Chapter Twelve
One of the hardest things Tamar had ever done was ride straight past Braithwaite Castle that afternoon and carry on to Blackhaven.
His shoulder ached, and blood was seeping out from the bandages, staining Braithwaite’s white shirt. Exhausted and slightly dizzy, he needed to lie down. After he’d seen Lampton, and before he dealt with Julian.
Doverton, clearly worried, rode with him to the doctor’s house and promised to look after the borrowed horse.
Tamar fully expected the rough side of the doctor’s occasionally blistering tongue, but to his surprise, Lampton looked almost pleased to see him. In silence, he took him into his study, sat him down, cleaned and re-stitched the wound before covering it with a clean dressing.
“Don’t do it again,” he said, helping Tamar ease his shirt and coat back on. It was almost the first thing he’d said. The man clearly had agonies of his own that put Tamar’s firmly in perspective.
Lampton’s expected loss was beyond words. Tamar laid a hand on his shoulder for an instant and then left. It was all he could do.
When he arrived at his front door, at least Rivers was not there. Which was good. Probably. Perhaps he’d finally given up.
Inside, he stumbled his way through the darkness and flopped onto his couch, fully dressed.
When he woke, it was still dark, but he had no idea of the time. Ignoring the protest of his wound, he struggled to his feet, fumbled his way to the tinder box, and lit the candle. Then he peered out of his window, and to his relief, saw by the moon that he’d only been asleep for a couple of hours. His stomach rumbled. At least he’d find supper at the club.
Fortunately, there was still clean water in the jug. He washed and tidied up his clothes—Braithwaite’s clothes—suspecting he still looked smarter than he usually did, then dragged a brush through his hair and left the cottage.
Since he’d invited Linnet to come with him, and still wanted the excuse of her presence to be there, he walked round to her rooms, prepared to find her gone out already. But she seemed delighted to see him.
“I thought you’d forgotten,” she admitted, wrapping a silk shawl around her pretty shoulders. She did look beautiful, enough reason to lure any man to a gambling den.
He offered his arm, and she took it, smiling. She seemed genuinely happy to be on the arm of a man with nothing but debt. He wished Linnet a good husband. Or at the very least, a good protector.
Once or twice a month, the hotel held a gaming club in its large, back hall. They billed it as exclusive, though in fact, every card sharp and loose screw in the county made an appearance, along with a few more from further afield. Inevitably, his friend Dax had played here, and started a fight from all accounts, For Tamar, who avoided gaming as a rule, this was new territory.
“Is the play fair?” he asked Linnet as they walked up to the hotel.
“Oh, they’ll skin you alive and blackball you for cheating,” Linnet replied. “If they catch you.”
“Excellent.”
“What are you up to?”
“Private business,” he replied. “But if it works out, I can at least repay you by taking you for supper.”
As they crossed the hotel foyer, a vulgarly glittering female who laughed too loudly sailed through the double doors to the club room. An instant of smoke and noise was cut off again as the door closed behind her and her shifty looking escort. Tamar supposed the hotel must make a lot of money from these events, because they were certainly in danger of lowering the tone of the whole establishment.
He paused at the reception desk. “I don’t suppose you have a Mr. Sylvester staying here, do you?”
“No, my lord,” the young clerk replied at once. “No one of that name.”
It was the same answer he’d received before from a different clerk. And it bore out what Tamar already suspected, that Julian had laid the trail for him at the tavern and never meant to be found here. He, more than anyone, knew that Tamar avoided gaming dens. He really expected to get away with this, and as a bonus, probably thought Sylvester would get the blame, too.
Although Tamar had paid no subscription, no one stopped him entering the hall at the back. Being a marquis, and an instantly recognizable one at that, clearly still had some advantages.
The club gave an initial impression of superiority. The furnishings were tasteful and clean, the room bright from the central chandelier and a blaze of candles spread all around. Among the clientele were several noblemen and lesser gentlemen, but at closer glance, the ladies present, although many were richly dressed and bejeweled, were no ladies, but actresses, opera dancers, and courtesans. And among them, no doubt, a few flim-flammers and those more blatantly determined to part a man from his money before he lost it all at the gaming tables.
In just such places had Tamar’s father squandered his fortune, his estate, and the future of his children. If Tamar ever managed to fix the estate, he’d make damned sure to get himself several heirs, because if Julian ever inherited, he’d do exactly the same as the old marquis.
Tamar strolled around with Linnet on his arm, taking in the tables and the players, until he found the supper table, already set out with cold dishes. He and Linnet refreshed themselves with a little nourishment and a glass of wine, while Tamar finally located his brother.
Lord Julian Gaunt sat at what was clearly the high stakes table, playing with a wealthy old nobleman, and several men Tamar didn’t know. He did, however, recognize the type. None of them would take well to being cheated. And it was quite clear to Tamar that Julian was cheating. He had to be; he was winning. And he had no idea that Tamar was present. Time to introduce himself.
“What would you like to play?” he asked Linnet as they strolled in that direction.
“Well, not there, anyhow!” Linnet paused beside Julian’s table of intent players. “Too rich for my blood.”
“But not, apparently for mine,” Tamar observed, without lowering his voice.
Julian’s gaze flew from up from the cards, his face whitening in appalled recognition.
Tamar smiled. “Julian,” he said affectionately. “What a pleasure.”
*
Serena, with her escort of triumphant stable lads, gardeners, and farm hands, had come home to a tumultuous and emotional welcome. She’d strained at the window for most of the journey, fearing for Tamar’s hurts and wanting to stop and take him into the carriage. Kate had said only that Doverton would look after him.
When she finally stepped out of the carriage and into the arms of her sisters, she realized that neither Doverton nor Tamar were among her escort. And she couldn’t ask, not in public. Instead, she formally thanked her heroic escort for coming to her aid and recklessly promised them extra ale, a day’s holiday, and a bonus in their next wages. For which she was cheered all over again.
As she finally went inside, she heard Paton giving them another speech, about how they had to keep their mouths shut about this whole event. If the truth came out, right or wrong, Serena’s reputation could be damaged.
For the same reason, Mrs. Gaskell and Kate between them decided it would be best for Kate to dine at the vicarage that night.
“Well, it will either be good for me, or bad for you and Mr. Grant,” Serena said sardonically when she and Kate had a moment to themselves. “What a lot of nonsense so-called propriety is!”
“It is nonsense,” Kate agreed. “On the other hand, it can genuinely hurt you. I should know. Blackhaven chose to receive me in the end, but if I’d chosen to return to London, things might not have gone so well for me.”
“Do you miss it? London?” Serena asked curiously.
“No. It still surprises me sometimes. But if I wasn’t born to be a vicar’s wife, I was clearly meant to be this vicar’s wife.”
“It’s love that makes the difference,” Serena said, gazing out of the window. “They never tell you that when they teach you accomplishments for catching a suitable husband.”
“No, they don’t,” Kate agreed. “Come, fetch your bonnet and let’s make haste to Blackhaven. Tristram will want his dinner after the evening service.”
Dinner at the vicarage was a pleasant affair, and if Serena was inclined to dream, her hosts chose not to remark upon it. Kate regaled her husband with the day’s adventures, which he knew nothing of, although it was already being whispered that Major Doverton had arrested several French spies, and the Comte de Valère’s name was being whispered in shocked tones.
“Poor Catherine,” Kate said ruefully. “We must keep her busy and entertained over the next few weeks.”
“Indeed, we must,” Serena said. “I almost wish Mama were here so that we could hold a party at the castle. Mr. Grant, have you heard no word of Lord Tamar?”
“No, but if he knocked himself up again fighting, he probably called on Dr. Lampton. I’ll be calling there myself later, so I may be able to reassure you.”
After dinner, Mr. Grant offered to escort them for an evening walk. And so, they strolled along the harbor and walked back via the high street, where they amused themselves glancing in shop windows to admire or disparage. In Mrs. Drake’s millinery, Kate found an absolutely ridiculous hat that she insisted she would buy the very next day.
“It would certainly keep your friends in good spirits,” Mr. Grant remarked.
“I’m sure I could carry it off.”
“As a figure of fun,” Serena said dryly. “Anyone would be.” She turned away from the window and only a few yards away saw Lord Tamar vanishing through the front door of the hotel. “Oh no. I was hoping he would be abed and asleep, by now.”
“Well, he is a grown man,” Kate said, “and may be as silly as he wishes.”
Serena knew it. Nor did she have either the right or the inclination to tell him off. But the urge to see him, to assure herself of his wellbeing, just to hear his voice, suddenly overwhelmed her.
“Do you think we might have a last cup of tea or coffee in the hotel?” she blurted. “It would surely be quite proper when you are both with me.”
Kate glanced uncertainly at her husband, who smiled faintly. “Under normal circumstances I’m sure it would be. However, tonight is one of the gaming club nights, and those are not proper at all. Not for ladies. Are they, Kate?”
Kate smiled back with suspicious innocence. “Not in the slightest. Although it is my belief, Lord Tamar is no gambler.”
“No,” Grant agreed. “Nor does he have the money to be, not here.”
“Then he is probably looking for a cup of coffee.” Serena walked determinedly up to the door. “Like us.”
Her heart beat quickened as she walked into the hotel and into the quiet dining room. A few people were enjoying a late supper at a table in the window, but otherwise, the place was quiet. Of Tamar, there was no sign. Her heart slowed again, sinking with disappointment.
Mr. Grant saw the ladies seated in the coffee room, then ordered refreshment before strolling back out.
“He must be visiting someone,” Serena said. Truly, it was none of her business.
Kate nodded. “He is acquainted with just about everyone in Blackhaven.”
Although there was no reason for it, a sense of foreboding began to close in on Serena, as if something bad, something tragic were about to happen. And yet, she couldn’t just walk out and let it happen without her. Because Tamar was there and her poor, obsessed heart wanted just another glimpse of him.
*
Julian recovered quickly. There was that much in his favor.
“Tamar,” he said, playing his cards. “Come to disapprove or pit your skills against mine?”
“A bit of both, actually. Good luck.” And he strolled on with Linnet, until she found a game she wished to join.
He watched her for a little, and then wandered back to watch Julian. Who was being careful. He didn’t win every hand. But the pile of winnings at his elbow had grown even in the short time since Tamar had last seen it.
“Damn it, you have the devil’s own luck!” the old aristocrat on his left said in disgust, throwing down another lost hand.
Of course, luck had nothing to do with it. Tamar could see exactly what Julian was doing. Julian noticed him immediately this time, although he pretended not to. Tamar strolled around the table, among the other interested observers, until he came to stand behind Julian’s chair.
Julian shifted, as if he wanted to elbow him away. But of course, he couldn’t. Tamar waited patiently until his brother was ready to slide the hidden card from his sleeve into his hand, and then clapped him heavily on the shoulder.
“Good to see you winning for a change,” he said amiably.
Julian jumped, not just because of the fright, but because he half-expected discovery to follow immediately. And even when it didn’t, he recognized that his brother’s words had just informed everyone that Julian usually lost, thus sewing a grain of suspicion in the minds of those prone to doubts. He couldn’t help glancing up irritably at Tamar.
“You’re distracting me,” he said coldly.
“I mean to.” Tamar smiled with even greater frost. “Collecting my debt before you spend your winnings.” He put out his hand toward Julian’s pile of notes and coins, and at once, Julian slapped his own hand over it, protective and aggressive.
Tamar let his smile broaden, while he looked directly into his brother’s eyes and tapped him admonishingly on the cuff, almost exactly over the place he hid cards. There was one there now, he could feel it under his fingertips.
“Really?” Tamar said softly.
“This fellow owe you, Tamar?” the old gentleman asked. “Don’t mind taking a break while he pays you.” He hoped, no doubt, that the break would change his luck. It might, though hardly for the reasons he imagined.
“He does,” Tamar confirmed. “Don’t you, Julian? And we always pay. In full.”
His meaning was clear, and Julian saw it right away. He had to pay up everything, including the pictures he still held, or Tamar would reveal the cards hidden on his person. From the hard faces at this table, they wouldn’t treat cheats lightly. The may have come to fleece the unsuspecting themselves, but being fleeced in return was quite unpalatable.
“Damn it, Tamar, later is better. I have to run with the luck.”
“It’s about to change,” Tamar said flatly.
Julian snatched up his hand with fury, and Tamar swiftly scooped up the winning. “Come, let us settle up,” he said cheerfully and led the way to the door, leaving Julian no choice but to follow his money.
Trotting after him toward the reception desk. Julian snarled, “Rupert, give me the damned money or I’ll—.”
“Or you’ll what, Julian?” He smiled at the clerk at the desk. “My brother is leaving early tomorrow morning and would like to settle his account now.”
“No, I bloody wouldn’t!”
“Yes, you bloody would. Or you can walk back in there and I’ll shake all the cards out of you.”
Perfectly wooden-faced, the clerk presented the account on the desk, somewhere between the two men.
Tamar whistled. “You like to live well, eh, Julian?” He emptied the card winnings on the desk and counted out the reckoning, adding a little extra. “And the room key, if you please.”
Julian’s face went from angry to ugly. “Far enough, Tamar, you have no right to—”
“No right?” Tamar repeated. He actually laughed. “You’re here with my money and I want it back. We can call the Watch if you like, but…”
“Damn you,” Julian said between his teeth.
Tamar scooped up the remaining money with the key. “Lead on.” He whirled around toward the stairs, and that was when he saw Serena and the Grants at the dining room door. They must have heard everything. The world tilted and righted itself.
It didn’t matter, nothing mattered since she couldn’t be his. She might as well see the full awfulness she was avoiding.
He gave an ironic bow, then followed Julian upstairs, ready to dodge any backward kicks his brother might aim at him in order to avoid these losses.
The pictures were easily located, propped up inside the wardrobe in Julian’s chamber. As far as Tamar could remember, they were all there, including Daxton’s portrait.
“How did you find me?” Julian asked.
“I know you,” Tamar said shortly. He glanced up from the bed where he’d piled the paintings. “Did Rivers help you?”
“He thought it was funny.”
In spite of everything, it still hurt. Julian knew what Rivers was. But he hid that pain along with all the others. “I’m sure you both found it absolutely hilarious. You didn’t even pay him, did you?”
“No, though he thinks I will.”
“Don’t,” Tamar said, wrapping up the pictures together. “From now on, he gets nothing from any of us.”
Julian blinked. “And if he tells?”
“Then I’ll stand trial for murder. Who knows, Julian? You might get to be marquis after all. I wish you joy of it. There’s certainly no fortune in it.” He paused, then took out one of the seascapes and threw it back on the bed before picking up the others. “See what you can get for that.”
Julian frowned. “You’re giving me one? Why?”
Tamar shrugged. “You showed me I could get more for them. Call it your reward. There won’t be another. Be on the stagecoach tomorrow.” And he left, what was left of the money in his pocket and his pictures under his good arm.
He supposed it had been a good day. It just felt like a bad one because there would no Serena at the end of it.
Serena… As he ran downstairs, he wondered what the devil she’d been doing here at the hotel. Was she looking for him?
He’d almost forgotten about Linnet, who rushed at him from the bottom of the stairs with great glee. “That man owed you money and you got it back! Everyone’s thrilled for you, and so am I!” To prove it, she flung both arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth.
“Well, for that, I’ll take you to supper,” he said, laughing as he placed her hand more decorously on his arm. Only then did he see across the foyer to the sofa where Serena sat with the Grants on either side of her. She looked…stricken.
Tamar felt sick. She must have been waiting for him, to make sure of his wellbeing. He didn’t want her to be hurt. He didn’t want to do the hurting, but there was no way out of this. He was so unsuitable it was laughable. And she might as well know it.
There was nothing for it now. With Linnet on his arm he crossed the hall and paused to bow. “Ladies. Grant.”
Grant nodded. “I see you got your pictures back.”
“I did.”
Serena rose to her feet. “Congratulations,” she said in a curiously hard voice that almost broke his heart. “Now there is just your bailiff to deal with and your life will be rosy. Goodbye, Lord Tamar.”
In spite of everything, it was the goodbye that did it. Because she’d been hurt by the wrong thing. Although Linnet’s presence here was innocent, she would not consider that, any more than she seemed to consider the obvious things of which he was guilty—poverty, failure to bring up his siblings decently, murder…
But, of course, she didn’t know about that. Yet.
Through the haze of pain and anger, he saw her walking away, following Kate toward the front door.
“One moment,” he said to Linnet and hurried after them. He caught her almost at the front door, planting himself squarely in front of her, separating her from Kate and Grant. “Why do you look at me like that? I’m no different from this afternoon.”
“No. I just see that you have not been truthful. Friends should at least be truthful.”
“Yes, they should,” he snapped back. “So, here’s the truth about the damned bailiff. His name is John Rivers and he really is a bailiff. It’s a family firm. But, of course, he doesn’t dun me for debts. For years I’ve paid him to keep quiet about a crime I committed.”
Her eyes widened with bewilderment. “What crime?” she asked.
“Murder,” he said with relish, and walked back to Linnet.