Ravenscar’s eyes flickered towards him, and then dropped again to the pack he was shuffling.
“Brandy?” his lordship said, holding the decanter poised. Ravenscar pushed his empty Burgundy glass a little away from him. “Thank you.”
“You should not have had that capotte,” Ormskirk said abruptly.
“No.”
“I must be out of practice,” Ormskirk said, with a light laugh. “A stupid error to have made! Do not hope for another like it.”
Ravenscar smiled. “I don’t. Such things rarely happen twice in an evening, I find. It is your deal, my lord.”
Ormskirk came back to his chair, and the game proceeded. Once the butler came into the room, to make up the fire. His master, his attention distracted from the play of his cards by the man’s movements, looked up, and said sharply: “That is all. I shall not need you again!”
Outside, in the square, an occasional carriage rumbled over the cobbles, footsteps passed the house, and link-boys could be heard exchanging personalities with chairmen; but as the night wore on the noise of traffic ceased, and only the voice of the Watch was heard from time to time, calling the hour.
“One of the clock, and a fair night!”
It was not a fair night for his lordship, plunging deeper and ever deeper into Ravenscar’s debt. Under his maquillage, his thin face was pale, and looked strained in the candlelight. He knew now that his ill-luck was still dogging him; the cards had been running against him for the past two hours. Only a fool chased his own luck, yet this was what he had been doing, hoping for a change each rubber, risking all on the chance of the big coup which maddeningly eluded him.