Page 53 of Murder at the Debutante Ballby

Floyd wiped his eyes and opened them. He squinted at me. “Cleo? Go away.”

There was nothing I could do. He was in no fit state to have a discussion, and I doubted he would confide in me anyway. I left and Jonathon followed me. We couldn’t talk in Floyd’s room or the corridor, so I indicated he should join me in my suite.

I asked him to sit on the sofa while I occupied one of the armchairs, keeping my distance. “I thought he had his gambling debt under control. He said he was going to ask the bank for a loan.”

Jonathon sat forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He lowered his head and brushed his hair back, but it flopped forward over worried eyes again. If I’d ever felt anything for him, I would have gone to him in that moment and taken him in my arms. He’d never looked so vulnerable, so worried. But I didn’t move.

“The bank refused,” he said. “Floyd’s not a good risk, apparently.”

“So he can’t pay his gambling debts?”

“He borrowed the money from the same gambler he lost to.”

“Is he mad? Or just very stupid?” I’d never met the gambler, but it was obvious this was his strategy all along. Get the son of a wealthy man in his debt, threaten him if he didn’t repay, then offer him a loan to cover it. “I assume the interest is exorbitant.”

“Extremely.” He swore under his breath. “The cur is also demanding the entire amount be paid back by the end of the week.”

A hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach opened up. “Let me guess. Floyd thought he would be able to pay back the loan by winning. But he lost.”

Jonathon nodded.

“Why didn’t you stop him?”

“I tried! But when he’s had a few drinks, he gets brazen. He doesn’t think of the consequences. Not until it’s too late. Besides, I was in another room at the time.” This last he added in a mutter.

“How much does he owe?”

“Nearly eight hundred pounds.”

I almost choked. “He’ll never get his hands on that at short notice.”

“I’d loan it to him, but I don’t have it either. My allowance has been drastically cut this year.”

I scrubbed my hand over my forehead where a real headache was beginning to bloom. “He’ll have to go to his father—"

“No! He’ll never do that. He’s terrified of what Sir Ronald will think of him.”

“He already thinks poorly of him.”

“Precisely. Floyd can’t afford to make it worse.”

I almost called him out on his choice of words. “Can’t afford to”. Was Uncle Ronald nothing more than a source of Floyd’s allowance? Or was that Jonathon’s interpretation of a father’s role?

“I don’t see that he has any other choice,” I said.

“We’ll think of something. We’ll talk it through tomorrow.” He looked around the room. “There must be something he can sell. Do you have any jewelry?”

“Not enough, and it was all given to me by my uncle anyway. If I stopped wearing it, he would ask why. And do not ask Flossy for her jewels. She’s not to know about this. She looks up to Floyd.”

“I wasn’t going to ask her. She’s not equipped for this sort of thing. Too innocent.” He snapped his fingers as an idea occurred to him. “Lady Bainbridge will help. She must have money.”

Aunt Lilian would indeed do anything for Floyd, including keep this secret from her husband. But she was fragile and I didn’t want to upset her. “We’ll go to her only as a last resort. Do you understand? We’ll try to think of something else to get the money before the week is out.”

Perhaps Jonathon was right and we could sell something that wouldn’t be missed. I looked around the suite until my gaze fell on Jonathon.

He was watching me with that now familiar soft yet earnest look in his eyes. I regretted not sending him away earlier. “Floyd is right about one thing,” he said, his voice warm. “I do want to apologize to you. Cleo…I am very sorry for upsetting you the other night. My behavior was deplorable.”

“Apology accepted.” I rose. “If you don’t mind, I want to try to get some more sleep.”