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Chapter 16
If Charles had any hope of showing off, he was going to need to turn the tide of this match, and quickly. He stood on the pitch and watched the final Melbury man lift the bat, preparing to swing, and eyed Nick warily. Nick took the ball and backed up a few steps, lifting his arm to bowl it to the Melbury man, and Charles widened his stance. He was in the best position to go for the ball if this man hit meekly. But any sort of force and he’d have to rely on Andrew or the butcher’s son to get the ball back to Nick.
He avoided glancing over his shoulder again, but even in his peripheral vision, Charles could make out Amelia’s stark black gown amidst the sea of pale colors.
Swinging his arm, Nick let the ball fly and the batsman hit it with a resounding crack. It flew straight toward him and he dove to the left, his hand stinging fiercely as it made contact with the ball. Jumping to his feet, Charles ignored the pain to the beautiful sound of Mr. Green calling, “Out!”
That was Melbury’s last batsman, and it was time to switch sides. They were neck and neck, and this final round of batting could either win Graton the match, or it would be over with a loss.
Charles jogged a few steps, tossing the ball to the fair-haired Melbury man that stood beside the wickets. He caught the ball and swung his arm as though preparing it to bowl, and Tim Tucker picked up the bat, rolling his shoulders in preparation to swing.
Charles remained on the pitch, shaking out his hand. The stinging had yet to subside, but it had been worth catching the ball in order to get the man out.
“Are you hurt?” Nick called, jogging closer as he took a position beside Charles to wait for his turn to bat.
“It stings a little, but I’m sure it will go away shortly.”
Nick looked unconvinced but turned his attention back to Tim who was preparing to hit the ball. Tim Tucker’s older brother stood a way off from them, a serious look on his face and his arms folded over his chest as he watched the man prepare to bowl. Charles had wondered briefly if either of the Tucker brothers would show up to the match—they were not always known for being men of their word—but they had come. And they’d given about as much effort as Charles had imagined they would, which was carelessly batting, bowling, and distractedly standing in the field. It appeared now, though, that James Tucker was interested if the tick in his clenched jaw or the weight of his focus meant anything.
The tall, fair-haired Melbury man took a running start and bowled. The ball arched and James Tucker yelled, “Get it, man!”
Tim looked up at his brother, distracted by the sudden outburst, and missed the ball entirely. It crashed into the wicket, knocking over a bail, and the umpire yelled, “Out!”
“What was that about, man?” Nick yelled.
James turned to him, an all too innocent expression on his rugged face. “Just cheering for my brother.”
No, he was not simply cheering for his brother. There was something afoot here, and uneasiness swirled in Charles’s gut when he noticed the spark in James Tucker’s eye and the hint of challenge in his tone. He stepped closer to Nick and leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Keep an eye on him. I’ll watch Tim.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed, and he gave a distinct nod before turning his attention back to the match. Andrew stood at the wickets now, bat in hand and eyes on the tall, blond man who held the ball. He bowled and Andrew swung, a crack renting the air as the ball flew toward a cluster of Melbury men. He ran to the other wickets before the ball made it back to the blond man. Then it was James Tucker’s turn to bat. Andrew stood across from him, waiting to run, and James picked up the bat. The blond bowled the ball, and James moved his foot just enough to come between the ball and the wicket.
“Out!” the umpire yelled.
Nick’s hands cupped his mouth as he called, “What was the meaning of that, Tucker?”
James’s eyes glittered in irritation. “Just doing my best to win.”
“No, he isn’t,” Nick muttered, shaking his head. “He didn’t even try to swing. And everyone knows that interfering with one’s foot is a direct out.”
Charles looked between the Tucker brothers, their actions from the rest of the game culminating in that moment. “They’re doing their best to lose. But why?”
Nick shook his head. “Beats me. And I have five pounds resting on our win.” He scoffed. “Which doesn’t look likely now.”
“Just wait,” Charles said. “We still get to bat. Andrew isn’t out yet.”
Nick nodded, exchanging a glance with his friend, and squeezed his shoulder. “You’re up.”
Charles swept his gaze over the crowd of spectators, tripping over the ladies in their finery and the older, unfit men standing about, socializing. He’d considered putting ten pounds on Graton—in a misguided effort to balance the books a little—but gambling had never interested him, and he didn’t see the fun in it. And he was glad, for it would have been a waste of effort and a waste of blunt.
He leaned down and picked up the bat, getting into position before looking at the women once more. Amelia caught his gaze, and his body tensed. She watched him with interest, something which hadn’t yet failed to feel like a novelty. And he didn’t want to let her down.
The blond man looked at him, his blue eyes startlingly bright. A scar ran through one fair eyebrow so half of it was missing, faintly distorting the skin above his eye. Charles hadn’t noticed that from far away, but now it struck him as odd. Shaking the tension from his shoulders, he gripped the bat and waited for the man to bowl.
* * *
“This is all very exciting, isn’t it?” Hattie asked, all but bouncing in her seat with nervous energy.
Amelia nodded, her gaze fixed on Charles as he waited at the wickets opposite her brother. The blond man bowled the ball toward him. Charles hit the ball and took off toward the other wickets, passing Andrew, before the ball made it back to the bowler.
