Liverpool, England, June 1798
Gregory Templeton sat looking at the cards in his hand and tried to maintain a neutral expression. Four of spades, five of clubs, six of hearts, seven of clubs, and eight of hearts; a straight. His heart began to pound and he prayed that the other men sitting at the table wouldn't notice the thin sheen of sweat that had broken out on his forehead. Finally, a winning hand. He had been playing for hours and was finally on the receiving end of some luck. However it may be too late do him much good. He barely had enough money to keep in the game, let alone raise the other players bets so that he could win a decent amount. He fingered the last two chips sitting in front of him and carelessly tossed them into the pile in the center of the table.
"I would raise you more but unfortunately that is the last of the money I brought with me tonight," he said jovially. It was in fact very close to the last of his money entirely. If he won this hand he would be back in the game. A couple more wins after that and he would be ahead. Just a couple more wins.
"If you require a small loan, it can be arranged," his host replied smoothly. Mr. Binton's poker games were legendary. The men often played for days on end and more often than not fortunes were won and lost during those long weekends. Gregory was determined that the next fortune to fall would not be his.
"If it's no trouble," he said lighting a cigar, trying to appear calm. In reality he felt anything but calm.
"Of course not," Binton replied. He motioned to the dealer who placed a stack of chips in front of him. "Will that be sufficient?" he asked.
Gregory stared at the chips and managed to reply, "Yes, yes that will do. Thank you."
He bet heavily, sure that his straight would win the round. Through the haze of cigar smoke, he studied the other six inscrutable faces around the table. No one was giving away a thing. He knew that a straight wasn't the best hand possible but he felt it was enough. This time it was just enough. This was his round.
Two of the other players folded, followed by a third. When it finally came time to show their cards, he revealed his straight with a flourish. Such displays were usually frowned upon but he just couldn't help himself. He was about to reach for the mound of money in the center of the table when Binton placed his cards on the table. The four queens flanked by a ten stared at him. He couldn't believe it. He had lost. The eyes of the queens on the cards seem to mock him. He stared with disbelief as Binton raked in the pile of chips.
He would just have to win the next hand, he thought. Just a couple of skillfully played hands, along with a touch of luck and he would be able to pay back Binton and have a tidy sum left over.
Several hours, many unlucky hands and two more loans later, reality hit him and he realized how dire his situation was. He broke out into a sweat and felt the blood drain from his face as he realized that his fortune was most surely lost.
Placing a hand on his shoulder Binton asked, "I say old chum, are you all right?"
Recovering and attempting what he hoped was a cool smile he replied, "Of course, of course. Too much smoke, I suppose. Please excuse me. I'm going to get some air, I'll rejoin the game in a few minutes." He rose and walked to the french doors leading to the terrace. Once outside he staggered to the railing, breathing in great gulps of the cold January air. How could he have lost so much? How could he have such rotten luck? He rested his elbows on the railing and put his face in his hands. He would win it all back. He raised his head and tilted his face to the starry night sky. Please, he prayed, let me win it back, please.
He looked down to the frost covered gardens below. The ball had ended hours ago. His daughter Virginia had danced the night away. She was eighteen and the light of his life. With her fiery red hair, peaches and cream complexion and just a light dusting of freckles across her nose she reminded him so much of her mother. It was a pity that Virginia hardly even remembered her. She had died of fever when Virginia was only five, but for tonight he was glad that she wasn't around to witness this disgraceful decline into bankruptcy.
Oh Virginia, he thought. I have to win the money back, I just have to. He couldn't go home and tell her that he had lost everything. He didn't even have enough to pay for the gown she had worn tonight. The bill for that was mixed in with the mounting pile sitting on the desk in his study.
He heard footsteps and looked up. Charles Thompson was walking towards him. He had evidently attended the ball as he was dressed in a very fine evening suit. The Thompson family owned the two largest cotton mills in Liverpool as well as a very successful tobacco importing business and was one of the wealthiest and most influential families in town. Charles was twenty four years old and the sole heir to his family's great fortune.
"Mr. Templeton, Charles Thompson. We met during the Christmas Ball that my family hosted a few weeks back," Charles said, his breath creating small silvery puffs in the night air.
"Yes, yes. Of course, I remember. Are you playing tonight?" he replied shaking the younger man's hand and gesturing towards the games going on inside.
"Yes, great fun isn't it? I've been having quite a good bit of luck. And you?"
"Oh yes, I've been rather lucky myself," he nervously lied.
Charles looked at him for a moment and then abruptly changing the subject he asked, "Were you surprised to have been invited to my family's ball at Christmas?"
Momentarily flustered by the unexpected question he said, "Why yes, as a matter of fact. I was a bit surprised to receive the invitation." The Thompson's Christmas Ball was one of the social events of the season, usually reserved for Liverpool's most elite citizens. Gregory was certainly well respected and was thought to be modestly wealthy but not one of the inner circle. "Why do you ask?"
"Your daughter was the reason I sent the invitation." He paused while lighting a cigar. "She has grown into quite a beauty." Before he could reply, Charles again changed the course of the conversation. "How much do you owe old Binton, Mr. Templeton?" he asked studying the glowing end of his cigar.
Trying to laugh off the question, he said lightly, "Oh not much, not much at all. I'll easily settle with him tomorrow."
Looking him in the eye, Charles said, "Settle with him tomorrow? I understand it's quite a tidy sum. Quite a tidy sum indeed." Noting the older man's perplexed look he continued. "I also understand that he is not the only one you owe money to, am I right?"
