Lady Bellingham raised her head from the yellow cushion. “I am sure it has all been most unfortunate,” she said. “And I can’t but feel that since Deb had got Ravenscar in the cellar—not that I approve of such a thing, for I don’t, and I never shall—but since he was there, it does seem to me a pity to have let him go without getting those dreadful bills from him! Now he will start dunning me, or persecuting us in some odious way, and you know what will happen next! Deb will try to teach him another lesson, and all will end in disaster! Sometimes I think that I might be happier in a debtors’ prison!”
With these gloomy words, she withdrew to her own room, to spend a restless night dreaming of coachmakers’ bills; green peas, rats, candle-ends, and cellars teeming with bound men.
Lord Mablethorpe had had the intention, if Miss Grantham were willing, to drive her and Phoebe into the country next morning. A hurried note to Phoebe was brought round by hand at ten o’clock, explaining the sudden change in his plans, and promising to call in St James’s Square that evening to report on the result of the curricle-race. Miss Laxton gave a startled exclamation when she read this letter, and thrust it into Deborah’s hand, saying in a faint voice: “Oh, he may be killed!”
“Killed? Nonsense!” said Miss Grantham, running her eye down the paper. “I declare, I am quite tired of hearing about this race! I am sure Adrian has talked of little else for the past week. Thank heaven it will be over by tomorrow, and we need hear no more about it! As though it signified!”
“Gentlemen think so much of those things,” sighed Miss Laxton. “Oh, I hope Mr Ravenscar will beat Sir James! Adrian says there is not another whip to compare with him, but if Sir James’s horses are as good as people say—” Miss Grantham clapped her hands over her ears. “You, too!” she said reproachfully. “Not another word! For my part, I wish they might both contrive to break their necks!”
“Oh, Deb, not when Adrian will be in his cousin’s curricle!” shuddered Phoebe.
“Well, if Ravenscar is such a fine whip there can be little likelihood of any accident occurring,” said Miss Grantham.
Phoebe looked at her with wonder. “You are so brave!” she said humbly. “I wish I were, but, alas, I am not!”
“Good heavens, child, what have I to be afraid of?” asked Miss Grantham, at a loss.
“But, Deb! Adrian!”