Adele Varens 8

 

Chapter 8

 

It was a nine-days wonder, of course. To me, it was a slightly more strenuous version of something I held as normal, no different to a pair of rowers excelling in a boat race, or winning the classics prize [something I was aiming to do,] and not worthy of discussion, and so I told Tony.

“Why have you never told any of the sportsman that you climb mountains?” he asked, having leaped to conclusions.

“Why should I?” I said. “What they think of me is of no account. I don’t care.”

He blinked, owlishly. Or was that froggishly?

“But they would have given you respect for it.”

“And I do not care for the respect of beef-witted fools who give respect only for physical prowess, rather than for my quite remarkable and finely developed brains and wit.”

He laughed.

“You are so very French, Ned, with such an English name! No modesty at all about what you are good at, save to conceal something from those you despise, lest they admire you for it.”

“And there is a problem in that attitude in what respect?” I asked.

“None, I suppose. You are unique.”

“Luke would tell you that we are all unique, and only in the image of our maker, not identical pale copies of Him.”

“You’re more unique than most,” said Tony. “What is your real name?”

“Do you think I have not given it?”

“I never heard of a woman called Edward,” said Tony. “What? I may need glasses, but in some ways that gives me an advantage. I couldn’t see details, but I could see your silhouette, and I may not be a ladies’ man like some, but I can see the difference between a man and a woman when you have your coat off, and no tails to hide it.”

“Have you discussed this with Luke?” I asked.

“No; if he noticed he has said nothing.”

“My name is Adele,” I said, deciding that if Tony was that perspicacious, there was no point lying. “My father is Edward Fairfax Rochester, and he denied and betrayed me, so I use part of his name.”

“Why are you masquerading as a boy?”

“Don’t be such an idiot, Tony! How could I get a well-paid job as a girl? The best I might hope for is as a governess, at the beck and call of often mean families with spoilt brats, and no escape.”

“Marriage?”

I scoffed.

“Marriage for the commons is a meeting of equals because a working man does not despise all the help he can get; marriage for our class is as much about alliances as anything else, and who would marry the undowered bastard daughter of a French dancer and a gentleman who barely tolerated her until she ran away?”

“I would,” said Tony. “If you will have me.”

I looked on him anew.

He wasn’t the most handsome man I knew; that was a card sharp, who fascinated women, and made them fall for his charms and then discarded them like the two of clubs. Handsome is as handsome does.

He had a pleasant enough face with ready smile, which would not be a hardship to wake up next to.

“Tony,” I said, “You are being unwontedly impulsive because you are a chivalrous and sweet. But don’t make an offer you may regret; let us finish our degrees, and think again.”

“At least you have not turned me down flat,” he said.

“Believe me, I consider it seriously,” I said. “I want to prove myself first.”

He smiled.

“You have more than proved yourself to me, even without such a prodigious feat as to rescue my hat,” he said. “But I will wait for as long as you want.”

I felt unwontedly funny inside.

The thought of Adele Rawlins and a husband with an old family buying out Thornfield and rebuilding, to cock a snoot at my father as soon as he realised it was me had an attractive side. It was also the wrong reason to marry someone. 

Could I live with Tony for the rest of my life?

Probably.

But I would have to be honest about what I had done to attain this goal; and I was not sure how he would take it. Would he be disgusted? Angered? I did not want that. It would hurt.

Better to be left alone as a subject for now.

Meanwhile, I wanted to be as well off as possible.

Quarrels between married couples over money are ugly. Trust me; I used to listen at my knothole in the floor. Even if Tony achieved his ambitions, it would be a long time before he had a job well enough paying for us to live in comfort; and equally for me to establish myself as a barrister, even if my secret was not betrayed before that time. Therefore I would continue to gamble in Devonill’s club, he who was the most handsome man I have ever seen. But although playing cards with him was a thrill of the deepest, because of pitting my wits against him, he had that about him which reminded me too much of Rochester to want to know him better.

Always, there are foolish girls who look at bad men, and think to themselves, all he needs is a good woman. And in the case of most of them, they are more likely to corrupt and spoil the goodness and wholesomeness of any fair womanhood dragged into their barrel of rotten apples than they are to be reformed, and leave the woman eaten by maggots and decaying. Me, I cannot see the appeal in bad men, save to profit from, and one should be careful with that, also, for not wishing to go for an involuntary swim in the river with stones in a sack tied to one.

Thus, I played against the richest of his gulls, and won judiciously but not excessively. And still I could win a thousand pounds a week without the fools I played against noticing its loss.

I was surprised to be hailed by Irontongue on my way into town to the club.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Out,” I said.

“I can see that. Where?”

“Are you my keeper off campus, sir?” I asked.

“No; but if you are going gambling at Devonill’s I want to warn you that I believe he marks the cards and the dice are loaded.”

“I know that,” I said. “I unmark his cards as he marks them; he won’t play against me now, as the odds are stacked against him. I do not play dice, as there is no skill involved. I am not, sir, a baby.”

“Good God!” he said. “Less of a baby than some, despite your cherubic looks and being…” he tailed off.

I cocked my head on one side.

“I am grateful to you for fishing me out of the sky,” I said. “But a fish caught is not necessarily ripe for eating.”

“My apologies,” he said. “But I wish you will take care.”

“Enfin, always I take care,” I said. “The Good Lord has seen fit to give me my life, and it behoves me to take care of his gift.” I smiled. “I have a sword-stick and I carry a small percussion pistol.”

“Enterprising,” said Irontongue.

I had obtained both from Sam Cohen. He did not know the stick was a swordstick, and I had bought the gun openly when its ticket expired in the pawnshop part of his premises.

Now why was old Irontongue suddenly so solicitous?

He had guided me through that shutter. Maybe he had felt things I was usually resistant to men feeling.

Well, he could have taken my secret to the Dean, so I should be wary of him, but treat him with gratitude for keeping quiet.

There was still a matter of cooking the fish one briefly hooked, however.

I confess, I was a little concerned that if he knew my secret, he would hold it over me for bedroom favours. I did not think he would, but that might be because I was partisan and rather liked the old stick. But if he tried, two could play that game.

I do not say I was a little unsettled as I headed for Devonill’s sumptuous hell.

Reader, such places have been exposed in the newspapers, so doubtless all are familiar with the air or quiet opulence that pervades all the games rooms. There is a foyer as in any private house. The ballroom was an open space with a roulette wheel and its table for betting dominating the space, sundry hazard tables, and niches for card games. There was a bar at one end, and tables to eat the snack meals which were available; the waiters dispensed sandwiches, pasties, Melton Mowbray pies, and so on; something to fill the bellies of the players at their gaming table without interrupting their play, or in a pause between games. Wine flowed like water, water did not flow, and though coffee was plentiful, you could not get a decent cup of tea.  I learned to like tea at school; and also Mr. Cohen made strong tea for his workers. It is an altogether too English thing to like tea with milk and sugar; the continental way to drink it is with lemon.

I drink coffee, however, but I will not drink coffee at Devonill’s. Who knows what may go into a cup of coffee, hidden by the bitterness of the drink, while the waiters make it? One drop of laudanum can be enough to make someone a little sleepy and confused, and easy to blame on long hours of play.  I have not caught Paul Devonill at it, but I have seen enlarged pupils and the way such clients act. It is greed; in an honest house, the house always wins, unless the proprietor is unusually inept and stupid. Gaming houses do not go bust without a lot of ineptitude. Or maybe blatantly venal practices which drive clients away. Devonill was clever, though; his loaded dice gave only a slight edge, and he did not mark the cards for any but the most innocent. Or at least, the most innocent-looking.  And then the doctoring of coffee is of the most discreet.

I carried a hip-flask.

It contained good clean water.

I bought wine because it was required; I just did not drink it.

Deverill made a point of coming over to drink down the wine I made a point of leaving; he had given up complaining. My modest wins were probably good advertising for the club.

You cannot stop young man gambling; and it’s none of my business anyway. I’m not their mother. If I ever have sons, I will give them an allowance and cheat to win it from them before they ever get to school, so they know what the cruel hard world is like.

One does children no favours by pampering them; but they must know that they are loved.

Though speaking of children, I could not help but notice one of the young aristocrats who attended some lectures with us. 

It is the way of the world that such scions of nobility, or at least, what is seen as nobility when all the world has forgotten what dastardly deeds their ancestors did to earn titles, to swan through university with little effort, and guaranteed honours. It is like buying colours in the military, an outlay of cash for position and honour which in many cases is then never used again. The concept of earning money with their degrees is as horrifying to them as the concept of taking their pretty uniforms and shiny swords onto an actual battlefield.  But some of them are harmless enough butterflies, and August Halliwell, heir to an old title and as amiable as he was stupid, both of which qualities he possessed in generous quantities, was at one of the tables with Beau Deverill himself, and becoming more and more agitated. Hesitatingly, he pulled off the large signet ring he wore, and pledged it.

Little fool! Gambling debts his father might forgive, but even I understand the significance of things like signet rings.

He lost it, of course.

He got up, and seemed to be pleading with Deverill, who slipped the ring on his own finger.  Halliwell jerked as if slapped. He turned and stumbled out.

I folded my hand, forfeiting the money I had bet on this hand, and swept up my earlier winnings.

“Sorry, all, I have to see a man about a dog,” I said, following Halliwell out.

I caught up with him gazing into the river, and was able to jerk him back as he seemed about to jump.

“It’s a piece of jewellery, not as valuable as your life,” I said. “I’ll win it back for you.”

“Oh! You don’t understand,” cried Halliwell, tears drenching his eyes. “There is a tradition, a poem; ‘Lose the ring for more than a day, death to the family comes your way;’ and he will only give it back as a wedding ring to my sister, and I cannot permit that!”

“So I should think,” I said.