In the early part of the year 1805 the West End was much excited by a statement in a morning paper referring to the supposed discovery by the Duke of Devonshire of immense losses at play, principally to gamesters of her own sex, incurred by his lovely Duchess. Her Grace's whole loss, chiefly at faro, was declared to amount to £176,000, of which a private gentlewoman and bosom friend, Mrs. —— was said to have won no less than £30,000. The discovery was made to the Duke one Sunday; the Duchess rushed into his library, and, in a flood of tears, told him she was ruined in fame and reputation, if these claims of honour were not instantly discharged. His Grace was thunderstruck when he learned the extent of her requisition, and the names of the friends who had contributed in so extraordinary a manner to such extreme embarrassments. Having soothed her in the best manner he was able, he sent for two confidential friends, imparted to them all the circumstances, and asked them how he should act. Their answer was promptly given—"Pay not one guinea of any such infamous demands!" and this advice, it was supposed, would be strictly adhered to by the Duke. Her Grace was said to have executed some bonds, to satisfy, for a moment, these gambling claimants; but, of course, they could be of no avail. Two gentlemen and five ladies formed the snug flock of rooks that had so unmercifully stripped this female pigeon of distinction.
A few days later, however, The Morning Herald, which was responsible for the startling news, declared that the fiction of the female gamblers of distinction in a house fitted up near St. James's Street for their ruinous orgies, began to die away; for it had been discovered that the supposed pigeoned Duchess, declared to have sacrificed half a million sterling of her lord's fortune, had never gambled at any game of chance, whilst her amiable companion, who was a pattern of domestic propriety, instead of having helped to pluck her Grace, had never played for a guinea in the course of her life. This denial was probably inspired from influential quarters.
The gambling ladies seem to have fallen into obscurity when the nineteenth century began; the "faro dames," as they were called, found their occupation gone. Their game, at which few of them had "cut with honours," was up, and their "odd tricks" were no longer of any avail in London. One of the most notorious, Mrs. Concannon, migrated to Paris, where her house continued for some time to be the meeting-place of those fond of deep play.
Whist now began to be a good deal played at fashionable parties, but in 1805 four-handed cribbage became the fashionable game in the West End, and whist, during a temporary eclipse, as it declined in the West, rose with increase of splendour in the East. At a city club the stakes played for were ten pounds a game, and guineas were betted on the odd trick. A select party of business men, well known on the city side of Temple Bar, once played at whist from one Wednesday afternoon till the next Friday night, and only left off then because two of the players were unfortunately Jews.
At another whist party, a lady who had not been accustomed to move in quite as good society as the other guests, won a rubber of twenty guineas. The gentleman who was her opponent pulled out his pocket-book and tendered £21 in bank-notes.[3] The fair gamester observed, with a disdainful toss of her head: "In the great houses which I frequent, sir, we always use gold." "That may be, madam," replied the gentleman, "but in the little houses which I frequent we always use paper!"
At this time adventurers abounded, many of whom profited by the speculative tendencies of the age. A character of the first magnitude in the annals of gaming, for instance, was a Mr. Lookup, who lived towards the close of the eighteenth century. A Scotchman by birth, a gamester by profession, he accumulated a considerable fortune by methods of none too reputable a kind.
Originally an apprentice to an apothecary in the north of England, he acted in that profession as journeyman in the city of Bath. Soon after the death of his master, he paid his addresses to his mistress, the widow; and, having none of that bashful modesty about him which is sometimes an obstacle to a man in such pursuits, and being a remarkably tall stout man, with a tolerably good figure, he prevailed on the Bath matron to favour him with her hand.
From his infancy Lookup manifested a strong propensity for play, and as he grew up became very expert at several games. Till his marriage, however, he was hampered by lack of funds, which prevented him from exercising his skill and judgment to much advantage. Finding himself master of five hundred pounds brought to him by his wife, he soon shut up shop, and turned his application from pharmacy to speculation. He became a first-rate piquet and whist player, and soon mastered various other games of chance and skill; in a short time, by incessant industry, greatly increasing his capital.
Lord Chesterfield and Mr. Lookup, for a long time, played constant matches at piquet together, the former being something of an adept at the game; but Mr. Lookup's superior skill at length prevailed, with the result that very considerable gains passed into his pocket.
Lord Chesterfield would also sometimes amuse himself at billiards with Mr. Lookup, and upon one of these occasions the peer had the laugh turned against him by the sharp tactics of his antagonist. Mr. Lookup had met with an accident by which he was deprived of the sight of one of his eyes, though to any cursory observer it appeared as perfect as the other. Having beaten the peer playing evens, Lookup asked how many his lordship would give him, if he put a patch upon one eye. Lord Chesterfield agreed to give him five, upon which Lookup beat him several times successively. At length his lordship, with some petulance, exclaimed, "Lookup, I think you play as well with one eye as two." "I don't wonder at it, my lord," replied Lookup, "for I have seen only out of one for these ten years." With the money he won of Lord Chesterfield he bought some houses at Bath, and jocularly named them Chesterfield Row.