She’d just reached that comforting conclusion when she saw Carter, with his arm slung around Nigel’s shoulders, leading Nigel from the room, flanked by the two young mystery gentlemen she’d spotted on Tuesday night; the sighting of the pair, once again in such close attendance on Nigel and Carter, strongly suggested—to Ellen at least—that they were Drake’s men.
Thereafter, she divided her time between monitoring Rose’s conversations and keeping an eye on the door to the front hall, through which Carter had steered Nigel.
A bare ten minutes later, Nigel returned to the party, with Carter following and the other two men slipping in behind. If any of the guests noticed that Nigel looked distinctly pasty, they would doubtless assume he’d overimbibed and suffered the usual fate, but Ellen suspected the effect was more likely to have been due to Drake.
Regardless, Nigel returned to his role with renewed vigor, laughing and whipping up his acquaintances, encouraging them to indulge in ever more outlandish wagers.
Ellen viewed Nigel’s performance and the result with jaundiced eyes, yet for all those who had traveled to the Hall that night, the rising tenor of the evening appeared to be precisely what they’d hoped to find. One and all, they flung themselves into heated wagering on the turn of every card.
As a group, they truly were the gullible marks Toby had labeled them.
Tonight, the party showed no signs of running down of its own accord. It took Rose clapping her hands and announcing that, reluctantly, she would be calling an end in just ten minutes to remind the guests, flown with drink and the excitement of wagering, that their beds lay some distance away and they had yet to convert their tokens to cash.
Grudgingly, some ambled out into the front hall to do so, then the two mystery gentlemen who had been flanking Nigel left him to Carter and circled the tables, clearly passing on a message to the dealers, and subsequently, one by one, the dealers gathered up the cards and declared their tables closed for the night.
With some grumbling, the remaining guests headed for the front hall.
Stationed once more behind the tables at which the exchange of tokens was taking place and still very much playing her role to the hilt, Rose seized the opportunity to remind those leaving that the last card party on Saturday evening looked set to be a dazzling and very well-attended affair.
Several of those about to go staggering down the front steps perked up at that, and more than one swore he’d be there.
When, finally, the last of the guests had rattled down the drive, the company sagged. One and all, they appeared more wrung out than they had after the first party.
During a quick consultation with the staff, Secombe pointed out that there had been one hundred and twenty-seven guests present, and if more arrived for the final party, as now seemed certain, they would need more card tables if the guests were to be prevented from coming to blows.
Carter, Robbie, and the two neatly dressed men who had assisted Carter with Nigel agreed.
Carter regarded Rose, waiting to be escorted back to the manor. “From what I saw, the guests’ desire to wager has been fanned to heights bordering on mania.”
Drake’s men caught his eye and nodded soberly.
For her part, Rose smirked. She might be a captive performing under duress, yet the evening and the young gentlemen’s attitudes testified to her expertise in creating what would have been a devastatingly efficient means of distributing the counterfeit notes.
From the looks on many faces, few present were likely to forget that.
Finally, the gathering broke up, much as it had after the previous party.
Ellen and Christopher set off across the fields. Tonight, scudding clouds intermittently obscured the moon, yet they knew the way, and there was no denying that walking through the gardens and beneath the orchards’ trees gave them time to slough off the tensions of the evening.
As they climbed the stile in the fence that marked the boundary between the Hall and Bigfield House, Christopher glimpsed the faintly troubled expression on Ellen’s face.
Once they were walking hand in hand beneath the plum trees, he asked, “What’s bothering you?”
When she looked up, surprised, he let his lips quirk upward and squeezed her hand. “Yes, I can tell. So what is it?”
She didn’t immediately reply, but after they’d walked several more paces, she sighed, then said, “Despite Nigel’s temporary lapse, which, due to our planning, was expeditiously dealt with, tonight, we succeeded in maintaining the fiction that Rose’s card parties are proceeding as planned—and indeed, are building to a roaringly successful culmination.”
His gaze on her face, Christopher nodded and mildly observed, “That was the plan.”
“I know.” After several seconds during which she plainly struggled over how to communicate what she felt, she went on, “I just feel…as if we’re tempting Fate. Almost baiting Fate. We’ve got away with our grand charade for two nights, and now we’re going to push for a third.”
He raised his gaze and looked ahead. After a moment, he admitted, “Now you mention it…I can see, feel, what you mean.”
“And that’s just the last card party. How long afterward will it be before the mastermind contacts Rose? We’ll have to keep the charade in place—make it appear all is normal at Goffard Hall and possibly even that Rose is still its mistress—until he makes his move.”
Christopher grimaced. “True, but Drake believes he—the mastermind—won’t wait too long. We discussed the point tonight, up in the musicians’ gallery—as you might expect, that question is exercising Kirkpatrick as well. As Drake pointed out, the amazing success Rose has wrought—and the way the parties are escalating, increasing in size and fervor—makes it appear likely that, if the counterfeit notes were being substituted as before, even given the much larger amount, the exchange of fake notes for real would be quite easily accomplished by the end of the third party. Drake thinks the mastermind will contact Rose during the next day or, at the latest, the day following that.”
He caught Ellen’s gaze and smiled cynically. “Drake thinks the mastermind is unlikely to leave Rose contemplating all that money for longer than absolutely necessary.”
Ellen humphed. “Given the mastermind’s cautious nature, I can see that prediction makes eminent sense.”
A few paces later, she glanced at him. “Anyway, what happened with Nigel? All I saw was Carter steering him out of the room, with those two other young men, who I assume are Drake’s agents, helping.”
“Yes, those two are Drake’s men—he managed to pull them in at the last minute. They’re skilled at what they do, which is something of a relief. Now Nigel knows they’re there, he’ll be more circumspect.”
“But why did Carter pull Nigel out?”
“Nigel had started to grow maudlin and referred, albeit obliquely, to his changed circumstances.”
“I see.” Ellen’s tone hardened. “What happened?”
“Drake happened. Which is enough to shock any young gentleman out of the deepest depths of drunken stupor straight into coherent sobriety.” He shrugged. “That’s more or less what happened to Nigel. I doubt he’ll deviate from the plan again—he might even slow his drinking, at least for the final party.”