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.”