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CHAPTER TWO

Brook’s Club, St. James’ Street, London

Ralph

“Make your wager, man,” Lawrence Conrad chivvied me as we sat at Hazard.

I was to leave the next day for Altheney.

My cousin, the Earl, had summoned me for a house party.

I hoped his fiancée, the Countess of Claremont, would bring her companion, a charming young woman who had caught my eye last autumn in Rochester—Margaret Dashwood.

Margaret, or Margot as I called her, was much on my mind these days.

But I was poor, and so was she. A match was out of the question, and yet we continued to correspond, even when she chided me about my gambling.

Somehow, despite the improbability, a corner of my heart remained devoted to winning her, despite the odds.

I resolved, yet again, to mend my ways. But a chance invitation to accompany Conrad to the card room at Brook’s on St. James was not to be missed.

Perhaps I could recoup my losses, and come to her, money in hand, offering a lifetime together.

Luminaries thronged the tables. The Marquess of Buckingham, Prince William, and David Ricardo were there, although Ricardo droned on with his latest disquisition on economics. Not understanding a word, I closed my ears to his chatter.

After consistently losing small sums at Faro, I lost my jacket and vest to a crony.

I should have stopped playing, but invited to another table to play Hazard, I agreed, hoping my luck would change.

Steeper stakes meant after a few rounds I was in too deep, but I knew one big win would change everything.

A shadow loomed over me, exuding alcohol from every pore. Lord Frederick Merrivale had arrived. When he passed our table, he stopped, eyes glowing with outrage.

“What the deuce are you doing here, Hodgson? With your debts, why aren’t you in hiding or trying to raise funds.” His bellow silenced the room while I struggled for something to say.

“Repay me in three days,” he rasped, “ or I will have my lawyer obtain a writ so you may contemplate your errors in King’s Bench prison.”

As I had no kerchief to mop moisture from my face, I drew a sleeve across my brow. Conrad, disgusted, handed me a cloth. “I have a stud of fine racehorses and a kennel of hunting dogs. Come down to Altheney and look them over. Perhaps we could settle the account that way.”

Merrivale glanced at the green glow winking from my cuffs. “Fine-looking emeralds. I’ll take them on account and bring my stableman to look at the animals.”

I glanced at the cuff links left to me by my father. Himself a younger son, these jewels were the most valuable thing my sire had left me.

“No, I cannot accommodate you.”

He produced an unpleasant laugh. “Have you anything else to offer?”

I cursed inwardly, removed the jewelry, and tossed it to him. The precious pieces fell to the floor. Merrivale grunted at one of his companions, who dropped to his knees to retrieve them. Meanwhile, I rose.

“Hodgson, wherever are you going?” Conrad’s eyes were fixed on the man scrabbling on the filthy carpet.

“Home.” I bit off the word like a piece of thread hanging from a loose seam. “The Earl expects me to arrive in two days for his house party. I will need to set off early if I am to arrive on time.” I was staying at Altheney’s London mansion on Park Lane.

My eyes rested on the broad shoulders clothed in an expertly fitted dark-blue tailcoat as Merrivale threaded his way through packed tables.

An electric crack made the air vibrate. Conrad snatched at my sleeve.

“Just wait, man. One more hand and I will drive you. The weather is dreadful, and the walk is long.”

Shaking him off, I exited the club clad in only shirt and trousers. Mere steps from the club entrance and thoroughly soaked, I regretted having wagered away the fine frock coat I’d received from my cousin Spencer at Christmas.

With a pang at brushing off Conrad’s offer, I hurried down the black, rain-soaked street. Rivulets of water on the uneven pavement soaked my boots and splashed my trousers. What would Margot think of her erstwhile suitor if she could see me now?

London streets were insalubrious at best, and bad weather did nothing to wash away the filth. The very foulness meant that being waylaid was not likely. Still, I was wet and miserable within a minute of setting out. Stubbornly, I refused to turn back.

A lull in the storm made evident the sound of laughter ringing out from the dark passage ahead of me. Some man dallying with one of the bawds for sale nearby , I thought, until the merriment subsided into a woman’s cries of protest.

I peered into the narrow space. A spear of lightning gave a brief glimpse of the noisome depths, revealing two shadowy figures who appeared to struggle.

“Stop,” I shouted. My self-disgust made me ready for a brawl. “Release that woman,” I demanded, pitching my voice to a roar over the renewed noise of the storm.

The iron grip of arms around my body soon disabused me about the scene. The woman in distress was no woman at all, but a short, burly individual. His comrade held me in a band of steel. A sizzle of hot breath blew against my skin, carrying the fetid odor of cabbage, sweat, tobacco, and gin.

Three more assailants rained punches over my body. One held a club, wielding it around my knees and ankles. I fell to the ground, while the blows turned to kicks in the ribs, in the stomach, and then a crack to my head.

Next I knew I was in a bed, instead of rough pavement, in a room that smelled strongly of vinegar. Brown paper wrappings secured poultices that rustled and whispered. Every inch of my body throbbed. The stench of a slop bucket and the pounding in my head made me qualmish.

The floorboards creaked, hailing two figures who stopped either side of me.

My friend, Lawrence Conrad, was accompanied by a gentleman who sported wispy gray hair brushed forward in a fashionable Caesar cut that mimicked laurel leaves.

He stank of Pomade de Neroli. Its blend of citrus and floral notes paired uneasily with the acidic smell that pervaded the chamber.

Conrad asked, “How are you feeling, Hodgson? When we found you last night, you were almost dead.”

My dry throat emitted a croak. “How did I arrive here?”

“Fitzjames and I left the club soon after your departure and found you beset by a band of ruffians. I called out to my coachman and we chased them off, wrestled you into the conveyance, and carried you to my house. Dr. Grey here assured us you would live and Fitzjames decamped to the Albany. That was two days ago. Meantime, I sent a messenger to your cousin at Altheney Court and expect his arrival tomorrow or the next day at the latest.”

My heart plummeted with the news, knowing Spencer would be furious, especially with his fiancée visiting. Would he bring Juliana or leave her at the estate, like Penelope awaiting the return of Odysseus?

An involuntary groan brought the reedy gentleman to my side. Conrad said, “Hodgson, this is Mr. Grey, the apothecary. He has tended your wounds.”

Grey held out a glass. “Here is a dose of laudanum for your pain, my dear sir.”

Conrad supported me while I drank the bitter liquid.

Meantime, Grey continued, “I will examine the progress of the bruising and renew the poultices. Fortunately, the most serious injuries consist of a fractured rib and severe strain high to your ankle. The blow to your head will not cause permanent damage.”

Grey leaned over me, prodded my bruises, and manipulated my ankle and foot as I bit back more cries of pain. “I have ordered some broth for you. Later, if you are up to it, the kitchen will prepare several nourishing dishes to build back your strength.”

Conrad produced a cheerful smile. “Always said you had a hard head, Hodgson. Grey reckons in a day or so Altheney can take you home.” He ran fingers through his short curls.

“Rum thing, though. These footpads didn’t rob you.

They seemed intent on the beating, nothing else.

More like hirelings than a gang. Do you think Merrivale instigated it? Have you offended someone else?”

I did not answer but ruminated on the bitter encounter with Merrivale, especially handing the cuff links to the man.

True, I owed him the most pressing debt.

I gave him a promissory note explaining I had sent to Spencer for funds.

Fed up with my profligacy, my cousin refused, so I tried to avoid Merrivale.

As a mere gentleman, the baronet did not see me as his social equal.

Instead of a challenge of honor, I received several threatening notes in the past week, demanding immediate payment or he would begin proceedings to swear out a writ of arrest and have me sent to King’s Bench.

A crack shot and a wicked swordsman, Merrivale had fought several duels.

I was neither. But was a filthy prison better?

The encounter outside Brook’s constituted another warning.

What would have befallen me had my friends not found me in time?

I lapsed into another doze. When I awoke, the room was in darkness and I dwelt again on the circumstances of the last few days.

I deeply regretted all the money I had wasted on play, but I itched to return to the racetrack and club.

I drank some broth, followed by milk coffee, and a few biscuits brought by Conrad’s man and felt a bit stronger.

The next afternoon, Spencer glared at me disapprovingly.

The doctor agreed I could be moved the following day, and his assistants prepared me for the journey.

Conrad traveled with us as a sort of nurse-assistant.

When we were out of London, jolting down Watling Street, the two alternated stony silence with lectures on the unsuitability of my life.