Marigold Chain (5 page)

Hovering
uncertainly, the young man watched in astonishment, his mouth
opening and closing as he formulated and discarded a variety of
objections. He was naturally reluctant to lay hands on a fellow
wearing a sword, but he knew he ought to defend his companion, who
was fighting to free herself. Only then, in the seconds he spent
hesitating, she stopped struggling. He watched in rising
indignation as her hands, now released, showed no inclination to
attack but slid up the gentleman’s arms to his shoulders and on
till they clasped each other around his neck. And Alex, finding
both arms suddenly free, used them to gather the girl still closer.
It was more than their outraged spectator could tolerate and he
surged forward to grasp the audacious gentleman’s arm.

With an easy
action, Alex shrugged him off but retained his hold on the girl.
Startled and somewhat unsettled by the surprising depth and
sweetness of her response, he was more than a little tempted to
kiss her again in order to find out if he’d imagined it. But, even
as the thought occurred, her hands disentangled themselves from his
hair and moved to pull her hood more closely around her face again.
Slowly, Alex released her murmuring softly, ‘Well … that was
unexpected. But extremely enjoyable, I must say.’

Then, removing
his hat, he swept a deep bow that encompassed both the girl and her
would-be swain and said, ‘It seems we’ve all learned something
tonight.’

And with that,
continued on his way, leaving the stunned pair to stare wordlessly
after him – one with sulky anger and the other with shaken and
confused blankness.

*

Having spent a
pleasant hour in the Acorn without starting a fight, Alex duly made
his way to James Ashton’s house just off St John’s Gardens whence
he had been invited for a bachelor supper to be followed by a
little gaming. Had he not been in need of a distraction, it is
unlikely that he would have availed himself of this invitation for
he did not particularly like Ashton. They had first met in Paris at
the beginning of 1651 but James, though some five years older, had
let his father go alone to Worcester and then sat out his exile in
safety and comfort, living off the relatives of his despised French
stepmother. Beyond this, Alex knew only that Ralph Ashton had lost
his life in a Royalist conspiracy before the Restoration and that
his widow, having returned to Oxford in 1660 with her stepson and
young daughter, had followed him shortly after it.

He was admitted
by an untidy manservant and had hardly removed his hat when his
host was upon him with what was surely misplaced affection. At
thirty-five, James Ashton was already putting on flesh and his
ruddy, heavy-jowled face bore the marks of soft living and
over-indulgence.

‘
Deveril,
m’dear fellow!’ he boomed, heartily pumping Alex’s unresponsive
hand. ‘Glad you could make it. It’ll be quite like the old days in
Paris.’

Since Alex had
only been fifteen years old at the time, he could not imagine to
what old days James might be referring. Contenting himself with a
lift of one ironic brow, he allowed himself to be ushered into the
parlour.

‘
Two
friends of mine, Deveril – Bob Colne and Sam Hassall,’ said Ashton,
before moving away in response to a discreet gesture from his
servant.

Alex bowed and
murmured a polite greeting whilst scanning the rest of the company.
He looked at Giles and their eyes met and locked. Then, excusing
himself from the two merchants, he crossed the room and bowed to
him with exaggerated courtesy.

‘
As you
see, I decided to leave hell for another time and come here
instead. It’s likely to be a fairly similar substitute.’

‘
It will
be if you have anything to do with it,’ returned Giles
coolly.

Alex smiled
self-deprecatingly. ‘I do my best.’

‘
Oh
Lord!’ muttered Danny, ruefully. ‘If that’s the way of it, I’ve a
good mind to go home.’

‘
And miss
all the fun? Alex would never forgive you. He’s suffering and is
very kindly making sure that we all get a share.’ Giles turned back
to Alex. ‘Have you a special treat in store – or is this a mere
run-of-the-mill occasion?’

Alex smiled
slowly. ‘An element of suspense is always fun, don’t you find?’

Of the two
remaining guests, Alex was surprised to find one faintly familiar,
though from where he could not recall. The other, however, was
instantly and ludicrously recognisable. Sardonic blue eyes met
astounded hazel ones and Alex bowed mockingly to the young man
whose dalliance he had so effectively disrupted earlier in the
evening.

Richard Stavely
looked back, scarcely able to believe his bad luck and too shocked
to bow in reply. An angry flush surged up to the roots of his hair
and he thought of a number of things he would like to say but could
not without looking even more foolish than he already did. On his
way across the room, Alex paused briefly beside him and murmured,
‘I won’t tell if you don’t,’ before moving on.

The gentleman
on the couch, whose face Alex had as yet been unable to place,
showed no signs of being pleased to see him. In fact he seemed
extremely nervous and closely resembled a startled rabbit. Alex
repressed a grin.

‘
Allow me
to introduce myself. I’m Alexander Deveril.’

The gentleman
swallowed convulsively. ‘Frederick Iverson.’

‘
Mr
Iverson. Have we met before?’

There was a
short pause and then, ‘No. That is – can’t say we met exactly.
Never introduced, you know.’

‘
Ah. More
in the nature of an … encounter … perhaps?’

‘
That’s
it,’ was the grateful reply.

‘
When and
where?’

This brought
the rabbit look back with a vengeance.

‘
The
Acorn – night before last. I was with Gresham.’

‘
Oh God –
yes!’ Alex gave a crow of laughter. ‘You were the one who said that
Rupert was quite good with a sword.’

‘
Yes,’
said Frederick, brightening at this evidence in his favour. ‘Didn’t
think you’d remember.’ He thought for a second and then added
naively, ‘Didn’t remember much myself.’

Alex regarded
him with mild reproof.

‘
I
remember it,’ he explained, ‘because it is the most thundering
understatement I’ve ever heard. Oh – stop shaking. I’m not going to
hurt you. I save that for bombastic idiots.’

Frederick
stared at him, fascination mingling with budding respect. Then,
standing up in a rush of confidence, he held out his hand as Alex
took it, said, ‘Tell you what – good thing if you
had
strangled him. He’s a Bad
Man.’

Alex frowned
slightly. ‘That’s interesting. You must tell me more – another
time. I think we’re being summoned in to supper.’

They were and
it proved to be both unimaginative and poorly cooked, with the
result that everyone drank a little more than usual. The talk was
also besieged with pitfalls, due mainly to a seating arrangement
that placed Colne and Hassall together at the end of the table
where they could and did conduct a conversation which excluded
everyone else and Giles and Alex exactly opposite each other where
they indulged in spasmodic sniping. Danny, uncomfortably situated
beside Giles, hovered between laughter at the absurdity of it all
and fear that one would push the other too far.

By the time
they rose from the table some two hours later, everyone was a
little the worse for wear and Alex was fast approaching his most
volatile state.

Retiring from
the dining-room, the party moved back to the parlour where a number
of small tables had been set out and the dresser stocked with
squat, dark green bottles and glasses. The Rhenish wine which had
been served through supper had given place to brandy … and devilish
bad brandy at that, thought Giles putting down his glass almost
untouched.

As soon as they
entered the room, Colne and Hassall headed for the remotest of the
tables and, producing a well-used tarot deck, settled down to a
serious session of tarocco. Danny, anxious to keep Messrs Beckwith
and Deveril apart, chose Giles as the more amenable of the two,
rounded up Richard Stavely and proposed a game of gleek, neatly
leaving Ashton and Mr Iverson to take care of the other half of his
problem.

They solved it
by suggesting that they also make a three at gleek, to which Alex
agreed with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm, expecting to be
bored.

He wasn’t and
the reason was perfectly simple. He could not lose. No matter what
he drew or discarded, the result was always the same. He won. And
after the first hour he began to find it funny, for it was nothing
to do with expertise or intellect – just pure, unadulterated luck.
The cards were running his way and it seemed that nothing could
stop them.

Frederick took
his losses in good part but Ashton grew steadily less jovial as,
coin by coin, his money moved across the table and finally he came
abruptly to his feet, refilled the glasses and proposed they change
the game.

Alex smiled
with maddening understanding.

‘
What did
you have in mind?’

‘
Dice,’
replied Ashton. ‘Maybe these three will join us?’

At the magic
word ‘dice’, Danny’s eyes brightened and he promptly forgot all his
sterling resolutions and started pushing tables together.

Alex smiled
down at Mr Beckwith. ‘Take the bank, Giles?’

‘
I might.
But if all you want is the opportunity to break me, I’m sure we can
arrange something.’

‘
Generous,’ mocked Alex. ‘But sufficient unto the day and all
that.’ He indicated the table. ‘Shall we?’

As luck would
have it, it was Danny whose throw won him the dubious privilege of
the first bank. He gaily emptied his pockets on to the table and
the game opened on a guinea stake. At the end of an hour when
Ashton threw for the bank and won, Danny was still an easy winner
but Mr Stavely, having lost consistently, had declared himself at
beggar’s bush and dwindled into a glassy-eyed observer.

Ashton smiled
for the first time in half an hour and opened his bank on a stake
of five guineas. Giles favoured him with a long, cool stare, called
a main and won. The smile faded but Ashton need not have worried.
On his second throw, Alex challenged the bank and took it.

‘
Stake
fixed at five,’ he announced. ‘Giles?’

‘
Seven,’
called Giles. And turned up a deuce and a four.

The game
continued. Alex’s luck, it seemed was still in and the heap of
coins in front of him gradually increased. By the time the clock
struck ten, Mr Iverson [now Freddy to everyone] had joined Richard
on the periphery and Ashton, becoming grimmer by the minute having
lost more than he could afford, was writing vowels to cover his
losses. At this stage a wiser man would have withdrawn but James
Ashton was gamester enough to indulge in the belief that his luck
must turn. However, as the evening wore on and he wrote more and
more notes, he began to feel frightened. He called, threw and lost.
Again.

‘
It seems
time another took the bank,’ he muttered, looking at Giles and
Danny. ‘What d’you say?’

Mr Beckwith
raised his brows with faint hauteur. ‘As the rest of you wish. For
myself, I am satisfied.’

‘
So’m I,’
agreed Danny, blinking owlishly. ‘But then, I’m devilish drunk. Are
you drunk, Alex? Giles isn’t. He don’t care for the
brandy.’

Mr Deveril
greeted this piece of tactlessness with a laugh. His collar was
loosened, his hair disordered, and the effect of the brandy was
evident in his too-steady gaze and less than steady hands.

‘
Yes, I
am undoubtedly drunk – but it’s immaterial.’ He looked at Ashton.
‘There’s some three hundred in the bank. Will you throw for
it?’

Ashton
hesitated but only for a moment.

‘
Yes,
damn you, I will.’

‘
Wonderful. After you.’

Ashton threw a
five and a four. Unhurriedly, Alex cast a four and a six, then sat
back in his chair.

‘
You
lose,’ he said flippantly. ‘Satisfied?’

Ashton banged
his fist on the table.

‘
No, I’m
not! You hold too many of my vowels.’

With an
expression of distaste, Mr Beckwith moved as if to get up. Alex
looked at him, the pale eyes glimmering strangely in the
candlelight.

‘
Don’t
go, Giles. We have arrived at the high point of the evening. Mr
Ashton isn’t satisfied. You should sympathise.’ He looked back at
his host. ‘So. You haven’t the money to try another throw.
Pity.’

Ashton glared
at him and cudgelled his brain for inspiration. And then it came to
him; an idea so wild and wily that it stopped his breath. He
slopped more brandy into his glass and laughed.

‘
I’ve a
stake for you – if you’ve the stomach for it.’

Alex smiled.
‘Name it.’

Ashton laughed
again. ‘M’sister.’

There was a
sudden silence.

‘
Would
you mind repeating that?’ asked Alex softly.

‘
My
sister. Step-sister if you want to be pernickety. When m’father
married his Frenchie widow, her Frenchie brat came along with her.
She’s got a dowry of eight hundred pounds from her mother. I’ll
stake her hand in marriage against your bank – three throws to
decide.’

Silence was
succeeded by uproar in which Danny, Richard and Freddy all spoke at
once. Out of this, Richard emerged triumphant – largely because in
lurching to his feet he overset a chair.