Percival was, indeed, playing cards but with one small change upon the scenario Constable Brooks had suggested to Tiffany—his Uncle Ronald made up the fourth, rather than Smithers.
Smithers hovered in the background, armed with smelling salts and willow tea, just in case Percival should feel faint or develop a return of the headaches.
Mr. Kenault was the current dealer, and he handed round the cards with a flourish. Percival was his partner, and sat across the table from him, while Mr. Quentin, Lord Ronald’s partner, was seated to his left with Lord Ronald to his right.
“Are you sure you would not like to play for penny stakes?” Lord Ronald asked.
Mr. Kenault opened his mouth to speak, but Percival trod upon his toe, at which Mr. Kenault let out a yelp. “Dear me, old man, dreadfully sorry. I’m just not as nimble as I might be. No, Uncle, we are quite happy playing for jettons.”
“Only a penny a point,” Lord Ronald wheedled.
“Our host has spoken,” Mr. Quentin said equitably, picking up his cards and ordering them. “Cards serve to pass the time, and make the evening more enjoyable. Serious bets would give it a competitive edge far less jovial than our friendly game.”
Lord Ronald sighed. “Very well. Jettons it is. Although I do wonder where the spirit of venture has gone in today’s youth.”
“Upon the stock market, Uncle,” Percival observed. “Mr. Wilson has let me know that my investments are up several points, of which I am very glad since two of them are charitable endeavors.”
“Now that I do not understand,” Lord Ronald commented while surveying his hand.
“Making investments?” Percival asked.
“Charitable investments. What kind of return are you going to get on widows and orphans, or men who are pretending not to be able to work?”
Mr. Quentin opened his mouth, then sucked in a breath as Percival trod on his toe. “A stable work force, Uncle Ronald. A neighborhood of loyal people who know that I follow through on my promises. And finally, the good feeling that comes from knowing that I have done something to make life better for the people who do all the unseen things that make up our lives.”
“Poppycock,” Lord Ronald said, calmly collecting all the jettons that were on the table. “That is so much fustian and you know it.”
“Nothing of the kind, Uncle. And now you see, Mr. Kenault, had we been playing for pennies, Uncle Ronald would certainly have several of yours.”
“So I see,” Mr. Kenault said wryly. “I believe I owe you some thanks.”
“None required,” Percival replied. “But let that be a lesson to you, my friends. Sometimes the greatest card sharks are the ones to whom you are related.”
“Nephew,” Lord Ronald protested, spreading one perfectly groomed hand across his chest, “You wound me.”
“Nay, Uncle. I pay you the greatest of compliments. You are masterful at judging the likelihood of being able to make up a trick. However, I do not intend to allow you to run myself or my friends out of blunt before next quarter day.”
Lord Ronald laughed. “Very well, Nephew. I concede the point. You are, indeed, wiser than ever was your father. I simply do not see the profit in giving to the indigent. Poor people have poor ways, and that is why they are poor.”
“Is it, Uncle? I am not sure that the charwoman who scrubs our floors would agree with you. She works hard, and still manages to donate her time to others of her class who are in need.”
“Heaven spare me!” Lord Ronald exclaimed. “I had thought to give the three of you a chance to reclaim your honor, but upon that thought, I believe I shall retire to bed. I wonder that you have survived so long since reaching your majority.”
“Good night, Uncle. Pleasant dreams.”
“Thank you, Nephew. Do not sit up too long gossiping with your cronies. Do not think that I am not aware that these fellows are on the same committee for this Charity Club as are you.”
“It is not a secret, Uncle Ronald. I am relatively certain that most of the residents of Northbury, and perhaps of London as well, are aware of this fact.”
“Well-a-day, and so they are. Good night, Gentlemen.”
Lord Ronald strode out of the room, presumably to go to the West Wing where his rooms were located. They all listened to his receding footsteps for a three count before Mr. Quentin said, very softly, “Is he gone?”
Smithers stepped to the door and peered down the hall. “I believe he has, gentlemen. But perhaps we should wait for Lucas to give the all clear.”
“I had never thought to feel as if I were a prisoner in my own home,” Percival said. “Nor had I ever believed I should be at such loggerheads with my uncle. I can scarcely believe that this is the kindly uncle who used to bring me toys and sweets when he would visit.”
“I would not recognize him from the descriptions you had given in the past,” Mr. Kenault agreed. “Perhaps he has had financial reversals?”
