Runaway Miss. Mary Nichols

Bentwater was far too clever for Sir George—the latter, if he had had any sense, should have paid up and left long ago. Alex had joined them out of curiosity to see how far Sir George was prepared to go before throwing in the towel. Years in the army when boredom was, more often than not, the order of the day had taught Alex to be a skilled card player and he was prudent in the way he played so that he was a little on the plus side, but not by much. Now he, like the waiter, wished only for his bed.

      ‘Well, George?’ Bentwater broke the silence. ‘Do you go on?’

      ‘You’ll take my voucher?’

      ‘I’ve a drawer full of your vouchers at home, George. Ain’t it time you began honouring them?’

      ‘Drawer full?’ Sir George looked decidedly worried. ‘I never gave you above three that I can remember.’

      ‘I bought the rest.’

      Sir George was startled. ‘Why?’

      ‘An investment, my friend. Got them for half their face value, some of the older ones even less than that, since their holders had given up hope of being paid.’

      ‘In that case you don’t expect me to honour them for the full amount, do you?’

      ‘Oh, dear me, yes. Plus interest, of course.’

      ‘I can’t, you know I can’t.’

      ‘Why not? I thought when you married the widow, you were made for life.’

      ‘So did I,’ George said despondently. ‘I was gulled.’

      ‘You mean she had no money?’ Bentwater roared with laughter, though it was not a happy sound. ‘Oh, that’s a great jest.’

      ‘There was money there, all right, but she didn’t have the spending of it. Her baboon of a husband left her a small annuity and tied all the rest up for the daughter.’

      ‘Then you should have married the daughter, George. How old is she?’

      ‘Twenty now, eighteen when I married her mother.’

      ‘Old enough to be married,’ Bentwater said, thoughtfully tapping his wine glass against his rotting teeth.

      ‘I didn’t know she was the heiress at the time or I might have done. Now it’ll all go to whatever cock-brained cabbage marries her.’

      ‘Then, George, you had better make sure she marries where it will do you most good,’ Bentwater advised. ‘You need her dibs to pay off your debts.’

      ‘Then you had best tell me how that is to be done, Cecil, since the solution eludes me.’

      ‘Is she comely?’

      ‘She is. Fair face. Good teeth. Fine figure. Tall…’

      ‘How tall?’

      ‘Oh, I don’t know. I am an inch short of six feet and overtop her by two or three inches or thereabouts. What do you want to know that for?’

      ‘It ain’t right for a wife to be taller than her husband.’

      ‘True.’

      ‘And she has a fortune, you say?’

      ‘Will have. Until she marries it is administered by trustees. Thirty thousand a year at least. And I can’t lay my hands on any of it.’ It was said bitterly.

      ‘Then you have your answer, my friend. I’ll take her off your hands for the return of your vouchers…’

      ‘What?’

      ‘You heard me.’

      ‘How many have you got?’

      ‘A drawer full, I told you. Twenty thousand pounds’ worth. And there’s that diamond pin you gave me which turned out to be paste.’ He paused so that the others could digest this news and make what they would of it. ‘Have you had all your jewels copied, George?’ he added pleasantly, though everyone at the table was aware of the undercurrents of malice. ‘That wouldn’t sit well with your creditors if they knew of it.’

      Sir George gulped, while Jeremy laughed a little crazily and Alex, who had heard some bizarre wagers in his time, was beginning to wish he had never joined in the game and helped to bring about Sir George’s humiliation. The whole affair could cut up nasty.

      ‘You want me to give you my stepdaughter?’

      ‘Why not? I need a wife. The others I had were useless, never gave me an heir and a man needs an heir, so the younger and stronger the better. And if she comes from a good family with a generous dowry, that is all to the good…’

      ‘I say, gentlemen,’ Alex put in mildly. ‘Don’t you think that’s coming it too brown?’

      ‘None of your business,’ Bentwater snapped. ‘Unless you fancy buying Sir George’s vouchers and taking the chit off his hands yourself.’

      ‘No, I do not. I would never stoop to buying myself a wife. No need to.’ He saw the older man’s eyes darken with anger, but could not resist adding, ‘Supposing she won’t have you?’

      ‘In my book daughters do as they’re bid.’ He turned back to Sir George. ‘I’ll be fair. Your vouchers and five thousand in cash. With a little luck you could make that grow…’

      Sir George’s expression betrayed his wildly erratic thinking. His despair was suddenly replaced by hope, as if someone had thrown him a lifeline. He could survive. With five thousand he could make another fortune. All he needed was for the cards to fall right.

      ‘Mind you,’ Bentwater went on, ‘you don’t get the money until after the wedding ceremony.

      ‘Her mother would never agree…’

      ‘Wives, like daughters, should do as they are told.’

      ‘You drive a hard bargain, my lord.’

      ‘So, it is a bargain, then?’

      Reluctantly Sir George offered his hand. ‘It’s a bargain.’

      Lord Bentwater shook the hand, gathered up his winnings and rose from the table. ‘Gentlemen, I suggest we adjourn. Sir George has some persuading to do.’ Then, to George, ‘I shall expect to be presented to the lady and her mama at the first available opportunity. Shall we say Almack’s on Wednesday?’

      ‘But that’s only two days away.’

      ‘One, considering it is now Tuesday. And the sooner the better, don’t you think? The interest is accruing every day you delay.’

      And with that, he disappeared, leaving Sir George so bemused he didn’t seem to know what to do, and Jeremy Maddox laughing fit to burst out of his tight pantaloons. Alex, picking up his winnings from the table, frowned at him. ‘Come, Maddox, let’s go and find some fresh air. There is a bad smell in here.’

      Out in the street it was fully daylight, but blustery. There had been rain overnight and the streets were full of muddy puddles. Alex smiled at the efforts of a tiny crossing sweeper to clear a path for them, and gave him more than the penny he asked for the service. The milkmaids were driving their cows to sell their milk at the kitchen doors of the grand houses, the sweep with his diminutive helper was on his way to his first call, hawkers with their trays were establishing their pitches. A dray rumbled down the middle of the road, but had to give way to a cab rattling towards it at breakneck speed. Another day had begun.

      ‘What an entertaining evening,’ Maddox said, picking his way carefully between the puddles. ‘I thought Sir George was going to have a seizure.’

      ‘Do you know him well?’

      ‘No, though he has a reputation for playing deep. I had no idea he was so low in the stirrups.’

      ‘You don’t think Bentwater will hold him to their arrangement, do you?’

      ‘Oh,