“Tilly—”
“We are to begin, and I am on your team, so you must perform better than you did last time,” she said, walking back to Lottie.
“They have sugarplums,” Alex hissed, setting off after her.
“Do we have any new participants?” Mr. Greedy called.
“Mavis’s cousin is visiting!” someone yelled. “Leonard is his name!”
Ambrose looked towards the exit of Crabbett Close. He could make a run for it, and who would stop him? Perhaps coming back here again might be a bit awkward, but he’d cope.
“I believe they have a list of people who have refused to take part, and it is committed to memory,” Charles said. “Clemmie Acton refused and thought closing his curtains would see him safe. It didn’t and took him quite some time to get back into the locals’ good graces.”
Ambrose sighed.
“Good man.” Charles clapped him on the shoulder.
He was to start along with the other men, plus Mavis, as they could hold their liquor better, supposedly. Ambrose had no wish to drink anything on those tables, except Mr. Peeky’s spiced rum.
“I believe Mrs. Acton is taking over the Douglas table and has made the treacle cake this year, following Mrs. Douglas’s recipe exactly,” Ambrose heard Bram say from beside him.
“I doubt that, but I applaud her for trying,” Leo replied.
The air was cooler now, and looking up, Ambrose thought there could be rain soon. Would that cancel thegames? He hoped so. Farther up the close, a group of women, plus Theo and Clemmie Acton, waited.
“Why is Theo up there?” Ambrose demanded.
“He is on Mavis’s team and they cannot both start,” Ram explained. He then lunged forward on his left leg, then the right.
“What are you doing?”
“Warming up my muscles.”
“Why are they cold when you are wearing multiple layers of clothing?” Ambrose asked.
“Oh, you poor, simple-minded man,” Ram said, shaking his head.
“Muscles, unless stretched and warmed tend to break or tear,” Mavis said from the far end. She was stretching also.
“I do wonder if this oddness is catching,” Ambrose muttered.
“It is,” Gray said. “I refuse to end up pickled this year,” he added.
Mungo snorted, and the detective sent him a foul look.
“Go!” Mr. Greedy yelled.
He ran with the others, and of course Mavis already had a gap on them by the time he reached Tilly. She was waiting at the Alvin table for him. Looking from her to the two things on it, he said, “Select something, then.”
“How gentlemanly,” she mocked him, looking from the mug to the plate.
When another few seconds had passed and she had still yet to reach for anything, he grabbed the mug.
“I wanted that.”
“I gave you the chance. You did not take it.” He threw back the contents of the mug and then shuddered as it hit the back of his throat. The mutton fat lined his mouth and tasted vile, and no amount of gin could change that.
“Eat,” he said as she continued to stare at the plate he’dthrust at her. “If you do not make haste, Tilly, we will be last,” he pressed.