Page 32
Story: A Lady’s Gambit
The courtroom was no grand hall of justice, but a paneled chamber whose hush held a particular weight.
The accused—Mr. Vale and Mr. Cobb—sat behind the bar, flanked by two in plain coats.
Vale maintained his composure, jaw tight and spine stiff; Cobb looked less confident, his gaze dropping more often than it held.
Mr. Jonathan Phillips stood at the complainant’s table, with Mr. Blunt beside him—present not to lead but to affirm, in his firm and legal manner, that the claim was brought on behalf of Mr. Bennet.
Mr. Downey and Mr. Drake had already testified with measured clarity, their words supported by the physical evidence gathered at the Ravenwood Club the night before.
Mr. Trench, a sharp-featured barrister appointed to defend the accused, now rose to make his case.
“Your Worship,” he said with practiced calm, “we are speaking of a card game—albeit one gone awry. There is no clear indication that money changed hands last night, nor that any law was explicitly broken. My clients may have played boldly, but that does not constitute a felony.”
Phillips answered with equal composure. “This was not a matter of bold play. These men used trickery—sleeved cards, false signals, a mechanical device—to give the illusion of chance where there was only design. And more than that, in the past they lent money during the game, disguising it as private loans to circumvent the Gaming Acts, then pressured the loser to sign a debt agreement as though it had been fairly won. A specimen of such deception—an alleged promissory note—was submitted to the court as proof of their scheme.”
“Very well, but—” Mr. Trench attempted an objection.
“You cannot plead ignorance, sir,” Mr. Phillips said firmly. “The accused signed the document in their own full names. They cannot now claim they did not understand its contents.”
“And how often have they done this?” Trench demanded. “Have you evidence beyond last night?”
“I offer no list,” Phillips replied coolly. “But the gentleman they attempted to defraud—Mr. Bennet—is not the first. And I daresay he would not have been the last.”
Magistrate Holcombe, silent until now, looked up from his papers. “Indeed. I can attest to another case not under review today—another gentleman, of honor and means, brought to near disgrace by these tactics. The pattern is familiar.”
Trench paused. “Your Worship—if the Gaming Acts were violated, it was in form, not in fact. No violence was used. No one was forced to sign under duress.”
Phillips replied, “No violence, no. Just the steady application of false confidence and calculated deceit. That is what they do—what they have done before. They do not play the game—they write the ending and let others believe they chose it.”
The court fell still.
Mr. Holcombe laid his pen aside. “It is the ruling of this court that the accused conspired to defraud a gentleman of standing by disguising gambling losses as enforceable debt. They used sleight of hand and loan structures to manufacture the appearance of legality—thus violating not only the letter, but the spirit of the Gaming Acts. Their behavior is not the mischief of play—it is criminal design.”
The magistrate’s tone turned colder still. “Do you have wives? Children? A household to answer for?”
Vale and Cobb shook their heads—one with stubborn silence, the other with a muttered, “No, sir.”
“Of course not,” Mr. Holcombe said, with quiet disdain. “Rootless men with no ties and no duties—yet you prey upon those who do have families. You target respectable men, hoping their sense of honor will trap them where your tricks begin.”
He looked toward Vale and Cobb. “You attempted to fool a respectable gentleman, and you would have ruined him without scruple. The clean hands doctrine applies here: a man who seeks remedy must come with honor. You did not, Mr. Vale. Any present or future claim you might have attempted in this matter is hereby dismissed—as null, and without standing.”
The magistrate paused just long enough to make the silence heavier.
“You are sentenced to ten years’ transportation to New South Wales.”
At once, Vale cried out, “This is excessive, sir! We admit a misstep—yes—but ten years across the world? That is ruin, not justice!”
Cobb added, more urgently, “We meant no harm, only sport that went too far. Mercy, sir! We beg the court’s leniency!”
Magistrate Holcombe fixed them both with a cold, unwavering gaze. “You knew very well your deeds were wrong—so well, in fact, that you employed armed ruffians to stand ready and intimidate your victims should they refuse to comply. That is not sport. That is calculated menace.”
Mr. Holcombe’s voice carried a new edge of finality as he looked down at the accused.
“You will give me the names of those who accompanied you last night. Or you shall face your sentence without mitigation.”
Cobb swallowed hard. His jaw clenched. Then: “John ‘Rabbit-Paw’—he was one of them,” he muttered. “The other’s Richard, they call him ‘Deaf-Ear’. Both were meant to watch the door. And… do worse if things didn’t go our way.”
A sharp murmur ran through the onlookers. Even Mr. Trench looked briefly stunned.
Mr. Blunt raised an eyebrow. “Two names we have heard before, your worship.”
Magistrate Holcombe nodded slowly. “They shall be pursued.” Then, to the constables: “Ensure these names are taken down. If they are found to have assisted in a planned intimidation—armed—charges will follow.”
Vale said nothing. But the blood had drained from his face.
Holcombe returned his gaze to the men before him.
“You were ready to ruin a man, and ready to harm others when your deceit failed. That is no small matter. The court is not blind to your intentions. Yet where justice stands firm, clemency may prevail in cases where it is warranted.”
Vale and Cobb, sensing the moment turn, stumbled over their thanks. “We are grateful, sir—truly. It will not be forgotten.”
“Indeed, it will not,” the magistrate said, voice steely. “In this case, clemency would be an act of cowardice. You are sentenced to fourteen years’ transportation to New South Wales. May you find there time enough to reconsider your methods.”
Vale stood as if to protest, but no words came. Cobb lowered his head. The constables moved in, and the doors of the courtroom creaked open to admit justice’s closing step.
“Enough. Sentence to be carried out without delay.”
Even Mr. Trench bowed his head, offering no further protest. Vale swore. Cobb sagged.
Justice, when it came, did so swiftly.
***
Longbourn, Wednesday the 23rd of October, 1811
Mr. Darcy had promised Mr. Bingley he would return in time for the Netherfield ball. Yet before departing for Derbyshire, he considered it proper to call briefly at Longbourn, to inform Mr. Bennet of his absence.
He instructed the coachman to stop the carriage at the gate and stepped down. Removing his hat, he walked to the door and knocked. It was opened by a maid.
“Good morning,” said Mr. Darcy, with measured courtesy. “I should like to speak with Mr. Bennet, if he is at home.”
“I’m afraid the master left for London earlier this morning, sir,” the maid replied.
“I see. I wasn’t aware. Then pray be so good as to tell him Mr. Darcy called—to inform him I am returning to Pemberley for several days.”
“I shall tell him, sir,” she said, bobbing a curtsy.
Before she could close the door, a voice rang out from within.
“Who is it, Nancy?”
Mrs. Bennet appeared, her voice sharp, but her expression immediately transforming into the eager hospitality of a practiced hostess.
“Mr. Darcy, madam,” the maid replied. “The gentleman wished to speak with the master.”
“Mr. Darcy, you say? Oh, do come in, sir,” said Mrs. Bennet, smoothing her gown. “You are most welcome.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Bennet. You are very kind, but I shall not intrude. I only meant to leave word for Mr. Bennet—I am returning to Derbyshire for a time. One cannot neglect one’s estate for too long.”
“I quite understand, Mr. Darcy,” she said, eyeing him closely. “But I do hope you return in good time for the Netherfield ball.”
“Certainly, madam. I have given Mr. Bingley my word.” He bowed. “Good day, Mrs. Bennet.”
“Good day, Mr. Darcy. A safe journey.”
As he turned to leave, Mr. Darcy caught a movement in the hallway beyond. He did not wish to be indiscreet—yet neither did he wish to seem ungracious, should someone be approaching whom he ought to acknowledge. Mrs. Bennet, observing his glance, paused. Was he looking for Jane? Or Elizabeth?
He bowed once more. The maid opened the door for him. Mr. Darcy stepped outside. He placed his hat upon his head as the door closed behind him, and walked toward the waiting carriage.
But after only a few steps, he stopped. Something made him glance back.
At an upper window, Elizabeth stood, framed by the pale daylight. Their eyes met across the distance. With quiet deliberation, she raised her hand and placed it against the glass—a simple gesture, sincere and unguarded.
Darcy stilled. He removed his hat again, inclining his head with unmistakable warmth. A faint smile touched his lips before he turned once more, placed his hat back upon his head, stepped into the carriage, and was gone.
Was it a gesture of gratitude? Of friendship? Or merely farewell?
The question followed him all the way to Derbyshire.
***
London, Wednesday the 23rd of October, 1811
Mr. Bennet arrived in London not long after midday, having received a prompt and courteous note from Mr. Blunt’s assistant that the solicitor would be available for the remainder of the afternoon.
Expecting a tedious interview and perhaps another lecture on fiscal gravity, he stepped into Blunt’s chambers with the stoicism of a man resigned to grim accounting.
But he had come prepared, and with the perfect answer: the bank draft from Mr. Darcy that covered both the debt and the solicitor’s anticipated fee.
What he found, instead, was laughter.
Inside, his brother-in-law Mr. Phillips stood in conversation with Mr. Blunt, both men in remarkably fine spirits.
The air of severity had lifted from the room, replaced by something approaching celebration.
Papers lay in neat piles, the usual gloom of legal work softened by a decanter of port and the unmistakable scent of vindication.
“Well, here he is!” Mr. Phillips exclaimed. “The man of the hour—though he missed the final act.”
Mr. Bennet raised a brow. “You sound as though the curtain has already fallen.”
“In the matter of Vale and Cobb, your schemers, it has,” Mr. Phillips replied, his tone rich with satisfaction.
“They were taken into custody last night at the Ravenwood Club—caught in the act, as it were. Two clients of mine that owed me a favor and I staged the game. Magistrate Holcombe presided this morning and, having witnessed enough himself, saw no need for delay. They have been committed for trial, with strong likelihood of conviction. Conspiracy to defraud, attempted extortion, use of false instruments like hidden cards and cheating devices. Legal grounds: common law fraud and conspiracy statutes. Their punishment: transportation for fourteen years to a penal colony in New South Wales.”
He glanced at Mr. Blunt, who gave a rare smile of approval.
Mr. Bennet, ever suspicious of legal efficiency, looked between them. “And that is it?”
“For our purposes, yes,” Mr. Phillips said. “The note you feared may yet serve—though not as a noose, but as proof of their design. The court was satisfied.”
“But they intended to force me to pay a sum under false pretenses,” Mr. Bennet said slowly. “Surely that matters.”
“It did. And it backfired,” Mr. Phillips replied. “The clean hands doctrine applies: they who come before the law must do so without deceit. They tried to invoke legal means to enforce a rigged loss—and that, in the end, sealed their fate.”
Mr. Bennet opened his mouth, then closed it again. “You are telling me I have been vindicated by a game of cards and a judge with a talent for dramatic timing?”
Mr. Blunt poured him a glass of port. “Precisely.”
Then Mr. Phillips produced a neatly folded sheet from his coat and handed it over. “However, there remains the matter of my expenses. I have listed them in full—travel, preparation, court filing fees, a modest stipend for my witnesses’ lost work and other necessities.”
Mr. Bennet scanned the document briefly, then chuckled. “Thirty-six pounds and seventeen shillings. I shall gladly cover your expenses, brother.”
“Indeed, Bennet. Five more, and it would have matched the money I had in my pocket.” Phillips smiled. “I kept the last five in reserve—in case I needed to bribe a footman.”
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