The Switch (13 page)

Charlie felt her teeth clench in offense for the new caster as he accepted the dice. Not that he seemed to even notice the other gambler's slight. Tall and thin to the point of emaciation, he wiped sweaty palms on his frock coat before taking the dice. His concentration was intense, his expression desperate as he clutched the small cubes tightly to his chest and bowed his head. After moving his lips in apparent prayer, he cast them on the table, almost sagging with relief when he rolled a nine.

A hopeful smile touched his lips as he accepted the comments of the others around the table and listened to them lay their bets, then he picked up the dice again. Tension suddenly gripping him again, he repeated the earlier ritual. This time his prayer went unanswered. His second roll came up a three. Shoulders slumping, he paid out to those around the table who had bet, then held the dice out to the man on his left.

His loss, however, did not stop his gaming, Charlie saw with a frown a moment later as the man laid a bet on the caster following him. Disgust claiming her briefly, she watched the new caster roll. Like the first man, this one could obviously afford to lose. Short, tubby, and with more hair on his chin than on his head, he wore a doublet made from a cloth woven with gold. Jewels flashed on his fingers. He tumbled the dice with a certain flair, then took the time to slide a coin down the top of the tall, brassy woman on his left as he kissed her, turning to do the same to the dark-haired woman on his right before taking up the dice again. He had quite a long winning streak. Charlie felt sure his lips must be sore from so much kissing by the time he lost and leaned past the brunette to offer the dice to Charlie.

She stared at the dice as if he were offering her a live snake until Radcliffe nudged her impatiently, hissing, "Go ahead. You wanted to play this game."

Sighing, she accepted the dice, tossing them at once, flinching when they came up a four and two.

"Six," Radcliffe muttered, frowning with irritation.

Charlie supposed that he had hoped she would lose right away. She had been rather hoping for that as well, she admitted to herself wryly as the other players began placing their bets. Once they were finished, she rolled again. Two threes this time. Six again.

Charlie listened impatiently to the mingled crowing and groans of those around her as they settled up and laid new bets. Radcliffe was the only person besides herself who was silent, and he radiated displeasure. She had more than doubled her money. It meant a delay in being able to leave.

"Go ahead," he murmured impatiently as soon as the last bet was placed and Charlie tossed the dice.

"Nine," he muttered as the bettors broke into excited chatter. Charlie barely waited for them to finish placing their bets before casting again. "Five."

It meant she would roll again and she did.

"Five again!" Radcliffe's irritation was obviously mounting. She knew that he had brought her here to teach her a lesson. Winning was not part of that lesson. Charlie felt Radcliffe sag beside her, then tense as she snatched up the dice and cast them again… and again… and again. Her pile of coins grew at an alarming rate. Her
arm began to ache from the constant repetitiveness of the game. And her attention began to drift to the other players again.

The young fellow's mask of indifference was starting to slip. Excitement was glittering in his eyes and giving his mouth a hard edge. Mr. Fat-and-Happy was raking in coins by the handful, dispensing a good portion of them down the blouses of his two companions. And Mr. Tall, Thin, and Desperate was starting to sweat as his coins dwindled. He had started out betting for Charlie, and had originally increased his small pile of coins, but then, several rolls ago, he had started to bet against her. Presumably he had decided to go with the odds. Unfortunately, Charlie seemed to be immune to the odds.

"Charles!"

Glancing to Radcliffe, she saw that he was holding the dice out to her. While she had been contemplating the other players, they had finished with their bets and were waiting impatiently for her to roll again.

Radcliffe frowned at her reprovingly, and as the dice flew through the air and tumbled end over end atop the table, he found himself clenching his hands and silently chanting in his head,
lose
,
lose, lose
. "Damn!"

Charlie snatched up the winning dice again.

"Just a moment." Radcliffe caught her arm to prevent the toss. "What are you doing?" He pointed to her bet. "You should keep some of that back. You have got a hefty sum there."

Charlie merely shrugged. "You play your way. I shall play mine."

Biting back anything else he would have said, Radcliffe watched the game play out, shaking his head with bewilderment as Charlie's winnings grew once again.

"Amazing," Radcliffe breathed, then nudged Charlie and stated the obvious. "You have won again. Shall I take half the money and—"

"Leave it there," Charlie murmured distractedly, watching Mr.Tall-and-Desperate lay yet another bet against her. He was almost out of coins, she noticed unhappily. Why did he not simply quit?

"What?"

Sighing, she faced Radcliffe. "I said, leave it there."

"But you will lose all that money."

" 'Twas only a couple of coins."

"It was at the start. But now"—he gestured toward the pile—"it is almost as much money as you originally brought with you."

"But only a couple of coins are really mine," Charlie pointed out.

"But—" Radcliffe began, then sighed. She knew that he had wanted her to lose and learn a lesson. Still, he obviously now felt uncomfortable at her losing such a large amount.
The game rolled on anxiously, and Charlie noticed the tension stiffening Radcliffe's body and making him sag quietly against the table as she won again. She had won a small fortune. She was beginning to attract the attention of gamblers from other tables.

"Leave the money again?" Radcliffe asked, then glanced up when she gave no answer. She'd hardly been paying attention. "Charles?"

Her answer was to toss the dice again, her gaze fixed on Mr. Tall-and-Desperate as she did. The way he sagged told her that she had won again. And he had lost another coin. He was down to only two coins. Surely he would quit now, she thought, and was mentally willing him to do so. Apparently, he was beyond reason, however. He placed one of his last two pence on the table and waited, hands clenched, face pale, sweat chipping down his forehead as the others laid their bets.

"Charles!"

"What?" Charlie turned around.

"Roll the damn dice!"

She blinked in surprise at Radcliffe. Something had changed. He was no longer stiff and disapproving. Excitement was gleaming in his eyes. Energy was rolling off of him in waves. Frowning, she cast the dice, noting the way he leaned against the table, hands grasping the edges tightly as he watched the dice tumbled end over end.

"Eleven!" he crowed jubilantly as the dice settled. "You won again!"

Charlie's gaze narrowed suspiciously as she caught a whiff of whiskey fumes as he grinned at her. "How much have you had to drink?"

Radcliffe blinked at her question, then glanced at The table, eyes widening at the four empty glasses that stood in a row. "Surely I didn't drink all of those," he began. "There was that redhead waitress and then…" His gaze slid back to the table and the mountain of coins Charles had won. The question of how much he had drunk was apparently forgotten. "Hurry and roll again," he said.

Charlie shook her head and glanced toward Mr. Tall-and-Desperate as he fingered his last coin.
Nay. Enough. Not again. Do not bet a
—"Damn!" she cursed with disgust as he pushed his last pence forward.

"Dammit, Charles, will you roll those dice?"

"Nay." Turning suddenly, she began raking up her coins, shoving them into her hat for want of a better place. Good God, she had won a small fortune!

"What?" Radcliffe seemed horrified. "You cannot quit now."

"Of course I can."

"But you are on a winning streak. You have made more money at the table than you got for cashing in your jewels. You cannot quit now!" he wailed.

Charlie rounded on him with disgust. "Have you not had enough? Really, Radcliffe, your behavior is shocking. I would think that you, of all people, would know better than to waste time and money on gambling. Just look at these people.
'Tis a sickness. Come, let us go home."

When he merely stared at her rather blankly, she took his arm with her free
hand and turned him firmly toward the door. "I would suggest that you not risk
entering such an establishment again," she said. " 'Tis obvious you get too caught up in the game. I would not wish to see you mill yourself in one of these places."

Radcliffe allowed her to drag him away, and Charlie heard groans from the people behind them who had been winning by betting on her and had hoped to win more. Radcliffe had the decency to look somewhat contrite. Charlie shook her head as they exited the establishment.

"Oh, my lord!" a voice pleaded, "Please. If you could? They won't let me in to find my husband. If you could just nip back in and fetch him out for me? I'd be ever so grateful."

Charlie glanced around at that soft, imploring voice as they stepped out of the
gaming hall. It was the woman who had been begging entrance on their arrival. "Your husband?" Charlie glanced from the boy who clung to the woman's skirt, to the girl who held her hand firmly and looked so solemn.

"Aye. He…" She hesitated, lip trembling, then shook her head in despair. "He's in there gambling our lives away. He don't mean to do it. Don't even want to, I don't think, but he just can't help hisself. We lost our inn to his debts six months ago, and we moved to the city. He took a job as a driver, and I found one as a half-time cook in an inn here, and we've been hobbling along, I thought. I'd buy groceries and he'd pay the rent. Or at least he was supposed to, only I found out today he hasn't been paying the rent. I came home to find the landlord bailing the way. My husband hasn't paid rent for three months and 'til he pays up we are out. We cannot even collect our things. And today is payday. I know he has the rent money with him and is even now losing it. Please. Please," she begged. "If ye'd jest fetch him out so I can tell him about the landlord. He'd stop then, I know he would."

Charlie gazed at the woman, taking in her clean, plain gown and the children in clean but poor quality clothes and scrubbed faces with a sinking heart and asked, "Is he
very tall and thin?""

"Aye. You saw him in there?" she asked hopefully, and Charlie felt her heart constrict. She suspected the woman's husband was Mr. Tall-and-Desperate, the man who had gambled every last coin away; the weary woman's troubles were about to increase. The woman's gaze
dropped to the hatful of coins Charlie clutched and she frowned slightly. Charlie could easily give the woman her rent money, but if her husband was Mr. Tall-and-Desperate he would be out any moment, and should he get his hands on it, it would go the way of the money she had watched him lose tonight. Mayhap she should just follow them home and pay their rent or—

"There he is! Papa. Papa!"

Charlie gave a start at the boy's sudden happy cries and turned to see the man now exiting the
gaming hall. As she had suspected, it was Mr. Tall-and-Desperate. He looked even worse now than he had inside. His eyes were empty, his skin sickly white as he gazed at his farmly. Nodding slowly, he walked toward them.

Charlie stepped back as the woman anxiously blurted out the news about the landlord. "Do ye have the rent money?" she asked.

Seeming not to hear her, he hugged and murmured something to each of his children. When she repeated the question, he straightened, and Charlie felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end at the man's expression as he faced his wife.

Taking the anxious woman's face between his hands, he kissed her almost reverently.

"I'm sorry. I love you," he murmured, then released her and stepped back. He gave her a queer smile, then turned and walked into the street, directly into the path of a passing carriage and four.

"Papa!"

Charlie caught that heart-wrenching cry and glanced down at the children with dismay as she realized that this was the last image they would have of their father. A curse choking her, she shoved her hat into her pocket and turned the children away, hiding their faces against her waistcoat and shielding them from the sight. She couldn't prevent their hearing, however, and felt them shudder in horror, then begin to sob as the air filled with the panicked screams of horses and men.

Radcliffe had hurried after the man in an attempt to draw him back, but had not been able to reach him before the horses did. Now he knelt,
examining the broken body before straightening. His ashen face was enough to tell Charlie what she needed to know, and she glanced worriedly at the silent woman beside her. Obviously in shock, the wife waited tensely as Radcliffe approached, probably knowing what he would tell her, but hoping against hope that she was wrong.

"I am sorry. There is nothing to be done for him. He is dead."

The woman slumped at those words, her head drooping like a limp daisy, silent tears coursing down her cheeks. Radcliffe watched her with concern for a moment, then turned and let loose a piercing whistle that brought his carriage forward at once.

"Help them into the carriage, Charles," he instructed. "I shall only be a moment."

Nodding, Charlie ushered the children forward as the driver leapt down to open the carriage door. She lifted first one child, then the other into the carriage before glancing around to see that the mother still stood where she'd been. Even as Charlie started back for her, Radcliffe shoved some money into the hand of a man he had taken aside, then moved to assist the woman. Taking her arm, he gently urged her toward the carriage, speaking to her softly as he did.

Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat at the gentle concern he was showing, Charlie turned and got into the carriage, smiling at the weeping children reassuringly. The widow followed at once, with Radcliffe right behind her. He murmured something to the driver, the door closed, the
carriage rocked as the driver regained his seat, and they moved off at a funereal pace. The silence inside the
carriage was thick and stifling, but there was little Charlie could think to say as she eyed the trio on the opposite bench. They were like clothes in a wardrobe. Slack and empty. Turning away from their hollow eyes and expressionless faces, she stared blindly out the window at the passing buildings.

It was not until the carriage came to a halt outside a dilapidated boarding house that the woman suddenly regained some expression, and that was panic. Her gaze shot to her children helplessly, tears welling in her eyes.

" 'Tis all right," Charlie reassured her quietly. She knew the woman was terrified of being turned away, but she had
every intention of putting her winnings to good use by helping this family.

"I shall see them to the door," she murmured to Radcliffe as the driver opened the door. Stepping down, she waited as the driver assisted the widow out, then lifted down first the daughter, then the son to the street. Casting another reassuring smile at the mother, Charlie started toward the front door of the establishment pausing when it suddenly flew open and an odious little fellow in a filthy and tattered shirt and pants stepped out to bar the way.

"Back are ye, Mrs. Hartshair? Well, yer still not comin' in. I told ye. I'm wantin' my money. Ye owe me fer three months and ye'll pay it or kiss yer belongin's goodbye."

"Please, Mr. Wickman," the woman murmured painfully, clasping her children close. "My husband… he's
dead"
She shuddered over the word, but forced herself to continue. "We've nowhere else to go. I'll pay the rent the best I can, but my children—"

"Dead?" the man interrupted, a startled look on his bulldog face that became calculating as the woman nodded. "Well, that there puts a whole different picture on things, don't it?" His gaze slid up and down her consideringly. "A woman shouldn't be on her own. Not safe. Mayhap we can be coming to an agreement."

His expression left no doubt as to what kind of agreement he was considering, and Charlie felt herself bristle like a hedgehog. "The only agreement will be her paying the rent she owes you and collecting their things. She will not be staying here."

His beady eyes swiveled to Charlie, taking in her gentleman's outfit with an arched eyebrow. "So that's the way of it? Already found herself a protector?"

Charlie stiffened at his words, then turned to the woman he had addressed as Mrs. Hartshair. "You said it was three months' rent you owed?"

She nodded uncertainly.

"How much a month?"

When the woman hesitated, the landlord spat out an amount that made her eyes widen incredulously. "
'Tis barely half that!"

"Aye, but it's late, so I'm charging you interest," he announced smugly.

"I am afraid interest is out of the question."

Charlie glanced around with surprise at Radcliffe's steely words. She had not heard him approach.

"You shall take the correct amount and allow them to collect their things. Or you shall be paid nothing and we shall use the money to replace whatever they are forced to leave behind. Which shall it be?"

Charlie turned back to see the landlord scowl briefly. His gaze moved from Radcliffe's tall, erect form to the crumpled hatful of coins that she had pulled from her pocket; then he gave a surly nod. "Deal."

Charlie counted out the necessary coins and held them out. The man snatched them so swiftly she almost missed the action.

"Take them inside, Charles, and assist them in gathering their things. Mr. Wickman and I shall wait out here for you."

Mr. Wickman obviously did not care for the arrangement but could do little about it. He stepped reluctantly aside, glaring as the Hartshairs hurried past. Charlie followed them into the dim, smelly interior of the building and up two flights of rickety stairs to a small room that had made up the entire living space of the Hartshairs. One end of the room was taken up with a bed; a length of string strung alongside it told her that a sheet or some such thing had probably been slung over it at night for privacy. Two pallets in the opposite
corner were where The children had obviously slept, leaving a small spot around a fireplace that held a chair with a broken and mended leg, and rough tools for cooking.

Charlie felt a lump develop in her throat at such penury and was grateful that it didn't take long for them to gather what little they had. She had never been inside such a dismal dwelling, nor had she ever known anyone who'd had so few possessions. A couple of ragged items of clothing. A tattered little doll of the girl's. A clumsily carved wooden figure that was the boy's. One pot and one pan for cooking. They all fit into a small bundle, then Mrs. Haitshair turned to face Charlie with determination.

"I'm wishing to thank you for what yer doin', payin' our rent and all, but…" She swallowed and chew herself up proudly. "I'll pay ye back somehow, but—"

"I am not truly doing you a favor so much as you are doing me one. Or at least I hope you will," Charlie interrupted her.

When the woman peered at her a bit suspiciously, Charlie explained, "Radcliffe—the gentleman downstairs?" At her nod, Charlie continued, "Well, I fear his cook quit just this morning. He has not had an opportunity to look for a replacement just yet and… Well, it does seem as if you need a home and a more substantial job just now."

"A job?" she echoed with an expression of combined hope and fear.

"Aye." Charlie offered her a bolstering smile. " 'Tis a live-in position, so the problem of your being without a home just now would be solved."

"But what of the children?" she asked anxiously. "They would not be underfoot?"

"Nay. I am sure all will be fine. Why, your daughter could help out Bessie, my sister's maid. 'Twould be good training for her. And I am sure they could always use a hand in the stables when your son is old enough."

"Oh, my." She dropped onto the edge of the bed, looking suddenly overcome. Charlie eyed her uncertainly.

"Are you all right?"

"I… it is just…" She shook her head weakly and tears began to course down her
face. Her children were at her side at once, confusion and fear on their faces
even as they sought to comfort her. She drew them into her embrace, kissing the top of first one head, then the other before raising her face to peer at Charlie with blind gratitude and adoration. "Things have been so bad for so long. My husband, God love him, he did not mean to gamble, to make things so hard. He tried to stop, constantly promised to. But—" She shook her head wearily. "He was a good man when I married him, then he took to
gaming, then the drink. He neglected business and began to sleep the day away. When we lost the inn, I thought that he must see how much damage all of this was causing. I thought sure he would change. But when Mr. Wickman told me about the unpaid rent, then—"

She paused and her eyes became glassy with honor. Charlie was sure she was recalling her husband's death.
The woman's expression cleared and she whispered, "God forgive me. I never wished him dead, but right now I see more hope for the future than I have in years."

She raised slightly shocked eyes to Charlie. 'I'm an awful woman to feel that way, aren't I?"

Charlie shook her head solemnly. "Nay. You are a woman with two children to raise, clothe, and feed. And you have been trying to do so alone for quite some time while your husband stole the roof from over your head and gambled it away. Now you are free of the sickness he had and the hold it had over your life. You can start fresh. There is hope. There is no shame in embracing it."

The woman considered that silently, then nodded. "You are a good man, my lord. I have been praying for help for a long time. I think surely God must have sent you to me in answer to those prayers. I will be the best cook I can be."

"I am sure you will do fine," Charlie murmured, uncomfortable with her gratitude.

"Now, we had best go below before your Mr. Wickman comes looking for us."

Moving to the door, she held it open and ushered the threesome out and back downstairs. Radcliffe and Wickman were still on the front stoop. At Radcliffe's questioning glance, Charlie merely shook her head and followed Mrs. Hartshair and her children into the carriage.

Radcliffe entered after Charlie, then sat to eye the woman and her two children seated on the opposite bench seat. He experienced a definite sense of déjŕ vu, only the memory mixing with this reality was of Bessie seated fearfully on the bench. Sighing inwardly, he shook his head and sat silently for the duration of the ride home.

"It would seem we have guests. Stokes," Radcliffe announced, slapping his gloves and hat into the butler's waiting hand as the man gaped at the woman and children who trailed him into the house.

"Not exactly guests," Charlie corrected gently as she followed the family into the house and pushed the door closed.

"Oh?" Radcliffe arched one supercilious eyebrow at the lad. "Pray tell?"

"You are in need of a cook, as I recall. Unless you have already made arrangements?"

Radcliffe grimaced. "You know I have hardly had the opportunity for that."

Charlie breathed a small sigh of relief. She had not thought he had done so yet, but if he had, that would have been a complication indeed. "Well, now you need not bother. You need a cook. Mrs. Hartshair is a cook."

Radcliffe blinked at the simple announcement, then glanced toward the woman for verification. "You are a cook?"

"Aye." She swallowed nervously as her gaze slid around the luxurious foyer before she added unhappily, "Aye, I am a cook, but I—I'm a fair hand at buns and such, but the sort o' food I can cook is…" She glanced at Charlie, who gave her an encouraging smile. Straightening slightly, the woman murmured, "
'Tis tasty, hearty food, my lord. But I know naught about fancies and pastries and the like."

'That will not be a problem," Charlie assured her quickly. "His Lordship never entertains. Besides, his last cook could not even boast tasty or hearty fare, and you shall learn anything necessary over time. Is that not right, Radcliffe?"

There was a moment of silence, just long enough to make Charlie glance at him in reprimand, at which he nodded solemnly. "Aye.
'Tis quite true. I am sure you will do very well." His gaze went to the weary and bedraggled children hanging onto their mother's skirts, and he murmured, "Your children look as if they are all in. Stokes will show you to your room."

"Thank you, my lord," the woman gasped, her face blossoming into near beauty with her relief. "Thankyou."

Nodding, Radcliffe glanced toward Stokes expectantly, frowning at the servant's stunned expression and the way he gazed, unmoving, upon the widow. "Stokes?" he prompted, drawing the man's attention. "Show them to a room."

"Of course, my lord."

The servant had actually blushed slightly, Charlie noticed. Radcliffe grunted and turned to her. "In the library, Charles."

She grimaced at the autocratic tone, but paused to suggest to Stokes that he offer the Hartshairs some food before seeing them to bed. The three looked pale and thin to her. They could use some meat on their bones, and she doubted they had eaten that day. When the man assured her he would see to it, she turned resignedly and followed Radcliffe's trail to the library.

He was standing at the sideboard pouring himself a drink when she entered. A stiff drink, she could not help but notice as she settled in a seat before the desk to await the lecture she knew would come. She did not have long to wait.

"My home is not a refuge for runaways and waifs, Charles."

"Runaways?" Her eyes widened innocently as she watched him cross the room to take his seat at the desk. "I have brought no runaways here, my lord."

His brows drew together in displeasure. "You know what I mean, Charles."

"Aye, well," she sighed briefly, then shook her head. "Actually, no, I do not. I am hardly using your home as some
sort of charity workshop, Radcliffe. Beth needed a maid and I found her a maid. You needed a cook and I have found you a cook.
The fact that both women were in untenable situations when I found them is merely coincidental."