The card-parties in Clarges Street had been held during peak period of gaming. Gentlemen had thought nothing of staking rouleaus of fifty guineas on the turn of a card, and the profits of the modest little house had really quite justified the acquiring of a much larger establishment in St James’s Square But whether it was because there had been a great deal of absurd stuff written in the daily papers about the wickedness of such gaming-houses as Mrs Sturt’s, and Lady Buckingham’s, which might have caused the attendances to fall off trifle; or whether because the expenses of the house in St James’s Square were much heavier than Lady Bellingham had anticipated, there had not been any profits to enjoy for several months. Of course, quite large sums of money found their way into Lady Bellingham’s pockets, but somehow or other these were always swallowed up by the tide of bill which so inexplicably threatened to engulf the house. For the past few weeks, too, the establishment had been suffering from a run of most persistent ill-luck. The faro-bank ha been broken for six thousand pounds on one disastrous evening, and a misfortune such as that was hard to recover from Lady Bellingham had done her best by introducing the game of E.O. into her rooms, but even this had not gone very far to set matters to rights, since serious gamesters were inclined to despise it, and it certainly could not be said to improve tone of the house. In fact, as Deborah said bitterly, it reduced it to the ranks of quite common gaming-hells.
It had been one of Lucius Kennet’s ideas, well-meant, of course, but very displeasing to Miss Grantham. He had lately been talking of the new game of roulette, which seemed to be played on much the same principles as E.O., but Miss Grantham was determined that no roulette board should make its appearance in St James’s Square.
Mr Kennet, when Miss Grantham joined him, was idly engaged in casting the dice, right hand against left, on a small table in the centre of the room. “Good morning, me darlin’,” he said cheerfully, not desisting from his occupation. “Will you look at the fiend’s own luck of my left hand, now? Upon my soul, it can’t lose!” He cast a shrewd glance at Miss Grantham’s rather pensive expression, and added: “What’s the trouble, me dear? Is it Ormskirk again, or will it be the suckling;”
“It isn’t either,” replied Deborah, sitting down on the opposite side of the table. “At least, no more than I’m used to. Lucius, what is to become of us?”
“Why, what should become of you at all?”
“My aunt is quite distracted. There are nothing but bills!”
“Ah, throw them in the fire, me dear.”
“You know well that won’t answer! I wish you will stop casting the bones!”
He gathered them up into the palm of one hand, tossing them into the air, and catching them as they fell. There was a smile in his eyes as he answered: “Your heart’s not in this, is it?”
“Sometimes I think I hate it,” she admitted, sinking her chin into her cupped hands, and glowering. “Oh, the devil, Lucius I’m no gamester!”
“You chose it, me darlin’. I’d say ’twas in your blood.”
“Well, and so I thought, but it’s tedious beyond anything I ever dreamed of! I think I will have a cottage in the country one day, and keep hens.”
He burst out laughing. “God save the hens! And you supping off lobsters every night, and wearing silks, and fallals, and letting the guineas drip through the pretty fingers of you!”
Her eyes twinkled; the corners of her humorous mouth quivered responsively. “That’s the devil of it,” she confessed. “What’s to be done?”
“There’s the suckling,” he drawled. “I doubt he’d be glad to give you your cottage, if it’s that you want, so you might play at keeping farm, like the sainted French Queen, God rest he soul!”
“You know me better!” she said, with a flash. “Do you think I would serve a romantic boy such a turn as that? A rare thing for him to find himself tied to a gamester five years the elder!”
“You know, Deb,” he said, watching the rise and fall of hi dice through half-shut eyes, “there are times I’ve a mind to run off with you meself.”
She smiled, but shook her head. “When you’re foxed, may be.”
His hand shut on the dice; he turned his head to look at her. “Be easy; I’m sober enough. What do you say, me darlin’? Will you throw in your lot with a worthless fellow that will never come to any good in this world, let alone the next?
“Are you offering for me, Lucius?” she demanded, blinking at him.
“Sure I’m offering for you! It’s mad I am entirely, but what of that? Come adventuring with me, me love! I’ll swear you’ve the spirit for it!”
She gave him one of her clear looks. “If I loved you, Lucius; I don’t, you see. Not as your wife, but only as your good friend.”
“Ah well!” he said, tossing up the dice again. “I doubt it’s for the best!”
“Indeed, I don’t think you would make a very good husband,” she said reflectively. “You would be wishing me at the devil before a year was out.”
“I might,” he agreed.
“Besides,” she said practically, “how should marriage wit you help Aunt Lizzie out of her difficulties?”
“Ah, to hell with the old woman! You’re too young to be worrying your head over her troubles, me dear, believe you me!”
“It’s when you talk like that I like you least, Lucius,” she said.
He shrugged. “Have it as you will. What’s it to be? Will you have a roulette table or the noble Earl of Ormskirk?”
“I will have neither!”
“Tell that to your aunt, Deb, and see how she takes it.”
“What do you mean?” she asked fiercely.
“God bless us all, girl, if she were not playing his lordship game for him, what possessed the silly creature to borrow money from him?”
“You are thinking of the mortgage on this house! She had no notion—”
“That, and the bills his lordship bought up, all out of the goodness of his heart, you’ll be asking me to believe.” Her cheeks whitened. “Lucius, he has not done that?”
“Ask the old lady.”
“Oh, poor Aunt Lizzie!” she exclaimed. “No wonder she is so put-about! Of course she would never have the least notion that that horrid man would use them to force me to become his mistress! And I won’t! I’ll go to prison rather!”
“Prison is a mighty uncomfortable place, me dear.”
“He’d not do that!” she said confidently. “This is all conjecture! He has used no threats to me. Indeed, I am very sure he is too proud. But, oh, I would give anything to get those bills out of his hands!”
He threw her an ironical glance. “I’m thinking you’d best ask your rich new friend to buy ’em back for you, me darlin’. It’s delighted I’d be to help you, but my pockets are to let, as well you know.”
“I wish you will not be absurd!” she said crossly. “It’s ten to one I shall never set eyes on Ravenscar again, and if I did—oh, don’t be a fool, Lucius, for I’m in no funning humour!”
The door opened to admit Mortimer. “Mr Ravenscar has called, miss, and desires to see you. I have shown him into the Yellow Saloon.”
“Faith, it’s heaven’s answer, Deb!” said Mr Kennet, chuckling.
“Mr Ravenscar?” repeated Miss Grantham incredulously. “You must have mistaken!”
The butler silently held out the salver he was carrying. Miss Grantham picked up the visiting-card on it, and read in astonishment its simple legend. Mr Max Ravenscar ran the flowing script, in coldly engraved letters.
Chapter 5
Mr Ravenscar was standing by the window in the Yellow Saloon, looking out. He was dressed in topboot; and leather breeches, with a spotted cravat round his throat and a drab-coloured driving-coat with several shoulder-cape reached to his calves. He turned, as Miss Grantham entered, the room, and she saw that some spare whip-lashes were thru; through one of his buttonholes, and that he was carrying a pair of driving-gloves of York tan.