One
1839
Lieutenant Eleazar Williams was resurrected on a Sunday—which, though fitting, proved terribly inconvenient for his family.
The Williamses were just getting ready to attend church (where, it so happened, they intended to light a candle for their departed son, now some two years in his watery grave), when their butler announced a visitor.
“It’s the young Mister Williams!” he gasped, his face white. “Returned to us!”
This statement produced some confusion, for Eli’s younger brother was away on his grand tour, and therefore a more likely candidate for an unexpected return.
“But he’s just reached Rome,” protested Mrs. Williams. “Why should he have come home now?”
“Not Jacob, ma’am,” the servant amended. “Eleazar.”
At that moment, Eli himself walked into the room, lookingnothing like a man long-drowned. He was breathing, his flesh was a healthy tan, and he wasn’t even wet.
“Hello,” said Eli.
Mrs. Williams screamed and fell into a dead faint. Her daughter barely managed to catch her before she hit the ground. With a stagger and a grunt, she tipped her mother toward the settee. Hannah was a sturdy girl.
“Good God!” cried Mr. Williams. “We thought you had drowned.”
“No,” replied Eli. “Terribly sorry to have frightened you.”
Needless to say, no one made it to church that morning.
“The most important thing,” Jane Bishop began, with an earnest look to the pair of ladies before her, “is never to wager more than you’re prepared to lose. Both in life and in card play.”
It might seem self-evident, but a remarkable number of people couldn’t grasp this principle. They left more than they could afford on the table, or took risks with their hearts or their reputations that no sensible person would counsel. Not Jane, though. She knew exactly what her odds in life were (poor, especially in the financial sense), and how to best safeguard against future risk (don’t play a losing game). It had served her well thus far.
“Wait a minute.” Miss Reva Chatterjee frowned and tilted her head, her long lashes shadowing her dark eyes. She was several years younger than Jane, and spoke with the sort of innocence only a debutant could muster. “I thought you said the most important thing was to always hold if you reach seventeen.”
“No, no, I said you must always hold if you reachnineteen. If you have seventeen, it depends on the other players and whether you have an ace or not. If you memorize my chart, you’ll see how it all works.”
Another thing most people didn’t seem to understand was that gambling wasn’t actually a risk if you understood maths. At least, not for the house.
Miss Chatterjee shot an uneasy look to the large piece of foolscap on the table between them. Jane had written out every possible combination the dealer might draw relative to the players and indicated where one should hold or seek another card to maximize the chances of winning, shrinking her neat script to the most miniscule proportions to fit everything in. What better way could there be to show their newest helper the ropes? All she needed to do was to follow it perfectly, and profits were guaranteed.
Cordelia Danby—Della to her friends—cleared her throat delicately. “Jane, dear, I thought we agreed that the chart was a bit much to start with and we were just going to focus on the other rules for now.” It had been Della’s idea to invite Miss Chatterjee to join them this morning.
They’d agreed that they needed to train a third dealer if they were to have any hope of expanding their card club, and Miss Chatterjee was the logical choice. She was a regular member and a trusted friend of Della’s, but she was already starting to look a bit overwhelmed by the vast array of possibilities listed on the page. Jane loved the numbers best, but not everyone shared her enthusiasm.Oh dear. Della was going to be cross with her if she scared the poor girl off. They’d managed well enough on their own thus far, but they were starting to have too many guests to continue without help. They needed this to work.
“You’re quite right,” Jane conceded with a last, regretful glance at her chart. “We can cover that next week. Let’s get back to not wagering too much. That was the part I wanted to tell you about. It isn’t just yourself you need to keep in check, it’s the guests as well. You’ll need to step in if they’re being too extravagant.”
“But isn’t it good if the ladies wager a lot?” Miss Chatterjee shot a hesitant look to Della. “Then we’ll win more.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Della agreed. She had a cherubic face and laughing brown eyes that lit up when she was excited. That, combined with her short, plump figure and high-pitched voice, gave her an almost childlike appearance, though her character was anything but innocent.
“No.” Jane pressed her palms to the table. They’d been over this a hundred times. Della might be her dearest friend, but they held opposite views on what constituted an acceptable level of risk. It probably came from being born to such different circumstances. Della had never needed to worry much about how her life would turn out, with her parents as wealthy as they were. “The goal of our card club is to make a steady profit, not a quick one. If we have to explain to an angry father how his daughter came to lose the family rubies over a game of vingt-et-un, we’ll be shut down within a week.”
Miss Chatterjee considered this a moment before she nodded, and Della wilted a bit at the loss of her ally.
Before Jane could savor the victory, a rap on the door interrupted them.
Drat, not Edmund! I told him I was using the study this morning.
But it wasn’t Jane’s brother who entered the room a moment later; it was her uncle.
