Free Thick As Thieves by Joan Smith

not a flat! I did not even tell Lady Filmore."
    "Good. It is more than likely that Tom is sitting in this room. Possibly right at this table."
    Lady Verona had four round tables set up in her dining room. At ours, most of the same people from Dalton's dinner party sat. I supposed they were good friends, and tended to gather together at such dos as this. Lady Collifer and her husband were there; Hennie and Lord Brockley; Lady Filmore had managed to get Harelson to sit with her. There were eighteen in all. Mr. Grindley was there, with some hatchet-faced lady in a straw yellow gown, the same shade as her face.
    Surely this was not the group Dalton meant when he suggested that Tom might be one of us. They all, with the exception of Stewart Grindley, looked above reproach. Several of them had titles. I pictured Tom as more of an outsider, someone who had weaseled his way into the golden circle to ferret out news of their doings. I had not met anyone like that—except possibly Grindley?
    We left for Mrs. Lament's gaming hell shortly after dinner. If I had not known gaming dens to be infra dig, I would not have twigged to it by either the looks of the house, nor the guests. Everything was done up in the first style of elegance. Several of Lady Verona's guests showed up, and the others looked equally respectable. Dalton took up a seat at the faro table, and Lady Filmore and myself, who were tyros at gambling, stood at the roulette table, putting down our chips and having them pulled away at every turn of the wheel.
    Lady Filmore played the more daring game. She bet on the actual numbers. I settled for red or black and lost my blunt at a slower rate, but equally surely.
    "There, my pockets are to let. I have lost twenty guineas," Lady Filmore said, after half an hour. "Dalton will cut up stiff. The skint only gave me twenty guineas."
    Twenty guineas sounded like a great loss to me, but I smiled gamely and suggested we take a seat and have a glass of champagne, to rest our legs. As the wine was free, I meant to recoup part of my five guineas in liquid form. Lady Filmore took one sip, then set her glass aside, wrinkling up her nose. There was certainly a hint of vinegar to the wine, but I was thirsty, and finished mine. Mrs. Lament served little tidbits of salted nuts and olives and things with it.
    I kept an eye on the others while I drank. Dalton was playing faro with an air almost of ennui. At the roulette table, Hennie placed her bets with the fevered eye of the tyro. Lady Filmore was watching Harelson in that peculiarly proprietary way she has. He was plunging rather deeply, but when he joined us later, he claimed he was even steven.
    He asked if we had seen Grindley, which we had not. "I was to meet him here, but he is late," he said. "Just as well, really. Mrs. Lament would let him punt on tick. I know for a fact he is stone broke. He would end up selling his carriage and team and be forever borrowing mine. He has already sold his curricle. And how did you fare at the table, Miss Denver?"
    "I lost."
    "Try again. Your luck is bound to change."
    "I am fresh out of money," I explained.
    "Good God, Mrs. Lament will give you credit—a lady with your fortune at her back."
    "I fear that fortune would not be there long if I gambled further, Lord Harelson."
    "Unlucky at cards, lucky at love," he said, with a smile as warm as it dared to be in front of Lady Filmore. Then he turned to her. "How about you, Linda? Are you interested in trying faro?" I sensed he was eager to return to his gambling.
    She hopped up at once, and they left. Lady Collifer joined me, lamenting that she had lost a monkey, and would never come again if the only food served was to be nuts and olives. Have I mentioned she was a corpulent lady? A fine trencherman.
    After another glass of champagne, Hennie joined us, smiling from ear to ear. "I won twelve pounds, Eve!" she exclaimed. "Here is the two I borrowed from you. Take them before I lose them again. Lord Brockley