Lady Fanny’s rigidity left her. “Vidal!” she said with a gasp of relief. “Good God, is that all?”
Mrs. Challoner was still fuming with indignation. She glared at Fanny, and said angrily: “All, ma’am? All? Do you call it nothing that your wicked nephew has abducted my daughter?”
Fanny waved her back to her chair. “You have all my sympathies, ma’am, I assure you. But your errand to my brother is quite useless. He will certainly not be moved to urge his son to marry your daughter.”
“Will he not then?” cried Mrs. Challoner. “I fancy he will be glad to buy my silence so cheaply.”
Fanny smiled. “I must point out to you, my good woman, that it is your daughter and not my nephew that would be hurt by this story becoming known. You used the word ‘abduct’; I know a vast deal to Vidal’s discredit, but I never yet heard that he was in the habit of carrying off unwilling females. I presume your daughter knew what she was about, and I can only advise you, for your own sake, to bear a still tongue in your head.”
This unexpected attitude on the part of her ladyship compelled Mrs. Challoner to play her trump card earlier than she had intended. “Indeed, my lady? You are very much in the wrong, let me tell you, and if you imagine my daughter is without powerful relatives, I can speedily undeceive you. Mary’s grandpapa is none other than a general in the army, and a baronet. He is Sir Giles Challoner, and he will know how to protect my poor girl’s honour.”
Fanny raised her brows superciliously, but this piece of information had startled her. “I hope Sir Giles is proud of his grandchild,” she said languidly.
Mrs. Challoner, a spot of colour on either cheek-bone, hunted with trembling fingers in her reticule. She pulled out Mary’s letter, and threw it down on the table before her ladyship. “Read that, ma’am!” she said in tragic accents.
Lady Fanny picked the letter up, and calmly perused it. She then laid it down again. “I have not a notion what it is about,” she remarked. “Pray who may ‘Sophia’ be?”
“My younger daughter, ma’am. His lordship designed to run off with her, for he dotes madly on her. He sent her word to be ready to elope with him two nights ago, and Mary opened the letter. She is none of your frippery good-for-nothing misses, my lady, but an honest girl, and quite her grandpapa’s favourite. She meant, as you have seen, to save her sister from ruin. Ma’am, she has been gone two days, and I say that the Marquis has abducted her, for I know Mary, and I’ll be bound she never went with him willingly.”