Bewitched (Bantam Series No. 16) Read Free Page A

of £50,000.
    Yet his courage, like his wit, never failed him, and he enjoyed all the year round a fresh apricot tart on his side-table at dinner.
    Lord Worcester, son and heir of the Duke of Beaufort had recently spent a fortune he did not possess on a team of greys which he drove with a panache that excited public admiration.
    His liaison with the famous Courtesan, Harriette Wilson, when he was still a minor had forced the Duke to offer her the sum of five hundred pounds a year for life.
    When the Duke tried to settle her claim with a huge sum Harriette wrote her Memoirs, a chronique scandaleuse which set fashionable London in a turmoil.
    Prince Esterhazy, on the other hand, was the Austrian Ambassador and a very wealthy man. On State occasions he was known to wear jewels worth eighty thousand pounds.
    The gentlemen were joking with each other while Sir Algernon, having carefully recorded the conditions and date of the wager, set the Betting-Book on one side.
    Charles Collington picked it up.
    “You know,” he said to the Marquis, “anyone reading this book in the future will think that most of the members of White’s were half-witted. Look at this, for instance.”
    He pointed to a page on which was inscribed:
    “ Ld Lincoln bets Ld Winchelsea One Hundred Guineas to Fifty guineas that the Duchess Dowager of Marlborough does not survive the Duchess Dowager of Cleveland .”
    “I remember reading that entry,” the Marquis said. “It is not as absurd as Lord Eglington’s, who wagered he would find ‘a man who shall kill twenty snipe in three-and-twenty shots’.”
    “Where is that?” Charles Collington laughed.
    “You will find it on one of the pages,” the Marquis replied. “I once read the book through from cover to cover, and came to the conclusion that the majority of the bets were made either by drunks or lunatics.”
    “What about this one?” Charles Collington asked.
    Turning the pages, he read aloud:
    “ Mr. Brummel bets Mr. Methuin two hundred guineas to twenty that Bonaparte will arrive in Paris on September 12th, 1812 .”
    “At least Brummel collected on that occasion,” the Marquis remarked.
    “Poor Brummel, I wish he was here now,” Charles Collington said. “If anyone could give an outsider a setdown it was he.”
    “That is true,” the Marquis agreed. “Well, Charles, time is getting on. Shall we proceed to the Opera House?”
    To his surprise his friend did not answer. Then after a moment Captain Collington said in a strange voice:
    “Look at this, Fabius.”
    He passed the book to the Marquis and, following the direction of his finger, the Marquis read:
    “ Mr. Jethro Ruck bets Sir James Copley that he will be in possession of a fortune and a title by the end of the year 1818 .”
    The Marquis read it slowly then he turned to look at his friend. “That gives you exactly eight months,” Charles Collington said quietly.
    “Do you really think—you cannot believe—” the Marquis began.
    “Do not be a fool, Fabius. It is quite obvious. I told you Jethro has been praying for your death, and I am quite certain that tonight he was doing something a little more active than pray!”
    “I have a feeling you are right,” the Marquis agreed.
    “What are you going to do about it?” Charles Collington enquired.
    The Marquis shrugged his shoulders.
    “What can I do? I can hardly accuse Jethro of throwing masonry at me from the top of my house unless I have proof.”
    “But good Lord, Fabius, you cannot just sit and do nothing! He will get to you sooner or later.”
    “That is rather a challenge, is it not?”
    “Now do not be turnip-headed about this,” Charles Collington admonished. “I have always detested your cousin, as you well know. I have always known that he is an unmitigated blackguard and it is no surprise to me that he plans to murder you. The only thing is—I could not bear him to be successful.”
    “I do not particularly care for the idea myself!” the Marquis