Faro’s Daughter

for a weary while!”

“I have thought of all that,” said Miss Grantham triumphantly. “I fancy he will not stay in the cellar above an hour or two. Lucius, he is delivered into my hands by his own act! I want you to kidnap him on Wednesday evening!”

“On Wednesday—” His jaw dropped suddenly. “No, by the powers, you can’t do that, Deb! His race is to be run on Thursday!”

“Exactly so!” nodded Deborah. “You may depend upon it, he will agree to do anything rather than lose the race by default.”

“Faith, me dear, if he didn’t murder you, and me too, he’d have the pair of us clapped up in gaol!” Kennet said, awed. “What’s more, I couldn’t find it in me heart to blame him.”

This gave Miss Grantham a moment’s pause, but after thinking it over she said: “I do not think he would murder us, Lucius, and I am quite sure he would not have us clapped up, because he is too proud to admit to the world that one of faro’s daughters got the better of him, and in such a fashion! No, he will do nothing, and then, when he is smarting, I will tell him that he might have spared himself his trouble, for I would not marry his cousin if he were the last to offer for me!”

“I’m thinking,” said Kennet slowly, “that while you have him tied up in the cellar, Deb, you might get that twenty thousand out of him.”

Miss Grantham flushed. “I will do nothing of the sort! How dare you think I would touch his horrid money, much less force him to give it to me?”

“After all, me dear,” said Kennet reasonably, “you’ve no objection to forcing him to hand over the mortgage, and that’s worth a cool five thousand, let alone the bills.”

“That,” said Miss Grantham, with dignity, “is a very different matter. The other—Why, what a wretch I should be! You cannot have considered!”

Kennet smiled wryly. “It’s you who are too quixotic for me, Deb. However, it’s your own affair. Now, how are we to kidnap my fine gentleman?”

“I thought very likely you would be able to arrange for that,” said Miss Grantham hopefully. “Silas will help you, and between you should be able to overpower him, I imagine.”

“Ah, there’s no difficulty about that! But do you suppose I am to walk into his house, or club him in the open street, me darlin’?”

Miss Grantham looked rather anxious. “I don’t want him to be hurt, you know. At least, not much. Couldn’t you catch him after dark, when he is coming away from his club, or some such thing?”

Mr Kennet pursed up his lips disparagingly. “Too chancy, Deb. It won’t do to bungle it. I’m thinking you should write to him, appointing a meeting-place in some quiet spot, and I’ll keep the tryst for you.”

Once more Miss Grantham’s tiresome conscience intervened. “No!” she said, revolted. “I won’t win by such a horrid trick! Besides, he thinks I am an odious woman who would do any vile thing, and I am not! We must think of something else.”

Mr Kennet cast her a sidelong, appraising glance. “Ah, well,” he said diplomatically, “you’d best leave the manner of it to me. I shall contrive somehow, I daresay.”

“And what am I to do about this wicked letter?” asked Miss Grantham, her eyes kindling as they alighted on it. “I should like to write to him, and tell him that he may go to the devil, but I suppose that would spoil everything. I must fob him off until Wednesday. Only I don’t know what to say!”

“Give me a pen!” said Kennet. “It will be better if I reply to it for you. You must play for time, me dear.”

“Why should you reply to it?” asked Deborah suspiciously. “If you mean any mischief, Lucius—”

“Devil a bit!” he said, cheerfully lying. “You shall look over me shoulder while I write it, and seal it yourself. “Twill be better for the gentleman to see that you think too little of him to answer with your own hand. Besides, you must plead with him a trifle, me dear, and that you’ll never bring yourself to do. I’ll write it for you in the third person.”

“What do you mean to say?” asked Miss Grantham, a little doubtful still, but bringing him some notepaper, and a pen.

He drew the paper towards him, and dipped the pen in the standish. “How will this answer?” he said, and began to write in flowing characters, slowly reading the words aloud as he did so. “Miss Grantham is obliged to Mr Ravenscar for his letter, and begs to inform him that she is astonished that any gentleman— We’ll underline that word, Deb!—could address a defenceless female in such terms.”

“I am not defenceless!” objected Miss Grantham.

“Whisht, now! She is persuaded that Mr Ravenscar cannot mean to put his barbarous threat into execution, since Lady Bellingham has done nothing to incur his enmity. Miss Grantham cannot but believe that a Compromise might yet be reached, and begs the favour of a reply to this suggestion at Mr Ravenscar’s earliest convenience. And we’ll underline that too, to make him think it’s frightened you are.

“Deb. How’s that?”

“I suppose it will answer,” said Deborah, in a discontented voice. “But I hate to sue for mercy!”

Mr Kennet shook some sand over the letter, read it through, and folded it, and reached for a wafer. “You’ll have your revenge on him presently, me darlin’, but till Wednesday we must keep him quiet, or it’s ruined all our fine plans will be.”

“Very well: send it!” said Deborah.

Chapter 10

When Mr Ravenscar received Mr Kennet’s letter, his emotions were very much what the writer had hoped they would be. He was not surprised that Miss Grantham should show signs of weakening. He had expected her to be thrown into a flutter by his brief communication, and he lost no time in giving a turn to the screw by sitting down to write a second curt note to her.

“Mr Ravenscar presents his compliments to Miss Grantham, and desires to inform her that no Compromise is in any way agreeable to him. He must beg her to make her decision within the next three days, at the end of which time he will consider himself free to act in a manner which he has reason to believe must cause Miss Grantham a great deal of embarrassment which he would be loath to inflict on any female, defenceless or otherwise.”

“There!” exclaimed Miss Grantham indignantly, when she read this unamiable communication. “I said I wished you would not call me a defenceless woman! I knew he would sneer at me.”

“He’ll not sneer for long,” promised Lucius Kennet.

“I will answer for that!” said Miss Grantham fiercely. “Only bring him here on Wednesday night.”

“I’ll do that, me dear, never fear!”

“Yes, but do you know how you will contrive to do it?”

“Leave it to me, Deb: that’s my part in the business.”

She was not quite satisfied with this answer, but since he only laughed when she pressed him to tell her what his plan was, she was obliged to accept it, merely stipulating that no severe harm should befall the victim. “Not that I care,” she explained. “I should not care if you killed him, but it would be bound to lead to trouble, and we don’t want that!”

Mr Kennet agreed that they did not want trouble, and went away to compose another letter to Mr Ravenscar, in the same flowing hand. But this letter he had no intention of showing to Miss Grantham, concurring to the full in Mr Wantage’s dictum, that what Miss Deb knew nothing about she’d not grieve over.

Meanwhile, there was nothing further for Deborah to do but to await the coming of Wednesday evening, and to nourish thoughts of the direst vengeance. She had no expectation of receiving any more news of Mr Ravenscar, and was consequently much astonished to see, on looking out of the window on the following day, a carriage draw up outside the house, bearing the Ravenscar crest on the panel. As she stared at it, the footman sprang down to open the door, and let down the steps. But the figure that alighted from the carriage was not Mr Ravenscar’s. Miss Grantham recognized Arabella Ravenscar’s trim form, and felt almost ready to faint from surprise.