Gambling on a Scoundrel (33 page)

She needed to reply. And she needed to explain that Mr. Hamlin had only extended the credit because Ernest had used his friendship with Tempy to ask for it. Tempy was certain that this would come as a surprise to Mrs. Lipscomb.

She pulled out a fresh piece of paper and began writing.

###

Precisely at five o'clock, Millicent's butler escorted Tempy into her drawing room.

Millicent rose to greet her. She had been sitting and chatting with a conservatively dressed man who appeared to be in his early thirties. His hair was sleek and dark, thinning just above the temples, and he had thick sideburns that seemed to emphasize his hair loss.

As Millicent brushed her cheek against Tempy's in an embrace, Millicent murmured, "Treat him gently," so that only Tempy could hear. As she stepped away, she said, "Tempy, I'd like to introduce you to Harlan Mall. He graciously consented to allow you to interview him for your article."

"But I told you that I wished to remain anonymous," Mr. Mall said, his voice querulous as he rose to his feet from the sofa.

"And so you shall be," Tempy reassured him. "I won't divulge your name or any other information that might allow people to identify you. I promise."

The man still sent Millicent a peevish look, but when he turned his gaze to Tempy, his expression softened a little.

"I can't afford to have my reputation damaged. I'm only beginning to recover from my youthful excesses, and to have you shine a public light on my life could bring me even more shame."

"I understand, Mr. Mall. Again, I promise that I'll never use any personal information about you. Would you like to have the opportunity to see what I write before it's published?" She paused to watch his reaction. He seemed intrigued by the idea, and that was good. "I can offer to remove anything that you believe would cause you or your family harm. But that's an easy promise to make since I don't intend to include information of that nature. My goal is to warn others so they don't travel down the same dangerous path you did."

She could tell he was wavering. She nearly had him. "Wouldn't you like to know that your example helped save others from experiencing the same pain and anguish you did?"

Finally, the man's shoulders relaxed. He nodded. "Little good has come from all of my mistakes, but if I can help someone else...well, maybe that would help balance the scales." He lifted his chin and looked at her steadily. "How can I help?"

Tempy chose a spot on the pink sofa and Harlan Mall sat back down next to her. "Just tell me your story," she said. "I'll make sure I gloss over any details that might make you identifiable."

Mr. Mall drummed his fingers on his leg for a moment and then looked at Tempy. "I suppose I should begin at the beginning, back when I first started gambling. You see, when my father died, he left all of his property to my older brother and three thousand pounds a year to me. My brother doled out the money from the income of his estate. At first, I was satisfied with things as they stood, but having so much money to spend at my own discretion was a heady experience. I went from living with a small allowance to having ample funds at my disposal. I'm afraid I let it get the better of me."

Tempy kept her gaze focused on Harlan while she pulled her notebook from her satchel along with her pen-and-ink set. Perhaps if she were discreet in taking her notes, he might even relax enough to forget that she was taking them.

"I frequented the casinos in London, betting on whatever took my fancy." Harlan rose to his feet and pushed past Tempy's skirt to begin pacing.

She discretely slid her notebook on the low table in front of the sofa. Harlan didn't even glance at it.

"It didn't take long for me to burn through my ready cash, and then through all the money I'd planned to live on for the rest of the year. I'd become used to going to my father for money whenever I ran low, but I knew my brother wouldn't be so understanding."

Tempy dipped her ink in the pot, not worrying about leaving spots on her paper. These were just notes, after all, and only she would see them.

"Rather than going to him, I ended up taking out a sort of 'gentleman's loan' from a lawyer I'd met." Harlan stopped pacing and slid his hands into his trouser pockets. "Some friends of mine had also borrowed from him in the past, and he was quite accommodating. He seemed to understand my embarrassment. It was a simple matter to borrow the cash by signing a piece of paper."

One of Millicent's maids entered the room and set a tea tray on the table by the sofa, and then she left. Millicent poured cups for each of them. However, Mr. Mall hardly seemed aware of the activity around him, engrossed as he was in telling his tale. When Millicent handed him his tea, he took it absently and resumed his pacing.

"With my gambling debts paid off, I went back to my brother's home in the country. I was convinced that the lawyer had saved me from a terrible fate, and thankful that I had a place to live until I received my annual allowance. I stayed there all summer and into the fall, but once the Season began, all of my friends returned to London. A couple of them wrote to invite me to stay with them at their club. It was a generous offer, and I decided to join them for a month or two.

"Unfortunately, it didn't take long for me to fall back into my old habits. I tagged along with my friends when they went to a casino one night, and my resolve to never gamble again broke within an hour. Watching other men win money while I stood there with my hands in my pockets was torment. I convinced myself that I'd be able to win back everything I'd lost the year before.

"I was wrong.

"I bet ever larger amounts, and much more recklessly than before. Within a week, I had lost all of my money for a second time. Fortunately, my annual allowance arrived a week after that, so I was able to pay off my loan to the lawyer from the previous year, but between paying him and covering all of my new losses, I was again left with nothing."

Harlan paused in his pacing, which prompted Tempy to glance away from her notes to look at him. He frowned as he looked down at the teacup in his hands, as though surprised to see it there. He took a small sip and grimaced. "Needs sugar," he muttered. He looked around, and Tempy was afraid he might become aware of her note-taking, but instead his gaze focused on the tea tray. He was next to it in a couple of strides and added four spoons of sugar to his cup. After stirring it vigorously, he took another sip and nodded.

"I approached my lawyer friend again," he said, and then licked his lips. "He was happy to offer me terms to borrow more money since I had paid back the first loan as agreed. But this time, I needed much more than before. The first loan was for fifteen hundred pounds, but the new loan was for the full three thousand. I didn't know what else to do. If I didn't borrow from him, I would have nothing to live on for an entire year." Tempy could hear him swallow as he took a large gulp of tea. He smacked his lips in satisfaction.

Tempy dipped her pen in the little pot of ink and hurried to continue taking notes.

"I attempted to avoid the casinos by leaving town again," he said, waving his nearly empty teacup in a broad gesture toward the world outside of London. "But even after I returned to the country, I couldn't stop placing wagers. When my friends visited, we'd gamble on everything, from a race down the lane to which cow would drop the next cow patty." He reddened. "Begging your pardon, miss."

"That's quite all right. Cow patties happen," Tempy murmured. She tried not to smile since she didn't want to interrupt his flow of words, but it was difficult. The soft scratching sound of her pen nib against the paper was the only sound for a moment.

Harlan scrubbed his fingers through his hair, leaving it tousled, but he didn't seem to notice. "When I lost all my money for the third time, I felt as though I'd hit the bottom. I couldn't go to the lawyer because I hadn't paid back the last loan, so I was forced to go to my brother and ask him for money." Harlan's face reddened at this part of the story, but he continued on, despite his embarrassment. "When he refused, I had to confess to him what I'd done. After all, I owed three thousand pounds and had no means to repay it. My brother finally relented and loaned me what I needed to pay off the lawyer, but he said it would come out of my income for the next two years, reducing it to only fifteen hundred." Harlan stopped pacing and grimaced. "And can you believe it?" Harlan asked, locking gazes with Tempy. "I gambled it all away again."

He shook his head in disbelief. "I couldn't stop myself. I kept going deeper and deeper in debt. It wasn't until the lawyer had some men threaten to thrash me and have me thrown into debtors' prison that I finally stopped gambling."

Tempy stifled a sharp intake of breath at the threat of violence. She needed to tighten her grip on her pen before she was able to continue writing down his story.

The teacup and saucer clattered as Harlan set them down too forcefully on the end table. "I had to lose it all," he said. "Even my fiancée. She left when she discovered that I would have no income at all for the next ten years. Nothing except what I could earn through my own labor."

Harlan hung his head and shook it slowly, then let out a deep sigh. "I ended up finding a position with a shipping company. I worked for them for five years to make enough money to pay back my brother. They sent me to their India office, and I found it much easier to live on a small income there. I was able to turn a profit with some shipping ventures of my own, but I missed England. Last fall, when I was offered the chance to return, I took it. I haven't laid a single bet ever since I left for India," he said, raising his chin, "and I don't plan to. It's obvious that I'm not constitutionally suited for it. I have bad luck at it, and my pockets aren't deep enough. I've learned to leave that pastime to the extravagantly wealthy. They're the only ones who can afford it."

Tempy glanced through her papers, searching for the questions she'd noted. "How many loans did the lawyer arrange for you over the years?" Tempy asked.

"I'm not sure," Harlan said, and began pacing again. "At least five. And each time the interest rate was higher. He knew what he was doing. I'm certain of it. He presented himself as a kindly man who only wanted to help young gentlemen who were in over their heads. We just kept handing him our money, happy to get loans when we needed them. I don't know of a single one of those young men who didn't go broke."

"He introduced you to one another?" That made sense, because if they all became friends, then taking a loan from the same man would then seem like the normal way of things.

Harlan nodded. "He regularly hosted social events so that we could meet."

"How do you avoid gambling now that you're back in town?" That was the key to everything, wasn't it?

He stopped pacing for a moment and paused to look out Millicent's front window facing the street. A carriage rolled past, and his head turned as he tracked its progress. "Mostly, I avoid associating with my former friends. Of course, when I began working in the shipping business, most of them dropped me anyway." He turned to face the room again, and a mournful smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Harlan returned to sit next to Tempy on the sofa, and then he leaned back to relax against the cushions. "They found me socially acceptable when I was heavily in debt, but I was beneath their contempt when I began to earn a wage to climb out of the financial hole I'd dug for myself." He laughed under his breath, but it was a grim sort of laugh. "I have to admit, I felt the same disdain for myself when I first took that position, but that changed. Paying back the debt I owed with money I earned felt good. Now, I'm a respected member of my community, and none of my new associates are aware of my feckless past. That's why I was hesitant about this interview." His gaze fixed on hers, but he was much more relaxed now.

"Was? Does that mean that you no longer are worried about it?"

"Not so much. Odd, isn't it? But now I agree with you. If I can help someone avoid making the same mistakes I did, it will make this interview worth the risk."

A thought struck Tempy, and she closed her eyes for a moment to consider it. Harlan had led a sheltered life. He'd been weak and had never developed the kind of self-control he needed. Not until he'd been forced to.

What struck Tempy was that Harlan and Ernest shared a few too many personality traits. After only two nights at Hamlin House, Ernest was already in debt.

Once they married, it would be best to keep him away from casinos. But that probably wouldn't be a problem since he wouldn't feel as tempted to gamble once they were married. After all, she had money enough for both of them.

###

The following morning, Tempy arrived at the casino a few minutes late for her meeting with Mme Le Clair and found the woman already waiting for her in Lucien's office.

The courtesan's back was to Tempy when she entered the room, and Tempy noticed that she wore a simple navy skirt and a crisp white blouse and navy jacket. Very conservative, as usual. Tempy had been surprised to learn that Mme Le Clair only wore her daring fashion choices in the evening and preferred to dress the part of the modest London lady during the day.

At the sound of the door, Mme Le Clair turned to face Tempy and looked surprised as she caught sight of her. "Just look at you,
ma chère
," she said. "Your cheeks are pink and you are brimming with confidence. How could any man resist?"

Tempy paused as she closed the office door, her hand still on the doorknob, and raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Confidence is irresistible?"

"Did you think that men find timid women attractive? Don't be foolish." Mme Le Clair said, and gave a dismissive flick of her hand. "I don't know of a single successful courtesan or demimondaine who is
timid
." Her skirts swished with the sound of rustling satin as she crossed the room toward the door.

Tempy stepped out of her way and moved toward Lucien's desk as she contemplated those words. "Perhaps that says more about the profession and less about what men like."