The Last Days of Newgate - Andrew Pepper [84]
‘And if God happens to instruct you to beat a Catholic man nearly to death with your bare fists?’
Campbell appeared shocked by such a notion. Arnold smirked. ‘That might happen in England . . .’
‘But not here?’
‘We’re law-abiding people.’
Removing his wallet, Pyke took out a crisp ten-pound note and tossed it into the pot. ‘Your five and another five.’ Without missing a beat, he turned to Arnold. ‘You’re saying that kind of hate doesn’t have a place here?’
‘What? Around this table?’ Arnold said, mocking. Laughter filled the small room.
Pyke’s eyes narrowed. ‘You know what I meant.’
‘And things were fine here till Cromwell turned up and slaughtered folk in their thousands. Believe it or not, Mr Hawkes, we can sort out our problem without the help of the English.’ He looked again at his hand. ‘Another five, eh? Yes, I think I’ll have some of that,’ he said, throwing a pile of coins into the mounting pot.
‘I’m out,’ Tait said, folding his hand.
‘A pugilist with no stomach for a fight,’ Campbell chided.
‘I’ll see the both of you.’
Arnold wanted one fresh card, Campbell two. Pyke discarded a jack and a queen and dealt himself two new cards. Turning them over, he found himself staring at the six of spades and the ace of clubs. Together with the two sixes already in his hand and the six of clubs up his sleeve, it gave him an all but unbeatable hand.
He just needed to find a way of retrieving the hidden card and discarding the ace.
‘I’m surprised you don’t see Cromwell as something of a hero,’ Pyke said, feeling for the card up his sleeve.
‘How can an Englishman be a hero?’ Arnold smirked.
‘Anyway, the English have never understood what it’s actually like, having to live with the papists.’ He consulted his hand. ‘Would anyone object if I were to raise the bet to fifty pound?’
The mood quickly intensified. The gathered crowd murmured excitedly. This was more money than any of them would earn in ten years. Briefly, Pyke wondered whether someone might lose their head and make a grab for the whole pot.
‘Bet too rich for you, Bill?’ Arnold said.
Campbell winced. ‘Aye. Damn.’ He folded his hand.
Arnold’s stare returned to Pyke. ‘Hawkes?’
‘Fifty pounds, you say?’ Pyke had another look at his hand. ‘How about we raise the bet by a further hundred?’
‘Pounds?’ The word seemed to catch in Tait’s throat. Campbell stared at him without emotion.
Arnold weighed up the offer. ‘You’ve got the money to cover any losses, I presume?’
‘You can presume.’
‘On your person?’
Pyke raised his eyes to meet Arnold’s gaze. ‘You can check my wallet, if you don’t believe me.’ But he did not retrieve it from his jacket because he did not want Arnold to see how thin it was.
Arnold wiped his mouth with his sleeve. ‘A hundred, you say? That’s a powerful bet.’ He allowed a smile to ripple across his lips.
Until now it had not entered Pyke’s head that he might lose the hand. For Arnold to beat him, he would need to be holding four sevens. The odds of two such hands emerging from the same round were practically impossible. No, he decided, Arnold might be holding a strong hand, a flush perhaps, but nothing that would beat his four sixes. He glanced down at the pile of coins and banknotes on the table.
‘Aye, I’ll see your bet,’ Arnold said, his hands trembling a little. ‘Let’s see what you’re holdin’.’
Concealed by the table, Pyke let the ace slip out of his hand into his lap. He then placed the four cards face down on the table and turned them over one at a time. ‘One six, two sixes, three sixes.’ He waited for a moment before turning over the final card. ‘Four sixes.’ He permitted himself a smile and, as he did so, took a moment to slide the discarded ace up his sleeve.
‘Good hand,’ Campbell murmured, glancing nervously at Arnold.
‘Aye,’ Arnold said, staring