of excitement to feel alive.