The Man in the Green Coat by Carola Dunn Page A

and tried to burrow under the blankets.
    “Come on, Gerard,” she said, exasperated. “Madame Aurore needs you. Wake up.”
    “Go ‘way. My head hurts. I can’t think at this hour of the morning.”
    “Your head hurts? You are not ill, are you?”
    “No. Be a good girl, Gab, and go away.”
    “I believe you have been drinking! Is that it?”
    “What if it is?” he said sulkily, sitting up at last with another groan. “Draw the curtains, the light is too bright. Everyone drinks. I was only a little disguised, not completely foxed. What do you want? Can’t it wait?”
    “No. Madame Aurore thinks she is about to be dragged off to prison. Have you been over her accounts yet?”
    “Yes, and they’re damned fishy. I’m not saying she doesn’t spend a pretty penny, because she does. But I found a copy of Sir Cosmo’s will in the desk, and her jointure should cover her expenses easily. It’s my belief that what’s-his-name, her stepson, is chousing her out of what’s due to her.”
    “Oh Gerard, how dreadful! Are you sure? Whatever can we do about it?”
    “Don’t ask me. Now go away and let me sleep.”
    “But we must do something! At least let us give her enough to pay the bills until the end of the month. We are hanging on her sleeve just like all the others. How much can we spare?”
    “I don’t know. You can’t expect me to keep a track of what you are spending as well as checking Madame’s figures. I’m not a clerk.”
    “You must have some idea, though. We must help her even if it means you can not join the army until Papa comes.’’
    “I’m not going to join the army. If you want to know the truth, that money is spent already.” He flopped down on the bed again with his back to her.
    “Spent! We cannot have spent so much! I have made all my own dresses and I have bought very little otherwise. Where has it all gone?”
    “I’ve lost it.” Gerard’s voice was muffled in the pillow. “I’ve lost close to a thousand pounds. On wagers. All the fellows squander the blunt as if there were no tomorrow, betting on raindrops running down the window pane, and how many minutes late the Bristol Mail will be, and stuff like that. When I’m with them, I just don’t notice it going. I’m sorry, Gabrielle. I’m truly sorry. I went to see Mr Dickens at Hoare's Bank yesterday, and he says we have forty pounds left.”
    Her legs weak with shock, Gabrielle sat down on the edge of the bed. She laid her hand on his shoulder and felt it trembling.
    “It’s all right, little brother,” she said, trying not to let her voice shake. “It’s all right. Just give me time to think! Forty pounds, and Madame will get her allowance at the beginning of next month. Gerard, you must help me. What are Madame’s biggest expenses?”
    “Running the house. Coal and candles, of course, and servants’ wages and such. And you wouldn’t believe how much the spongers who live here eat! Alain is the only one who pays any of his own expenses. Madame hardly spends a thing on herself. You know she doesn’t even keep a carriage, but takes a hackney or a chair when she goes out.”
    “How selfish we have been!” said Gabrielle wretchedly. “I have been so taken up with enjoying myself, I never once thought that she might really be short of money. When Marie groused, I thought she was just being bad-tempered as usual.”
    “What shall we do?” Gerard sat up again. “I wish Papa were here!”
    “But he is not, so we must think for ourselves.” Gabrielle hugged him.
    He put his arms around her and held her tight, whispering into her hair, “I’m so sorry, Gab. It’s all my fault.”
    “Well, I will let you take most of the blame for our problem, but not for Madame’s. If Sir Oswald is really cheating her, you may be instrumental in saving her. So go back to sleep now, and by the time you awake, maybe I shall have found a solution.”
    “You’re the best sister in the world! I’ll do anything you say, I