He did not despair, for he was aware that there was an idea in his family that he had reformed. His period of service in the navy had convinced his relations that he had indeed turned over a new leaf. The Duchess of Northumberland was staying at her London mansion, and Parsons, utterly penniless, paid her a visit, hoping to induce his good-natured aunt to come to his financial rescue. With apparent contrition he apologized for the indiscretions of his youth, and swore that he now found virtue more attractive than vice. It ended, of course, in an appeal for funds, and the duchess handed him five hundred pounds so that he might appear in society as befitted his relationship to her. That night the five hundred pounds became nearly two thousand as the result of the most daring gambling on Parsons' part. He took the most reckless chances, and every time came out on top. He was naturally wildly delighted. Here was the quickest and easiest road to fortune, and he persuaded himself that in a few weeks he would be worth many thousands of pounds. But the sequel was absurdly conventional. Parson was cleaned out within a couple of days.
Each time he became "dead broke" he called on the Duchess of Northumberland, but with each succeeding visit her presents of money became uncomfortably less, and he had to supplement her grants in aid by purloining various small articles of jewellery which he found on her dressing-table. The duchess, however, possessed so much jewellery that the thefts passed unnoticed until one evening, whilst chatting confidentially with her in her boudoir, he slipped into his pocket a miniature set in gold, which her Grace valued highly—so highly, indeed, that when she discovered her loss she offered a reward of five hundred pounds for its recovery. It was a purely sentimental valuation, but it placed Parsons in a most awkward position. Five hundred pounds would have been a godsend to him, and yet he dared not surrender the miniature, for he was well aware that his aunt would never forgive the theft, and, accordingly the young thief was compelled to sell it to a jeweller of doubtful reputation, who gave him fifty pounds for it.
Having for the time being exhausted his resources in London, Parsons was driven to the desperate expedient of going home. The family seat was just outside the town of Nottingham, but he found it so dull that he became a regular frequenter of the assembly rooms at Buxton. A few minor thefts provided funds for a week, and the son of the well-known Nottinghamshire baronet was received everywhere. No one thought of suspecting him of being a thief, and when he stole a pair of shoes with gold buckles, and disposed of the gold to a jeweller in Nottingham, Sir William averted exposure when the gold buckles were traced to his son by negotiating in private with the original owner. For the sake of the heart-broken father the victim of the theft did not prosecute, and young Parsons was bundled off to London, Sir William having no further use for him.
Perhaps if Parsons had not been saved from punishment so often he would not have adopted crime as a profession. But to a person of his temperament the game must have appeared to be worth more than the proverbial candle, because when he won he was paid, and when he lost there was always a kind-hearted relative or friend to pay for him. He was not at all embarrassed by his narrow escape at Nottingham. It was only a minor episode in a career in which he had come unscathed out of many tight corners.
On his return to London he happened to meet a lady some ten years older than himself, but whose burden of years was eased by the possession of a considerable fortune. She was not bad-looking, and being without near relatives she was an easy victim to the unscrupulous fortune-hunter. When Parsons was introduced to her as the son of Sir William Parsons, and the nephew of the Duchess of Northumberland, the socially-ambitious lady simply "threw herself at him."
She longed to shine in high society, and the moment Parsons understood her weakness he played up to it for all he was worth. He promised to introduce her to his aunt, and swore that her Grace would instantly fall in love with her and chaperon her, for, of course, anyone who entered the charmed portals of society vouched for by the Duchess of Northumberland would encounter no difficulties in her way.
The lady accepted all his statements without demur, but she proved somewhat coy whenever money was mentioned, and Parsons had to ask her to marry him before she would consent to advance him a portion of her fortune.
They became engaged in secret, Parsons pointing out that it must be kept quiet until he had time to approach his aunt, the duchess, diplomatically and break the news to her, for the lady was the daughter of a man who had made his money in trade, and in those days that was considered a bar to entry into society. She was satisfied with his explanation, and she poured thousands of pounds into her "lover's" keeping to hold in trust for her. At the same time he was making love to a girl whom he had met at his aunt's house, and he actually bought her presents with the money he had extracted from the too-confiding lady who fondly imagined that she would soon be his wife.
When he had robbed her of every penny it was possible to obtain without arousing the suspicions of her guardians, Parsons, realizing that it would be better for his health and comfort to vanish from London for some months, returned to the navy and secured an appointment on H.M.S. Romney.
There were a gallant set of officers on board, not too well endowed with this world's goods, but quite willing to hazard what they possessed at the gaming-table. Well aware of this, Parsons, who deemed it only proper to combine business with pleasure, took with him some marked cards and loaded dice. Every evening the officers played, and from the very beginning Parsons won. Cynically contemptuous of the intelligence of his opponents, he did not condescend to the usual trick of allowing them to win now and then. He simply took all he could get until it became painfully obvious that the only man on board who never lost was William Parsons, and it was generally agreed that there could be only one reason for that.