The Stockholm Octavo by Karen Engelmann Page B

someone’s life.
    â€œOur hostess,” intoned Mrs. von Hälsen with false enthusiasm. Carlotta became immediately sober and held her cards like a shield. Both ladies waited for The Uzanne, who glanced up briefly, expressionless.
    Mrs. Sparrow reached into a pocket at her waist and pulled out an ivory brisé fan. She placed her, open, in the center of the table. The ivory had a soft yellow patina from many years of handling, and while the fan was so small she might have belonged to a child, the piercing was of a quality that would befit a princess, and the long red silk tassel was threaded with gold. “A treasure from the Orient. It will sweeten the stakes.”
    The Uzanne’s face lit up with a kind of lust. Children’s fans were extremely rare. “Please, sit down.”
    The players picked up their hands and prepared to resume. No one noticed the imperceptible sideways nod that Mrs. Sparrow gave to me over the heads of the other players. She was asking me to steer the game with a push. I watched Mrs. Sparrow’s fingers: the first two fingers on her left hand crossed the back of her cards. Two players around the table: she wanted The Uzanne to lose. The Uzanne had been losing steadily all night, but now there was a heat rising from her that a practiced player can sense: this was the game The Uzanne had been waiting to win. I rose from my seat and moved closer.
    Mrs. Sparrow caught my eye and inclined her head toward the fans that lay on the table. If possible, she would not only push The Uzanne to lose, but also push the stakes in a specific direction. She raised her cards to her lips. I had only seen the signal once before: Mrs. Sparrow wanted to win. This was doubly dangerous: in any game, foul play was suspect from her, but The Uzanne was sharp and sober. Mrs. Sparrow set her cards facedown on the table. “A player may view the last trick taken, so the rules say, is that not so?” The Uzanne handed her the four cards and Mrs. Sparrow studied them intently for a minute, then handed them back. “And may I see the stakes?” Mrs. Sparrow asked politely. She first looked at the English paper fan and handed it to Mrs. von Hälsen. “I have taken the place of your niece and replaced her wager with my own, so she is no longer in the game. These are house rules, and I hope you will agree to them.” Mrs. von Hälsen nodded. Mrs. Sparrow glanced at the Italian fan, then picked up Mrs. von Hälsen’s Eva. “Like the first warm evening of June in a secret garden. The loss of innocence,” she said. Mrs. von Hälsen nodded and a faint trace of worry furrowed her brow. Then Mrs. Sparrow took up Cassiopeia and stared at the image of the traveling coach. “I know this,” she said softly to herself.
    â€œDo you?” said The Uzanne with disdainful skepticism. “She is old, and French.”
    â€œLike me,” said Mrs. Sparrow lightly, carefully placing the open fan in the center with the others.
    â€œShall we continue?” Mrs. von Hälsen asked, eager to retrieve her Eva.
    The game began anew. Mrs. Sparrow sat stone still, eyes half closed. Only her hands moved as she played her cards. She would need every bit of skill, as she had no chance to palm a card or trifle with the deck in the cut. The next two tricks went to The Uzanne, and the fourth to Mrs. Sparrow. Mrs. von Hälsen was damp with sweat, feeling her winning streak seep out. Her eyebrows worked a steady knit of worry. Two tricks went to Mrs. von Hälsen, but her face was still a picture of concern. The Uzanne maintained her emotionless gaze, secure in her superiority. Carlotta, meanwhile, tried to stifle her yawns and was waving her cards like a miniature fan; everyone could see them. She somehow managed to take one trick, but before long, Mrs. Sparrow and The Uzanne were tied four tricks each.
    â€œMrs. Sparrow, you play as if your future depended on it,” The Uzanne