“Well, damn.”
There was a knock at the door. “Come in.” Hart called out.
Two attendants rolled in a cart with two dinner plates piled high with roasted chicken, root vegetables, and gravy. Once they served, and refilled the wine glasses, they exited as quietly as they had entered.
Galey speared a piece of chicken. “I knew you had scared away the handsome one.”
“Sorry.” But Hart wasn’t sorry in the least. He had no inclination to watch Galey try and seduce the blasted waiter. “My question to you tonight is what are your opinions about the men in the club? I know in addition to our fathers, there was Lord Blackpool, Lord Rawlings, Lord Lavensham, and Lord Griffen.”
“And Lord Fleming.” Galey said around a bite of food. “I feel like there was one more. That my father said there were eight. But I cannot think of who it was. Perhaps they died.”
Hart stared down into his glass of wine as he mulled over what he knew about the men his father had been close with. “Blackpool admitted freely that he hated my father for what he had done. There was plenty of bitterness in his eyes, but if he were the murderer why would he admit to the bad blood between them. That alone has me crossing him off my list.”
“Rawlings seems the most likely to be upset about a broken deal. That man is perennially in debt. My father used to lend him money all the time. But as far as mean bastards go, Lavensham takes the cake. Griffen also has plenty to lose. His heir is as mentally unstable as they come. I try to avoid that reprobate whenever we end up at the same establishments. Do you know he used to torture small animals for sport when we were at Eton? Kept some sick tally of it.” Galey shuddered.
“I had no idea,” Hart said.
He remembered Lord Griffen as a dour man. He’d never seen him smile; even when his father had everyone else laughing with his stories. But Hart had seen the two men together often, sharing a drink or riding out. Lord Griffen’s family did not come to London with him often from his estate in Norfolk. Hart couldn’t even remember how many offspring the man had.
“Well, its kept pretty hushed up. I know because he was in my year and lived in my dormitory. Perrin can pretend to be charming when he wants to be.”
“What about Fleming?” Hart asked. “I remember him from my younger days, but I haven’t seen him since my father’s funeral.”
“Word is he has some lung disease. I think he is ill a lot. Sort of a harmless type. nondescript, quiet.”
They ate in silence for a while and Hart parsed through what Galey had told him. It matched what little Galey’s father had said to Hart in the carriage that night. Powerful men, a betrayal, that was the word that the older Lord Galey had used. Hart would have to go back to the ledgers and continue his search for a business dealing that would connect to one of these men.
“Hartwick.” Galey grabbed his attention. “Be careful. If someone was willing to kill a good friend in retribution and another to cover his secret, that man must be desperate or a straight-up killer. Either way, you are making yourself their next target by asking questions.”
Hart rubbed a hand along his side, thinking of the gash that was still healing there. He nodded. He would be careful, but he had no intention of backing off. Nothing would stop him from finding out the truth.
*
After dinner, Hartand Galey strolled down the hall to see what was happening in the main room. Almost immediately, Hart spotted Lord Griffen and his son at a card table at the far end of the room. “My luck is holding. I see Griffen over there playing cards. I think I will go ask him some questions.”
Galey frowned. “Remember what I said. Exercise caution when revealing what you suspect. I certainly won’t join you with Perrin at the table. I’ll just go track down my handsome wine butler.” He clapped Hart on the back and then headed for the long bar at the other end of the room.
One of the club’s managers hurried over. “Your Grace, we haven’t seen you in a long time. What is your pleasure tonight?”
Hart nodded at the back table where Griffen sat. “What is Lord Griffen playing back there?”
“Faro, I believe.”
Perfect.“I will have a glass of ale while I play.”
“Right away, Your Grace.”
He made his way carefully to the table in the back. “Good evening, Lord Griffen. Mind if I join you?” Hart pulled out a chair and sat without waiting for an answer.
Lord Griffen gave a nod. “Of course, Your Grace. I wondered if you would track me down next.”
“Deal me in the next round.” Hart sat back as they finished their round. His glass of ale arrived, and he took a deep gulp. Refreshing and perfectly balanced, he enjoyed his drink. After the next hand was dealt, he played for a while without asking any questions. Along with Griffen and his son, there were three other men playing. Hart slowly began to win each hand, and the pile of coins in front of him grew. He held back initially to keep Griffen on the hook as he slowly pushed the bets higher. Two of the men got up in disgust after six hands. They stomped off to nurse their bad luck at the bar.
Hart knew it hadn’t been bad luck. Both men had been easy to read. He’d spotted their tells within the first five minutes of play. If one understood the number of each suit that was in play versus the number already down on the table, and they paid attention to their opponent’s tells, it was easy to win. He pushed up the bet to triple the last hand. The last of the three men, a young buck clearly out of his depth, showed some intelligence and folded.
Griffen turned to his son. “Why don’t you take your friend and go get something to drink.”
The two younger men got up and wandered away. Griffen cut the deck and shuffled. “Ask me what you want, Hartwick. I’ll do my best to answer.”
