“It was Mendoza, actually,” said Killarney.
“None of you has the intellect to succeed without your titles, let alone as criminals, and was it not for the fortune of your births, you would all have died on the gallows.”
“Or the guillotine, non?” said Louis, slowly getting to his feet. “You are an arrogant fool, Monsieur Baron, and I no longer have time for fools.”
“Because you know I am right,” scoffed Fellowes. “I doubt you would make a thousand pounds apiece as highwaymen, even if you had a month to work the roads. You’d be caught and swinging on the gallows within a week!”
“Is that a bet?” asked Dook quietly.
“It sounded awfully like a bet to me,” agreed William, his rage clouding his thoughts as much as the whisky.
Conway and Killarney glanced at each other.
“Definitely a bet,” they said in unison, and the cry began to be echoed around the card tables.
Shouts of “The book! The book!” rang out, and they were soon surrounded by members of Brooks as odds and rules were called out by several different gentlemen. Fellowes glanced about him, looking pale.
“What odds do you lay, Monsieur?” asked Louis, looking nonchalant about the whole matter. “A thousand a piece?”
“No, he said we could not earn a thousand apiece,” corrected William. “That’s a lot of risk for us, and the bet should reflect it.”
“Five thousand that you cannot do it!” shouted someone from the crowd.
“Five thousand each!” shouted someone else. “That’s the least you should bet, Lord Fellowes!”
This suggestion was quickly taken up by the crowd, becoming a chant by the time a waiter appeared bearing the club betting book, which he laid onto the table with great dignity. Another member of the staff laid down a small pot of ink and a quill before Dook, who looked at them with blank indifference.
Fellowes looked as though he were about to cast up his accounts, but he managed to maintain his dignity. The man was a notorious throttlepenny, but even he placed his honor as a gentleman above his fortune.
“Very well. I bet twenty-five thousand pounds that you cannot earn a thousand apiece as highwaymen before a month has passed,” he said.
The cheer that went up was deafening, and the membership immediately began laying their own bets on the details of the wager.
“Done,” said William, and his four companions echoed the sentiment.
Dook went to pick up the quill, but Fellowes got there before him.
“If you don’t mind, Your Grace, my hand is steadier than yours, for I have not consumed as much wine this evening.”
“Very kind of you,” said Dook, pushing the book and inkwell over to the baron.
The tip of the quill scratched the paper as Fellowes wrote out the bet in his flowery handwriting. A smile hovered on his lips, quite at odds with the expression of dread he’d had minutes earlier.
“Why are you smirking?” William asked suddenly as a faint instinct of self-preservation woke up from a drunken stupor.
“Because I know this will make me a rich man, Haddington,” replied Fellowes with an air of innocence that only served to increase William’s sense of unease. “I wish to add some conditions to this bet, gentlemen, if only to protect all of our reputations.”
“What terms?” asked Conway, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“Firstly, that none of the people you rob can be hurt or killed.”
“Good God, man, what kind of devils do you think we are?” exploded Killarney. “We’re not about to murder some fellow over a handful of coins!”
Fellowes smiled politely. “So that term is agreed. Secondly, and most importantly, you must not be identified, whether by the law or by the people you steal from.”
Dook frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that if the people you attempt to rob recognize any of you, then the money you take from them cannot count toward your total,” continued Fellowes. “It simply prevents anyone from helping you achieve your goal through nefarious means—with or without your consent.”
“I should shoot you for insulting our honor,” said Louis casually, “but I will settle for winning your fortune instead. Pass the book, I wish to sign.”
“There’s a lot of words for just two terms. Should we not—” began William, but sighed in defeat as Louis and then Dook signed their names, cheered on by the crowd.
Conway and Killarney signed as well, handing the book to William last of all before pressing the quill into his hand. He tried to read the details written out by Lord Fellowes, but the scratches swam about, and he could not make sense of them.
He could not, however, call the man’s honor into question by demanding an independent party read the bet out loud, especially now that his friends had signed it and were bound by the terms regardless. He dipped the quill into the pot of ink and then added his name below those of his friends.
A great cheer went up, and the men around them began to demand the book for themselves so that their own wagers on the outcome could be recorded. Drinks were requested, people slapped him on the back, and Killarney began singing his ballad again.
William watched as Fellowes whispered something to his companion. The baron was much too calm for a man who had staked a cool twenty-five thousand pounds on a ridiculous wager, let alone for a man whose penny-pinching on everything but his clothing was legendary.
Dook slapped the table hard and got to his feet.
“No time like the present, my good friends,” he declared. “We’re already dressed the part, so we might as well begin our life of crime this very night!”
“Is that wise?” asked a portly gentleman who had just bet a large amount on the five friends to win. “You’re all more than half cut, after all, and you forfeit the bet if you are caught.”
“Only if we are identified,” replied Dook with considerable cheer. “Who can identify us when we are in costume? I doubt my own mother would recognize me in this getup!”
“Your own mother would be hard-pressed to recognize you if you were the only man in the room,” said William, trying not to stagger as he stepped out from behind the table. It took more effort than he liked to retrieve his hat, coat, and mask from the floor. “Damn it all, though, let’s go steal a fortune from our peers this very night if we can do so. I want to wipe that smirk from the baron’s face.”
“And I wish to relieve him of his fortune,” said Louis before draining his glass of wine.
Killarney and Conway didn’t bother to answer as they were leading a group of equally drunk gentlemen in a rousing chorus of Darling Sporting Jenny. They did not object to the heavy hands of Dook on their shoulders as they were led toward the door.
Chapter Seven
’Twas early in the morning at the barracks of Killarney
My brother took his leave, but he forgot to tell the army
He broke into my prison for he’s always fond of fighting
As we raced out on our horses ’twas all over but the shouting
Mush rim damma dur um da
One for the daddy-o
There’s whiskey in the jar
Darling Sporting Jenny