Page 68 of Debtor’s Daughter

“Gerroff!” Larkin objected, tugging free. “I can play. I wanna play. Not my mother, damn you.”

“Pip’s right,” Leo said, a warning note to his voice. “We told you the rules.”

“Bugger your rules,” Larkin replied, pulling out the chair Pip had vacated and thudding down into it. “I’m playing.”

“Oh, can we not let Mr Weston play?” Jenkins said with apparent good nature, though Larkin did not miss the shrewd glint in his eyes. “I was told I had won the opportunity to play all the Sons. I would be sorely disappointed not to test my mettle against all of you after such a promise.”

“S’true!” Larkin said at once. “He won. S’not fair.”

“Oh, fine. It’s your funeral,” Jules said in disgust, apparently having had enough. “Bloody well deal, Leo. I came to play cards, not watch Larkin play the fool. Though if you cast up your accounts again, I’m banning you for life,” Jules added savagely, glaring at Larkin.

Larkin winced, wishing Jules had not said that, for it made him recall a particularly awful evening. Well, not that he did recall it, having no memory of the night whatsoever, but his friends had filled in the details with excruciating detail, much to his shame.

“Fine, fine,” he said, waving a hand and gesturing for Leo, who was banker, to proceed.

A servant hurried in and began mopping up the whisky. Pip ordered a large pot of coffee for Larkin and then bade them a good evening. Larkin made a rude gesture at the door once Pip had gone through it and grinned at Jenkins.

“Bloody old woman,” he muttered.

Jenkins laughed indulgently, and they proceeded to play.

Larkin lost extravagantly on the first three rounds, more moderately on the next, all the time watching Jenkins as he played, certain he was cheating. Still, he had to give the man his due, he did it with such skill, it was difficult to be certain. However, Jules and Leo especially were very fine players, yet Jenkins had all the luck tonight, winning time and again until Jules threw down his cards.

“I’m out,” he said with a sigh. “Are you satisfied, Mr Jenkins?” he asked, making Larkin look sharply at his friend, furious for giving him an out. Yet Jules had gambled and won this time, for Jenkins shook his head, despite the vast stack of counters at his side. Avarice lit his expression, the fever that gambling could alight blazing in his eyes.

“Oh, no. I’m a long way from done,” he said, eyeing Larkin with a speculative smile. “What say you, Mr Weston?”

“Play on,” Larkin said dismissively, and then peered owlishly at the diminished stack at his own elbow. “Say, Leo? Loan me, will you?”

Leo pulled a face. “Stow it, Lars. You’re done.”

“I ain’t! Loan me, damn you. Ten thousand. Pa will settle it, you know he will,” he said, though this was so far from the truth Leo’s lips twitched. If Larkin had really lost that much gambling, his father would have murdered him.

Leo looked revolted but relented. The deal was done, with Larkin signing his vowel with an erratic slash of the pen that purported to be his signature.

“What do you say to a thousand pounds a counter?” Jenkins suggested smoothly, looking at Larkin, not Leo.

“Certainly,” Larkin said before Leo could object. “Get on with it, Leo.”

Leo complied but looked deeply unhappy about it, whilst Jules ordered more coffee, for Larkin had refused the first pot, ordering whisky instead.

“Drink the damned coffee, or I’ll pour it down your throat myself,” Jules told him.

“Why are you all so boooring?” Larkin complained bitterly, but took the cup from Jules and drank it, privately glad to do so. His nerves were jangling now, for not only did he need to beat a fine player, but a cheat too.

Leo began turning up cards, one on the right for the bank, one on the left for the players.

Jenkins lost the next round in spectacular fashion, finding himself five thousand pounds the poorer. Sweating but undaunted, for he still had a hefty stack of counters, he played on.

The next round was a near thing, but Larkin prevailed. Leo sent him a level look that warned him he had best up his game or they might not come out of this in the manner they hoped. Jenkins, however, seemed rattled, perhaps as much by the fact that Jules was no longer playing but watching him with an intensity that would not allow the man to attempt to cheat. Any accusation of foul play by a man like the Marquess of Blackstone would ruin what little reputation Jenkins might lay claim to and could land him in serious trouble. Not being a gentleman in any sense of the word he was unlikely to blow his brains out, but if Jules pressed charges, things could go very wrong for Mr Jenkins. No one would doubt the word of the heir to a dukedom.

With his usual tricks out of his hands, Jenkins began to lose steadily and with speed. He was grey with strain and fatigue by the time Larkin decided enough was enough. Only a few scattered counters lay at Jenkins’ elbow, everything else piled beside Larkin. He needed a big win to stay in the game.

“I tell you what,” Larkin said, as if suddenly struck by an idea. “Aren’t you the fellow old Merrivale blew his brains out for?”

Jenkins stiffened, what little colour remained in his cheeks draining away. “That was no fault of mine. It was a fair game,” he said at once, his gaze darting from Larkin to Jules and Leo, who stared back, expressionless.

“Yes, yes,” Larkin said dismissively, waving this away as a mere nothing when all he wanted to do was throttle the bastard with his bare hands. “But you won a very tidy little property, didn’t you? In Norfolk? It just so happens I have a pretty little lady friend in Norfolk. Could do with a snug little place there. Play you for it,” he said with a grin, sliding all his counters across the table.