Chapter Five
When Pamela returned to the ballroom, she discovered that indeed several gentlemen were desirous of leading her on to the dance floor. Monsieur Phillippe seemed to have taken charge of keeping them in line, since he introduced her to her first partner, whom he named as Valencourt. A very young fair-haired and rather tongue-tied gentleman, whose steps had obviously been honed by a dancing master who had failed to impart any style or grace.
She recalled that he had spent a considerable amount of money at her table earlier in the evening, but had thankfully stopped when his chips ran out.
‘Mr Valencourt. How kind of you to ask me to dance,’ she said with a smile intended to put him at ease.
He blushed. ‘Mrs Lamb. The honour is mine. Most grateful. I m-mean...’ He stuttered into silence.
‘The weather is very mild for this time of year,’ he said, after a few minutes. He sounded as if he was following some sort of script called ‘The Rules for Conversation while Dancing’.
She kept her tone light and friendly. ‘Perhaps the winter will be mild also?’
He grinned and seemed to relax a little. ‘You are not like the other girls,’ he said, leaning close and dropping his voice. ‘They always make me feel as if I have two left feet.’
‘Surely not? You are an excellent dancer.’
His blush deepened. ‘Thank you. It... Umm... I mean...one dances better when one has...’ he swallowed ‘...a partner who...’
He swallowed again.
Oh, dear. Poor young man. She felt sorry for him. ‘A partner with whom one feels comfortable.’
‘A partner who dances beautifully,’ he said in a rush.
‘Why, thank you, Mr Valencourt. You are very kind.’ She twirled under his arm and they promenaded down the length of the ballroom side by side.
‘Not kind,’ he said, sounding rather strangled.
Glancing up at his face, she saw he was once again struggling for words.
Fortunately, the music was drawing to a close and Monsieur Phillippe was trying to catch their attention.
Valencourt dutifully walked her back to him. ‘Can I ask you to dance again?’
She smiled. ‘Not tonight. It would not be seemly.’ Actually she had no idea of the rules, but she didn’t want to give the poor young man any false ideas.
The next gentleman waiting to dance with her was Lord James, the young man who had jumped to her defence when it had looked as if one of her players might accuse her of cheating after losing badly. She had been horrified by the accusation. If there had been any cheating going on, she would have refused to take part. But she had also been a little scared by the young man’s outburst, though she had tried not to show it.
She smiled at Lord James as he led her out on to the floor. The music began and they danced in silence for a while, each getting used to the other as they moved through the opening steps. So far every dance had been a waltz and the patrons seemed to be enjoying themselves.
‘I must thank you for your kind assistance earlier, with Mr Smythe.’
‘Smythe was making a cake of himself,’ he said. ‘And not for the first time. Everyone knows Dart’s parties are the one place one can be assured the die are not weighted and the cards are not marked. He’s a gentleman, for heaven’s sake.’
‘Nevertheless, I appreciate your intervention.’
‘I haven’t seen you here before. You are not like the other girls.’
He was the second man to make this observation. ‘In what way?’
He looked thoughtful as he twirled her around. ‘You are more refined, and...nicer, somehow.’
‘Nicer.’ She chuckled. ‘A milk-and-water miss, am I?’
He grinned. ‘No. I didn’t mean it that way. Perhaps I should have said kinder.’
‘Have the other ladies been unkind to you?’
‘They are not unkind. They are just not kind. For them it’s all about the chips on the table. You seem to take an interest in a chap. And Betsy would have slapped Smythe down instantly, whereas you tried not to hurt his feelings.’
‘Which did not work very well, until you spoke up.’
‘But you see, if Betsy had been there, we might have egged him on a bit, enjoyed the argument, but tonight everyone at the table was on your side. So he left.’
‘Well, I am glad for his sake he left, because he had lost a lot of money, I think.’
‘And that’s what makes you different. You care.’
‘Now you are making me sound like some sort of saint. And I can assure you I am not.’
His laugh was infectious. ‘That is the last thing I would say you are.’
Good heavens, what did he mean? Better not to ask.
On the way back to Monsieur Phillippe, Pamela was surprised to see him approached by a couple who looked—well, they looked mischievous and perhaps a little excited. Monsieur Phillip smiled at the pair and pulled something from his inside breast pocket, which he handed to the man, with what she could only describe as a knowing grin.
The pair left the ballroom at speed.
‘Where are they going?’ she asked Monsieur Phillippe once Lord James had delivered her safely.
‘Who?’
He knew very well whom she meant. ‘The couple that were with you right before I returned.’
He waved a vague arm. ‘I am sure I have no idea what you mean.’
He’s lying.
But there was no time to question him further, her next dance partner was already eagerly reaching for her hand. Besides, what business of hers was it when they had looked so pleased?
‘Who is the new girl?’
Damian didn’t have to follow the direction of Lord Hill’s gaze to know he was referring to Mrs Lamb. The dancing had finished a half-hour before and the croupiers were back at their tables.
Hill, a retired army colonel, was gazing at her as if he was a wolf who had just spotted an unattended sheep.
Damian gritted his teeth and replied pleasantly, ‘Mrs Lamb? She is no one in particular.’ At least no one he was prepared to admit to just yet. Fortunately Lamb was a common enough last name and no one was likely to associate a croupier at his parties with the well-connected Lambs of Bexley. ‘She is one of my staff who agreed to help out this evening in the absence of one of our regular croupiers.’
‘If I were you, I would make her one of your regular croupiers. These parties of yours were getting a little mundane, old fellow. Quite dull. She has livened things up considerably.’
Mundane? Dull? What the devil was he talking about? Damian glanced around. Was the crowd thinner tonight than usual? Was the ton in need of more excitement?
Damn them for a bunch of spoiled wastrels.
‘She’s quite the beauty,’ Hill went on. ‘By the time I got to Monsieur Phillippe, all her dances were spoken for. All the young fellows are enchanted.’
He had noticed that much for himself. ‘Why is that, I wonder?’
‘I was asking myself that. She is not as intimidating as the other gals. She don’t scare them. But she don’t put up with any of their nonsense either. And there is an aura of mystery about her. A sense of secrets.’
Damian forced himself not to smile at the description. Mrs Lamb did indeed have secrets. And she had done well this evening. Much better than he had expected.
Perhaps he should strike while the iron was hot. Something to consider.
‘I thank you for your advice. Do you have other thoughts on how we might enliven the evening for our guests?’
He had, though. Making the club exclusive would be temptation enough, along with the provision of private rooms where guests could pursue their peccadilloes, no questions asked.
‘Higher stakes.’
Some men liked to live on the edge of disaster. But higher stakes meant higher risks for the house. That he would have to discuss with Pip.
Hill wandered off to join one of the other tables and Damian, as was his wont, wandered the room, checking on each of the tables in turn, except that he seemed to return to Mrs Lamb’s table more often than any of the others.
What was it that drew so many of the young men into her orbit? The ton did indeed like novelty. It was part of the reason his club had taken off so quickly. There was nothing else like it.
But if they became bored, then that would not suit his purposes at all.
‘Do you know you have the most beautiful eyes?’ Mr Galt said, gazing adoringly at Mrs Lamb. ‘Won’t you remove your mask and let me see your face? I am sure you must be the loveliest woman here.’
Damian had to restrain himself from planting the fellow a facer. As it was he took a step closer, ready to usher the young man out.
The rules were clear. No one was to touch the lady croupiers.
Mrs Lamb smiled at him calmly. ‘I take no responsibility for the eyes the Lord gave me, Mr Galt. Or the curve of my lips, Lord Raif,’ she added, smiling at another of the young men. ‘And, no, I will not remove my mask simply to edify your curiosity.’
There was some good-natured laughter and a fair bit of jostling of the young men who had been so bold. The sort of laughter that suggested the others also were dying to see behind her mask, but were a smidgeon glad Galt had not been successful because they wanted to be the ones who convinced her to reveal herself.
‘Do you plan to make a wager, Mr Galt, or will you give your place to someone who will?’
Tonight would not be the night when she unmasked.
‘Wagers, please, ladies and gentlemen,’ Mrs Lamb said firmly.
Chips and sovereigns were pushed forward on the green baize. ‘Blast,’ said Lord James. ‘I am out of cash.’
He was one of the fellows she had danced with earlier.
Lord James pulled out a notebook, clearly intending to write a vowel.
‘Are you sure, you want to do that?’ she said, putting her hand on the scrap of paper. ‘You have lost rather a lot already.’
Damian frowned. The pile of winnings at her elbow was large, but included not one vowel? Unusual. How many more young men had she discouraged in this way?
He stepped forward. ‘Your vowel is good with us, Lord James,’ he said smoothly.
Mrs Lamb shot him a startled glance. ‘Oh, but—’
‘My dear Mrs Lamb, you have been on your feet for hours, not to mention the way these young fellows were stepping on your toes not so very long ago.’ He gave her a glare when she didn’t move. ‘Off you go. Take a well-earned break. I will look after things here.’
A couple of the fellows gave a groan and for a moment he thought Lord James would argue, but Damien smiled at him and glanced around at the other players. ‘Place your bets, please, ladies and gentlemen.’
After a brief hesitation, Mrs Lamb left the table and glided away.
A few moments later Pip arrived at his side. ‘All well?’ he asked sotto voce.
‘Take over for me,’ Damian said and went off in search of the blasted woman.
He found her in the retiring room pouring herself a cup of tea. They were alone.
The taste of the anger at the back of his throat was as familiar as his face in the mirror. Anger at those who had made his family flee their home. Anger at his father for playing the gentleman when he could not put food on the table. Anger at what circumstances had forced him to become.
Damn it. He had nothing to be ashamed of.
‘Why the devil were you stopping him from writing his vowel? What next? Will you be letting them win?’
She glared up at him. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth thinned to a straight line.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said stiffly.
‘Are you deliberately trying to ruin me?’
‘Are you trying to ruin that young man? He had run out of money.’
‘Lord James is a wealthy young man. What he loses here tonight he will make back tomorrow on the ’Change. He would not be here if he could not afford the stakes.’
‘Oh. I see. I had no idea, but—’
‘Exactly. You had no idea. But you decided anyway.’ He took a deep breath. ‘The evening is about done. I have no further need for you. You may return to your chambers.’
‘As you wish.’ She put down the teacup.
She looked hurt and he felt as if he had kicked a puppy or drowned a kitten. Dammit it, she was the one at fault.
He followed her out and down the hall, making sure she made it safely to her part of the house. He didn’t want some wag from his party attempting to see behind the mask, or worse. By this hour they were all half-seas over.
He and Pip always made sure the girls were not importuned by their guests, male or female. It was simply good sense and had nothing to do with feeling protective towards this woman.
Pamela was still seething about her abrupt dismissal the day before when she entered her kitchen. She halted at the sight of the man seated at her kitchen table among the dirty dishes which she had not had time to deal with the previous evening, because she had done him a favour.
How dare he? He needn’t think she was going to cook him a special breakfast today.
‘Good morning, My Lord,’ she said stiffly. ‘Breakfast will be available in the servants’ hall at seven.’
‘I am leaving for London in a few minutes so no need to prepare anything.’
He gave her a shamefaced glance. A rather boyishly endearing look, if she was to be honest. Her stomach gave a strange little pulse. Clearly, she needed to give that part of her a good talking to. He was definitely in her bad books.
‘I came to apologise for my outburst last night.’
Well, blast the man. Here she was happily being annoyed with him and now he had completed melted her defences.
‘Apology accepted.’ She worked her way around him to the stove and picked up the coal scuttle.
‘Allow me.’
He had moved so swiftly, so silently, she hadn’t heard him come up behind her. She jumped. And he took the scuttle from her now rather nerveless hands.
‘Not too much,’ she said. ‘Or it will smoke. Er... I mean, thank you.’
‘Tell me when to stop.’
He shook the coal in a few pieces at a time. ‘Yes, that is enough.’
He put the scuttle down and brushed the coal dust off his hands. ‘That thing is heavy.’
‘Yes.’
He looked around. ‘And where do you fill it?’
‘In the coal cellar. Beside your wine cellars,’ she added when he looked vaguely about him.
‘Oh, I see. Do I need to order more?’
‘You are being very conciliatory this morning.’
He grimaced and it really was a naughty lad’s expression. ‘I...er...well, I was talking to Pip and he mentioned that of all the tables last night, yours was the most profitable. So I thought I would ask if you would continue on as a croupier on party nights.’
She looked at the mess. Normally she would have had this all cleaned up before she went to bed. Not that she really had anything else much to do today since there would be no one else at the house but her.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I am a cook. That is why you hired me. And besides,’ she went on, thinking about what her taking on these additional duties would mean, ‘I don’t want to put Betsy or Meg out of work.’
‘You don’t need to worry about that.’
‘Oh, but I do. You might not care about what happens to those ladies, but I do. They rely on the money you pay them.’
‘I mean, you won’t be putting them out of work. They will continue as before. I have had another idea. I ran it by Pip and he thinks it is a grand idea.’
‘What sort of idea?’ He was looking too pleased with himself.
‘I would like you to become my hostess. To be in charge of the girls while Pip and I look after the guests and security.’
‘I don’t think I understand.’
‘You would attend the parties, dinner and, afterwards, when we play cards, move from table to table, ensuring the guests are happy, talking with them, making sure they have drinks. Generally acting as the hostess of the evening. You could also relieve each girl in turn so we never have an empty table and that way all the tables will benefit from your presence. You will, of course, be well recompensed, based on earnings for the night.’
The girls were paid according to the earnings at their table. ‘Based on earnings at all the tables?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I think—well, we think the house will do better, to be honest.’
Last night had been fun. At least, it had until the end. And there had been no one there who had shown any sign of recognition. The two men whose names she had recognised had visited her father only, not the family. Besides, the mask had protected her identity. But the next party might be different. What if someone she did know was one of the attendees. A relative, or a friend of Alan’s. It was too much of a risk.
She shook her head. ‘It is a kind offer, but I prefer to remain as your cook.’
He looked at the dishes stacked on the table. ‘I suppose you did not have time to clear up last night.’
‘Neither time nor inclination.’
‘Yes, of course. You must have been tired. It was a long night for everyone. I will get you some help from the village, so you won’t have to face a pile of dirty dishes in the morning, if that would help change your mind. Oh, I almost forgot.’ He pulled a sheaf of banknotes from his pocket and handed them to her. ‘This is your share of the takings from last night.’
She stared at what looked like a king’s ransom. ‘You cannot mean it.’
‘I do.’
‘So much money lost at the tables?’ It seemed immoral.
‘That and payment for your dances.’
‘Oh. I did not realise they were paying...’
He shrugged. ‘Why would the girls want to dance with the patrons for free when they could be putting their feet up in the withdrawing room?’
‘Why, indeed. And what else do they do for money?’
‘Now, now, Mrs Lamb, you have a very earthy turn of mind. My staff does not do anything of that sort under my roof. It is against the rules.’
‘I saw couples leaving the dancing—’
‘Couples who came together. Not my ladies. Now what do you say?’
He seemed very anxious for her to say yes. And if she made that amount of money each evening, she could retire to a little cottage in the country in no time at all.
It was so very tempting.
But she couldn’t risk being recognised.
She shook her head. ‘I am sorry. It is out of the question.’
‘I see.’ His voice was full of disappointment.
She felt guilty. As if she had let him down. ‘You see, it is possible that I might know someone among your guests. My mother isn’t pleased about my becoming a cook, but since I am always tucked away in a kitchen, no one is likely to know. On the other hand, if I was recognised acting as a hostess at what is really a gambling hell—whatever you say about it being respectable—I think it would be ruinous. Reputations other than mine would be destroyed.’
‘And last night you were not concerned about this, because you knew you would leave before the unmasking?’
She nodded.
‘Then continue to leave.’
‘Won’t people wonder why I disappear?’
‘Let them wonder. The ton loves a bit of intrigue.’
‘I really don’t think—’
‘Give it a try for a couple of weeks. If you don’t like it, you can go back to your kitchen and I won’t hold it against you.’
She looked at the wad of banknotes in her hand and back at his face—he was grinning like a schoolboy.
Her dream of her own little cottage seemed as though it could become a reality. ‘Very well. I will try it for two weeks.’
‘That’s the ticket.’ He whirled her around in a circle and took off out of the door, leaving her gasping for breath.
Oh, my word!What had she done?
Let him charm her. That was what she had done.