Chapter Two
Aldreth’s butler approached Bracebridge and, in a low voice, said, “A Mr. Gopal Rachagorla is downstairs asking for you.”
Bracebridge sat straight. He and Aldreth were in the breakfast room, about to go fishing, so it was still dark out. A caller at this hour was reason for concern. The last time Gopal had been obliged to fetch him back to London, the authorities had been threatening to shut down Two Fives.
Two Fives was a gaming hell at 55 St. James’s Street, London, that he continued to operate in direct partnership with Gopal. He’d transferred the others to Gopal shortly after he was invested with his title.
“He says his business is urgent, my lord.”
The timing of Gopal’s call could not have been more unfortunate. Leaving Rosefeld now, and so abruptly, would not advance his case with Clara. He was anxious to have the uncertainty of Clara’s affections for him resolved. He put down his tea. “May I use your study?”
“You may, of course.” Aldreth dabbed the corner of his mouth with his serviette. Aldreth and his wife had met Gopal several times, seeing as Gopal often dined at Bracebridge’s London home. “Tell Mr. Rachagorla he is welcome to stay for as long as it pleases him. Lady Aldreth and I should be delighted to have him as our guest.”
“I’ll extend the invitation.” To the butler, Bracebridge said, “I’ll see him immediately. You’ll bring us tea and something to eat?”
“My lord.”
Once in Aldreth’s study with the door closed, Bracebridge assessed his friend’s state and was relieved to see no sign of agitation. Good. Good. The last thing he wanted was a scandal for Mrs. Glynn to get wind of. He took a calming breath. “Two Fives remains open for business, I trust?”
“Yes.” Gopal walked to the window and gazed out. The sun was just barely tinting the horizon pink and orange amid the grey. Gopal knew nothing sensitive could be said until the servants had come and gone, and so his first remark was banal. “It’s lovely here.”
They’d come far in their decade-long friendship. In those early days of struggle, neither of them had leisurely watched a sunrise, and if they had, it would not have been from the inside of a centuries-old house like Rosefeld.
A sunrise view was hard to come by in Cheapside. At the time, Bracebridge had been determined to prove the truth of every accusation his father had thrown at him. That he was incorrigible, disrespectful, a reprobate, and a disgrace to the family, among other choice epithets leveled at him. At the time, Gopal, only recently arrived from India, had found himself at loose ends after his employer’s bride objected to Gopal’s presence in her household. He had wandered down the same street where Bracebridge, then plain Mr. Devon Carlisle, had been looking to start a fight. Gopal had dissuaded him from that foolishness.
“There’ll be refreshments soon,” Bracebridge now said.
“Excellent.” Gopal turned from the window. He was a tall, slender man, younger than Bracebridge by five or so years, well-formed and handsome.
As usual, his friend was impeccably dressed. Though he sometimes wore garb native to his country, he typically wore English clothes, as he did today, and with an élan all his own.
He’d known Two Fives was a going concern the day he saw a gentleman in what he privately referred to as the Rachagorla waistcoat. The style was distinguished by close-fit silk in bright colors, exquisite embroidery, and a slightly higher collar than most. Nothing outlandish, but enough for a discerning eye to notice. No man of fashion could hope to succeed in the Rachagorla waistcoat without a perfectly tied neckcloth. Gopal’s, of course, was perfection itself.
“Sit, please.” He did so himself, but Gopal returned to a contemplation of the view. Their meeting had been fortuitous, and their friendship unstinting. Because of Gopal, Devon Carlisle had become a wealthy man. Bloody richer than a military career would have made him, and sooner, too. Gopal often reminded him that they were wealthy because of their partnership, and this, he had to admit, was true. They had different yet complementary talents.
“I could gaze for hours at such a view,” Gopal said. Though he retained the accent of his homeland, his English was impeccable. He had adapted to life among the English. He was literate in the language and fluent in society. He looked a gentleman, spoke softly and kindly, and possessed a ruthless streak to rival Bracebridge’s own.
A footman entered with tea and a selection of dishes, and they fell silent while the repast was set out.
“Stay then. Enjoy the view. They’d be delighted if you did. I hope you will consider it.” He’d be glad if Gopal were to stay to celebrate his engagement and see the door close on his broken heart.
“If I am able, yes.” The footman departed, and Gopal served himself tea. Bracebridge declined more for now.
“Stay for luncheon, at the very least.”
Gopal took a sip of tea and brushed a lock of black-as-night hair from his forehead. “That would be agreeable.”
“Assuming we don’t both make an immediate return to Town, I look forward to that.” He was now sanguine about Gopal’s presence here. If this were something dire enough to require his presence in London, Gopal would already have told him. Still, whatever had brought him here must and would be dealt with. “If Two Fives is open for business, what brings you to Bartley Green?”
“My friend.” Gopal shook his head and drank more tea. His waistcoat was peacock blue with gold and silver embroidery—a thing of beauty. Gopal’s striking looks were suited to the embellishments of fashion. For himself, Bracebridge did not see the point. “I am not certain I ought to have disturbed your leisure, and at such an hour as this.” He arched an eyebrow and cocked his head, a half smile on his mouth. “Have you news for me?”
“Soon, I hope.” Gopal’s vague words were intended to ask whether Bracebridge had news of an engagement. He relaxed even more. This was friendship: Gopal wanting to share in the happiness of an event that would transform his life yet again.
Gopal bowed and helped himself to a slice of toast, asking, “Nothing for you?” Bracebridge shook his head. “May you find happiness in her answer.”
“I hope you’ll stay. I want to introduce her to you.”
“I should like that very much.”
He imagined Gopal raising a glass in a toast of congratulations along with Aldreth and his wife. Emily, too, for that matter. He sincerely hoped they were past their difficulties. That was an end to be wished for: to be friends with all the Sinclair sisters. “Now, then.” He settled himself on his chair. “You are here. The reason must be important, or you would not have come all this way.”
Gopal finished his toast, then drew a packet of papers from the slim case he’d brought with him. He placed the papers on Aldreth’s desk. “Behold.” He flashed a grin that had devastated women wherever the two of them traveled. Bracebridge did not doubt the devastation continued. “Whether with dismay or pleasure, I cannot say.”
Bracebridge walked over to have a look. The packet consisted predominately of scraps of paper, half sheets of foolscap, a bill of fare, a portion of a pamphlet, and several sheets of the letterhead provided by Two Fives for the convenience of gentlemen required to document their debts. “What are these?”
“The reason I have come all this way and perhaps delayed whatever fate is to befall you here. Please.” Gopal set a finger on top of the papers. “I beg you examine them, my lord, for then the reason for my visit shall become plain.”
True, as it turned out. All too true. The papers were a collection of vowels signed by one Thomas Sinclair of the Cooperage, Bartley Green. Ten pounds, twenty, fifty. Five hundred. Over a thousand. Three thousand pounds. Another for nearly as much as the last. “I hadn’t realized he was playing as deeply as this.”
“Nor I.”
The bill of fare fell to the floor, reverse side up. When Bracebridge retrieved it, the numbers written on the page shocked him. “Bloody sodding—”
“I took the liberty of acquiring these from the various persons who possessed them.” Gopal pulled over a chair and sat, elbow propped on the arm, while Bracebridge continued to scan through the documents. “Just over eleven thousand for them all.” He evened out his cuffs. “It was necessary to offer more than fair value to secure them all. However, the majority are from Two Fives.”
“Understood.” Bracebridge counted the notes. More than a dozen, double that, even. Thirty-bloody-seven, in fact. As he arranged them by date, he asked, “Acquired how recently?”
“Over the preceding three days.” Gopal smiled in that way that implied no good for anyone, and leaned close to select another of Sinclair’s notes. “This convinced me I must act immediately.”
Bracebridge let go of the others and took the paper Gopal held. A chill slid down his spine as he scanned it. Damn, damn, damn. Gopal had been right to come here with this. “I’ll repay you, of course.” Gopal would not have used business funds for this, not unless he’d had no choice, and with this amount, he may have had to. “Do you need a bank draft, or can it wait until I’m back in Town?”
“It can wait.”
The document Bracebridge held was on Two Fives letterhead, dated four days ago. It bore the signature of Thomas Sinclair and signed over the Cooperage to the bearer. Concerning enough on its own, but there was more, far more.
Bracebridge returned to ordering the notes by date. The bulk of the debts had been incurred in the preceding six weeks, but the oldest was eight months ago. In all that time, Sinclair, with a daughter still at home and dependent upon him, had been to London at least once a month, if not more often, losing money he had not repaid.
Bracebridge stared at the stack of notes. Emily lived with her father, yet, to his knowledge, she’d said nothing about this. Not a word to anyone, and it was a certainty that if she had, he would have heard about it. Apparently, however far gone Sinclair was, it was not far enough gone to affect the most spoiled of his four daughters. “What’s the gossip in Town?”
“Until now, remarkably dull.”
Personally, he didn’t give a fig if Sinclair was bankrupt. In fact, he’d take satisfaction from the man’s personal ruin. But he’d do anything to spare Anne unhappiness and the loss of the Cooperage. She would be devastated. Not to mention that, like Gopal, Bracebridge saw malign intent in what amounted to a staggering set of losses at a gaming hell everyone understood was connected to him.
The authorities generally looked the other way, but certain sanctimonious members of society publicly decried the fortunes lost at such places as Two Fives. They filled the papers and magazines with screeds calling for the end of businesses whose sole purpose, according to them, was the ruin of the country’s youth. Mrs. Glynn was among the most vocal objectors. It was no secret that she held him in some degree of contempt.
Gopal’s actions had solved only one dilemma. The question they faced now was how quickly the gossip would spread from London to Bartley Green and, specifically, to the ear of Mrs. Glynn and her ilk. Bracebridge easily imagined Mrs. Glynn’s pleasure at hearing rumors that he had deliberately ruined Thomas Sinclair. He had no doubt such rumors would soon be circulating. The question was how damaging that would be to his hopes of marrying Clara Glynn. “Thank you,” he said to Gopal. With the notes in one hand, he stood. “How can I ever repay you for this?”
“My friend.” Gopal put a hand over his heart. “You would do the same for me.”
“Without question or a moment’s hesitation.” They clasped hands tightly. “I am indeed fortunate in your friendship.”
“And I in yours.”
Bracebridge returned Sinclair’s notes to the case and tucked it into his inside coat pocket. “Now, I shall beard the lion in his den. Whatever happens, I shall have that satisfaction.”
“Is there any chance the man’s silence can be bought?”
“Vanishingly small, I fear. His hatred for me matches mine for him.” He took a step toward the door. “In the meantime, enjoy your visit.”
If he was right and Sinclair had acted out of spite, then it was likely too late. He’d have sown seeds of rumor in fertile soil. It might already be too late to prevent gossip, but either way, Bracebridge was going to take a great deal of satisfaction from telling Sinclair who held his notes.
“I should be back before luncheon. I hope you stay. Lord and Lady Aldreth will be disappointed if you do not, as shall I.”
On this way out, he met Harry Glynn coming up the stairs behind Aldreth’s butler. Glynn held his hat and riding whip in one hand. He was not smiling. “My lord,” Glynn said with a bow. “We must speak.”