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And there was Half-brother Ralph, in answer to whose peremptory summons she had got up out of her bed, and dressed herself, and come down to this stuffy room in the chill small hours. He was lounging back in his chair, still grasping the dice-box in one hand, while the other sought to refill his empty glass. Some of the wine slopped over on to the baize cloth that covered the table; Sir Ralph cursed it, and thrust the bottle on towards his left-hand neighbour. ‘Fill up, Lionel! Fill up!’ he said, hiccuping. ‘Now, my lord – now Carlington! You want to play on, hey? But I’m done-up, d’ye see? Only one thing left to stake, and that’s m’sister!’ A fit of insane laughter shook him; he made a gesture towards the girl, who stood motionless still, her gaze fixed on a point above Carlington’s handsome head. ‘I’ll set her for my last stake, gen’lemen. Who’ll cover?’
Mr Winter said: ‘Tha’s – tha’s Miss Helen,’ and nodded wisely.
‘Damme, Morland, this – this is not right!’ said Sir Thomas, getting on to his feet. ‘Miss Morland – very obedient servant, ma’am! Amberfield – my lord! ladies present!’
He lurched towards the sleeping Viscount, and shook him by one shoulder. Lord Amberfield moaned, and muttered: ‘Pockets to let: all my vowels in – in Carlington’s hands.’
‘Freddy, my boy, I’m saying it’s not right. Can’t stake a lady.’
Lord Amberfield said: ‘Can’t stake anything. Nothing to stake. Going to sleep.’
Mr Marmaduke Shapley clasped his head in his hands, as though to steady it, and said rather indistinctly: ‘It’s the wine. Confound you, Ralph, you’re drunk!’
Sir Ralph gave a boisterous laugh, and rattled the dice in the box. ‘Who’ll cover?’ he demanded. ‘What d’ye say, Lionel? Will you have my jade of a sister to wife?’
Mr Winter rose to his feet, and stood precariously balancing on his heels. ‘Sir,’ he said, looking owlishly at his host, ‘shall take leave to tell you – no one will cover prepost’rous stake!’
Sir Ralph’s wicked eyes went past him to where Carlington sat, gazing at the girl under frowning, night-black brows. By the Marquis’ left arm, stretched negligently before him on the table, scr
aps of paper were littered, vowels for the money he had won. There were rouleaus of guineas at his elbow, and more guineas spilled under his hand. Through Sir Ralph’s blurred mind drifted a thought that he had never seen the young Marquis in so wild a humour before. He leaned forward, and said mockingly: ‘Will you cover, my lord, or do you refuse the bet?’
Carlington’s eyes turned slowly towards him. They were not glazed but unnaturally bright. ‘I – refuse?’ he said.
‘There’s the true elbow-shaker!’ crowed Sir Ralph. ‘Cover, Carlington! What’s the jade worth?’
Mr Winter laid hold of his chair-back, and with difficulty enunciated four words: ‘My lord, you’re d-drunk!’
‘Drunk or sober, no man shall set me a stake I won’t cover,’ Carlington answered. His long fingers closed over the heap of vowels, crushing them into a ball. He thrust them forward, and his rouleaus with them.
‘Good God, Charles!’ cried Sir Thomas, catching at his wrist. ‘There’s a matter of twenty thousand pounds there! Have sense, man, have sense!’
Carlington shook him off. ‘A main, Morland, call a main!’ he said.
‘Seven!’ Sir Ralph responded, and cast the dice on to the table.
Carlington laughed, and dived a hand into his pocket for his snuff-box, and flicked it open.
‘Five to seven!’ announced Mr Shapley, peering at the dice.
The girl’s fixed gaze had wavered as the dice rattled in the box, and she had shot a swift glance downwards at the chance, as it lay on the table. Her brother gathered up the dice, shook them together and again threw them.
They rolled across the table, and settled into five and ace.
‘Cinque-ace!’ called Mr Shapley, constituting himself groomporter. ‘Any bets, gentlemen? any bets?’
No one answered; the Marquis took snuff.
The dice were shaken a third time, and cast. ‘Quatre-trey!’ called out Mr Shapley. ‘Carlington, you’ve – you’ve the d-devil’s own luck!’
The girl’s eyes remained fixed for a moment on the four and the three lying on the green cloth; then she raised them, and looked across the table at Carlington.
The Marquis leaped up, and achieved a bow. ‘Ma’am, I have won your hand in fair play!’ he said, and stretched out his own imperatively.
Sir Ralph was staring at the dice, his lower lip pouting, and some of the high colour fading from his cheeks. Without a glance at him Miss Morland walked round the table, and curtsied, and laid her hand in Carlington’s.
His fingers closed on it; he swung it gently to and fro, and said recklessly: ‘It’s time we were going. Will you come, my golden girl?’
Miss Morland spoke for the first time, in a composed, matter-of-fact voice. ‘Certainly I will come, sir,’ she said.
