Chapter Twelve
Winsome had thought and then thought again about how to save Lord Manderbey from his terrible gambling habit. How could she do it? She had no power to do it. She was just a lady he’d met in Town.
At first, she imagined she might speak to him directly about it. She’d dismissed the idea. It would be so affronting for a lady to lecture a gentleman of her sphere on such a matter. Or any matter. No man would tolerate it. It would damage his dignity.
If she could not speak directly, what could she do?
Mrs. Right laid out her dress and said, “What’s on your mind, Poppet? You look very pensive. If it’s about Mr. Wicket, pay no mind. That situation is well on its way to being solved.”
“No, it is not Mr. Wicket. It is just that, well I know perfectly well I ought to run the other direction from Lord Manderbey—”
“Aye, a gambler is nothing but trouble and heartache. A lifetime of misery.”
“But I am not going to. I tried, you see, but I cannot do it. So then I thought, might I be able to help him change the habit of gambling that he’s acquired?”
Mrs. Right dropped the dress in her hands. “Change him?”
Winsome nodded. “He is perfect in every other way. It is just this one thing that might be…dangerous.”
Mrs. Right hurriedly picked up the dress. “I had not thought of changing him. No, that had never occurred to me.”
“But I rather think it could be done. I’ve just got to think of the right strategy.” Winsome paused, examining the housekeeper. “You do not think it could be done.”
“Uh, as to that, it is just…well I hadn’t really thought.”
Winsome had left it at that. She could see very well that Mrs. Right did not hold out much hope that such a thing could be accomplished.
She would not give up hope herself though.
She was tempted to ask her father, but then she must make him aware of the problem in the first place, which she had not done.
“All right,” the duke said, as the carriage barreled along the dark streets to Sir Jonathan’s scavenger hunt, “I can see very well that something is on your mind. Out with it.”
“On my mind? No, there is nothing on my mind,” Winsome said. She did not like to hide anything from her father, but this she must.
“Well now, I cannot know the particulars, but I can guess well enough the subject,” the duke said. “It is about Manderbey, one way or another.”
Winsome did not answer. Her father was really so attuned to his daughters’ feelings, it was very hard to hide anything from him.
“Now listen here, Winny, I have been down this road five times already, always with the same result. One of my daughters becomes convinced things have somehow become hopeless, they never are, and then they discover they never had anything to worry over in the first place.”
“Papa, you know very well that I am not prone to wild flights of fancy. I am a very practical person with my feet firmly on the ground.” She said it, though it was not entirely true. It used to be true, at least she had thought so.
“I only say, whatever it is, it is likely nonsense.”
The carriage had slowed and Winsome was grateful for it. She could not go on lying through omission to her own father. Sooner or later, she would crack like an egg dropped on the pavement. She must just find a way to fix Lord Manderbey’s problem before she had to hide it longer.
Sir Jonathan resided in a fine white stone house on Duke Street. They departed the carriage and made their way in, greeting their host in the great hall.
“Everyone is to gather in the ballroom and at precisely nine o’clock I will explain the rules and then everybody may make their way to the garden for the game to begin,” Sir Jonathan said. “Duke, you will find several sideboards in the ballroom that I trust you will find up to the mark.”
“You read my mind, Sir,” the duke said jovially.
The ballroom had filled as it was nearing nine o’clock already.
“Ah, there’s that rascally dowager and her grandson,” the duke said. “Duchess,” he called, leading Winsome toward one of the many sideboards lining the walls of the ballroom.
Winsome took in Lord Manderbey’s tall frame standing by his diminutive grandmother. There was nothing for it—whatever bad habit Lord Manderbey had fallen into, he was spectacular.
“Lady Winsome, Duke,” he said. “I am glad you found us. Shall we work as a team to solve the clues?”
“Very good notion, Manderbey.”
“It’s all stuff and nonsense,” Lord Manderbey said. “The prize will not be of any significance. But on the other hand, I do like to win when I can.”
Winsome suppressed a sigh. He liked to win when he could. There was the ugly head of gambling raised again.
“The competitive spirit of a young gentleman, eh, Duke?” the dowager said.
The duke nodded. To the dowager, he said, “Might I predict that you and I will satisfy ourselves with sipping the glasses we bring out with us for this absurd entertainment?”
The dowager laughed. “Yes, indeed. Let us get started!”
The duke led the lady to the sideboard so they could “get started” as the dowager termed it.
“I hope my grandmother’s attempts to keep pace with your father do not end embarrassing,” Lord Manderbey said.
“I suppose for one to be embarrassed they must agree to it,” Winsome said. “My father says it is caused by caring too much what other people might think.”
“I suppose so,” Lord Manderbey said. “Perhaps people pick and choose what it is they will find embarrassing.”
“I’ve often wondered about gambling,” Winsome said boldly. “There are such stories that go round of gentlemen getting in so deep they flee to the continent.”
“Or blow their brains out, which seems faster,” Lord Manderbey said. “After all, living penniless in a foreign land, dependent on whatever friends can be dug up, must be a slow kind of death. Everyone will soon tire of propping the fellow up and then he’s got nowhere to turn.”
Winsome felt frozen where she stood. What was he saying?
Was he in any danger of getting in that deep?
Did he mean that if he did, he would do a violence to himself?
“But I must suppose that a gentleman heading in such a serious direction might pull back. They might give it up before an unrepairable disaster.”
Lord Manderbey laughed. “That would be very sensible, but they rarely do. They chase the losses, always believing they can right the ship until the ship positively sinks.”
“They could give it up before the ship sinks, though,” Winsome said. What was wrong with him? It sounded as if he had no notion of how to save himself. It sounded as if he was powerless against the lure of gambling.
“Lady Winsome.”
She turned and found Lord St. John. Why did he have to interrupt at such a moment? “Lord St. John,” she said. She’d tried to keep the sullenness out of her tone but was not entirely certain that she had.
The two lords stared at each other in a not very friendly manner and did not even bother to exchange greetings.
“I hope we might travel through the garden together for the scavenger hunt,” Lord St. John said.
“I am afraid that will not be possible,” Lord Manderbey said. “The duke has already made arrangements for myself and my dowager to accompany Lady Winsome.”
Lord St. John looked at Winsome for confirmation or denial of this claim.
“Indeed, my father did say so,” she said.
“More than four would just be a crowd,” Lord Manderbey said.
Their host for the evening entered the ballroom at that moment, to the great acclaim of his guests. Sir Jonathan strode to the top of the ballroom and called for everyone’s attention.
“Ladies, gentlemen, thank you for attending my little charity event. This year will be different, as I imagine you have already guessed. In the garden, you will find six clues. When you know the answer to a clue, write down the first letter on the slates you will be provided. Once you have all six letters, rearrange them into the word that will solve the puzzle. The first that does so is the victor.”
The duke and the dowager returned to Winsome’s side. She noticed that they carried glasses filled to the brim. She imagined Lord Manderbey was right about supposing the dowager ought not attempt to keep pace with her father. He was a hearty individual and she was a little sparrow of a lady.
“St. John, what do you do here?” the dowager asked. “I hadn’t marked you as a man supporting charities.”
“You are mistaken, Your Grace,” Lord St. John said, “I often support a worthy cause. I am to be an ambassador, after all.”
“Ah, when do you sail?”
This threw Lord St. John on the back foot. “Uh, as to that, I have not been given official notice of the post. At this moment in time.”
“Well, fingers crossed, eh?” the duke said. “You’d best go and find your party St. John, this nonsense is set to begin.”
Having been thus dismissed, Lord St. John bowed curtly and strode through the crowd.
Winsome got the idea that he did not have a party to go to.
He’d planned to join their own party. She was not sorry to see him go.
In any case, she had more important things to consider.
Was Lord Manderbey in actual danger? Had he got himself into such a corner that he might consider the final choice?
It sent a terror through her. She had to save him. Somehow, she had to pull him back from the brink.
They made their way out of the back of the house. Lord Manderbey was handed a slate and graphite. Sir Jonathan’s garden was lit up along paths through shrubbery. At various points, such as a fountain or a bench, there were the clues they were meant to unravel.
As people took various paths to begin, the first clue they came upon read: The beginning of an Idea.
“Why is the word ‘idea’ capitalized like that?” Winsome asked.
“You are right, I had not noticed. It must mean something,” Lord Manderbey said.
“The word we’re looking for must begin with I,” the dowager said. “And that’s the last sense you’ll get out of me—this Canary is strong!”