This melancholy conviction grew upon her steadily as the day wore on. Her aunt was quite alarmed by her listlessness and began to fear that she might be starting on a decline, until a chance reference to Mr Ravenscar drew from her so scathing a denunciation of that gentleman’s manners and morals that Lady Bellingham was relieved to find that she was still no entirely given over to melancholia. She ventured to deliver Mr Kennet’s message. It was well received, Miss Grantham remarking with unnecessary emphasis that she hoped Lucius would ruin Mr Ravenscar. This put her in mind of the mortgage, and she at once wrested this from the unfortunate Lady Bellingham, wrapped it up in a packet, with all the bills which had accompanied it, and sent it round by hand to Grosvenor Square. Lady Bellingham threatened to succumb to a combination of palpitations, vapours, and strong hysterics, and was only prevented from taking to her bed by the immediate return of the packet, this time containing the torn fragments of one mortgage and half-a-dozen bills. Miss Grantham then burst into tears again, spoke wistfully of the beneficial qualities of racks, thumbscrews, and boiling oil, and shut herself up in her room, refusing all sustenance or comfort.
She was not again seen until the following morning, when she appeared some time after breakfast in her aunt’s dressing room, pale, but apparently restored to calm. She kissed Lady Bellingham, saying penitently: “I am sorry to have been so tiresome, dear ma’am! It was very foolish of me, for I am sure Mr Ravenscar is not worth bothering one’s head over. We will forget him, if you please, and be comfortable again.”
Lady Bellingham refrained from pointing out to her that there was very little comfort to be found in a debtor’s prison, but said instead that a letter had been brought round late on the previous evening from Mr Kennet’s lodging.
Miss Grantham took this missive without much interest, and broke open the seal. The single sheet was spread out, and she read with startled eyes the message it contained.
“Be easy, Deb,” had written Mr Kennet, “by the time this comes to your hand you will have all the revenge on Ravenscar you desire. Your humble servant has made a conquest of his little puss of a sister, and if we do not have twenty thousand and maybe more out of my fine gentleman to rescue her from my wicked wiles my name is not Lucius Kennet. I have persuaded the darling to elope with me to Gretna Green, though it’s not there I’ll be taking her, unless I’m driven to it. I never met but one woman I’d a fancy to marry, and that’s yourself, my dear.”
“Don’t you be letting that tender heart of yours get the better of you, now! It’s not a mite of harm I’ll be doing the chit, but merely holding her to ransom, I give you my word. I’m thinking Ravenscar will pay handsomely to get her safely back, and to keep my mouth shut on me.”
Miss Grantham’s cheeks were perfectly white when she looked up from her perusal of this letter. She said in a strangled voice: “When did this come? Why was it not brought to me instantly?”
“Well, my love, you had shut yourself up in your room, and I did not think it would be important,” said her ladyship uneasily. “It was brought round at about midnight, I think. What does it say?”
“I cannot tell you!” said Miss Grantham. “Lucius has done something so dreadful—Aunt Lizzie, I must go out instantly, and I do not know when I shall return! Pray tell Silas to order the carriage—no, I will take a hackney! I have not a moment to waste!”
“But, Deb!” shrieked her aunt. “Where are you going?”
“To Mr Ravenscar!” replied Miss Grantham. “I cannot explain the reason to you, but it is imperative that I should see him at once. Pray do not try to stop me!”
Lady Bellingham opened her mouth, shut it again, and sank back in her chair as one past human succour.
Twenty minutes later, a hackney-carriage set Miss Grantham down at Mr Ravenscar’s door. It was opened to her by a footman, and she demanded, in a voice which she tried hard to steady, to see Mr Ravenscar immediately. The footman looked very much surprised at this request, and asked her doubtfully if it were Mrs Ravenscar she wished to see.
“No, no!” Deborah said. “My errand is to Mr Ravenscar, and it is most urgent! I desire you will tell him that Miss Grantham begs the favour of a few minutes’ speech with him!”
The footman looked more doubtful still, but he admitted her into the house, and led her to the library, saying that he would see if his master were at home. He then went away, and Miss Grantham began to pace about the room, much as its owner had done on the previous evening, clasping and unclasping her gloved hands.
In a very short time the door opened again. “Miss Grantham!” Ravenscar said, in a voice which betrayed his amazement. “Good God, what is it!” he exclaimed, as she turned, and he saw her face.
“Have you seen your sister this morning?” she demanded,
“No, she is not up yet. She was out until the small hours, at some ball or other, and has doubtless overslept.”
“Mr Ravenscar, I have this instant received this letter,” she interrupted him, holding out Mr Kennet’s note to him. “It was brought round to the house late last night, but I never had it until this morning! I have come instantly—you must believe that I would have come last night if I had known! Please read it at once! It is vital that you should be in possession of all the facts without another moment’s loss of time!”
He took the letter from her. “I will read it, but will you not sit down, Miss Grantham? Let me first get you a glass of wine. You are dreadfully pale!”
“No, no, I want nothing, I thank you! Only read that letter I beg of you!” she said, sinking down on to the sofa.
He looked at her with a good deal of concern, but as she merely signed to him to open the sheet of paper he was holding, he did so, and read Mr Kennet’s startling message.
He raised his eyes when he had come to the end of the letter and fixed them on Miss Grantham’s face, saying in an odd voice: “Why have you brought me this, ma’am?”
“Good God, do you not understand?” she cried. “Your sister has run off with him, believing that he means to marry her! It is all a plot to get money from you! I came at once, because it is my fault! It was at my aunt’s house that she met him, but I never dreamed—but there is no excusing my part in this! I said I did not care what Lucius might do to you! I said I hoped he would ruin you. But indeed, indeed I never meant such wicked mischief as this!” She stopped, trying to regain command over her voice, which was shaking pitiably. “He won’t hurt her,” she managed to say. “He is not as bad as that! You see he says that he does not mean her any harm, but only to hold her to ransom. You must trust me, sir! I can help you, and I will. Silas knows all the places where he might be found. You must do nothing. You must leave it to me! It would be fatal if you were to meet Lucius! The story would be bound to leak out, and whatever happens no one must ever know the truth! Once Silas has found them, I can do the rest. I give you my word Lucius will not dare to breathe a word of it to a soul. If he does, I shall swear that there is no word of truth in it, but that Miss Ravenscar was all the time in my company. But he will not speak! I know things about him that would ruin him if I chose to divulge them, and I will do so if ever he should dare to try to extort money out of you by threatening to publish the story to the world! Oh, do please trust me, sir! I know that none of it would ever have happened if I had not refused to give Adrian up at the outset, just to punish you, and you must, you must let me help you now!”
Mr Ravenscar, who had listened to this speech with remarkable composure, now laid Mr Kennet’s letter aside, and sat down beside Miss Grantham, calmly possessing himself of both her hands, and holding them in a firm clasp. “Deb, my darling, there’s no need for you to distress yourself like this! Don’t tremble so, my poor girl! Arabella is not such a fool as to be taken in by a man of Kennet’s kidney.”
“Oh, don’t you understand?” she cried, in an agony of impatience. “He can be very fascinating to a girl of her age! He—”
“My dearest heart, will you listen to me?” said Mr Ra
venscar. “Arabella is upstairs, and very likely asleep, and if you don’t believe me I will take you up to see her with your own eyes!”
She stared at him in a dazed way. “Are you sure?” she uttered.
“Yes, I am perfectly sure,” he replied. “She told me all about it last night.”
“She—she told you?” said Miss Grantham, apparently dazed.
“You see,” explained Mr Ravenscar, “she has always been in the habit of telling me things, and she sometimes even takes my advice. I advised her to beware of the man who tried to persuade her to elope with him, because such a man could only be a fortune-hunter. You will perhaps have noticed that my sister is a minx. I regret to say that it seemed good to her to dupe Kennet into believing that she meant to fly with him tonight. I understand that after waiting in the rain for an hour at the appointed rendezvous, he was joined by a link-boy who had been bribed to deliver a note into his hands which can have done nothing, I imagine, to heighten his self-esteem.”
“Oh, thank God!” whispered Miss Grantham, and burst into overwrought tears.
Mr Ravenscar promptly took her in his arms, and held her tightly that she was quite unable to break free. After making a half-hearted attempt to do so, and uttering a confused protest, to which he paid no heed at all, she subsided in a very weak way, and cried into his shoulder. Mr Ravenscar endured this with great forbearance for several minutes, but when Miss Grantham made various muffled and wholly unintelligible marks into his coat, he commanded her to look up. Miss Grantham then gulped in an unromantic manner, sniffed, and looked for her handkerchief. Evidently feeling that she was incapable of drying her own cheeks, Mr Ravenscar performed the office for her. After that, he kissed her, and, when she tried speak, kissed her again, extremely roughly.
“Oh, no!” said Miss Grantham faintly.
“Be quiet!” said Mr Ravenscar, kissing her for the third time.
Quite cowed, Miss Grantham submitted, making no attempt say anything more for an appreciable time. When she did speak again, she had discarded her bonnet, and was sitting with her head on Mr Ravenscar’s shoulder, and her hand tucked in his. Notwithstanding these circumstances, she said: “You can’t possibly marry me! You know you cannot!”
“My beautiful idiot!” said Mr Ravenscar lovingly.
Deeply pleased by this form of address, Miss Grantham: “You have no notion of the money I owe! You are mad even to think of marrying me!”
“I beg your pardon. I have a very good notion of the money you owe.”
“Do but consider what your relatives would say!”
“I have not the slightest interest in anything they may say.”
“You cannot marry a—a wench out of a gaming-house!”
Mr Ravenscar’s arm tightened about her. “I shall marry a wench out of a gaming-house with as much pomp and ceremony as I can contrive.”
She gave a rather watery chuckle. “Oh, no! Think of your sister!”
“I am thinking of her. I am wholly incapable of controlling her, and trust that you may succeed where I have failed. My stepmother has informed me that it is my duty to marry, to provide Arabella with a suitable chaperon.”
Miss Grantham lifted his hand to her cheek. “I may ruin you,” she warned him.
“You may try,” retorted Mr Ravenscar.
“I shall expect you to pay all Aunt Lizzie’s debts.”
“I mean to do so.”
“And to remove her from that dreadful house.”
“That also.”
“And to be civil to my poor brother.”
“I’ll try to be.”
“And of course to let me set up a faro-bank of my own!” said Miss Grantham, in a small, provocative voice.
“If I ever find you playing anything but commerce or silver loo, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born!” said Mr Ravenscar, kissing her hand. “Jade!”
Miss Grantham heaved a sigh of satisfaction, and abandoned any further attempt to bring him to a sense of his own folly.
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Faro’s Daughter Page 27