Faro's Daughter Read online

  'Deb, there was Silas in the hall, and meself playing I abovestairs! And what must you do but let Ravenscar out of the house without a soul to hinder him!’

  'You are absurd, Lucius!' protested Miss Grantham. `Could I have a brawl in the middle of a card-party? There nothing to be done, and in any event I never meant to kid him by a hateful trick, which was what you did!’

  'And what will you be doing now, me dear, if I may ask get the bills out of his hands?' asked Kennet politely.

  `I don't know, but you may be sure I shall think of so thing,' replied Deborah.

  `It's my belief,' said Kennet, `that it's more than half in love with the man you are, Deb!’

  `I?' gasped Miss Grantham. `In love with Ravenscar? B you taken leave of your senses, Lucius ? I detest him! He is most abominable, the most hateful, the most odious - oh,! can you talk such nonsense? I am in no humour for it, and bid you a very good night!’

  She flounced out of the room as she spoke, almost collided with her brother in the doorway. Mr Grantham seemed out of breath, and exclaimed: `Deb! I could swear I saw him, just as I was crossing Piccadilly! You let him go after all!'

  `I daresay you did see him,' she answered angrily. `But I did not let him go, and I never would have let him go, and he holds a very poor opinion of you, let me tell you!'

  `And what, me dear Kit, may you be knowing about the business at all?' inquired Mr Kennet, as Deborah slammed the door behind her.

  `I know it all! And I will thank you, Lucius, not to encourage Deb in her wildness again! If this night's work has not ruined all my hopes it will be no fault of yours!’

  `For the love of heaven, boy, what concern is it of yours?'

  `Oh, nothing!’ said Kit bitterly. `Merely, that I love Ravenscar's sister!'

  Mr Kennet opened his eyes at this. `You do, do you? And what has that to say to anything?'

  `How can you be such a fool? What hope have I of obtaining Ravenscar's consent to our marriage when my sister can think of nothing better to do than to shut him up in the cellar?'

  Lady Bellingham felt impelled to defend her niece, and said: `She did it for the best, Kit. She did not know that you were going to be married to Miss Ravenscar!'

  Kennet glanced sideways at Kit. `Married, eh?'

  `And why not?' Kit demanded. `Is it so extraordinary?'

  A smile lurked about the corners of Kennet's mouth.

  `Faith, I'm thinking it would be!' he said.

  'Yes! And I hold you as much to blame as Deb! More, indeed!’

  `Maybe you're right at that,' agreed Kennet, still apparently amused by some secret thought.

  Lady Bellingham raised her head from the yellow cushion. `I am sure it has all been most unfortunate,' she said. `And I can't but feel that since Deb had got Ravenscar in the cellar - not that I approve of such a thing, for I don't, and I never shall - but since he was there, it does seem to me a pity to have let him go without getting those dreadful bills from him! Now he will start dunning me, or persecuting us in some odious way, and you know what will happen next! Deb will try to teach him another lesson, and all will end in disaster! Sometimes I think that I might be happier in a debtors' prison!’

  With these gloomy words, she withdrew to her own room, to spend a restless night dreaming of coachmakers' bills; green peas, rats, candle-ends, and cellars teeming with bound men. '

  Lord Mablethorpe had had the intention, if Miss Grantham were willing, to drive her and Phoebe into the country next morning. A hurried note to Phoebe was brought round by hand at ten o'clock, explaining the sudden change in his plans, and promising to call in St James's Square

  that evening to report on the result of the curricle-race. Miss Laxton gave a startled exclamation when she read this letter, and thrust it into Deborah's hand, saying in a faint voice: `Oh, he may be killed!'

  `Killed? Nonsense!' said Miss Grantham, running her eye down the paper. `I declare, I am quite tired of hearing about this race! I am sure Adrian has talked of little else for the past week. Thank heaven it will be over by tomorrow, and we need hear no more about it! As though it signified!'

  `Gentlemen think so much of those things,' sighed Miss Laxton. `Oh, I hope Mr Ravenscar will beat Sir James! Adrian says there is not another whip to compare with him, but if Sir James's horses are as good as people say-' Miss Grantham clapped her hands over her ears. `You, too!’ she said reproachfully. `Not another word! For my part, I wish they might both contrive to break their necks!’

  `Oh, Deb, not when Adrian will be in his cousin's curricle!' shuddered Phoebe.

  `Well, if Ravenscar is such a fine whip there can be little likelihood of any accident occurring,' said Miss Grantham.

  Phoebe looked at her with wonder. `You are so brave!' she said humbly. `I wish I were, but, alas, I am not!'

  `Good heavens, child, what have I to be afraid of?' asked Miss Grantham, at a loss.

  `But, Deb! Adrian!'

  `Oh!' said Miss Grantham, rather blankly. `To be sure, yes my dear!’

  `I do not know how we are to be at ease until we know that the race is safely over,' sighed Phoebe.

  `Very true,' agreed Miss Grantham, preparing to put the matter out of her mind.

  She succeeded in this very well, being a good deal taken up with her own problems; but it was evident, from her restless ness, and the anxious pucker between her brows, that Miss Laxton could think of nothing else. When dusk fell and shi thought they might reasonably expect to see Lord Mablethorpe, she stationed herself in the saloon in the front of the house, and kept a watch on the darkening square through the lace curtains that shrouded the windows. Dinner was announced before that familiar figure was seen, and she was obliged to go downstairs, and to make a pretence of eating. Miss Grantham, perceiving her unrest, reminded her that the contestants would certainly dine early at Hatfield, and could not be looked for in London again for some time yet. Miss Laxton agreed to it, but felt disinclined to eat her dinner.

  Mr Grantham was present, but it was seen that he was not in spirits. He appeared to be brooding over some secret trouble, and although it did not impair his appetite, it rendered him incapable of bearing more than a monosyllabic part in any conversation. He had contrived, through the connivance of Miss Ravenscar's handmaiden (who was beginning to cherish dreams of retiring from service in the near future on the accumulated bribes she had received from her mistress's numerous admirers), to arrange an assignation with the volatile Arabella. He had reached the rendezvous a full half hour too soon, Miss Ravenscar had joined him half-an-hour late, and with apparently no recollection of the promises of eternal fidelity exchanged a bare week before, at Tunbridge Wells. She was perfectly ready to flirt with him, hoped to meet him at the Pantheon Ball, but said that she thought, after all, that it would be stuffy to be married. Mr Grantham suspected her strongly of having transferred her affections to another, and taxed her with this treachery. Miss Ravenscar laughed mischievously, and refused to answer. Mr Grantham then put forward a very daring plan he had formed, of taking her to the masquerade at Ranleagh on the following evening. To escape from chaperonage, under pretence of going to bed with the headache, and to spend a stolen evening at a masked ball with a forbidden suitor, was just such an adventure as might have been certain of making an instant appeal to Miss Ravenscar, but, greatly to Kit's chagrin, she cast down her eyes demurely, and said she must not think of such a thing. From the quiver at the corners of her mouth, Kit suspected that she had already thought of it, and was indeed going to the masquerade, though not in his company. It was no wonder that he should have returned to his aunt's house in low spirits.

  There was no card-party that evening. Kit went out soon after dinner, and the three ladies prepared to spend a quiet hour or two with the blinds drawn, and a snug fire burning in the Yellow Saloon. Lady Bellingham, however, soon retired to bed, complaining that the stress of the past week had quite worn her down; arid while Miss Laxton pretended to be bus with some sewing, but in reality set very few s