Highest Stakes (70 page)

  Mr. Roberts bespoke the very best set of private rooms at the John Bull, ordered supper, and settled his wards before meeting privately with Mr. Lee.

  "I offer my heartfelt condolences, Ludwell, on the passing of your father. Thomas Lee was a most remarkable man."

  "Indeed he was, and I should never have believed it would have happened so soon. But it appears that now my legal studies are come to an end. As the head of my family, I needs must soon take up the mantle of Stratford." He poured two glasses of port, offering one to his friend.

  "But what of your immediate plans, now you have arrived, Roberts? I confess that your intentions in your last letter were shrouded in a cloud of mystery."

  "Were they indeed? I am surprised that you, the only one of my acquaintance who knows the truth of my past, would find my journey a mystery."

  "You have confided a portion of your story in these years past, but far from its entirety, I would guess. I had assumed, erroneously it would appear, that you had laid it to rest, buried with the unfortunate Mr. Devington. But now I perceive that this unfortunate gentleman is far from resting peacefully in his grave. Are you bent on vengeance, my friend? Is this your motive in returning to England?"

  "Lust for revenge is not often attributed to a noble character, is it, Ludwell?"

  "Far be it for me to judge! I would call it no more than justice, but I fail to understand what would drive you to the point of risking everything you have worked for these eight years."

  "I do not risk everything. The plantation is completely intact. Indeed, it prospers more now than ever. I have not staked my livelihood nor the property, which is not rightfully mine to wager."

  "Speaking of which, what possessed you to take on the rearing of two boys? Mary Griffiths was a close friend of my mother, and I knew her well, but why should you involve yourself with her orphans?"

  "I confess now that had I any idea of what I was getting into…" He laughed and then sobered. "Mary was a fine woman and a good mother, and the boys had no one. If she had not died, I should have become their stepfather. How could I not step in when it was within my power to protect them?"

  "'Tis a good thing you have done to bring them with you."

  "They have mourned their mother deeply, and though 'tis nearly two years since they lost her, she has left a void that cannot be filled. I could not countenance the thought of leaving them behind only in the care of servants."

  "I know few men who own such scruples, my friend."

  "I should not go so far as that, Ludwell. You know why I am come to England."

  "We are back to that now, are we? You become a conundrum, Roberts," Mr. Lee said with a puzzled expression. "In our years of acquaintance, you have rubbed along well enough with your fellow man and have duly prospered for your efforts. Why do you now disturb your own peace? Why put yourself to this trouble?"

  "One can understand a man's motives only when one stands in his shoes, Ludwell."

  "I can only believe that this man, whoever he is, must have been the devil himself, a foul fiend, to have set you so against him."

  "On the contrary, he was once my most trusted friend," Roberts replied softly.

  "Then if that be so, I can only guess a woman is at the bottom of this."

  Mr. Lee's remark drew his friend's countenance into grim, hard lines. He had come far too near the mark. Mr. Lee refilled their glasses and broke the uncomfortable silence that had settled between them.

  "I suppose I should waste my breath if I tried to dissuade you? I can't believe any good should come out of this."

  "Your breath should be completely wasted. I advise you save it."

  "Dare I ask exactly how much you intend to risk?" his concerned friend prodded.

  "As much as it takes to answer my purpose." He raised his glass, swilling its contents in one fluid motion.

After only a few days rest from their voyage, Mr. Roberts was anxious to be about his business. He and Lee met to discuss his final arrangements before departing Bristol for Doncaster.

  "Item one," Lee said, consulting his list, "I have leased a house for you in one of London's grander districts. Item two: I have deposited the proceeds of your tobacco cargo at the Bank of England and have established your necessary credit, as well as letters of introduction from various respectable gentlemen of my acquaintance. Item three: I have employed a tutor to take charge of the boys while you are otherwise engaged. The last item I had added to the list as something you had overlooked."

  "And what might that be?"

  "Membership at White's Chocolate House."

  "White's, you say? What should I care for such hobnobbing?"

  "It would be very much to your purpose."

  "How so, Ludwell? How should a stuffy gentleman's club signify in my plans?"

  "You overlook the betting book."

  "The betting book?"

  "White's betting book is an infamous public record of wagers between gentlemen. Much wickedness has been ascribed to it, and since you remain undeterred from your nefarious course"—he paused reflectively—"for purposes of validation, notoriety, and posterity, I suggest you ensure your wager is entered in the book. If one chooses to bring one's enemy to his knees, it is best accomplished most publicly."

  "True indeed, Ludwell." Roberts chuckled. "Your insights quite overwhelm me."

  "I am but your humble servant," he said with a smirk and took a pinch of snuff. Lee gave a brief shake to his lace cuff then paused to scrutinize his companion. As he critically surveyed Roberts from head to foot, his eyes narrowed.

  "What are you staring at?" Roberts asked. Although dressed well enough for a rural Virginia planter, Roberts's unpowdered hair, brown wool suit, and plain white linen would hardly pass muster in the ranks of English gentlemen.

  "At the risk of being indelicate," Lee remarked, "might I make a few suggestions to ease your way into the upper ranks?"

  Roberts quirked a brow.

  "A proper
English
tailor might serve you well, and in the spirit of maintaining your precious incognito, perhaps you would also benefit from a peruquier? I mean no offense, but you hardly impress one as a figure of prosperity dressed as you are. This is England, after all."

  "I take no offense. I shall contrive to depart Bristol a proper
English
gentleman," Roberts replied ruefully.

  He spent the next day venturing from shop to shop, acquiring the necessary finery. After squandering an entire day and much coin, Roberts exchanged his drab brown wool for suiting of deep blue silk brocade. He replaced his plain white linen for that dripping with French lace, and even his hat brim was now adorned with silver. His final purchase, the
pièce de résistance
, was the white powdered tie wig, a fashionable accoutrement he had always eschewed in favor of his own hair. Adding powder and a silk patch on his face, his transformation was now complete. Roberts regarded himself with amazement in the tailor's looking glass. He hardly recognized himself.

  Impatient not to waste another day, Roberts set off from Bristol in a hired coach-and-four, accompanied by the two boys and their tutor. He had commanded a bruising pace, but with scheduled stops at points of interest to allow the boys to stretch their restless legs and the tutor to enrich their young minds with tidbits of English history.

  By the fifth day and within thirty miles of their destination, the coachman halted, informing Mr. Roberts of a pronounced lameness in the lead horse, as well as a problem with the rear axle. Although impatient to arrive in Doncaster and assess the readiness of his colt, Roberts was no less concerned for all livestock under his care. He directed the coachman to follow the Sheffield road, instructing him to locate a decent coaching inn where the passengers might rest while seeing to the horse and carriage repairs.

  To his great consternation, the coach halted at a place burned vividly into Roberts's memory: the Dark Horse Inn.

  "Stokes," he inquired of his coachman with studied indolence, "how have we come by this particular inn?"

  "Mr. Roberts, sir, you instructed me to find inn and smithy. As it so happens, here are both."

  "Then I suppose we must indeed rest here," he answered skeptically. "Pray tend to the horse, and if he can't be made serviceably sound, you have my permission to hire another team. Have the smith take a look at the axle, but bear in mind I have no wish to delay overlong."

  "Aye, Mr. Roberts. As ye say, sir." The coachman directed his equipage to the nearby smithy.

  "Thomas, Benjamin, Mr. Thayer, shall we see if this inn offers any manner of fare fit for human consumption? The victuals were dubious at best, upon my recollection." He addressed the boys with a conspiratorial grin, broadening with Thayer's expression of alarm. The tutor's worst expectations, however, vanished when the party opened the doors to the large and crowded taproom with its gleaming wood and tantalizing aroma of roasted meat from its roaring spits.

  He was stunned at the profound transformation of the dank and dreary tavern of his memory. A buxom matron with a toddler clinging to her skirts cheerfully greeted the party and led them to a large table.

  Eyeing the boys, she remarked, "Now there's a pair of fine lads. Ye look to be right about the age of me own two oldest, Ian and Jack." She gave the boys a friendly wink. "Now, what might I bring ye fine gents? The Dark Horse ale is the finest to be had, if'n I say so m'self, and we be also known for our mutton and our game pie."

  "I should say two tankards of ale, two of cider, a game pie, and a platter of whatever you have roasting on the spit should do us very well, madam."

  "I am no madam, yer lordship." She laughed. "Just Maggie; Maggie Grey."

  "Maggie, you say?" Mr. Roberts said incredulously. His narrowing eyes regarded her sharply in an effort to envision the auburn-haired woman, less the clinging toddler and a good three or four stone. To his amazement, he realized she was indeed the sultry siren with whom Philip Drake had dallied nearly a decade ago.

  "Mrs. Grey?" he repeated. "I am no lord, simply Daniel Roberts, if you please. Would you be the proprietress of this establishment?"

  "I am, indeed. That is me and me husband John Grey. He be the smith, and most times he leaves the tavern to me."

  The inquiry was politely made, but Maggie found herself growing uneasy under his scrutiny. It had been several years and as many children since she had taken the notice of any fine gentlemen passing through her establishment. She felt mildly uncomfortable, and his gaze was strangely familiar. Suddenly compelled, she asked, "Does I know your lordship? I feel as if we've met afore."

  "I believe the answer would depend on whether or not you recall an acquaintance with a certain officer of the King's Horse."

  "The smile vanished from Maggie's plump face. "And who might that be?" she asked with a slight scowl.

  "Do you recall an officer by the name of Philip Drake?"

  Still wearing the frown, she said, "I ain't heard that name in years, and don't be repeatin' it around John Grey! He's a jealous husband, John is, and I reckon my poor Ian would only suffer for it. But why would you be askin' after Philip Drake?" she asked warily, and then she suddenly raised her hand to her mouth in a gasp. "God's ghost! If it ain't Cap'n Devington!"

The unlikely reunion proved a serendipitous event. Instead of hastening their journey as he had planned, Daniel Roberts bespoke rooms for the night. To their delight, Thomas and Benjamin, not having shared company with anyone their age for many weeks of travel, found a host of playmates among Maggie's six children. One by one, the Grey brood made their appearance in the tavern.