The Secret Fate of Mary Watson Read Online Free

fifty pounds overall. Dandy has done well, and Blackbeard has broken even. The big loser, predictably, is the inebriated Sideburns, who makes light of his losses with the kind of forced bonhomie that’s just waiting for the wrong word, or wrong look, to turn viperish.
    Wilson has forgotten all about our follow-up conversation, which suits me admirably. He knows something went badly wrong, and isn’t clear about how much trouble he might be in. I didn’t notice Cobweb leaving, but I imagine he’s shaking in his boots somewhere private. He’d paled like a feverish frog under the fangs of Blackbeard’s stare.
    The spectators depart for the bar. I’m about to follow them downstairs when I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn to find Handsome’s face inches from my own.
    ‘Percy Fuller,’ he offers, then lowers his voice, brings his face close enough that I can smell his cologne: a mix of pine needles and warm male. ‘But please call me Percy. I owe you a favour. How did you know?’
    Some small spring tightens in my chest and then lets go with a pleasant ping. I step back a little.
    ‘Mary Oxnam. Please call me Mary.’
    I hold out my hand and he takes it. His is dry, with calluses on the palm. I look down. He wears no wedding ring.
    ‘The eyes, of course,’ I tell him. ‘Once you know what to look for, it’s obvious.’
    He tips his head a little to one side. ‘An observant girl, aren’t you?’ It’s a rhetorical question. ‘Pardon my curiosity, but how would you know about card sharping, Mary Oxnam?’
    I think of lying, then wonder what would be the point. I won’t see this man again, and fabrication requires more energy than I can muster. It’s been a long afternoon.
    ‘I’ve had a lifetime’s apprenticeship.’
    He looks quizzical.
    ‘I’ve watched my father’s failed attempts to extract money out of his customers and business colleagues in any number of illegal ways. Rigged poker games were the least of it.’
    ‘I see.’ An extra string pulls tight in those green eyes. ‘Customers?’
    ‘He’s proprietor of the Red Lion pub in Rockhampton. And before that, many other ventures. He’s not a particularly competent cheat, which led to a lifestyle that is … Peripatetic is probably the word.’ My throat feels dry. I need another drink.
    ‘Even with a family to look after?’
    ‘My father never lets a small thing like responsibility slow him down.’
    ‘Where are you from originally?’
    ‘Cornwall. My family came over from Truro two years ago on the City of Agra . And you?’
    ‘London,’ he says, but somehow I doubt it. There’s something slightly askew about his accent. ‘These days I operate a sea-slug-fishing station on Lizard Island with my partner, Bob Watson.’
    ‘Sea-slug fishing!’
    ‘Let me guess. You’ve always imagined it’s a dirty business that no self-respecting gentleman would lower himself to.’ He seems more amused than offended.
    ‘Something like that, I suppose.’
    He looks briefly over my shoulder, then brings his gaze back to mine. ‘Look, rather than standing here making the place look messy, will you come downstairs with me for a drink? We’ll find a quiet corner table. You’re an interesting person, Mary, scambuster extraordinaire. And there is the small matter of the favour I owe you.’
    The pulse at my throat won’t let me say no. I look around. The room has largely emptied.
    By the time we reach the bar, Wilson has gone. Blackbeard’s in the corner talking to a middle-aged man who was not in the group upstairs. Dandy has taken a seat at a table under a window across the room, as though to get as far away from Blackbeard as possible. He, too, has company: a man dressed in grubby trousers and a worn shirt. One of the two ladies from upstairs is engaged in conversation with Sideburns, who apparently had enough money left to buy another big glass of whisky. Cobweb has disappeared.
    ‘Taking your inventory?’ Percy mutters near my ear.
    I smile