The Circle of Sappho (14 page)

‘Something wrong, Kirby?' asked Swann innocently.

‘You seem to be enjoying an awfully good streak of luck, Swann; perhaps too good one might be inclined to say,' replied Kirby.

‘Nothing you did not enjoy yourself before I joined the game, I am sure.'

Their exchange brought the room to silence.

‘Then let us increase the stakes and see who has the better continuation of it. I suggest ten guineas per game.'

At this increase several players signalled their departure from the game. After a few seconds Fitzpatrick also gestured his retirement. This left just Kirby and Swann.

‘It is time to change the deck, if you have no objection Mr Swann. Perhaps it might put us on an even level.'

‘Of course,' said Swann.

Despite this move, which Kirby had orchestrated to give him the upper hand, Swann won the first three games. The other players had stayed on to watch and there were murmurings of admiration from several of them. Kirby looked visibly shocked. Nevertheless, after the next hand, which he also lost, he picked up a handful of coins and said: ‘Let's play one hand for five hundred guineas.'

‘You are being ridiculous, sir, there is surely a limit,' said one of the gentleman watching.

‘As banker, I set the limit. If Mr Swann does not want to play for these stakes, he can simply leave the table and let a real gambler sit down.'

Swann smiled and remained seated. He then placed his bet on the knave card on the pasted board.

‘The knave turns fool that runs away,' said Kirby, smiling.

‘“When a wise man gives thee better counsel, give me mine again. I would have none but knaves follow it since a fool gives it.”
King Lear
, Act II, Scene IV,' said Swann, finishing the quote.

‘You know your Shakespeare, Swann, I will grant you that.'

Kirby then dealt the two cards and placed them face down onto the table. He turned the ‘player's card' first. It was the nine of hearts. There were gasps from those watching, the room now swelled by members who had been told of the enormous wager. Kirby now picked up the ‘banker's card' and gradually turned it over to reveal the Knave of Spades. He placed it down with a malevolent smile on his face.

‘It seems your winning streak has just ended, Swann.'

Swann stared in disbelief at the card, knowing he had been taken by a truly accomplished cheat. He did not wish to cause a disruption by accusing Kirby of cheating, especially as he had been doing the same, so instead he simply congratulated Kirby on his win, settled the wager and stood up, ready to leave the room with his host.

‘Truly bad luck Swann,' replied Kirby, ‘but then you know what they say: like father, like son.'

Swann stopped and turned back towards Kirby.

‘What did you say?'

‘I was just commiserating with you over your loss.'

‘You mentioned my father. Why?'

‘Well, from what I have heard, before he died he was a terrible gambler and never knew when to stop. It seems you have inherited that part of him.'

Before anyone else could react, Swann had moved around the table and struck Kirby in the face, sending him sprawling backwards against the wall.

‘You can say what you like about me but never insult my father's name again, or I will end your life!'

Kirby rose slowly to his feet, helped by two other members.

‘Then I will offer you the chance. Bathampton Down at dawn on Sunday. I assume you will be Swann's second, Fitzpatrick?'

Fitzpatrick nodded solemnly.

‘I will send my second to finalise details with you. Now, I suggest you escort your guest out of this club.'

Swann turned and left the room, followed by Fitzpatrick. Behind them Kirby wiped the blood from the side of his mouth, but there was a smile upon it.

Bath, Tuesday 27th March, 1804

What a fool I am! Falling for the oldest play in the book. Why did I not see what Kirby was doing? He was playing the long game, reeling me in with each separate win I achieved until, blinded by arrogance, I allowed myself to be beaten on the final hand. But then this is how these Machiavellian schemers operate; ensnaring their victim, pretending to unintentionally lose, again and again, when in fact they are merely biding their time for when the stakes are high enough to spring their trap.

But what could I do? I know there is a sickness in me, which takes hold whenever a game of probability offers its chance of exhilaration; an opportunity to pit one's skill against that of another and lady luck herself. At the same time, there is Fitzpatrick. I was his guest tonight but behaved abominably. I shall seek out his forgiveness tomorrow and offer to send a formal written apology to the club. No, wait! I am away from Bath all day and will not return until late. I will send a note to him in absentia and inform him I will endeavour to meet him personally the following day.

As to the challenge Kirby has set down, I can simply refuse to take part in the duel and if my honour becomes sullied as a result, then so be it. A misheard word, an unintentional gesture, a wrongly interpreted expression; all these things I have witnessed as being the reason for a duel and in each case one of the participants was subsequently killed.

I am angry that the magistrate insulted my father's memory but I will not take a life over it, not even Kirby's, however much I may dislike him. At the same time, I do not wish to put my own life at risk. To what purpose would either of our deaths serve? If I were to kill Kirby, what would I have achieved? I will have the blood of a magistrate on my hands and, given the illegal nature of the duel, there is every possibility I might end up in prison and would then not be able to continue my pursuit of justice for my father's death. Of course, if I myself was to be killed, this would naturally conclude that quest as well.

What demands to be answered though is why Kirby made the remarks he did? Where did he obtain his information? How did he find out about my past and why insinuate that my father was also a gambler? Did Kirby know about my time in France, when I recklessly gambled away my allowance twice over? It was only the disappointed expression on my adoptive father's face on my return to England which brought this addiction to its end. Or was it the time in London, with my lawyer, when I once more allowed myself to be taken over for a short period, at the expense of several thousand pounds?

My father was fond of watching other people play and learning about the various con games – his particular favourite being the three cups – but my father had been a responsible man and not one to frivolously gamble his money away.

It was in my father's memory and his fondness for confidence tricks and the men who perpetrated them that I learned as much about it as I could. That is why I can easily mark a man out who is cheating. But, it means nothing if one is not playing in an honest game; there is always someone who will be a better cheat than you, as tonight proved, especially if they hold both bank and cards. I allowed my heart to rule my head because I wanted to teach Kirby a lesson. Yet it was Kirby who taught me one and I have learnt it well.

Unlike before, I can now afford to lose five hundred guineas, although I resent the fact that it was won by a man whom I have come to find so disagreeable. But more than that, I am ashamed of my behaviour when I think of men such as George and Bridges, and others in the Avon Street district, who struggle every day to feed and clothe themselves and keep a roof over their heads. George confided to me at the Fountain that Bridges' companion Rosie, the woman who confirmed Thomas Malone's identity to me last October, is about to lose her lodgings through an inability to pay her ever-increasing rent. I do not know exactly how much it is, but it can only be the most trifling figure in comparison with the sum that I lost tonight on one turn of a card. In fact, between the three of them – George, Bridges and Rosie – I doubt they will ever accumulate five hundred guineas, even if all the money they possess in their lifetimes were added together.

The events of this evening have therefore given me a sense of perspective. Tonight has also made me reflect on what might have happened if my life had been different, if my father had not been murdered and I had not been adopted by the Gardiners. What would my position in life have been today? Would I be living a meagre existence ‘on the street' like George and Bridges? Or would I have somehow still risen above my station, or at least that of my father's, and achieved wealth in another way? I would have learned to read and write, as my father would still have been alive to teach me, but what of education? Would I have had one? It seems most unlikely. And what of my career, my occupation; would I have been destined to follow in my father's footsteps and become a servant, to live a life in service? Of course, the key question that has to be asked is would I have gambled so much if I did not know there was money to recompense my debts? These are all passageways of conjecture my mind could wander endlessly the entire night, but the simple truth is this is my life and I am who I am.

In writing this entry my earlier heightened emotion at the evening's events has been dampened. I do not feel in an appropriate state to undertake any reading on Sappho, especially at this late hour, so shall do so on returning from Lady Harriet's residence tomorrow evening, or rather this evening, given the clock has just signified the beginning of a new day.

The carriage had left Mary at Lady Harriet's manor house in Beckington and then continued its journey to Frome with Swann as its sole passenger. He gazed out of the window and tried to put the events of the previous evening from his mind. A long day lay ahead of him and he needed to stay alert and focussed. With the note he had found in his pocket mentioning the ‘Circle of Sappho', and the fact he was on his way to meet the victim's sister, he felt confident the case was moving forward and might achieve a breakthrough soon.

Swann was initially to meet Thomas Bunn, a widowed solicitor, who would act as his guide around Frome. He had never practiced law commercially, choosing instead to spend his time and inherited wealth on helping the poor and needy of the town, while at the same time trying to persuade council leaders to implement his building plans for its improvement. Up until this point, he had made more progress with the former than the latter.

The small market town of Frome was located at the eastern end of the Mendip Hills in Somerset, close to its neighbouring county Wiltshire, and had been founded at the end of the seventh century. The town had really come to prominence, however, in the sixteenth century. The large number of sheep grazing in the area, along with an already established market in the town, meant it became a centre of the woollen industry in East Somerset. For a period of time, as Thomas Bunn liked to remind anyone who would listen, it had also been bigger, in terms of population, and wealthier than Bath. At the same time it had attracted much praise from travellers, including the author Daniel Defoe, who, on a visit in 1720, had stated that were its growth to continue in the same manner over the following few years, it would very likely become ‘one of the greatest and wealthiest inland towns in England.'

The carriage descended into North Parade, a long stretch of road that was the main route into Frome, and passed through the tollgate into the marketplace; the heart and centre of the town.

Unfortunately for Frome, Defoe's prediction was not realised and although at its height the town had been sending the equivalent of a waggon-load of cloth to London each day, the local industry was now in slow decline. This was, in part, due to the reluctance of the town's clothiers to embrace new technology and also because a great deal of its end product had been exported to France; which the war had immediately curtailed. There had been some who had profiteered from the war, making military uniforms, but for the most part workforces had been reduced, buildings had become disused and a sense of gloom had descended on this once prosperous town.

As soon as the carriage entered the town and Swann began to observe the townsfolk, he could see the same world-weary expressions on many of the men, women and children that he saw regularly in the Avon Street district in Bath (and before that, in many areas of London). There were, of course, those in the town still prospering – several of the clothiers, tradesmen and other local craftsmen – but for the most part, the overall impression of the people of Frome was that they were no strangers to poverty.

The carriage turned right onto Cork Street. It was along this street that Thomas Bunn resided. He lived at Monmouth House, the building he had inherited, along with his financial wealth, from his father following his death. The house had been built by Bunn's father, a doctor, around thirty years beforehand. It stood adjunct to Monmouth Chambers, a property which, by the time Dr Bunn had purchased it from linen draper Joseph Pritchard, stretched all along Cork Street to the bottom of what was known as Stony Street.

The buildings, Monmouth Chambers and Monmouth House, were said to have been named after the rebellious duke who stayed briefly in the town in 1685. It was not a productive visit though, as during the two days he was in Frome two thousand of his men deserted the cause; that of assuming the monarchy from the recently crowned James II. The population itself was indifferent and the duke received neither support nor encouragement from them (although equally they did not hand him over to the Loyalist forces a mere ten miles away). The Duke of Monmouth left Frome on 30th of June and within a week had been defeated at the Battle of Sedgemoor and, within a month, had been found guilty of treason and beheaded at Tower Hill in London.

The carriage now stopped outside Monmouth House and Swann alighted. The driver waited until he saw his passenger was safely on the pavement and then cracked his whip. The pair of horses trotted off and the carriage went along the street for a few more yards, turned around at a suitable place and then headed back to the end of Cork Street and on into the marketplace once more. The carriage passed Swann as he stood outside the building, waiting for his knock to be answered. Presently the door was opened by a male servant and Swann was admitted inside. He was escorted into the library and the servant then retired from the room, informing Swann he would make his master aware of his guest's presence there. While he waited, Swann walked over to one of the several bookcases that lined the room and began to peruse the volumes on its shelves.