A Gamble with Hearts

Chapter One ~ 1868-1

Chapter One ~ 1868It was pouring with rain and bitterly cold with the wind blowing from the mountains as a gentleman rode into the courtyard of the Posting inn.

The lit windows, the chatter of voices, and the sound of laughter were welcoming after a long ride when the elements had been more unpleasant than the mud and roughness of the road.

The gentleman swung himself down from the saddle and waited while his servant on another horse came forward to take the bridle and then he walked into the inn.

He was surprised to find, as he entered through the door, quite an inordinate number of people grouped about a log fire in a low-ceilinged room, drinking and smoking.

He walked to where the landlord was busy pouring beer into pewter mugs to say in a tone of authority,

“I want a bedchamber for the night for myself and one for my servant.”

“Impossible, Mein Herr,” the landlord replied without raising his eyes.

Then, as if under some compulsion, he looked up and, noting the appearance of the traveller, said in a very different tone,

“It is with the deepest regret, Mein Herr, that I cannot accommodate you, but the fact is we have more guests than we can cope with as it is.”

The gentleman looked around him.

“Where have they all come from?” he asked curiously.

He was well aware that this was only a minor Posting inn, so that he had certainly not expected to find it filled with elegant ladies in silk gowns and expensive furs or gentlemen wearing fashionably cut tight-fitting jackets and sable-lined overcoats.

“There has been a fall of stone on the Railway line, Mein Herr. These travellers are all on their way to Baden-Baden and have preferred to seek shelter in my inn rather than spend the night on the train.”

“I presume you can provide me with a meal of sorts?” the gentleman asked.

“Indeed, Mein Herr, it will be a pleasure and I can only offer you my sincere regrets that we have no bedchamber available.”

As the landlord spoke, his wife, a portly woman wearing a mobcap and a white apron, came to his side and whispered something in his ear.

The innkeeper appeared to hesitate and then he said,

“I hardly dare suggest it, Mein Herr, but there is an attic room still unoccupied. It is one that is usually allotted to a servant, but at least you could lie down and it would be more pleasant than spending the night in a chair.”

“I will take it,” the stranger nodded briefly. “And now, if someone will wait upon me in the dining hall, I wish to order some wine.”

He strode away in what was obviously the direction of the dining hall and the innkeeper’s wife’s eyes followed him admiringly.

There was no doubt that he was not only handsome but distinguished in appearance and his clothes, she noted, were worn with the indifferent elegance that proclaimed him an Englishman.

Like her husband she had not failed to notice the gold signet ring on his finger or the pearl pin in his cravat.

It was not only the impression of wealth and elegance that made her eyes follow the gentleman until he was out of sight. There was something else about him, something that had made several women, as he passed through the crowded room, gaze at him and then gaze again.

As it was late, the dining hall was empty, save for a couple of elderly men lingering over a bottle of port.

The new arrival seated himself at a table near the open fireplace. When the waiter came hurrying to take his order, he scrutinised the menu with care, selecting his dishes with a fastidiousness and knowledge of food that ensured him more respect than was accorded to most travellers.

Finally, after a short wait, he was provided with well-cooked pike, a tender fowl, venison marinated in wine, a choice of Zuckerwerk or Pflaumemus and a selection of fruit dishes, which were all appetising.

The wine was not exceptional but certainly drinkable and, when he had eaten amply for it was his first meal of the day, the gentleman sat back in his chair and sipped his glass of port.

He was warm, he was no longer hungry and whatever the bed that awaited him upstairs was like, he knew that he would sleep well.

The dining hall was now empty and the room, which had been filled with travellers when he passed through it, was now much quieter.

Most of the women had retired upstairs to the bedchambers allotted to them and the men who were left still smoking round the fireside were nodding their heads obviously too tired to talk.

The gentleman looked around for the landlord and found him totting up his accounts of the drink that had been consumed.

“My bedroom is ready for me?” the gentleman asked.

“Your servant has taken up your things, Mein Herr, and I can only once again express my regrets that I cannot offer you a more worthy place for your slumbers.”

“I daresay I shall fare all right,” the stranger said genially.

“If you will climb the stairs, Mein Herr, the room is in the attics, the first door you come to as you reach the top landing.”

“I will find it,” the gentleman answered and he strolled slowly up the uncarpeted oak staircase, which twisted and turned until finally he reached the attics, which were so low-ceilinged that he had to bend his head.

He was well aware that the attic rooms in such an inn, being immediately under the roof, would be hot in summer and cold in winter and it was with a feeling of relief as he opened the door that he saw a light in the fireplace and realised that his servant had lit a fire.

It was smoking a little, which was not surprising, as it was unlikely that the chimney would have been used very often by those who could afford only such poor and austere accommodation.

The room was small and contained a bed, which stood against one wall, and a wooden chair.

The bed had obviously seen better days and must have been moved from one of the better rooms in the inn into the attics in order to dispose of it.

It was a high unwieldy box-bed beloved of the German Hausfrau and the curtains, which had once ensured privacy, were now threadbare and full of holes.

But at a glance the gentleman could see that the coarse linen sheets were clean and he was quite certain that the mattress would be of goose feathers and therefore extremely comfortable.

He lit a candle that stood on the mantelshelf from a taper, which he kindled from the flames of the fire, and as he did so he heard a scream.

It came from the room next door and as he stood still to listen there was another scream, and yet another.

As they were low-pitched the gentleman walked across the room to stand near the opposite wall, so that he could hear what was happening.

To his astonishment he heard a woman’s voice calling out in English,

“No – no – please don’t – hit me anymore – I am sorry, I tell you – I am – sorry, I did not – mean to do it!”

“Whether you meant it or not, you know what you have done and I will make certain that you never do such a thing again,” another woman’s voice replied viciously.

There was the sound of a whip being applied forcefully and each sharp crack brought forth another half-stifled scream.

Again a voice pleaded,

“P-please – please no more – I could not – help it – I swear I could – not help it!”

The noise of the whip was almost monotonous until the screams became weaker.

“Let this be a lesson to you,” the woman's voice rasped sharply, “a lesson you will not forget. When we reach Baden-Baden, you will obey me and do what I wish, otherwise I will hand you over to the Police and they will send you back to Paris to face the guillotine. Is that clear?”

There was no answer and the woman went on with a venomous note in her voice,

“You will obey me and do exactly what I say! Otherwise the beating I have given you tonight will be child’s play to what you will receive. Think about it, Selina. Just think about it.”

There was the sound of someone moving across the uncarpeted floor. Then the door of the attic room next to the gentleman’s closed with a slam and he heard footsteps descending the stairs.

He was just about to return to the comfort of the fire when he heard the sound of tempestuous weeping, so agonising that it sounded as if whoever was crying had lost the last vestige of self-control.

The gentleman listened for a moment and then resolutely moved across the room.

‘It is none of my business,’ he told himself.

But the sound of weeping was inescapable, even at the furthest end of his room he could still hear it and he knew that he would be unable to sleep so long as it continued.

For a moment he seemed to debate as if with himself.

Then he took the candle from the mantelshelf and opening his door went out on to the landing.

He walked a few steps until he came to the next room. In the lock he could see a key and realised that when the woman had gone downstairs she had turned it. Whoever was weeping was locked in.

Again the gentleman hesitated for a moment and then he knocked gently on the door.

The weeping ceased.

There was a sudden silence and then he knocked again.

There was no answer and after a second he turned the key and entered the room.

The attic was almost identical to his own except that there was no fire. There was one candle on a deal table beside the bed.

The gentleman stood just inside the door and by the light of his own candle and that on the table he could see a recumbent figure lying on top of the bed.

At first he thought it was a child. Then a face was raised from the pillow and he found himself looking at two very large tear-filled eyes in a small heart-shaped face.

Tears were running down a girl’s pale cheeks and her fair hair fell over her shoulders.

“W-what – do you – want?”

There was no doubt of the terror in her voice and the gentleman replied gently,

“Don’t be afraid. I only came to see if I could help you.”

The girl on the bed drew in her breath and the tears in her eyes spilled over as she answered brokenly,

“No one can – help me.”

“Are you sure of that?” the gentleman asked.

“Q-quite – sure,” she answered and her voice broke on the words.

The gentleman paused a moment and then he suggested,

“As one English person to another in a foreign country, I think perhaps we might discuss your problem.”

He thought he saw an expression of hope in her face before she answered,

“You – you are – very kind – but you cannot help me – it is impossible.”

The gentleman smiled.

“I have a strange antipathy to being told that any problem is impossible. I have always believed that every difficulty is surmountable if one goes the right way about it.”

The girl’s eyes were on his face and he had the feeling that she was wondering if she could trust him.

“I promise you,” he said in a quiet voice, “that if you wish me to leave you alone, I will do so. But if you continue to cry as wretchedly as you have been doing, I shall find it impossible to sleep on the other side of the wall.”

“You – heard what – happened?” the girl asked in a low voice.

“I heard,” he answered.

“There is no – reason why I should – burden you with my – problem.”

“As I have just said, we are fellow countrymen and I am also extremely curious as to why you should be so cruelly treated.”

He glanced at her body as he spoke and she made a little nervous gesture of modesty.

She was wearing only a thin cotton nightgown buttoned at the neck and with long sleeves. In the light from the candles it was easy to see the spots of blood from the weals raised on her back by the whip.

“Suppose,” the gentleman proposed in a calm matter of fact voice, “you get under the bedclothes where you will be warmer. I will turn my back while you do so and then you can tell me what you have done to incur such punishment.”