Джорджетт Хейер - Faro’s Daughter

“I do not propose to make the attempt,” he replied. “I rely upon you to do that.”

“I have no notion of doing it. I have a fancy to be my Lady Mablethorpe.”

“To which end, I suppose, you assumed the manners of a trollop at Vauxhall the other night!”

She bit her lip. “Oh, I did that merely to make you angry! I thought it would do you a great deal of good to see how a harpy might behave!”

“So that rankled, did it?” he said, smiling rather grimly. “I still say you are a harpy, Miss Grantham.”

“If I were, I would have closed with your obliging offer!”

“I fancy you nourished hopes of getting more from me than twenty thousand pounds,” he said. “Was not your behaviour at Vauxhall designed to convince me that no price would be too great to pay for my unfortunate cousin’s redemption?”

She showed him a white face, and very glittering eyes. “If I were a man,” she said in a shaking voice, “I would run you through!”

“There is nothing to stop you doing so now, if you can borrow a sword,” he replied.

Miss Grantham swept out of the cellar, too angry to speak, and slammed and locked the door behind her.

Her interview with the prisoner had not followed the lines she had planned, and although she told herself that a period of reflection must bring Ravenscar to his senses, she could not help feeling a considerable degree of uneasiness. There was a look in his eyes, a stubborn jut to his chin, which held out no promise of his weakening. If he really did refuse to capitulate, she would find herself in the most awkward predicament, fox not only would it be impossible to keep him bound up in the cellar, but every instinct rebelled against putting her threat into action, and keeping him from his appointment on the morrow. Miss Grantham was too much a gamester herself to regard with anything but horror a failure to make good a wager.

She made her way upstairs to the hall, where she was unfortunate enough to meet her aunt, who had that instant come down from the Yellow Saloon to cast an eye over the supper-tables.

“Good heavens, Deb, where have you been?” she asked. “What in the world should take you downstairs? Oh, if you have not dirtied your dress! How came you to do that, my love?”

Miss Grantham saw that there was a mark on the skirt of her brocade gown, and tried to brush it off. “It’s nothing, ma’am. I was obliged to step down to the cellar, and I knelt on the floor for a moment. I am sure it is not very noticeable.”

Lady Bellingham looked at her with a lively expression of anxiety in her face. “Deb, you are at your tricks again!” she said, in a hollow voice. “I insist on your telling me this instant what it is you are about! What have you got in the cellar? I never knew you go down there before in your life!”

“Dearest Aunt Lizzie, indeed you had much better not ask me!” Deborah said, her lips trembling on the verge of one of her irrepressible smiles. “It would only bring on your spasms!”

Lady Bellingham gave a small shriek, and pulled her into the supper-room. “Deb, do not trifle with me, I implore you! You have done something dreadful, I know. Don’t say it’s murder!”

Miss Grantham laughed. “No, no, it is not as bad as that, ma’am! I promise you, everything will turn out famously. Who is here tonight?”

“Never mind that! I cannot enjoy a moment’s peace until I know what you have been about!”

“Well, I am busily employed in getting your bills back, ma’am, and the mortgage too,” Deborah replied.

Instead of showing relief at these tidings, Lady Bellingham turned pale under her rouge. “How can you possibly do so?

Oh, heavens, don’t say you have stolen them!”

“Nothing of the sort, aunt. Do let us go upstairs! Your guests will wonder what has become of you.”

“You have had Ravenscar murdered, and hidden his body in my cellar!” uttered her ladyship, sinking into a chair. “We shall all be ruined! I knew it!”

“My dear ma’am, it is no such thing!” Deborah said, amused. “He is not dead, I assure you!”

Lady Bellingham’s eyes seemed to be in imminent danger of starting from their sockets. “Deb!” she said, in a strangled voice. “You don’t mean that you really have Ravenscar in my cellar?”

“Yes, dearest, but indeed he is alive!”

“We are ruined!” said her ladyship, with a calm born of despair. “The best we can hope for is that they will put you in Bedlam. Oh, what have I ever done to deserve this?”

“But, ma’am, you do not understand! There is nothing for you to fear! I have merely kidnapped him, and mean to hold him until he gives up these bills. Then we may be comfortable again.”

“You know nothing of Bedlam, if you think anyone can be comfortable there! Very likely they will refuse to believe that you are mad, and we shall both be transported.”

“No, we shall not, dearest! Mr Ravenscar will never bring himself to admit to the world that he was worsted by faro’s daughter! Whatever vengeance he takes, it will not be that. Only leave it to me!”

Lady Bellingham moaned.

“If you had not caught me coming up the stairs, you would never have known anything about it!” urged Miss Grantham. “There is nothing you can do, for I have the key of the cell; in my pocket, and I don’t mean to give it up. Forget it, Aunt Lizzie! Is Adrian here tonight?”

“What should that signify?” asked her ladyship bitterly. “You have treated him so roughly that the poor boy flies to Phoebe!”

“Well, that is just what I wanted him to do,” said Miss Grantham cheerfully. “Let us go upstairs!”

Her ladyship rose, and allowed herself to be escorted up to the saloons, but she was evidently much shaken, and felt quite unequal to taking her usual place at the faro-table, where sprinkling of people were already seated; but wandered about instead in a distracted way, pausing for a few minutes to watch the E.O. board, and drifting away again as though she did not know where to go next. Miss Grantham, concealing son inward qualms under a gay front, let it be seen that she was in spirits, and became the life and soul of a not very serious game of hazard, in the smaller saloon.

At about nine o’clock, the rooms began to fill up. Sir James Filey arrived with several friends, to play faro, and he had no sooner greeted his hostess than he said: “You have not seen Ravenscar, have you, Lady Bel?”

Her ladyship gave a start, and faltered: “No, indeed, should I?”

Filey put up his glass, and surveyed the room. “Why, I he, that he was pledged to dine with Crewe, and some other; They waited for him until past eight, and then were obliged to sit down without him. I see he is not here.”

“No, no, he is not here!” said Lady Bellingham, fanning herself with a trembling hand.

“Very odd!” said Filey, with a faint, sneering smile. “I understand that Crewe sent word to his house, but got news of him there. I trust he has not forgotten our meeting tomorrow.”

Lord Mablethorpe, who was standing near enough to overhear these remarks, came towards the faro-table, saying: “You may rest at ease on that score, Sir James. My cousin will not fail to keep his appointment with you.”

“Oh, do you know where he is?” said Fil6y, looking him over with a lift to his brows.

“No,” said Adrian. “I do not. But if you mean to imply, sir, that my cousin will not come up to scratch I am happy to be able to set your mind at rest! He has never yet failed to keep a sporting engagement.”

“What an elevating thing is family affection!” said Filey sweetly. “Does your estimable cousin know that the betting is in my favour, I wonder? He was a little hasty when he laid such odds on himself, was he not? I recall that you were of that opinion at the time, my lord.”

“Was I?” retorted Adrian. “I must have forgotten the outcome of your previous encounter!”

Sir James continued to smile, with that air of patronage which made Adrian long to hit him. “But he matches his greys against a very different pair this time, you must remember.”

“True, but you are driving them, are you not?” said Adrian, with deceptive innocence.

Sir James’s face darkened, but before he could speak, Miss Grantham, who had joined the group, intervened, exclaiming: “So it is you, Sir James! I vow, we thought you had deserted us! Do you care to try your hand at faro tonight, or have you a fancy for the bones? Oh, there you are, Adrian! I wish you will fetch my fan from the other room: I have laid it down somewhere there. And what is all this about Mr Ravenscar, Sir James?”

“Merely that he seems to have disappeared, my dear. I hope we may not hear that he is in poor health, or has been called away on important business.”

“I hope not indeed, and do not suppose there is the least likelihood of it. I cannot conceive what should have put such a notion into your head!”

He spread out his hands. “My information is that he left his house at dusk this evening, and has not been heard of since. You will admit it to be a singular business!”

“I fear any hope you may cherish of winning by Mr Ravenscar’s default will have but a short life,” Miss Grantham replied contemptuously.

He coloured angrily, but as her words were received with a good deal of ill-concealed amusement by those who heard them, he merely bowed, and moved away from her.

Lady Bellingham, feeling herself to be in danger of fainting from fright, retired to the buffet, and told the waiter there to pour her out a glass of claret. She was reviving herself with this when her nephew came up to her, and asked in an urgent undervoice: “What is this they are saying about Ravenscar?