Simon and the Christmas Spirit by Summer Devon Page B

someone you know,
then, eh?
    “ Sir?” The waiter’s eyes
went wide, and he shifted from foot to foot.
    Simon crooked his finger again, and
the waiter bent, but not as deeply now. It was as if he wanted to
be ready to dash away. Simon spoke in a low voice. “I couldn’t care
less that someone slipped in when the porter’s back was turned. But
if he’s, ah, low on funds, he’d do better to avoid playing at that
table.”
    “ Sir?” The waiter glanced
at the table and back at Simon, clearly trapped in indecision about
what he should do.
    Simon took pity on the man. “Shall I
slip him a note, do you think? Let him know that it’s a mistake? I
shan’t do more than that.”
    The waiter closed his eyes and seemed
to mumble something under his breath for a brief moment. “If you
think it best, sir. Please, yes. Thank you for your tolerance, sir.
It’s not that I thought it a bad plan, it’s just that. Well.
Christopher won’t be stopped.”
    Simon stared at the waiter. He’d never
heard of such a thing, but perhaps friends of waiters sneaked into
clubs all the time? “However did he manage this without a club
member to sponsor him?”
    “ Mr. Billings was kind
enough to vouch for Christopher, and, so near the holidays,
nonmembers are allowed in certain rooms.”
    Simon pressed his lips tight. “Yes.
That’s not surprising about Billings. Christopher, is he? What’s
his last name?”
    “ Why, same as mine, sir.
Andrews. We’re brothers.”
    “ Ah, I didn’t know your
name. You are new since my last visit.”
    The waiter apparently regarded Simon
as a confidant or new friend, for he muttered, “I’m Will, and I’m
recently employed, soon to be unemployed, if Christopher doesn’t
stop behaving like a fool.”
    “ Why did you allow him to
come here?”
    The man shrugged his hands out to the
side, palms up. “He beats us soundly at cards, and he came up with
this scheme… Never mind, sir. Best we get out while we can. I mean,
get blasted Christopher out.” The more he spoke, the more his
accent slipped into something less genteel.
    Now that Simon had had bothered to
watch him, the waiter proved nearly as vivid as Christopher. Where
a proper servant would be stolid and blank-faced, this man smiled
and grimaced and showed fear. He was taller than Christopher and
had pleasant but unremarkable features.
    “ I can discern that you’re
brothers,” Simon said dryly.
    He was disappointed the two were
related—he had rather liked the idea of witnessing devotion due to
something stronger than fraternal affection. Thus far in his life,
he’d never seen a happy sort of a pairing like the one he’d once
hoped for. Yet the fact that they were brothers meant that
Christopher might be…
    No.
    Simon must ignore the way his heart
beat harder as Christopher paid happy attention to a story told by
one of the other players. How would it be to have a man look at him
with just such a smile?
    Simon walked to the
battered desk in the far corner, where the book of debts and other
records were kept. Under the watchful eye of a snarling stuffed
tiger, he found a piece of paper and pencil and wrote without
bothering to sit down or thinking too much, though he was pleased
with the note’s vague and threatening tone. Cease playing cards as soon as possible. You must stop. This
is a warning for your own sake. A member.
    He summoned Andrews and placed the
note on a silver tray. The waiter hurried from the room. Good that
the man was smart enough not to simply walk the ten paces to the
table and hand the note to his brother.
    Simon returned to his other more
comfortable seat and watched Christopher lose another hand. When
Billings looked up, their eyes met, and for once, Simon didn’t look
away. Nor did he smile. Billings coughed and blinked and turned his
attention to fumbling a cigar from his inside jacket
pocket.
    Simon picked up the newspaper and
actually read it. He’d done his part to stop a less-than-wealthy
man from