It’s a gambler’s game, in which you must decide whether to stay pat at 16 or 17, or risk another card which may break you or, if it’s a small one, may give you a winning score of 20 or 21. I’ve played it from Sydney to Sacramento, and learned to stick at 17, like Aunt Selina. The odds are with the bank, since when the scores are level the banker takes the stakes.
Fanny and I had a good bank. I dealt her 19 the first round, which sank everyone except D’Israeli, who had two court cards for 20. The next time I gave Fanny an ace and a knave for vingt-et-un, which swamped the whole board, and she clapped her hands and squealed with delight. Then we ran two five-card hands in succession, and the punters groaned aloud and protested at our luck, and Bentinck jestingly asked Aunt Selina if she would stand good for him, and she cried ‘With you, Lord George!’ and made great play of changing his silver for her coppers.
I was interested in the game by this time – it’s a fact, Greville was right, it don’t matter a d--n how small the stakes are – and Fanny was full of excitement and admiration for my luck. She shot me an adoring look over her shoulder, and I glanced down at her quivering bosoms and thought to myself, you’ll be in rare trim for another kind of game later. Get ’em excited – a fight is best, with the claret flowing, but any kind of sport will do, if there’s a hint of savagery in it – and they’ll couple like monkeys. And then, as I pulled my eyes away and dealt the first cards of another hand, looking to see that all the stakes were placed, I saw that on Mrs Locke’s card there was a pile of yellow counters – about two bob’s worth. That meant they had an ace, for certain. And they had, but it did ’em no good; they drew a seven with it, bought a five, and then went broke with a king. But next time round they staked an even bigger pile of yellows, lost again, and came back with a still larger wager for the following hand.
I paused in the act of dealing the second cards. ‘You’re playing double or quits, ma’am,’ says I to Mrs Locke. ‘Road to ruin.’
But before she could speak, Bryant cut in: ‘Stakes too high for you, are they? Why, if you can’t afford …’
‘Not a bit,’ says I. ‘If my principal’s content,’ and I looked down at Fanny, who was sitting with a splendid pile of counters before her.
‘Oh, do go on, please!’ cries she. ‘It is the greatest fun!’ So I put round the second cards; if Bryant thought he was going to rattle me over a few shillings’ worth of stake he was a bigger fool than I thought. But I knew he wasn’t a fool, and that he was a d---d sharp hand at card tricks, so I kept my eye on Mrs Locke’s place.
They lost again, and next time Mrs Locke would only put up a single yellow, on which they won. There was a good deal of heavy jesting at this, and I saw Bryant whispering busily in her ear. When I dealt the first card he pounced on it, they consulted together, and then they put their whole pile – yellows, blues, everything, on top of the card, and Bryant gave me a nasty grin and stood back waiting.
I couldn’t follow this; it couldn’t be better than an ace, and it was just a kindergarten game, anyway. Did he think he could score off me by breaking Miss Fanny’s bank? I noticed Bentinck was smiling, in a half-puzzled way, and D’Israeli was fingering his card thoughtfully and shifting his lidded glance from Bryant to me. They were wondering, too, and suddenly I felt that cold touch at the nape of my neck that is the warning signal of danger.
It was ridiculous, of course; a ha’penny game in a country house, but I could sense Bryant was as worked up as if there’d been a thousand guineas riding on his partner’s card. It wasn’t healthy, and I wanted to be out of that game then and there, but I’d have looked a fool, and Aunt Selina was tapping for a second card and looking at me severely.
I put them round, and perhaps because I had that tiny unease I fumbled Master Jerry’s second card, so that it fell face up. I should have taken it back, by rights, but it was an ace, and the little scoundrel, who should have been in his bed long before, insisted on keeping it. Bryant snapped up Mrs Locke’s second card and showed it to her with a grin; D’Israeli displayed vingt-et-un by laying his second card, a queen, face up across the first one. The rest bought a third or stood pat.
I faced our cards – a knave and a three, which was bad. I faced a third, an ace, which gave us 14; nothing for it but to go on, and I turned up a four. We were at 18, and at least three players were sitting pat on three cards, which meant probably they had 18 or 19 or better. I whispered to Fanny, did she want to try for a five-card trick, which would beat everyone except Codlingsby’s vingt-et-un.
‘Oh, yes, please!’ cries she. ‘We are in luck, I feel sure of it!’
I put my thumb on the top card, and stopped. Something was d---d far wrong, somewhere, and I knew it. Bentinck knew it, too, and Aunt Selina, who was staring over her spectacles at the pack in my hand. Others in the room sensed something; Locke and Morrison had broken off their conversation to watch. Bryant was smirking across at me.
I flicked over the top card. It was a deuce, giving us 20 and victory, Bentinck cried ‘Ha!’, Aunt Selina muttered something under her breath, and Fanny gave an ecstatic squeal and began to rake in the stakes. I gathered in the cards while everyone chattered and laughed – Mrs Locke had an ace and a nine, I noticed, and I commiserated her on her bad luck. Bryant pipes up at once:
‘Very bad luck indeed, I should say.’
But I ignored him, and told Fanny we must now pass the bank to D’Israeli, since he had scored vingt-et-un.
‘Oh, must we?’ cries she, pouting. ‘And we were doing so well! What a shame it is!’
Aunt Selina exclaimed at her greed, there was more laughter, and D’Israeli took out his eye-glass and bowed to Fanny.
‘I would not dream,’ says he, ‘of claiming the cards from such a fair banker,’ a pun which was greeted with polite applause.
‘Oh, I daresay her partner is quite happy to pass the cards,’ cries Bryant. ‘The killing’s made, eh, Flashy?’
Now, I daresay we must have won thirty shillings on that bank, most of it from Mrs Locke, and you could take what he’d said as a joke, but the jarring note in his voice, and the grin on his flushed face told me it wasn’t. I stared at him, and Bentinck’s head whipped round, and suddenly there was a silence, broken only by Miss Fanny’s tinkling laughter as she exclaimed to Aunt Selina about her own good luck.
‘I think it is your bank, Dizzy,’ says Bentinck quietly, at last, his eyes on Bryant. ‘Unless the ladies feel we have played enough.’
The ladies protested against this, and then Bryant cut in again:
‘I’ve played quite enough, thank’ee, and I daresay my partner has, too.’ Mrs Locke looked startled, and Bryant went on:
‘I never thought to see – ah, but let it go!’
And he turned from the table, like a man trying to control himself.
There was a second’s silence, and then they were babbling, ‘What did he say?’ ‘What did he mean?’ and Bentinck was flushed with anger and demanding to know what Bryant was implying. At this Bryant pointed to me, and says:
‘It is really too bad! In a pleasant game, for the ladies, this fellow … I beg your pardon, Lord George, but it is too much! Ask him,’ cries he, ‘to turn out his pockets – his coat pockets!’
It hit me like a dash of icy water. In the shocked hush, I found my hand going to my left-hand coat pocket, while everyone gaped at me, Bentinck took a pace towards me saying, ‘No, stop. Not before the ladies …’ and then my hand came out, and there were three playing cards in it. I was too horrified and bewildered to speak, there was a shriek from one of the females, and a general gasp, and someone muttered: ‘Cheat … oh!’ I could only stare from the cards to Bentinck’s horrified face, to Bryant’s, flushed and exultant, and to Dizzy’s, white with disbelief. Miss Fanny jumped up with a shriek, starting away from me, and then someone was shepherding the females from the room in a terrible silence, leaving me with the stern, disgusted faces and the exclamations of incredulity