Faro’s Daughter

Chapter 17

When Mr Ravenscar stalked inside his house, twenty minutes after he had flung out of the back-parlour in St James’s Square, he was still in a towering rage, which showed itself plainly in his scowling brow, and thinned lips. His butler, unwise enough to make an innocuous remark about the weather when he admitted him to the house, had his head bitten off for his pains, and retired, much shaken, to the nether regions, where he informed his colleagues that if the master had not been crossed in love he did not know the signs.

Mr Ravenscar, throwing his gloves on to one chair, and his long, drab coat across another, shut himself up in his library, and spent an hour pacing up and down its length, a prey to the most violent and confused emotions he had ever experienced. He did not know whom he was most furious with, himself or Miss Grantham, and was dwelling savagely on this quite unimportant problem when he discovered that his bitterest anger was directed against Mablethorpe. He realized that it would afford him considerable pleasure to be able to take his cousin by the throat, and to choke the life out of him. This discovery enraged him still further, and he told himself savagely that he was well rid of a mercenary, heartless, unprincipled baggage. This brought no relief to his feelings; and although the wanton smashing of a Sevres figure which he had always detested, and which some nameless fool had dared to place upon the mantelpiece, afforded him a momentary gratification, its beneficial effects did not prove to be lasting. He continued to pace the floor, torn between a desire to strangle Miss Grantham and throw her body to the dogs, and an equally strong desire to serve Mablethorpe in this way instead, and to think out a fitting punishment for Miss Grantham which would, in some mysterious manner, entail her remaining in his power for the rest of her life.

It was not to be supposed that this ferocity could endure for long. It wore itself out presently, leaving Mr Ravenscar with a sense of corroding disillusionment, and a conviction that life held nothing further for him. In this painful mood, he went upstairs to change his clothes for dinner, vouchsafing not one word to his valet (who, after one swift glance at his face, was thankful for this forbearance), and attending so little to what he was doing that he allowed himself to be assisted into a coat which he had decided on the previous night that he would never wear again.

His stepmother and Arabella were dining out, a circumstance which relieved him of the necessity of going out himself; and he sat down in solitary state at the head of his long dining-table, and ate perhaps three mouthfuls of every dish which was presented to him, until he came to the syllabub, which he rejected with every evidence of loathing. The only thing he partook of freely was the port. His butler had had the forethought to bring up a bottle of the best from the cellar.

Mr Ravenscar, lost in a brown study, was still sitting at the dinner-table, his half-empty wine-glass in his hand, when the butler brought him a note, which had been delivered by hand.

Mr Ravenscar glanced at it indifferently, recognized Lady Mablethorpe’s writing, and picked it up, his lips tightening. It was brief, and to the point. It requested him to call in Brook Street at his earliest convenience.

There was scarcely any person whom Mr Ravenscar would not have preferred to confront that evening, but he was not one to put off a disagreeable task, and after tossing off the rest of his port, he told the butler to fetch his hat and cloak and walking-cane.

He went on foot to Brook Street, and was ushered immediately into the drawing-room on the first floor. Here he found his aunt, seated alone by the small fire, looking as though she had sustained a severe shock.

She waited only until the servant had withdrawn before exclaiming: “Oh, Max, have you heard what has happened?”

He had fully expected to be met by an outburst of wrath, and could only suppose that her ladyship’s first rage, like his own, had worn itself out. “Yes,” he replied curtly. “I know. I am sorry, aunt.”

“It is not your fault,” she said. “I was never so taken aback in my life!”

“It was my fault,” Ravenscar said. “I had the means to stop it, and I was fool enough not to use them.”

She stared at him. “Good heavens, Max, you never said a word to me about it! Do you tell me you knew all along what he really meant to do?”

He came to the fire, and stood with his back to it, looking down at her with a puzzled frown. “I don’t understand you, ma’am. Surely we both knew?”

“But I never knew of the girl’s existence until today!” cried Lady Mablethorpe, in the liveliest astonishment.

“Never knew of her existence?” he repeated blankly. “What in God’s name are you talking about, aunt?”

“I am talking about this child whom Adrian says he has married! What are you talking about, pray?”

“Child! Am I mad, or are you?” demanded Ravenscar. “Adrian has married Deborah Grantham!”

“But he has not!” said her ladyship. “He has married one of the Laxton girls!”

“What?” thundered Ravenscar.

His aunt winced. “For heaven’s sake don’t shout at me! I have borne enough this day! So you did not know! He threw as much dust in your eyes as in mine!”

Mr Ravenscar seemed to experience some difficulty in speaking, but after a moment’s stunned silence he managed to say with tolerable composure: “I am utterly at a loss, ma’am, and must beg you to enlighten me! Are you sure that you have understood what Adrian told you?”

“Of course I am sure! Do you think I am in my dotage? He has married Phoebe Laxton—a child three years younger than himself, if you please! And that Grantham woman helped him to do it!” Lady Mablethorpe fanned herself in an agitated way, and added: “It is the most absurd thing ever I heard! A couple of babies to be setting up housekeeping! The girl is as good as portionless, too! Oh, I do not know what to do about it! There is nothing I can do, but to think that I should be obliged to receive Augusta Laxton with an appearance of complaisance when there is no one I dislike more! It does not bear thinking of!”

Mr Ravenscar, who was looking extremely pale, broke in on this to say: “Have the goodness, ma’am, to be a little more intelligible! This sounds to me like a farrago of nonsense! When did Adrian meet Miss Laxton? How is it possible that he can have married her?”

“He met her at Vauxhall, when he was there with that dreadful woman. It seems that she had run away from Sir James Filey, whom the Laxtons were pressing her to marry. Well, I must say I think she did right to run away from such a satyr! A hateful man, and if you had but known his mother! But that’s neither here nor there! What must Adrian do—urged on, of course, by that Grantham woman, though why she should I cannot imagine, for anyone must have guessed what would come of it, with a boy of his romantic notions! Well, what must he do but spirit the girl away to Lady Bellingham’s house, where she was kept hidden until Filey chanced to see her looking out of the window one day, and recognized her!”

“Good God!” exclaimed Ravenscar, paler than ever. “I do recall hearing some talk of the Laxton girl’s being missing! She was in St James’s Square all the time?”

“Yes, falling in love with my son!” said her ladyship, with a good deal of feeling. “Under the Grantham woman’s nose! She must be a fool, one would think! For what could be more natural than for Adrian to tumble head over ears in love with a child who was calling him her saviour, and thinking him a perfect Sir Galahad, or whoever it was who went about rescuing foolish females! Oh, I can see it all! And I must say, Max, dreadful though it all is, his marriage has improved him already! He seems to have grown up in a flash. If I had not been so angry, I could have laughed to have heard him telling me so sternly how he would have me receive his wife, and how he would not permit anyone to do or say anything that might distress her! He has gone off to call upon Lord Laxton, as cool as you please! A boy of his age! Heaven knows what the Laxtons will say, but they may consider themselves lucky to have married their daughter so well, and so I shall tell Augusta, if she dares to—oh, but, Max, he is too young to be married! I cannot bear it!”

Mr Ravenscar paid no attention to this. “But the marriage! Do you tell me Adrian took this girl to Gretna Green?”

“No, he was not so lost to all sense of propriety as that, I am thankful to say! When Filey discovered her presence in Lady Bellingham’s house, Phoebe was so terrified that she would be dragged back to her parents’ house, and forced to marry him, that there was nothing for it, Adrian said, but to take her away immediately. Laxton’s sister lives in Wales, and seems to have been a good friend to Phoebe from the outset. Adrian hired a post-chaise, bundled her and the Grantham woman into it, told me he was off to stay with Tom Waring, and set out for Wales! With a special licence in his pocket, Max! Only fancy Adrian’s thinking of everything, just as though he were not a perfect greenhorn! One cannot help feeling proud of him! They were married from this aunt’s house, and now Adrian says he means to insert a notice in the Morning Post!”

“My God, my God, what have I done?” burst from Mr Ravenscar. He sprang to his feet, and began to pace about the room as though he could not be still another instant.

His aunt regarded him with astonishment. “I cannot conceive what you should have done! I do not blame you. I could not have guessed that anything so fantastic would happen.”

“You do not know what I have done!” said Ravenscar over his shoulder. “But never mind that! Where is Adrian’s bride?”

“He has left her in Wales. I declare I could have boxed his ears! He had the effrontery to tell me that he means to bring her to London, but would not do so until he was assured that she would be received with the civility due to his wife!”

Mr Ravenscar smiled for the first time since his meeting with his cousin that afternoon. “Capital! I hope he will come and tell me so too. He told me only that he was married and the happiest man on earth when I met him on his way to break the news to you. I daresay I shall receive a stern warning from him when next I see him.”

“But what is to be done?” demanded Lady Mablethorpe.

“There is nothing to be done, ma’am. It might, after all, have been very much worse.”

“Certainly, if he had married the Grantham creature, but do you tell me I must countenance this match?”

“Unless you wish for a breach with Adrian, undoubtedly,” replied Ravenscar.

“Oh, Max!” said her ladyship, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “I don’t feel as though I can bear it!”

“It is certainly a severe shock, ma’am, but however much you may dislike the girl’s parents there is nothing wrong with her breeding. The greatest ill we have to fear is that Laxton will try to extort money from Adrian, and that he cannot do until the boy comes of age, by which time I must hope to have been able to drum a little sense into his head.”

“That is just what I said, but Adrian vows he does not mean to be bled by a man who has behaved as abominably towards his daughter as Laxton has towards Phoebe. He says he may very likely take care of the younger girls, but there it will end.”

The thought of his cousin’s expressing a paternal readiness to take care of the younger girls made Ravenscar burst out laughing. His aunt suddenly perceived the humour of it, and cried and laughed together, and felt very much better for it.

“Send Adrian round to my house in the morning,” Ravenscar said. “I will talk over the question of settlements with him, and see Laxton myself. We shall have to consult Julius, of course, but you had better persuade him to let me handle the business.”

Lady Mablethorpe had no hesitation in approving of this. Julius, she said, was an old fool, who would allow Laxton to talk him into anything.

“Well, Laxton won’t talk me into anything,” promised Ravenscar, and took his leave of her.

When he walked away from the house, it was with the intention of repairing at once to St James’s Square, but before he had reached the end of the street he recalled that Lady Bellingham was holding a card-party that night, and stopped. There could be no opportunity of holding any private conversation with Miss Grantham that night, and what he had to say to her could not be said in public. He was obliged to abandon his plan, and to turn homewards, to possess his soul in what patience he could muster until the following day.

His cousin arrived at the house while he was still at breakfast, and for the next hour he was fully occupied in listening to an account of the runaway marriage, accompanied by a rapturous description of young Lady Mablethorpe’s manifold charms and virtues, the recital of which led him privately to infer that she was a pretty little creature, without much sense, and certainly no strength of character. He thought she would do very well for Adrian. For himself, he preferred women of more spirit.

When Adrian had talked himself out, and all the business of settlements had been discussed, it was nearly noon. Adrian, who seemed to have taken his father and mother-in-law by storm, and to have cowed them into a dazed acceptance of the situation, was very anxious that his cousin should call immediately at the Laxton’s house. Ravenscar fobbed him off, however, by saying that he must first consult his fellow trustee; thrust him upstairs to regale Arabella and Mrs Ravenscar with the story of his marriage; and himself made good his escape from the house, and set off for St James’s Square.

The door was opened to him by Mr Wantage, who at once barred his passage. “No good!” he said briefly. “The orders is I’m not to admit you, sir, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Take my card up to Miss Grantham,” said Ravenscar, “and tell her that I must beg her to see me, if only for five minutes.”

“It wouldn’t do a mite of good if I did,” replied Silas pityingly. “She won’t have you inside the house, and if I was to let you in she’d very likely murder me.”

“If you try to keep me from entering the house, it’s not Miss Grantham who will murder you!” said Ravenscar.

A joyful light sprang to Mr Wantage’s eyes. “If that’s the way it is, put up your dabblers, guv’nor!” he said simply.

Mr Ravenscar did more than this. Before Silas well knew what he was about, he had planted a flush hit to the face, followed it up by a lightning doubler which sent Silas staggering back, and was inside the house, with the door kicked to behind him.

Mr Wantage came boring in, trying to bustle his man, received a heavy facer, popped in over his guard, which drew his cork; threw in a body-blow; tried to job Mr Ravenscar in the face; was thrown on Ravenscar’s hip; and went crashing to the floor, where he remained, winded, and bleeding copiously at the nose.

“I owed you that!” said Ravenscar, panting a little.

From the head of the stairs an arctic voice said: “Have the goodness to leave this house immediately!”

Mr Ravenscar looked up quickly, saw Miss Grantham standing above him, with an expression of frozen fury on her face, and went up the stairs two at a time. Miss Grantham’s eyes dared him to touch her, but he gripped her wrist in one hand, saying: “I must and I will speak to you!”

“I have nothing whatsoever to say to you!” flashed Miss Grantham. “How dare you knock my servant down?”

“You may not have anything to say to me, but I have something which must be said to you!” replied Ravenscar. “If you won’t walk into that room, I shall pick you up and carry you into it!”

Silas Wantage, having recovered his wind by this time, picked himself up, holding his handkerchief to his flowing nose, and offered thickly to mill Mr Ravenscar down, if it took him all the morning to do it.

“No, no, go away and put a key down your back!” commanded Miss Grantham, shuddering. “If you have anything to say to me, sir, say it, and then go, and never let me see you again!”

Mr Ravenscar, still grasping her wrist, opened the door of the little parlour on the half-landing, and drew her inside. He then released her, and said: “I have come to beg your pardon, Miss Grantham.”

She looked disdainfully at him. “You need not have been to so much trouble, I assure you. Your opinion of my character is a matter of the supremest indifference to me.”

“There is no excuse for me. If I had not been crazy with jealousy I should never have said what I did to you. I love you!”

“No doubt I should be flattered, but as I can scarcely conceive of a worse fate than to be married to you, this declaration fills me with repugnance!”

He bit his lip. “Forgive me!”

“I shall never forgive you as long as I live! If you have now said what you came to say, pray leave me!”

“I tell you I love you!” said Mr Ravenscar, taking a step towards her.

“If you dare to touch me again I shall scream!” announced Miss Grantham. “I do not know whether you are asking me to marry you, or merely to become your mistress, but whichever it is—”

“I am asking you to marry me!” interrupted Ravenscar.

“I am obliged to you,” said Miss Grantham, dropping him a curtsey, “but even the thought of squandering such a fortune as yours fails to tempt me. I have met many men in my time whom I thought odious, but none, believe me, whom I hated as I hate you! I trust I make myself plain, sir?”

“Yes,” he replied, in a deeply mortified tone. “Perfectly plain, ma’am. I will relieve you of the annoyance of my presence. But I beg of you to believe that now and always I am your very obedient servant to command!”

She made no response to this; he bowed to her formally; and left the room. She heard his footsteps descending the stairs, caught the echo of his voice as he spoke to someone in the hall, and the sound of the front door shutting behind him. Then she sat down on a very uncomfortable chair, and enjoyed a bout of weeping which lasted for half-an-hour by the clock, and left her limp, and much inclined to think that she would have done better never to have been born at all.

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 Ravenscar. “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.