Miss Gabriel's Gambit by Rita Boucher Read Free Book Online Page A

of her aunt’s control.
    Now that they were in London, however, only the sympathy of Boniface, her uncle’s old butler, kept her from the general lot of governesses. Neither fish nor fowl nor good red herring, those poor women usually wandered the netherworld between upstairs and below, finding respect in neither. No, Sylvia corrected, there was one other major item that separated her from the realm of service. Aunt Ruby paid her servants, but as an impoverished relation, Sylvia received nothing but cold charity.
    Even now, Sylvia ventured a guess, Aunt Ruby was pouring the entire sad tale into Lord Donhill’s sympathetic ears. “Poor Sylvia, cheated by her wicked uncle, cast upon our mercy ... “ What utter rubbish! The penny-squeezing woman had not spent so much as a groat on either Sylvia or her brother since it was determined that the money had disappeared. Slamming the door behind her, Sylvia threw herself upon her bed, blinking back angry tears. Bad enough to be made into an object of pity, but for Aunt Ruby to toss Uncle Miles’ reputation to the winds, especially poisoning David Rutherford against him. It was not to be borne.
    She turned onto her back, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling. There was no help for it. It would be foolish beyond permission to storm downstairs to throw Aunt Ruby’s barley-water charity into her face. Besides, Sylvia tried to convince herself, it was undoubtedly better this way. If Aunt Ruby behaved with her usual lack of grace, Lord Donhill would probably take his leave forever. There would be no further questions about the culmination of the correspondence chess game. Strange, how that thought left her feeling utterly bereft.
    You should be relieved , she berated herself. The deception is over . There would be no more stealthy searches through the mail, hoping to intercept David’s letter before it came to Aunt Ruby’s hands. Yet, all she could do was mourn, as this last link to a happier past was severed. The game was ended and there would be no more.
    When Uncle had become too ill to write anymore, Sylvia had known that she should have informed his opponent. However, over the years, she had come to know and respect David; indeed, she began to think of her uncle’s correspondent on a first name basis. Sylvia had often read David’s letters aloud to Sir Mile’s and they had laughed together over David’s wry observations about life in the army and later, the difficulties of making a fresh start in a new land. His vivid descriptions of the East had reminded Sylvia of those wonderful years that she and Will had spent in India with Mama and Papa.
    Then, at the end of each letter, there was always the next move. Uncle Miles would stand before the gold and silver board, lifting the lapis piece as if he were some high priest performing a sacred rite. Afterward, they would ponder the possibilities, racing to the shelves to consult the chess texts, arguing strategy, history and their opponent’s intent until the wee hours of the morning. It would take days of debate, until at last, they had chosen their own next move.
    Ten years. It was hard to believe that so much time had passed. She had been a mere girl in plaits when the game had begun, but Uncle had made her a part of it from the start. Sylvia’s father had recognized his daughter’s native talent, nurturing it until he and his wife were killed in a carriage accident. Fortunately, Uncle Miles had also encouraged his young niece’s love of chess, helping her to hone her skill until she eventually had surpassed him. Indeed, her uncle had often joked that David Rutherford was playing a far wilier opponent than he realized, for no male could ever hope to follow the twists of a female mind.
    And now, the precious board with its inlaid squares was gone, disappeared along with all the other treasures into some secret cache. Sylvia could not bring herself to believe that her uncle had misspent her fortune. She hoped that, despite