For quite some time, Miss Grantham was, unable to think of an adequate counter to Mr Ravenscar’s last move. It really seemed to be unanswerable, but she was by this time so determined to fight him that the idea of surrender never entered her head. The time for signifying to him that she had not the least intention of marrying his cousin would come only when he was beaten out of every position. Miss Grantham would then be able to derive great satisfaction from her magnanimity. To give way to bribes or threats would be so spiritless a course that she naturally could not entertain it for a moment.
After dwelling wistfully on all the exceedingly unpleasant things she would like to do to Mr Ravenscar, but which circumstances unhappily prevented her from doing, her brain presently turned resolutely from these impractical daydreams, and grappled the problem in a more serious spirit. It was not long before a scheme, so dazzlingly diabolical as almost to take her breath away, was born in her mind. She sank her chin in her hands, pondering the plan with a rapt look on her face, and was discovered in this absorption by Lucius Kennet, who strolled in towards noon to see how she did.
“Faith, what devilment will you be up to, me darlin’?” asked Mr Kennet, regarding her with a sapient twinkle.
Deborah jumped up. “Lucius, you are the very man I need! You must help me!”
“Sure and I will!” responded Kennet promptly.
“And Silas too,” decided Miss Grantham. “You will not mind a little risk, will you, Lucius?”
“Me sword’s at your service, Deb!”
“Oh no! It has nothing to do with swords—at least I do hope it has not! I just want you to kidnap Ravenscar for me.”
He burst out laughing. “Is that all? Whisht, it’s a mere nothing! And what will I be doing with him when I’ve kidnapped him?”
“I want you to put him in the cellar,” said Miss Grantham remorselessly.
“What cellar?” inquired Kennet.
“This one, of course. It has a very stout lock on the door, and it is not at all damp—not that that signifies, and in any event he will be tied up.”
“It’s a grand plan you have there, me dear, but what will you be doing with him when you have him in the cellar, and what the devil ails you to want him there at all?”
“Oh, to be sure, you do not know what he has done! Read that!” said Deborah, thrusting Mr Ravenscar’s letter into his hand.
He read it with lifting brows of astonishment. “The old dog!” he ejaculated.
“Old? He isn’t old!” said Deborah, unaccountably annoyed.
“Not Ravenscar. Ormskirk.”
“Oh, him! Well yes, I must say I think it very shabby of him to serve poor Aunt Lizzie such a trick, but he is of no account, after all.”
“How did Ravenscar know he had the bills?” demanded Kennet.
Miss Grantham looked at him, suddenly frowning a little. “Yes, how did he know? I had not thought of that! He must have made it his business to find out, I suppose. It is the vilest piece of work! But he will be sorry, I promise you!”
“I dare swear he will. Does it mean you are going to marry the young sprig at the latter end, me dear?”
“No, indeed!”
He shook his head ruefully. “You go beyond me, Deb, upon me soul you do! If you don’t mean to have Mablethorpe, why, for any sakes, will you not say so, and be done with it?”
“Lucius, I made sure you would understand!” said Deborah reproachfully. “Do you think I will give in as tamely as that? You do know what language he used towards me! He insulted me, and now he dares to threaten me, and nothing—nothing!—would induce me to yield to him! What! Am I to have a pistol held to my head, and submit to such conduct? I won’t! I will get the better of him if I die for it!”
“When you put it like that, me darlin’, it’s not meself that has the heart to gainsay you. Sure, he’s a black villain, and deserves to be put in the cellar! But I’d say, from the little I’ve seen of him, that he’s devilish obstinate. Do you mean to keep him in the cellar until he hands over the bills to you? I’m thinking he may be a charge on you for a weary while!”
“I have thought of all that,” said Miss Grantham triumphantly. “I fancy he will not stay in the cellar above an hour or two. Lucius, he is delivered into my hands by his own act! I want you to kidnap him on Wednesday evening!”
“On Wednesday—” His jaw dropped suddenly. “No, by the powers, you can’t do that, Deb! His race is to be run on Thursday!”
“Exactly so!” nodded Deborah. “You may depend upon it, he will agree to do anything rather than lose the race by default.”
“Faith, me dear, if he didn’t murder you, and me too, he’d have the pair of us clapped up in gaol!” Kennet said, awed. “What’s more, I couldn’t find it in me heart to blame him.”
This gave Miss Grantham a moment’s pause, but after thinking it over she said: “I do not think he would murder us, Lucius, and I am quite sure he would not have us clapped up, because he is too proud to admit to the world that one of faro’s daughters got the better of him, and in such a fashion! No, he will do nothing, and then, when he is smarting, I will tell him that he might have spared himself his trouble, for I would not marry his cousin if he were the last to offer for me!”
“I’m thinking,” said Kennet slowly, “that while you have him tied up in the cellar, Deb, you might get that twenty thousand out of him.”
Miss Grantham flushed. “I will do nothing of the sort! How dare you think I would touch his horrid money, much less force him to give it to me?”
“After all, me dear,” said Kennet reasonably, “you’ve no objection to forcing him to hand over the mortgage, and that’s worth a cool five thousand, let alone the bills.”
“That,” said Miss Grantham, with dignity, “is a very different matter. The other—Why, what a wretch I should be! You cannot have considered!”
Kennet smiled wryly. “It’s you who are too quixotic for me, Deb. However, it’s your own affair. Now, how are we to kidnap my fine gentleman?”
“I thought very likely you would be able to arrange for that,” said Miss Grantham hopefully. “Silas will help you, and between you should be able to overpower him, I imagine.”
“Ah, there’s no difficulty about that! But do you suppose I am to walk into his house, or club him in the open street, me darlin’?”
Miss Grantham looked rather anxious. “I don’t want him to be hurt, you know. At least, not much. Couldn’t you catch him after dark, when he is coming away from his club, or some such thing?”
Mr Kennet pursed up his lips disparagingly. “Too chancy, Deb. It won’t do to bungle it. I’m thinking you should write to him, appointing a meeting-place in some quiet spot, and I’ll keep the tryst for you.”
Once more Miss Grantham’s tiresome conscience intervened. “No!” she said, revolted. “I won’t win by such a horrid trick! Besides, he thinks I am an odious woman who would do any vile thing, and I am not! We must think of something else.”
Mr Kennet cast her a sidelong, appraising glance. “Ah, well,” he said diplomatically, “you’d best leave the manner of it to me. I shall contrive somehow, I daresay.”
“And what am I to do about this wicked letter?” asked Miss Grantham, her eyes kindling as they alighted on it. “I should like to write to him, and tell him that he may go to the devil, but I suppose that would spoil everything. I must fob him off until Wednesday. Only I don’t know what to say!”
“Give me a pen!” said Kennet. “It will be better if I reply to it for you. You must play for time, me dear.”
“Why should you reply to it?” asked Deborah suspiciously. “If you mean any mischief, Lucius—”