Miss gabriels gambit, p.10
Miss Gabriel’s Gambit, page 10
“Do you have your uncle’s Will?” David asked.
Sylvia blinked and shook her head. “No, I am afraid not. However,” she hastened to add, seeing his disappointment, “I do know the clues by heart.” She set the embroidery frame aside and closing her eyes in concentration, she began to recite.
“Yea, dance with a fool, I shall not allow,
Silly Sylvia to wed him anyhow.
For though I may be buried and dead,
No fool’s mate shall ye take to your bed.
When you seek to tread the matrimonial measure,
You shall recall these words with pleasure.
King’s pawn black, king’s pawn white,
Bishop’s move black and black’s move knight.
Knight to rook’s forth move again,
Queen to rook’s fifth, bishop’s mate at end.
Seek the board and step at leisure,
And you shall uncover the Rajah’s treasure.”
She opened her eyes to find David staring raptly at her. “My uncle was a far better chess-player than he was a poet, I fear.”
“I would say so,” David said, scrambling to recall the words of the poem, having been utterly distracted by the woman who recited it. “‘The Rajah’s treasure,’ I suppose, is the fortune your father amassed from his play in India?”
Sylvia nodded.
“And the ‘fool’s mate,’ is Lord Highslip?” David guessed. Sylvia’s blush was a confirmation.
“Uncle objected strongly to the match. He told me that I ought to give other men a chance. In fact, his last requests stipulated that the family travel to London immediately for a Season and that no mourning should be observed.”
“Mama deemed it so outré a demand that she gave up a substantial financial incentive to repair to London right after the burial,” Caroline added.
“Perhaps Aunt Ruby was right. She claimed Uncle was out of his head when he made the Will, for he had always been something of a stickler for proper behavior,” Sylvia speculated. Which was why he never wished it known that I am a mistress of chess, she added silently. Even Uncle deemed chess no proper woman’s game.
“Failing to mourn properly would have gained nothing but condemnation,” David agreed. “And the chess puzzle seems somewhat out of kilter.”
“I was sure that he was referring to one of the eight classic ‘fool’s mates,’” Sylvia mused. “Except that black takes precedence and white has only one move.” Sylvia flushed as she realized that David was looking at her. “Coming from a family such as mine, milord, one cannot help but absorb something of the game. I was my uncle’s secretary for several years and he taught me a bit,” Sylvia said, hoping that her hedging had satisfied him.
“I would have expected as much, both your father and uncle being premier chess-players,” David said.
“They were indeed,” Sylvia said, seizing the opportunity to turn his attention from herself. “Papa devoted his life to the game, travelling all over Europe, the East, even the Americas, searching for worthy opponents. He would win and lose fortunes.”
“John Gabriel!” Petrov interjected. “Winning, without question.”
Sylvia nodded. “He rarely lost a game, even when it would have been more politic to do so. One Pasha nearly had him beheaded for daring to trounce him, but we escaped. Mama disguised him as her maid, hiding him in a chador and veil.” She smiled at the recollection of her dignified papa in skirts.
“Truly?” David asked in surprise.
“The costume is in the attic somewhere, I believe, among my parents’ things if you do not credit me. We travelled everywhere with Mama and Papa. The family was rarely in the same place for more than a month,” Sylvia said. “There were so few players that could match Papa, you see. He always had to move on to fresh competition.”
David heard the traces of wistfulness in her voice. “It must have been a strange life for a child.”
“It was certainly unusual” Sylvia agreed. “There were times that I wished for a proper home, but I do not think that either of us, my brother William or myself, would have really wanted to miss the adventures we had.”
Her eyes were far away as if focused on those distant lands and her lips curved upward dreamily, as she recalled those days, but the smile disappeared as she continued.
“However, Mama . . . it was extremely difficult for her. We lived like nomads, constantly packing and unpacking. I think that she almost hated the game. When I was very small, I recall playing with the pieces and Mama knocked them out of my hand and began to cry.”
“But why did your mama tolerate it then?” David asked. “Surely they had funds for a home in England?”
“She adored Papa and she was his anchor. He often said that she made his life possible. He loved Mama, but I think that she always believed that he loved the game more,” Sylvia said. “Chess was my mother’s greatest rival. I heard her say once that she wanted to come first. Every woman wants to be above all else in a man’s life.”
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears and David wondered if she were thinking of Highslip, who had put money before love. Was Caroline correct? Was her cousin still nursing a broken heart despite the fact that the man had been proven an utter blackguard? It was easy to understand why Sir Miles had gone to such extreme lengths to protect his niece from Highslip and David’s resolve was firmed. Brummel was correct; locating her fortune would be the ultimate revenge for the suffering that Highslip had inflicted upon her.
“Due to chess, you have endured much Miss Gabriel,” Petrov observed. Is amazing to me you do not hate the Game of Kings as much as your mama did.”
“Oh no,” Sylvia declared, “‘Tis not the game that causes the difficulties, ‘tis the player. It makes no matter if it is Faro or the Fancy. Some people allow themselves to become obsessed, to allow a game to dictate all aspects of their lives. My father was merely one of many such people.”
Did she number him among the obsessed, David wondered? After all, he had never allowed chess to control his life. Or had he? The wager? It was a distinctly disconcerting thought. He chose to change the subject.
“Shall we get back to the matter at hand?” David asked, polishing his spectacles, avoiding her frank gaze. “Call me David, please,” he requested, pushing the wire frame back up his nose. “After all, as you pointed out last evening, we can be considered old friends.”
“Very well, David. And you too, may use my given name,” Sylvia agreed. “Where shall we begin? I suppose I need not tell you that the moves in Uncle’s poem were tried on every chessboard in Crown Beeches. We even ripped some apart in the hopes that we would find some hidden compartment within the squares, but there was nothing.”
David thought for a moment. “Clearly, it was your uncle’s intent that you come to London in short order after his demise. Have you searched the chessboards here?”
“Aunt Ruby had most of the larger ones transported to the country to be examined,” Sylvia said, “although, I can think of a few she missed. I have come to believe that Uncle wanted us to leave Crown Beeches because he wanted me to get away from Hugo - Lord Highslip, I mean.”
“But what if the treasure is here?” Caroline asked, excitedly. “Could that be why he wanted us to make such unseemly haste to London?”
“Both it might be,” said Petrov. “Your uncle, he was most fond of fork attacks.”
Caroline gave him a puzzled look.
“Is when one piece can threaten two,” Petrov explained. “Smashing two birds with one rock.”
“Ah, I see. Two birds with one stone!”
“Just so!” Petrov beamed joyously at Caroline.
Within a few hours, the four of them had hunted down and examined every chessboard in the house. From the lacquered Chinese chessboard of jade and silver in the study to young Miles’ wooden board in the nursery, every square was closely examined, played upon in the manner prescribed by the late Sir Miles’ rhyme, using all eight variations of a fool’s mate.
“Never fear, I will have it repaired,” David promised, surveying the sad remains of Miles’ chessboard. The inlaid squares had seemed to conceal a hollow and so, they had taken it to pieces. “Is that the last of them?”
“'Cept, the little one in your room, Syl.” Miles remembered.
“`Tis but a small pocket set that was my father’s,” Sylvia said, going into the room and bringing out a teak and mahogany case for them to view. She opened it to reveal a well-used tiny board with peg pieces. “As you can see, there can be nothing concealed in it.”
“Your cousin is sleeping in the nursery, Caroline?” Petrov asked in astonishment.
Caroline flushed in embarrassment and Sylvia went over to take her hand.
“It is none of Caro’s doing, you may be certain, Mr. Petrov. I am naught but a poor relation now,” Sylvia said, trying to smile. “And so, it seems, I am destined to remain.” She turned abruptly toward the window, unwilling to let the others see her disappointment. Despite her doubts, a small seed of hope had grown. Now, as it withered and died, the future stretched out before her like an endless desert.
A footman rapped at the nursery door. “Miss Caroline, Miss Sylvia, Mrs. Gabriel requests that you return downstairs immediately if you are done with your tour of the house. Leastways, that’s what Mr. Boniface told her you were up to.”
“Thank you, Robbie,” Caroline said to the servant, “and thank Boniface as well for his quick thinking. We shall be down in a trice.” She put an arm on Sylvia’s shoulder. “I shall tell Mama that Miles required your attention, Syl. That should give you a few moments to compose yourself.” She kissed her cousin on the cheek and started out with Petrov and David, but in the hallway David hesitated and went back to the nursery.
“Don’t worry, Syl,” he heard Miles say. “`Tis only another twelve years and then Mama can’t tell me what to do no more. I been thinking, if I got to marry somebody, might as well be you. You can play chess and you fly a kite better than any girl I know, don’t cut up stiff at frogs neither.”
David moved closer and watched unseen as Sylvia knelt beside the boy and gathered him close.
“High praise, indeed! I thank you most kindly for your generous offer of your hand, noble sir,” she said, hugging him to her. “We have missed our usual Friday morning kite fly in Green Park. Shall we go next week? I fear it cannot be earlier.”
“Can we Syl? That’ll be famous. And just remember, you needn’t worry about Mama. You can stay with me, till we get married,” Miles added, squirming slightly. “If she tries to get another governess, I’ll run her off. See if I don’t.”
Reluctantly, Sylvia let him go and looked up to see David standing in the doorway. “You needn’t have waited for me, David,” she said softly. “I shall be fine. As you no doubt heard, I have received a most honorable proposal.”
“Indeed, I did,” David said, offering his hand to the boy. “You are a very discerning young man, Miles. Ladies who do not cut up stiff at frogs and go kite-flying every Friday, are the rarest of breeds.”
“Why don’t you marry her now, if you want?” Miles said, cocking his head sidewise in thought. “Won’t be able to do it myself for few years.”
Sylvia’s tear-stained face broke into a smile. “Trying to fob me off already, you young scamp! You cannot trade wives about like marbles and besides, Lord Donhill cannot marry anyone, unless he loses his wager.”
“But Syl!” Miles began to protest.
She spoke quickly to staunch him, knowing that the boy could easily spill her secret. “Even if I could trounce him, Miles,” she said, “I would not, you know. I could not abide a life dictated by a game. I saw what it did to my mama, how it hurt her. People’s lives are not pieces to be lost and won by skill or luck. I want to be loved fully, to always be first in someone’s heart.”
“Guess you’ll just have to wait for me, Syl,” Miles said, cheerfully. “Want me to put your board away?”
Wordlessly, she handed Miles the small chess set and he scampered out of the room. She rose and saw an angry frown upon David’s brow. She groaned inwardly. Obviously, he had taken personal offense from her words.
“I did not mean to rebuke you, David,” she said, trying to contain a growing sense of annoyance. She had spoken no less than the truth.
“You did,” David contradicted stiffly. “Females understand nothing about wagers, about honor.”
“And men do?” Sylvia said, her head shaking in disbelief. “I am full to the gills with the protestations of men and their strange concepts of honor. A titled man may woo a woman for her purse, that is honorable! Yet a female who courts a man for money is an adventuress. A man may mount a mistress! Yet a woman who seeks pleasure outside of marriage is a doxy. My uncle hides my money…”
“For your own protection,” David said, his jaw tightening. “To prevent you from wedding a greedy, penniless fribble.”
“And am I well protected now?” Sylvia mocked, her eyes narrowing. “An unpaid governess, a free maid of all work! Dependent upon my aunt’s most gracious charity for the remainder of my life because I am a female and deemed to be too weak-minded to make sensible decisions! However, unlike myself, you, at least, were given some choice, Lord Donhill. But you have selected your own doom, to remain alone all the rest of your days. Because of your wretched honor you will stick to a stupid vow, made in an hour of drunkenness. I cry fie upon such honor, milord!” She whirled and left the room.
David stared after her in disbelief. The girl had obviously been overset by disappointment. Still, as he went slowly down the stairs, her derisive words echoed after him.
“Did you enjoy your tour, Lord Donhill?” Mrs. Gabriel asked as he returned to the parlor.
“Lovely place, isn’t it?” Observed a familiar voice from behind.
David turned to face Lord Highslip. The elegant earl smiled superciliously and David felt a surge of anger. How dare he come here, after what he had done to plague Sylvia? It was not to be borne.
“You are improving,” Highslip noted with a patronizing sniff. “I am forced to admit that your neckcloth appears almost decent.”
“Does it?” David asked, reaching out to grasp the delicate folds of Highslip’s linen in a squeeze. “I have always wondered how you tie this. A Mathematical, is it not?”
“Was!” Highslip snapped, his lower lip jutting in annoyance. “You have quite ruined my neckcloth, sirrah. ‘Tis lucky indeed that I know you to be untutored in civilized ways. Were anyone else to do that, I might call them out.”
“You need not accord me any special privileges if I offended you,” David said, his voice dangerously smooth.
Petrov sprang up and grasped David by the shoulder. “You will not be starting duel in Caro’s drawing room,” the Russian murmured softly as he steered his friend toward a chair.
“Lord Highslip is telling us that you have been starting something of a fashion,” Petrov said, with a quelling look. “The betting books are being full of wagers, men saying they will not be marrying ladies who cannot out-fence them or out-shoot them or out-do them in some other way.”
“I say, ‘tis wicked,” Mrs. Gabriel said, her jowls shaking as she scowled at David in annoyance.
“I must agree, Mrs. Gabriel,” Highslip said, his lip curling derisively. “Marriage is a most felicitous state, a blessing to be rejoiced in. Hiding behind a wager is the height of foolishness.”
“I am so glad you think so!” Mrs. Gabriel declared, chortling in delight. “Do you not agree, Caroline darling?”
“Of course, Mama.” Caroline nodded obediently, looking down at her lap to hide her mortification.
“She is such a good gel. She sews, milord and her voice is so fine . . .”
“Maybe she should be opening up her mouth so he can be looking on her teeth,” Petrov muttered glumly as Mrs. Gabriel loudly prattled her list of Caroline’s fine points. “I am changing mine mind. Go, be grabbing his neckcloth again and I be your second, or better, I grab.”
“I cannot understand why she receives him,” David mumbled. “The out-and-outer has all but spoiled her niece’s chances and yet she entertains his suit for her daughter.”
“Is simple. Rook outranks pawn and English earl bests nephew of Russian Grand Duke,” Petrov whispered somberly.
Sylvia stood by the door, eyes wide with shock when she saw Highslip sitting in her aunt’s parlor. She would have turned to leave, but Aunt Ruby’s eyes gave a silent command.
“Sylvia, have you finished with Miles’ lessons?” Mrs. Gabriel asked, emphasizing the girl’s inferior standing in the household. “Why do you not join us? Lord Highslip has come to pay a call upon your cousin.”
Sylvia felt as if she had been transformed to a mechanical toy, her limbs obeying her in jerky movements as she took the vacant chair by the door and picked up her embroidery. Although Hugo addressed barely a word to her, she could feel his eyes with their hungry burning gaze upon her. She plied her needle heedlessly, creating a tangled mess amidst the delicate pattern as she prayed for time to pass.
“Did you know, Lord Highslip, that dear Sylvia has several suitors?” Mrs. Gabriel remarked archly. “Lord Entshaw has sent the most remarkable flowers and Mr. Colber has been most particular in his attentions as well.”
“Entshaw is old enough to be her grandfather,” Highslip said, his voice suddenly cold. “And Colber is but the grandson of an upstart tradesman, surely you do not entertain those suits.”
But Mrs. Gabriel was oblivious to his disapproval. “Beggars cannot afford to be choosy, milord. I am sure, being a sensible girl, Sylvia will do the wise thing. Is that not true Sylvia?”
Sylvia looked up, her chess training standing her in good stead. Not by so much of a quiver of her lip did she betray her humiliation. “You are correct, of course, Aunt Ruby. Oftentimes, we are not given much of a choice.”
