The Gambling Man

‘I . . . I was held up.’

‘Are you all right? Are you unwell?’

‘Just . . . just a bit off colour.’

‘No trouble, I hope?’

‘No trouble.’

‘Then let us begin.’

Nickle’s tone was peremptory, it was putting him back into the servant class as far as he dared allow it. That the man hated him he was well aware, for he knew he was cornered, and had done since the night he came to dinner. But he also knew that he’d have to be careful of him in all ways. However, at this moment Nickle and his nefarious doings seemed of very minor importance.

They went into what was known as the smoking room. It was part office and part what could be considered a gentleman’s rest room, being furnished mostly with leather chairs, a desk, and a small square table, besides four single chairs.

The two men present were smoking cigars and they greeted Rory cordially, speaking generally, while Frank Nickle lifted a china centrepiece from the square table, laid it aside, then opened the top of the table which was cut in the shape of an envelope, each piece being covered with green baize. This done, they all took their seats around the table and Nickle, producing the cards from a hidden drawer underneath, the game began . . .

Three hours later Rory rose from the table almost twenty pounds poorer. At one time in the evening he had been thirty pounds to the good.

He left before the others, and at the door Frank Nickle, smiling his thin smile, said, ‘You weren’t your usual brilliant self tonight, Connor.’

‘No, I think I’m in for a cold.’

‘That’s a pity. Give my regards to your lady wife.’ The large pallid face now took on a slight sneer. ‘Tell her not to slap her little boy too hard for losing.’

He had the urge to lift his hand and punch the man on the mouth. But wait, he told himself, wait. Give him time, and he would do it, but in another way. He left without further words, went down the pathway through the iron gate and to the road where the carriage was waiting.

Nickle had suggested covertly that it was unwise to come by carriage, servants talked . . . ordinary servants, and to this Rory had replied that Stoddard was no ordinary servant, he was as loyal as Nickle’s own. And anyway, wasn’t he visiting the house for a ‘Gentlemen’s Evening’? They were common enough. How could one discuss the finer points of business if it weren’t for ‘Gentlemen’s Evenings’?

When he arrived home Charlotte was in bed, but she wasn’t asleep, and when, bending over her, he kissed her she pushed him slightly away from her, but holding him by the shoulders, she said, ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Oh, come, come, Rory, you . . . you looked strained. Something happened at Nickle’s?’

‘No.’ He pulled himself from her. ‘Only that I lost . . . twenty pounds.’

‘Oh!’ She lay back on her pillows. ‘Hurt pride. Twenty pounds, quite a sum. But still I suppose you must let them have their turn. If you won every time they would say you were cheating.’

‘Yes, yes.’ When he went into the adjoining room to undress she called to him anxiously, ‘There’s nothing else wrong, is there? I mean, he didn’t say anything, there wasn’t any unpleasantness?’

‘No, no; he wasn’t more unpleasant than usual. He was born unpleasant.’

‘Yes, yes, indeed.’

In bed he did not love her but he held her very tightly in his arms and muttered into her hair, ‘Oh, Charlotte. Charlotte.’

It was a long time before he went to sleep, but even then she was still awake, although she had pretended to be asleep for some time past. There was something wrong; she could sense it. By now she knew every shade of his mood and expression. Her love for him was so deep that she imagined herself buried inside him.

At four o’clock in the morning she was woken up by his screaming. He was having a nightmare, the first he had had since his marriage.

3

Three days passed before Charlotte tackled him openly and very forcibly. ‘What is it?’ she said. ‘Something is wrong. Now—’ she closed her eyes and lifted her hand upwards—‘it’s no use you telling me, Rory, that there’s nothing amiss. Please give me credit for being capable of using my eyes and my ears if not my other senses. There is something wrong, and I must know what it is. Rory, I must know what it is.’

When he didn’t answer but turned away and walked down the length of the drawing-room towards the window she said, ‘You’re going out again tonight; you have been out for the last two nights supposedly to see Jimmy. When I was passing that way today I called in . . .’

‘You what!’ He swung round and faced her.

She stared at him over the distance before rising to her feet and saying slowly, ‘I said I called in to see Jimmy. Why should that startle you? I have done that before, but what puzzled me today, and what’s puzzling me now, is that you are both reacting in the same way. I asked him if he was feeling unwell and he said, no. I asked him if there had been any more tampering with the boats, he said, no . . . Rory, come here.’