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.”