A Sister's Secret (19 page)

‘The bird’s coming to hand, marm,’ he said.

‘Pardon?’

‘Well, she ain’t quite so set on yielding unconditionally to Cumberland, I’ll wager that.’

‘If you are referring to my sister, Captain Burnside, kindly do so in civilized language.’

‘Well, there it is, Caroline, I’ll swear she could have yielded unconditionally, and I ain’t sure I could have put it in more civilized language than that.’

‘I meant, sir, that my sister is not a bird. Nor have I given you leave to call me Caroline.’

‘Ah, our new relationship of friendliness is yet to begin, marm?’

Caroline hesitated momentarily before replying. ‘You are making such a close and intimate friend of my sister, Captain Burnside, that I hardly feel you need my own friendship, after all.’

‘Quite so, marm, and allow me to carry your tea in for you,’ he said. He took the delicate cup and saucer from her, entered the library, and placed the tea on the desk. Following on in her coolest and most aloof manner, she seated herself at the desk.

‘You may return to Annabelle now,’ she said. ‘I will see you later, at supper, unless you have an assignation with some unfortunate innocent.’

‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘That is, no. I’m considering the advisability of leaving innocents to their innocence. I thought, for this evening, a three-handed game of cribbage, if you’d care to, and if you and Annabelle have no ball to attend.’

‘Cribbage?’ she said, and her aloofness slipped away and her eyes sparkled. She adored cribbage, and was quick and decisive in her play. Annabelle was also an enthusiast. ‘Very well,’ she said, and began to sip her tea.

‘A guinea a game, shall we say?’ murmured the captain. ‘And half a guinea for each hand of double figures?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Caroline, ‘you will cheat, and Annabelle and I will lose a small fortune each.’

‘Give you my word, marm.’

‘As a gentleman?’ she said drily.

‘As a friend,’ he said.

Caroline, having mellowed, smiled. ‘You must first receive Annabelle’s agreement,’ she said. ‘We are both
free to play. The only ball we have to attend is Lady Chesterfield’s, not for a little while yet.’

‘You will grace it, marm, grace it,’ said the captain, and returned to Annabelle.

Two coiffured heads were bent over their cards. Annabelle’s fair hair shone softly golden in the light of the evening sun that streamed through the windows of the card room. Caroline’s auburn curls showed tints of dark, fiery red. Her lips were pursed, her eyes animated.

Captain Burnside, leaning back in his chair, viewed her from over the top of his hand. Magnificent. She held her four cards fanwise in her left hand, having made her discard, as usual, with no obvious self-doubts. One might have thought her pursed lips an indication that she had not left herself with anything but an average hand. But the light in her eyes belied this.

Annabelle, not yet having made her discard, rearranged her cards and studied them again. Her blue eyes were roundly contemplative. It was their roundness that contributed so much to her young look. She too pursed her lips, and at once looked prettily kissable.

Captain Burnside waited patiently, but Caroline murmured, ‘Why not shut your eyes, Annabelle, and make a blind discard?’

‘I am considering tactics, not a score,’ said Annabelle. They were into their third game. Caroline had won the first, and might have won the second too if Annabelle had not pipped her with a resounding final hand of twenty-four. All three of them were close to home in this third game. Caroline was on her mettle, frankly hoping to do Captain Burnside in the eye, and Annabelle was no less ambitious to pip her sister again. Annabelle was five guineas up on the captain and two guineas
up on Caroline. Caroline was three guineas up on the captain.

Annabelle made her discard, and cut the pack for Caroline, who turned up a two. Captain Burnside led.

‘Nine.’

‘Nineteen,’ said Annabelle, placing a king down.

‘Twenty-nine, and a pair,’ said Caroline, also showing a king.

‘Thirty-one,’ said Captain Burnside, coming up with a two. He and Caroline advanced their pegs. They each had a cribbage board of black ivory, with white ivory pegs. The captain needed nine for game, Caroline five and Annabelle seven.

‘Four,’ said Annabelle.

‘Two for a pair,’ said Caroline, matching her sister again.

‘Bother,’ said Annabelle.

‘Six for three pairs,’ said the captain, putting down a third four.

‘Oh, you sweet man,’ laughed Annabelle, and put down the fourth four, which scored her twelve and gave her the game. It also credited her with half a guinea, on top of a guinea for the game. ‘You are lagging, Charles.’

‘Early days, dear girl,’ said the captain, ‘and my blood ain’t up yet.’

‘The decanter is at your elbow, Captain, if that is any help,’ observed Caroline, graciously the hostess.

‘I’m obliged, Caroline, much obliged,’ he said, and poured a measure of brandy into his glass.

He had one virtue at least, she thought. He was never in his cups. He drank modestly. He had an acceptable liking for red wine, and a reasonable partiality for good brandy. She did not like men who were primly teetotal. It made them lack a zest for living. But she liked even less
those who drank to excess, for in their cups they lost all manliness.

The fourth game began. Caroline ran away with it. Annabelle had not seen her sister so animated. She rarely spoke about her marriage, but Annabelle knew it had robbed her of sparkle. It was surprising that a mere game of cribbage could bring that sparkle back. The light in her expressive eyes was almost as brilliant as her jewelled hair clasp.

‘Damn me,’ said Captain Burnside mildly, as she ran out with a hand of twenty, a combination of sevens, eights and a nine, ‘are you sure one of those eights ain’t been up your sleeve? I’m holding three myself.’

‘What?’ Caroline pounced and scattered his cards. ‘Oh, you are not, sir! There, you have two eights and two sixes.’

‘Egad, so I have. I own to sweet relief, dear lady, that there’s been no sharping.’

‘Idiot!’ cried Caroline, and burst into laughter.

‘Temporary myopia on my part,’ murmured the captain, ‘so sorry.’

Annabelle’s eyes danced.

The play continued. The sisters were at one in their desire to get the better of Captain Burnside, Annabelle because it was fun, Caroline because it was a challenge. Annabelle played her cards either with gurgles of triumph or moans of despair. Caroline played hers with an animated flourish. The captain played his affably, and with a sporting acceptance of all the knocks he took. Fortunes fluctuated, then took a decided turn in his favour. Caroline’s butler came in to light the candelabrum above the table, and Helene brought glasses of fresh lemonade sweetened with honey for the sisters.

The captain laid down a hand of sixteen to win his fifth
consecutive game, and to put the sisters in debt to him.

‘Oh, you wretch,’ said Annabelle.

Caroline, catching his eye, said, ‘Your hands are becoming almost unbelievable, Captain.’

‘I can’t dispute it,’ he said. ‘Shall we cry quits?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Caroline spiritedly.

‘I shall play one more game, then retire,’ said Annabelle. ‘I am feeling sleepy.’

They played the game, which Caroline won. Annabelle stifled a yawn and rose from the table.

‘You are owing me two and a half guineas, dearest,’ said Caroline.

‘Am I, dearest?’ Annabelle smiled. ‘Well, you would not take money from a sister who has so little, would you? There, I’ll settle with a kiss.’ She leaned and kissed Caroline on the cheek. ‘And what do I owe you, Charles?’

‘A trifle, a mere trifle, dear girl,’ said the captain benevolently. ‘Ah, nine guineas. And a half.’

‘So much?’ said Annabelle. ‘Oh dear. You would not accept a kiss too, I suppose?’

‘Willingly,’ said Captain Burnside.

‘There, you are the sweetest man,’ said Annabelle. A little dreamy, a little melting from the fun of the evening, she dipped her head and kissed him. On the mouth. Caroline stiffened, for her sister’s kiss was warm, generous and quite against acceptable behaviour. ‘Goodnight,’ said Annabelle, now a little flushed, ‘I’ll leave you two to play on until the candles gutter, if you wish.’

When she had gone, Captain Burnside said, ‘Shall you retire too, marm?’

‘Shall you?’ asked Caroline coldly. ‘Or shall you sit and dream of more kisses? Oh, how I despise myself for placing Annabelle in your path, for I cannot help feeling you will take advantage of her in the end.’

‘You have my word I won’t, marm. If I read her correctly, she has no money.’

‘Oh, you are an out-and-out blackguard, sir. I vow myself feeble for being concerned at your probable fate, for you deserve the most miserable one. As for Annabelle’s lack of money, there are always her trinkets.’

‘True, her jewellery has its appeal,’ murmured the captain, idly shuffling the pack, ‘but I ain’t disposed to lift ’em from so sweet a girl. No, she shall be safe from me, marm. Be assured. Well, shall it be two-handed cribbage, patron, or bed? It’s almost midnight.’

‘We shall cut for deal, Captain Burnside, and play for five guineas a game, not one, and I will give you a hiding, sir, and collect from you every last shilling of what you will owe me.’

‘It’s to be war, then, marm, with no talk of kisses?’

Flushed, her eyes glittering, she said fiercely, ‘I would rather kiss the hangman.’

‘Quite so, marm. Ah, at the moment, you are owing me several guineas from the three-handed game.’

‘You may take them into account at the end of this game.’

She played then in a spirit of fierce determination, while knowing determination needed luck as an ally. Her mouth was set, her eyes gleaming, her concentration prevailing over whatever tiredness she felt. She sent her servants to bed at Captain Burnside’s solicitous suggestion. She and he alone remained awake, he retaining his smooth, affable approach, and she sustaining her spirited challenge. If he wondered what had upset her so much, he did not ask.

She seemed reckless in her discarding, so quickly did she place each pair on the table, but the turn-up cards consistently went her way. She pegged advantageously,
and her hands scored generously. She outran him by four games out of the first five. A candle spluttered. Her eyelids began to feel heavy. Her lashes began to droop. The quietness of the house, the silence of the street outside, and the lateness of the hour all induced a soporific effect. But she played on.

‘You are ready now to cry quits, marm?’ The captain had won three in a row.

‘No, sir. I shall not be the first to yield. I am a Howard of South Carolina, and my ancestors were pioneering the first settlement of Charleston while yours were no doubt running errands for Sir Walter Raleigh. Deal, sir, you are not yet owing me half enough.’

‘I ain’t quite owing you anything yet, d’you see—’

‘Deal, sir, I like you better when your tongue is silent, though in truth I like you not at all.’

Captain Burnside smiled. She eyed him simmeringly from under languid lids, thinking of his cool, outrageous acceptance of the kind of kiss Annabelle should not have given. How dare he, a man so undeserving and unprincipled, allow himself such intimacy with her impulsively indiscreet sister?

They played on. She fought her creeping tiredness. Her head sank, her jewelled hair clasp glittered as it nodded. She jerked herself awake. She laid a card, a jack. ‘Ten,’ she said.

Captain Burnside, laying down a jack himself, said, ‘Twenty, and two for a pair.’

‘Thirty,’ she breathed in sleepy triumph, and showed a third jack. ‘Which scores me six.’

‘Fiendish,’ murmured the captain. ‘Pass,’ he added.

‘Thirty-one,’ she said, placing an ace down to score another two.

‘Faith,’ he said, smiling, ‘you’re a tigress.’ But his patron
did not respond. Her head was down, heavy eyes closed. A slumbrous little murmur escaped her. ‘Damn me, here’s a pretty kettle of fish, our magnificent magnolia has closed her petals for the night.’

He came to his feet and touched her lightly on the shoulder. She did not stir. She was in sound, healthy sleep. He stooped and lifted her from her chair. She was full-bodied, but he made light of her. She murmured, put her arms sleepily around his neck, turned herself in on him and warmed her bosom against his chest. Her head sank on to his shoulder. He carried her up the stairs, and at her door he set her gently on her feet. She swayed against him. With one arm around her, he opened the door and carried her into her dressing room. There he placed her in an armchair. Her head fell forward, causing her bodice to sigh and gently gape. Curving splendour softly gleamed in the light of a night candle. Carefully, the captain set her head back, and the bodice corrected itself. Curving splendour for the most part disappeared into the shadows. He went to his own room, smiling. There was nothing about feminine magnificence to cause any man to frown.

‘Your Ladyship?’

Caroline, awakening very late, looked up at Helene, efficient, devoted and still single at thirty, although Mr Harris, the forty-year-old butler, had a firm and affectionate eye turned her way.

‘Helene? What is the time, pray?’

‘Gone ten thirty, milady. Shall I bring—’

‘No breakfast, please. Just coffee. And have my bath filled.’

She sat back in the large hip bath that had been carried into her dressing room and filled from pots of hot water. The pink soapflakes, melting, created a foam that danced around her, for the bath was deep. She relaxed, but she frowned. She had fallen asleep at the card table and woken up in her dressing room. Even then she had been almost too sleepy to undress herself, and had finally left her clothes in the most untidy heap.

Captain Burnside. Such an idiotic man in his preference for the dubious when he could have established himself in good, honest work. If he applied himself industriously, he would make an excellent steward for someone’s country estate, and be remote from the temptations of town.

She must, she supposed, allow him to continue his role with Annabelle, for Annabelle must be turned aside from Cumberland. The unacceptable factor, of course, was that which might bring Annabelle amorously into the arms of the captain, whose morals were as casual as they could be. He might not extract money from Annabelle, or lay his hands on any of her jewellery, but he might take his pleasure of her.