Evie took the man’s clothing out of the trunk and dressed. She’d borrowed them from her father, without his knowledge, and he’d never even known anything was missing. After a few alterations, she was able to dress as the Frenchman, Mr. Renee.
The idea for her foray into gambling establishments came from her father. They often played cards together, and he’d once commented that it was a damned shame Evie wasn’t a man, as she would stand to make a great deal of money with her skills.
Deftly she dressed and then stood before the small, speckled mirror to fold the cravat. She fixed the beard she’d purchased from an advertisement in the newspaper. It had wires that molded it to her face and then hooked around her ears.
To her eyes, she looked good… manly even. Of course, she had no one to test that theory on, but every time she’d gambled there had been no awkward moments. But then, most were justworried about winning, or not losing all their money as that fool Lord Beaton had.
Lord Hamilton had helped him that night, and while she loathed the man, she had to admit that was kind of him. She’d watched from the shadows as he’d helped Lord Beaton into a hackney, after handing him his card. Evie could not hear the words they’d exchanged, however, which had been annoying, but still, at least the man was still alive, so she was grateful to Lord Hamilton for that much.
Tweaking her cravat, she hoped tonight’s winnings were good. It made their lives so much easier having a little extra money.
Upon arriving in London, Evie had started her investigations into the places gentlemen gambled. She’d found two locations that would take anyone who knocked on their door.
The last thing she donned was the blond wig she’d found in her mother’s possessions when cleaning out her things after her death. It was comforting in a small way to have something of hers. She’d been a wonderful woman, who often made sense of things when Evie couldn’t. Kind and generous, but also practical, something their father was not.
Evie swung the overcoat hanging by the front door around her shoulders and let herself out into the cold night air. Taking out the spectacles she’d also removed from her father’s possession, she put them on, pushing them to the end of her nose, so she didn’t end up walking into something.
Heathcliff Spencer was luckily slender like Evie, but he was a great deal taller, so she had to hold up the hem of his overcoat so she didn’t trip on it.
She’d so far gambled in two different locations. Both places had terrible lighting, which suited her. She never talked to anyone, just entered, gambled, and then left.
She’d worked out she could walk fast, and no one approached her. Head high, stride long and confident, she swung her cane like she was out for a promenade in the park.
Should anyone approach, Evie ignored them and walked on. So far, she’d been safe. Was she scared? Yes, terrified actually. But this had to be done if they were to get through the entire season living in that house and keeping up appearances.
The walk took her thirty minutes, as she knew the route well now. Reaching the gray stone building, she saw no one lurking about outside. The facade didn’t look like much, but she knew that inside fortunes would be won and lost, and some on this very night.
Tapping the head of her cane on the front door, Evie waited. A small opening at eye level had two eyes appearing.
“Mr. Renee,” she said in heavily accented English, having practiced deepening her voice for hours.
The door opened, and the man waved Evie inside. He closed and locked it before leading her to the next one.
She did not know the big and burly man’s name, only that he was the perfect person to squelch trouble before it escalated. One of those beefy fists could inflict a lot of damage.
He unlocked another door and waved her through. After the third one, she was inside the hellhole that was Hugh’s gambling establishment. The doors, she guessed, were to make it hard to get in, and equally hard to leave. She handed over her father’s coat, hat, and cane. Then Evie made her way down a hallway, to yet another door. Opening it, she stepped into a room thick with cigar smoke and the reek of desperation.
Shutting out the niggles of doubt that she always got entering a place like this, she focused on what needed to be done. Evie played to win, and then left without making eye contact, which was easy as she couldn’t see anything because the lighting in here was terrible.
Thick curtains covered the windows, and the entire atmosphere aimed to make a person forget about the world outside Hugh’s. Time for those in here passed without their knowledge as they focused on one thing: winning.
“Sit,” someone growled, as Evie apparently took too long to do so.
She sat slowly, like she’d practiced, in a manly way. Evie then played as she did most things, with determination. Two hours later, people had come and gone, but she had stayed, as the goddess of luck was on her side tonight.
“Brandy,” a voice to her left said, and every hair on the back of her neck rose.
She didn’t look his way but knew that voice. Damn the man, he was turning up everywhere.
“I-ah, I need to go,” the man opposite said, his eyes on Lord Hamilton. Clearly very aware of the lord’s reputation, he had no wish to play cards with him.
Evie didn’t look up as the dealer dealt.Relax.Lord Hamilton can’t tell who is sitting next to him.There was not much he cared about from what she’d gathered, other than doing exactly what he wanted to excess.
Exhaling slowly, she pushed her glasses farther up her nose.I am wearing a wig, and a beard. He will never recognize me.
The game was whist, which Evie was good at, as she could keep track of cards and what her opponents were doing. Shutting out the fact that Lord Hamilton was beside her, she focused.
He drank brandy, others whiskey or whatever suited them, and Evie touched nothing. She loathed spirits, or alcohol of any sort. At society events, she would take a sip of whatever was offered, but she rarely drank much. It was important to always keep a clear head when you were constantly one step away from social ruin.
