Faro’s Daughter

by Джорджетт Хейер

  The affronted matron bowed slightly, and said in frigid tones that she was happy to make Miss Grantham’s acquaintance. Miss Grantham, to the uneasy surprise of her betrothed, simpered, and turned away her head, and uttered a memorable speech.

  “Oh, la, ma’am—your ladyship, I should say!—I am sure you are monstrous good to say so! I declare I am quite of a tremble to be standing in front of one who is to be my Mama-in-law! But Adrian would have me come across to speak to you, and I thought to myself, Well, I thought, if it must be, let it be at once, for I was always one to rush upon my fate, as the saying is! But there! I am sure we shall deal extremely, after all.”

  “Indeed!” said Lady Mablethorpe icily.

  “Oh, la, yes, ma’am! I made sure you was a dragon, and my knees quite knocked together when Adrian said you was here, but I vow and declare the instant I clapped eyes on you I knew I should love you as though you were my own Mama! And then the affability with which you said you was happy to meet me—la, I’m sure I never looked for such a degree of condescension in one so far above me!”

  A muscle twitched at the corner of Mr Ravenscar’s mouth. Nothing could exceed his dislike of Miss Grantham, but he had a sense of humour, and was hard put to it not to burst out laughing. If her object were to convince Lady Mablethorpe that no price would be too high to pay to rescue her son from such a woman as herself, it would certainly succeed, for her ladyship’s face was rigid with disgust, and she could barely bring herself to answer with at least a semblance of civility.

  Arabella, meanwhile, was watching Miss Grantham in the liveliest astonishment. “Good gracious, are you going to marry Adrian?” she exclaimed, with that impetuosity so much regretted by her mother. “No one said a word about it to me!”

  Miss Grantham recollected Mrs Patch’s arch use of a fan, and unfurled her own, and hid behind it. “Oh, I protest, Miss Ravenscar! You must spare my blushes!”

  “But are you?” asked Arabella.

  “That will do, child!” said her aunt.

  “Of course she is going to marry me!” Adrian declared stoutly. “Won’t you wish us happy?”

  “Yes, indeed I do,” Arabella responded, with a doubtful look at Miss Grantham. “I wish you very happy!”

  “Adrian!” said his parent, in majestic tones. “I should like to talk to Miss Grantham. Do you take your cousin to dance while she sits with me for half-an-hour!”

  Lord Mablethorpe, hoping that the extraordinary manners which Miss Grantham had assumed upon being presented to his mother had their origin in nervousness which would wear off as the two ladies became better acquainted, readily agreed to this suggestion, and said that he would bring Miss Grantham round to the door of the box. Miss Grantham giggled, and said that it seemed absurd to be obliged to go round to the back of the booths when she was sure she could jump over the low wall in front, if only Adrian would give her his hand. Then she said that she supposed that she would have to learn to behave respectably since she was to become a Viscountess, and consented to be led round to the back of the boxes.

  When she made her entrance, in the correct manner, Mr Ravenscar left the booth. He would try a fall with her himself before very long and enjoy doing it, but it was no part of his plan to join his aunt in whatever scheme she might have in mind for the discomfiture of the minx.

  He returned to the box a few minutes before Adrian let Arabella back to it. One glance at the two ladies was enough to assure him that it was not Miss Grantham who had suffered discomfiture. Lady Mablethorpe was looking crushed, and the glance she cast up at her nephew was one of pathetic entreaty.

  She had sustained the most shattering half-hour of her life. She had subjected Miss Grantham to a catechism which had been intended to show that young woman how very far she stood from Adrian, and how very uncomfortable she would feel in Polite Society. It had apparently failed in this laudable object. Miss Grantham had replied with the greatest readiness and the most appalling frankness, to all the searching question put to her. She had remained throughout wholly oblivious to the most patent disapproval. She had been voluble, expansive, and shockingly vulgar; had confessed to a passion for all form of gaming; described in quite imaginary detail the events of several horse-races she said she had attended; and expressed desire to set up a select faro-bank in Brook Street. She had also ogled several bucks who had strolled past the box, and had claimed intimate acquaintance with three of the most notorious rakes in town. Her ladyship felt herself to be passing through a nightmare, and hailed the return of her nephew wit heartfelt relief. Miss Grantham assured him that she and Lad Mablethorpe were now the greatest of friends.

  He received this information with raised brows, smiled slightly, and turned to address some idle remark to his aunt. Adrian and Arabella then came back to the box, and the two parties separated.

  “How could you tell me she was not vulgar!” was all he ladyship could at first bring herself to say, and that in accents of bitter reproach.

  “I told you the truth. She was not vulgar when I met her. Her manner tonight was certainly assumed.”

  “Assumed! In heaven’s name why, if she wishes to win my consent to the match?”

  “I am reasonably sure that she has no such wish. There is no doubt her way of trying to force up the price ma’am.”

  “Whatever it is it must be paid!” said her ladyship, in great agitation.

  “Whatever it is it shall not be paid!” said Mr Ravenscar. “Oh, don’t put yourself in a taking, my dear aunt! I shan’t let her marry Adrian!”

  “How he could-!” she shuddered. “Look at her now! Look at that dreadful woman with her!”

  Arabella, who had been attending to this with an air of lively interest, said: “Well, of course she was shockingly vulgar, Aunt Selina, but I could not help liking her a little, because she has such laughing eyes! And Adrian told me that she was not generally ill-at-ease, so perhaps she is not so very bad after all!”

  “Ill-at-ease!” ejaculated Lady Mablethorpe. “I saw no sign of that! Do you call her behaviour at this moment ill-at-ease?”

  Miss Grantham was seated by this time in the front of her own box, and was laughing immoderately at something Lucius Kennet had said to her. Her troubled swain laughed too but in a perfunctory manner. She could do no wrong in his enamoured eyes, but he did wish that she would not laugh so loudly, or flirt so much with her fan. Ably assisted by Kennet and Mrs Patch, she contrived to make their box the most stared at of any in the circle, so that he was glad when his carefully chosen supper had been eaten, and he was able to suggest a stroll through the gardens.

  Miss Grantham, who was feeling quite exhausted by this time, went with him willingly, and behaved so prettily that he was soon in a fair way towards forgetting her previous conduct. He supposed her to have been excited, and nervous at being presented to his mother, and thought no more about it. Except for the coquelicot ribbons and that towering headdress, she was again his own dear Deb, and he spent a blissful half-hour, walking with her down the many paths of the gardens, and telling her how much he loved her.

  It had grown dark by this time, and the coloured lights showed up brightly against the black sky. Lord Mablethorpe found a seat in a secluded alley, and persuaded Deborah to sit down for a few minutes. He began to describe his home to her, shyly expressing the hope that she would not find it very flat in the country; and had just asked her if she would not drive out with him one day to visit Mablethorpe, which was at no great distance from London, when the sound of a sob interrupted him.

  He broke off, looking about him, but he could see no one. “I thought I heard someone crying,” he told Miss Grantham. “Did you hear anything?”

  She had not, but even as she said so, the sound came again and from no great distance.

  “Do you think we had better go away?” whispered his lord ship, looking alarmed.

  “Go away? Certainly not! Someone is in trouble!” replied Miss Grantham, getting up, and peering down the alley.

&nb
sp; Yet another heavy sob reached their ears. It seemed t, come from one of the small summer-houses which were dotted about the grounds. Miss Grantham walked up to it, and entered her tall figure silhouetted by the lights behind her. A frightened gasp greeted her arrival, followed by a breathless silence

  “Is anyone here?” she asked, trying to pierce the gloom. “Can I help you?”

  A very young and scared voice answered: “Please go away.”

  By now Miss Grantham’s eyes had become more accustomed to the darkness, and she was able to discern a pale form huddled in a chair against the far wall. She made her way to this ghost-like figure, and said kindly: “But, my dear, indeed I cannot go away and leave you in such unhappiness! Come, can I not be of assistance?”

  There was a tense pause; then the voice said desolately: “No one can help me! I wish I were dead!”

  “Oh dear, is it as bad as that?” Miss Grantham asked, sitting down beside the pale figure, and drawing it into her arms. “Won’t you tell me what it is?”

  Instead of complying with this request, the figure laid it head upon her shoulder, and burst into tears.

  While Miss Grantham was endeavouring to soothe his grief, Lord Mablethorpe had unhooked one of the coloured lanterns from its stand outside the summer-house, and brought it inside. Its roseate light illuminated the figure in Miss Grantham’s arms, a woebegone face was turned towards his lord ship, and he saw that it belonged to the fair child in Lady Laxton’s box.

  “Why, you must be Miss Laxton!” he exclaimed.

  Miss Laxton was one of the fortunate few whom tears did not much disfigure. They sparkled on the ends of her lashes and drowned her blue eyes, but they made no unsightly blotches on her fair skin, and did not turn the tip of her little nose red. She said, with a catch in her voice: “Yes, I am Phoebe Laxton. Who are you, please?”

  “I’m Mablethorpe,” responded his lordship, setting his Ian tern down on a rustic table, and drawing nearer. “I am a little acquainted with your brothers. I wish you will tell us how we may help you!”

  Miss Laxton’s lip trembled, and her eyes filled again. She turned her face away. “You cannot help me. No one can! I am very sorry to be so tiresome! I did not think anyone would find me here.”

  “Don’t cry!” said Miss Grantham. “Were you hiding from Sir James Filey?”

  Miss Laxton looked startled, and stammered: “Oh, how did you know?”

  “Our box is opposite yours, my dear. I saw him leaning over your chair, and I did not think you enjoyed having him so close.”

  Miss Laxton shuddered and pressed her handkerchief to her lips. “I meant to be good!” she managed to say. “Indeed I did! But I hate him so! And when he took me to walk about the gardens, I—I made up my mind I would do my duty. But when he offered for me, and—and kissed me, I c-couldn’t bear it, and I ran away! Oh, what shall I do?”

  “You shall not marry Filey, that’s certain!” declared Lord Mablethorpe, revolted by the thought.

  “You don’t understand,” said Miss Laxton mournfully. “There are three more of us at home, and Mama—and Mama—you see, she will make me!”

  “No one can make you marry against your will,” Miss Grantham assured her. “You have only to be firm, my dear!”

  Even as she said it, she realized that although there was great sweetness in Miss Laxton’s flower-like countenance, there was not an ounce of decision. It was plain that Phoebe Laxton was a gentle thing, easily led, and still more easily bullied.

  “You do not know my Mama,” Phoebe said simply. “She will be so dreadfully angry, and I cannot bear people to be angry with me! Even Papa says it is my duty. You see, Sir James is very rich, and he will make a most g-generous settlement, and—and—only, I am afraid of him, and when he kissed me I knew I could not do it!”

  Lord Mablethorpe sat down on the other side of her, and took her hand. “I should think not, indeed! But is there no one who will take your part?”

  Her hand trembled a little in his, but she did not withdraw it. “There is only my Aunt Honoria, and she lives such a long way away, and is a great invalid beside and could not come to London. Papa is a little afraid of her, and she did write to him but—but he does not care much for letters. I thought if could only run away to aunt, she would hide me from Pap and Mama, or—or contrive something. But then I remembered that I haven’t any money, and it all seemed hopeless, an,—and that’s why I cried.”

  Over her head Adrian’s and Deborah’s eyes met. “Deb, can’t we—? It’s horrible to think of such a child’s being tie to that devil!”

  The hand stirred in his. “Oh, do you mean you will help me I thought no one could!” gasped Miss Laxton.

  “If she goes back to the Laxtons she will be lost!” said Adrian.

  “Yes, I think she will,” admitted Miss Grantham. “I must say I should like to throw a little rub in Filey’s way.”

  “We must take her away from here,” said Adrian decidedly He bent his head over that other fair one. “You will be quit safe, with Miss Grantham, you know. She will take care of you, and we will contrive to convey you to your aunt.”

  Miss Laxton sat up, a tinge of colour creeping into he cheeks. “Oh, will you really hide me? Oh, I did not think anyone cared what became of me! How good you are! He’s very kind!”

  Adrian coloured too, and said in a low voice: “It’s no such thing! Anyone would be glad to be of service to you! You may trust us to take care of you. I promise you, Filey shall no pester you again!”

  “I feel so safe with you!” sighed Miss Laxton, lifting worshipful eyes to his face.

  Miss Grantham, who had been looking pensive for some minutes, now took a decision of her own, and said with strong suggestion of a laugh in her voice: “Well, that is settled! You will come home with me, my dear, and we will make up our minds presently what is to be done for the best Adrian, can we slip out of the gardens unobserved?”

  He threw her a warm look of gratitude. “There is no on like you, Deb! I knew you would not fail! Trust me, I will take you out by the gate at this end of the place!”

  It was plain that his confident air greatly impressed Miss Laxton. To her, he appeared as the god in the machine, and she seemed content to leave her fate in his hands. It was left however, to Miss Grantham to arrange the more practical detail of the escape, and this she did by directing his lordship return to their box for her cloak, and to inform Mr Kennet and Mrs Patch that she had the migraine, and was returning home immediately.

  While he was performing this errand, the two ladies remained in the summer-house, Miss Laxton quite dazed by her unexpected rescue, and Miss Grantham weaving plans in her head which might have surprised, though possibly not displeased, her companion, had she been aware of them.

  Adrian returned presently with Miss Grantham’s cloak, and his own roquelaure. Miss Grantham wrapped Miss Laxton up in the cloak, which was by far too big for her, and drew the hood up over her pale curls. She herself accepted the roquelaure, informing his lordship that knight-errantry entailed sacrifice. They then made their way out of the gardens, without encountering any acquaintances, took sculls across to Westminster, and there picked up a hackney, which carried them safely to St James’s Square. Here his lordship took leave of them, promising, however, to call early on the following morning. He kissed both their hands on the doorstep, and Miss Laxton said shyly that she did not know how to thank him for all his kindness. Miss. Grantham, who thought privately that if matters had been left to his lordship, Miss Laxton would have been allowed to sob her heart out in the summer-house while he beat a strategic and alarmed retreat, waited indulgently for this touching leave-taking to come to an end, and did not knock on the door until his lordship had said his last farewell.

  Silas Wantage, opening the door to admit his mistress, looked with surprise at the muffled figure of her companion, and directed an inquiring glance at Deborah. “Now, what’s to do?” he asked.

  “I have brought a friend home with me, Sil
as. Are there many here tonight?”

  “There’s a few. Don’t tell me you’re not up to your tricks again, Miss Deb, for I wouldn’t believe you!”

  “Never mind that!” said Miss Grantham, with the quiver of a smile. “You need not tell anyone that I am in the house. I don’t mean to go into the saloons tonight. Tell Betty I want her in my bedchamber immediately! Come, my dear. We will slip up the backstairs, and no one will see you. Oh, Silas, remember! There was no one with me when I came home!”

  “No one with you,” repeated Mr Wantage obediently. “You’ll be happy when you end in gaol, I dare say, but I won’t, and that’s the truth! Oh well! Be off with you, missie, and trust old Silas!”

  Miss Grantham then led her guest up to her room on the second floor, by the backstairs, and was very soon joined by her maid, who carried a taper, and lit the candles for her. This damsel seemed a little surprised to discover that the unexpected visitor had come without so much as a night-bag, but accepted her mistress’s involved story of trunks, bandboxes, and a fraudulent coachman, and made no demur at being requested, at this hour of the night, to prepare the spare bedchamber, and to slip a hot brick between the sheets.

  Miss Laxton, meanwhile, had shed the cloak, and was trying to straighten her dishevelled locks. When Betty left the room, she turned, saying impulsively: “Dear ma’am, I know I am putting you to a shocking deal of trouble, and I ought not to be here, but oh, I do thank you so very much.”

  “Nonsense, child!” said Miss Grantham. “I have had a grudge against Filey these many months. But whether I should have brought you to this house is another matter. Perhaps I ought to have explained that my aunt holds—well, gaming parties.”

  Contrary to her expectations, Miss Laxton seemed to regard this circumstance as being romantic rather than deplorable. She asked a great many questions about the house, and said wistfully that she wished that she too could preside over an E.O. table. Nothing of that nature, she explained, had ever come in her way. She had had a very dull life, sharing a horridly strict governess with her sisters, and being bullied by Mama. She thought she might do very well in a gaming-saloon, for she was excessively fond of cards, and had very often played at lottery or quadrille for hours together. It was true that she knew nothing of faro, but she thought (hopefully) that she would soon learn. Only the information that Sir James Filey patronized Lady Bellingham’s house induced her to abandon the idea of offering her services in the saloons.