“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, Silas. 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.
Miss Grantham, who had been searching in her cupboard, turned, with one of her own nightgowns over her arm. “I am afraid you will be lost in this,” she said, “but it must serve for tonight. Tomorrow I will see about procuring clothes for you.”
“Oh, I never thought of that!” exclaimed Phoebe. “To be sure I have nothing in the world now but what I stand up in, and how can I travel to Wales in my party dress? Oh dear, I shall be such a charge on you, dear ma’am! But indeed my aunt will pay you back, I promise!”
“I wish you will call me Deb,” said Miss Grantham. “As to travelling into Wales, do you know, I have been thinking it over, and I fancy I have a better scheme in my head than that?”
“What is it?” asked Phoebe, sitting down on the edge of the bed, and clasping her hands in her lap. “I will do anything which you and Lord Mablethorpe think right.”