Page 73 of The Runner
A small crowdgathered around a table at The Lion’s Heart and the group of villagers stood transfixed as the stakes grew ever higher in the game of whist.
George revealed some lucky hands and his confidence was growing even as his lucidity diminished. The serving girl topped up George’s glass whenever Ralph nodded discreetly in her direction.
George’s luck had turned sour, and his judgement grew more and more questionable when he was down to his last heap of silver coins stacked on the table between him and his opponent. George’s words slurred as he upped his bets and his pockets were all but empty.
‘Shall we call it a night, your lordship? I fear we have had enough,’ whispered George’s servant, Taylor, discreetly in his ear.
He then moved to cover George’s glass with a firm hand when the girl made to top it up once more. He shook his head and signalled for her to retreat.
‘No, leave me be,’ said George. ‘I have more in me yet and I feel certain my luck will soon turn again.’
At the end of the round, Ralph neatly swept the pile of coins off the table into his hand and added them to the heavy weight in his pocket. ‘What shall we play for next? The great earl surely won’t allow a lowly farmer such as I to defeat him so brutally,’ Ralph taunted. The smile on his handsome face was bitter, and his blue eyes held menacing shadows in their icy depths.
George straightened and looked at his enemy, curiously lucid for one so drunk. ‘You are right, Master Knight. Play on, we shall. Such a one as you, shall not beat me, and believe me when I say it has nothing to do with your birth and everything to do with your lack of honour.’
‘If you insist on insulting me in that manner, earl or no, I shall demand satisfaction and we shall decide who is the more honourable of us by the blade of our swords,’ said Ralph, his voice low and hostile.
The crowd whispered, and the air was charged as they looked at the two men: one bent on beating the other at any price, and one bent on finishing the other off, at the cost of the destruction of all he held sacred.
One of the local tenants, who knew and admired George, rallied his courage and spoke. ‘My lord, shall we not see you home?’ He then turned to Ralph, and said, ‘This is below even you, Knight. The earl has clearly had too much whisky to play another round or to give you satisfaction in a duel. Let us reconvene tomorrow and play fair.’
The crowd booed, and Ralph snarled, ‘Be away with you man if you haven’t the stomach to witness his defeat.’
George’s groom leant over to talk in his ear again, but George swatted him away like a tiresome fly, not recognising his folly in his paralytic state. All he knew was that he must beat this devil who continually goaded him and who threatened Caroline.
‘So, what shall it be?’ said Ralph, sensing his opponent had sunk to his most vulnerable and determined to press the advantage.
George considered for a moment, trying to decide what he would gamble to show his confidence and finish Ralph once and for all. The idea that flashed into his mind shocked him, but he sipped the dregs of his whisky, steadied himself, and met Ralph’s glare head on. ‘I add Willow Manor to the pot.’
Ralph’s icy blue eyes gleamed.
‘Hold on, and what will Ralph put into the pot for he has nothing of an equivalent value? How is that fair?’ George’s groom, Taylor, interjected as he tried to pull George aside to talk some sense into him.
Ralph’s voice rang out, ‘I will add my farm to the pot. It isn’t the same monetary value, I grant you, but it is all I own, and so in that sense it is an equivalent bet.’
There were murmurings as various parties in the crowd discussed the terms of the pot and whether it was fair.
‘Are you the sole owner of the farm?’ George asked.
Ralph nodded. ‘I am the eldest son and my father passed away last year; God rest his soul.’
Ralph’s brother protested, but was quickly silenced with a firm hand.
‘Then I accept your terms,’ said George. ‘Let us play on. I propose two-handed whist.’
Ralph nodded.
A hushed silence fell over the room and all eyes moved to the deck of woven silk cards, shuffled by the nominated dealer who dealt thirteen cards to each player.
Ralph was only too pleased George had picked a game that required a sharp memory and strategic thinking, while his opponent was in such a sorry state.
After some time, they reached the second stage of the game, where the object was to win as many tricks as possible. George won his second trick in a row and drew the top flipped up card. Ralph’s face was dark as he concentrated on his hand. They continued as George won several more, and then Ralph won three tricks in a row and George looked on, his expression strained.
It was a close round, but on the deciding point, Ralph produced a king and waved it jubilantly in George’s face.
Ralph laid the last card down on the table, triumphant. ‘I declare myself the new owner of Willow Manner estate.’
George gasped and shook his head.
