“I must see him,” said Miss Grantham resolutely.
“I’d best come with you, then, and fetch a lantern.”
“I will take a branch of candles down. The servants might notice it if you took the lantern away. But please come with me, Silas!”
“I’ll come right enough, but you’ve no call to be scared, Miss Deb: he’s tied up as neat as a spring chicken.”
“I am not scared,” said Miss Grantham coldly.
She fetched one of the branches of candles from the supper room, and Silas, having instructed one of the waiters to mount guard over the door, led the way down the precipitous stairs to the cellars. He took the big key from her, and flung open the door of Mr Ravenscar’s prison. Mr Ravenscar, looking under frowning brows, was gratified by the vision of a tall goddess in a golden dress, holding up a branch of candles whose flaming tongues of light touched her hair with fire. Not being in a mood to appreciate beauty, he regarded this agreeable picture without any change in his expression.
Miss Grantham said indignantly: “There was no need to leave him with that horrid thing tied round his mouth! No one would hear him in this place, if he shouted for help! Untie ii this instant, Silas!”
Mr Wantage grinned, and went to remove the scarf and the gag. Miss Grantham saw that her prisoner was rather pale, and a good deal dishevelled, and said, in a voice of some concern, “I am afraid they handled you roughly! Silas, please to fetch, glass of wine for Mr Ravenscar!”
“You are too good, ma’am!” said Mr Ravenscar, with bitter emphasis.
“Well, I am sorry if you were hurt, but it was quite your own fault,” said Miss Grantham defensively. “If you had not done such a shabby thing to me I would not have had you kidnapped. You have behaved in the most odious fashion, and you deserve it all!” A rankling score came into her mind. She added: “You did me the honour once, Mr Ravenscar, of telling me that I should be whipped at the cart’s tail!”
“Do you expect me to beg your pardon?” he demanded. “You will be disappointed, my fair Cyprian!”
Miss Grantham flushed rosily, and her eyes darted fire. “I you dare to call me by that name I will hit you!” she said between her teeth.
“You may do what you please—strumpet!” replied Mr Ravenscar.
She took one hasty step towards him, and then checked saying in a mortified tone: “You are not above taking an unfair advantage of me. You know very well I can’t hit you when you have your hands tied.”
“You amaze me, ma’am! I had not supposed you to be restricted by any consideration of fairness.”
“You have no right to say so!” flashed Miss Grantham.
He laughed harshly. “Indeed? You go a great deal too far for me, let me tell you! You got me here by a trick I was fool enough to think even you would not stoop to—”
“It’s not true! I used no trick!”
“What then do you call it?” he jeered. “What of your heart rending appeals to my generosity, ma’am? What of those affecting letters you wrote to me?”
“I didn’t!” she said. “I would scorn to do such a thing!”
“Very fine talking! But it won’t answer, Miss Grantham. I have your last billet in my pocket at this moment.”
“I cannot conceive what you mean!” she exclaimed. “I only sent you one letter in my life, and that I did not write myself as you must very well know!”
“What?” demanded Ravenscar incredulously. “Do you stand there telling me you did not beg me to meet you in the Park this evening, because you dared not let it be known by your aunt that you were ready to come to terms with me?”
An expression of horrified dismay came into Miss Grantham’s face. “Show me that letter!” she said, in a stifled voice.
“I am—thanks to your stratagems, ma’am—unable to oblige you. If you want to continue this farce, you may feel for it in the inner pocket of my coat.”
She hesitated for a moment, and then moved forward, and slid her hand into his pocket. “I do want to see it. If you are not lying to me—”
“Do not judge me by yourself, I beg of you!” snapped Ravenscar.
Her fingers found the letter, and drew it forth. One glance at the superscription was enough to confirm her fears. “Oh, good God! Lucius!” she said angrily. She spread open the sheet, and ran her eyes down it. “Infamous!” she ejaculated. “How dared he do such a thing? Oh, I could kill him for this!” She crushed the letter in her hand, and rounded on Ravenscar, the very personification of wrath. “And you! You thought I would write such—such craven stuff? I would die rather! You are the most hateful, odious man I ever met in my life, and if you think I would stoop to such shabby tricks as these, you are a fool, besides being insolent, and overbearing, and—”
“Are you asking me to believe that the letters I have had from you were not written by you?” interrupted Ravenscar.
“I don’t care what you believe!” replied Miss Grantham, a good deal upset. “Of course I did not write them! I did not want to write to you at all, only Lucius Kennet persuaded me to let him answer that horrid letter of yours. And he did ask me to try to trick you into meeting me, so that he could kidnap you, but I would not do such a thing, and so I told him! Oh, I was never so provoked! I see it all now! That was why he wanted to answer your letter in his own hand, so that you should think it was my writing!” The colour rushed up again into her face; she looked remorsefully down at Ravenscar, and said: “Indeed, I am very sorry, and I quite see that you might be excessively angry with me. The truth is that I told Lucius Kennet and Silas to kidnap you for me, but I thought they could do it without using any horrid stratagems! That was fair enough! There could be no possible objection, for how could I kidnap you myself?”
Mr Ravenscar was sitting in a position of considerable discomfort, with cords cutting into his wrists and ankles; and his head was aching as well, but his lips twitched at this, and he burst out laughing. “Oh, no objection at all, Miss Grantham!”
“Well, I think it was perfectly fair,” argued Miss Grantham reasonably. “I am very sorry you have been tricked, but what is to be done? It cannot be helped now.”
“What do you propose to do with me?” inquired Ravenscar.
“I don’t mean to hurt you,” she assured him. “In fact, I told Lucius I did not wish them to hurt you more than was needful, and I do hope they did not?”
“Oh, not at all, ma’am! I like being hit over the head with cudgels!” he said sardonically.
Mr Wantage, who had come back into the cellar in time to hear this remark, said: “I disremember when I’ve been more put-about by anything.” He set down the glass he carried, and proceeded to draw the cork out of a dusty bottle. “I’ve brought a bottle of the good burgundy, Miss Deb.”
“Yes, of course,” Deborah said. “You will feel more the thing when you have drunk a little of it, Mr Ravenscar.”
“I should feel still more the thing if I had a hand free,” replied Ravenscar grimly.
“Don’t you go a-letting of him loose, Miss Deb!” Silas warned her. “We’ll keep them bunches of fives of his fast behind his back, or you’ll be having a mill in the cellar, which your aunt won’t like. Here you are, sir!”
Mr Ravenscar drank the wine which was being held to his lips, and once more looked Miss Grantham over. “Well?” he said. “What now, ma’am?”
“You’d best make haste, Miss Deb,” said Wantage. “I’ll have to get back to the front-door, or we shall have I-dunno-who walking into the house.”
“I don’t need you, Silas,” Deborah replied. “You may go now, and leave me to tell Mr Ravenscar what I mean to do.”
Silas looked a little doubtful, but when his mistress assured him that she had no intention of releasing Mr Ravenscar from his bonds, he consented to withdraw, reminding her, however, to be sure to lock the door securely when she left the cellar.
“Will you have some more wine, sir?” asked Deborah, apparently conscious of her duties as his hostess.
“No,” said Ravenscar baldly.
“You are not very polite!” she said.