Faro's Daughter (4 page)

Miss Grantham eyed him with considerable hostility. ‘I am thought,’ she said coldly, ‘to have a reasonably good understanding.’

‘So have many others I could name, but that does not make them good card-players.’

Miss Grantham sat very straight in her chair. Her magnificent eyes flashed. ‘My skill at cards, Mr Ravenscar, has never yet been called in question!’

‘But you have not played with me yet,’ he pointed out.

‘That is something that can be mended!’ she retorted.

He lifted an eyebrow at her. ‘Are you sure you dare, Miss Grantham?’

She gave a scornful laugh. ‘Dare! I? I will meet you when you choose, Mr Ravenscar, the stakes to be fixed by yourself!’

‘Then let it be tonight,’ he said promptly.

‘Let it be at once!’ she said, rising from her chair. He too rose, and offered his arm. His countenance was perfectly grave, but she had the impression that he was secretly laughing at her.

On the staircase they met Lord Mablethorpe, on his way down to supper. His face fell when he saw Miss Grantham. He exclaimed: ‘You have not finished supper already! I made sure of finding you in the dining-room! Oh, do come back, Deb! Come and drink a glass of wine with me!’

‘You are too late,’ said Ravenscar. ‘Miss Grantham is promised to me for the next hour.’

‘For the next hour! Oh, come now, Max, that’s too bad! You are quizzing me!’

‘Nothing of the sort: we are going to play a rubber or two of piquet.’

Adrian laughed. ‘Oh, poor Deb! Don’t play with him: he’ll fleece you shamefully!’

‘If he does, I have a strong notion that it will rather be shamelessly!’ Miss Grantham smiled.

‘Indeed it will! There is not an ounce of chivalry in my cousin. I wish you will have nothing to do with him! Besides, it is so dull to be playing piquet all night! What is to become of me?’

‘Why, if E.O. holds no charms for you, you may come presently and see how I am faring at your cousin’s hands.’

‘I shall come to rescue you,’ he promised.

She laughed, and passed on up the stairs to the gaming saloons. In the larger room, one or two small tables were set out; Miss Grantham led the way to one of these, and called to a waiter for cards. She looked speculatively at Ravenscar, as he seated himself opposite to her; his eyes met hers, and some gleam of mockery in them convinced her that he had been laughing at her. ‘You are the strangest man!’ she said, in her frank way. ‘Why did you talk so to me?’

‘To whet your curiosity,’ he responded, with equal frankness.

‘Good God, to what end, pray?’

‘To make you play cards with me. You have so many noble admirers, ma’am, who pay you such assiduous court, that I could not suppose that a conciliating address would answer my purpose.’

‘So you were rude to me, and rough! Upon my word, I do not know what you deserve, Mr Ravenscar!’

He turned to pick up the piquet-packs the waiter was offering him on a tray, and laid some card-money down in their place. ‘To be plucked, undoubtedly. What stakes do you like to play for, Miss Grantham?’

‘You will recall, sir, that the decision was to rest with you.’

‘Well,’ he said, ‘let us make it ten shillings a point, since this is a mere friendly bout.’

Her eyes widened a little, for this was playing deep, but she said coolly: ‘What you will, sir. If you are satisfied, it is not for me to cavil.’

‘What humility, Miss Grantham?’ he said, shuffling one of the packs. ‘If you should find it insipid, we can always double the stakes.’

Miss Grantham agreed to it, and in a moment of bravado suggested that they should play for twenty-five pounds the rubber, in addition. On these terms they settled down to the game, the lady with her nerves on the stretch, the gentleman abominably casual.

It was soon seen that Mr Ravenscar was a much more experienced player than his opponent; his calculation of the odds was very nice; he played his cards well; and had a disconcerting trick of summing up Miss Grantham’s hands with sufficient accuracy to make him a very formidable adversary. She went down on the first rubber, but not heavily, taking him to three games. He agreed that the balance of the luck had been with him.

‘I’m emboldened to think you don’t find my play contemptible, at all events,’ Miss Grantham said.

‘Oh, by no means!’ he replied. ‘Your play is good, for a lady. You are weakest in your discards.’

Miss Grantham cut the pack towards him with something of a snap.

In the middle of the third rubber, Lord Mablethorpe came back into the saloon, and made his way to Miss Grantham’s side. ‘Are you ruined yet, Deb?’ he asked, smiling warmly down at her.

‘No such thing! We have lost a rubber apiece, and this one is to decide the issue. Hush, now! I am very much on my mettle, and can’t be distracted.’

He drew up a frail, gilded chair, and sat down astride it, resting his arms on the back. ‘You said I might watch you!’

‘So you may, and bring me good fortune, I hope. Your point is good, Mr Ravenscar.’

‘Also my
quint
, Miss Grantham?’

‘That also.’

‘Very well, then; a quint, a tierce, fourteen aces, three kings, and eleven cards played, ma’am.’

Miss Grantham cast a frowning glance at the galaxy of court cards which Ravenscar spread before her eyes, and a very dubious glance at the back of the one card remaining in his hand. ‘Oh, the deuce! All hangs upon this, and I swear there’s nothing to tell me what I should keep!’

‘Nothing at all,’ he said.

‘A diamond!’ she said, throwing down the rest of her hand. ‘You lose,’ said Ravenscar, exhibiting a small club. ‘Piqued, repiqued, and capotted!’ groaned Lord Mablethorpe. ‘Deb, my dearest, I warned you to have nothing to do with Max! Do come away!’

‘I am not so poor-spirited! Do you care to continue, sir?’

‘With all my heart!’ said Mr Ravenscar, gathering up the cards. ‘You are a good loser, Miss Grantham.’

‘Oh, I don’t regard this little reverse, I assure you! I am not rolled up yet!’

As the night wore on, however, she began to go down heavily, as though Ravenscar, trifling with her at first, had decided to exert his skill against her. She thought the luck favoured him, but was forced to acknowledge him to be her master.

‘You make me feel like a greenhorn!’ she said lightly, when he robbed her of a pique. ‘Monstrous of you to have kept the spade-guard! I did not look for such usage, indeed!’

‘No, you would have thrown the little spade on the slim chance of picking up an ace or a king, would you not?’

‘Oh, I always gamble on slim chances—and rarely lose! But you are a cold gamester, Mr Ravenscar!’

‘I don’t bet against the odds, I own,’ he smiled, beckoning to a waiter. ‘You’ll take a glass of claret, Miss Grantham?’

‘No, not I! Nothing but lemonade, I thank you. I need to have my wits about me in this contest. But this must be our last rubber. I see my aunt going down to the second supper, and judge it must be three o’clock at least.’

Lord Mablethorpe, who had wandered away disconsolately some time before, came back to the table with a tale of losses at faro to report, and a complaint to utter that his Deb was neglecting him for his tiresome cousin. ‘How’s the tally?’ he asked, leaning his hand on the back of her chair.

‘Well, I am dipped a trifle, but not above two or three hundred pounds, I fancy.’

He said in an undervoice: ‘You know I hate you to do this!’

‘You are interrupting the game, my dear.’

He muttered: ‘When we are married I shan’t permit it.’

She looked up, mischievously smiling. ‘When we are married, you foolish boy, I shall of course do exactly as you wish. Your deal, Mr Ravenscar!’

Mr Ravenscar, on whom this soft dialogue had not been wasted, picked up the pack, and wished that he had Miss Grantham’s throat in his strong, lean hands instead.

The last rubber went very ill for Miss Grantham. Ravenscar won it in two swift games, and announced the sum of her losses to be six hundred pounds. She took this without a blink, and turned in her chair to issue a low-voiced direction to Mr Lucius Kennet, who, with one or two others, had come to watch the progress of the game. He nodded, and moved away towards the adjoining saloon. Sir James Filey said mockingly: ‘How mistaken of you, my dear, to play against Ravenscar! Someone should have warned you.’

‘You, for instance,’ said Ravenscar, directing a glance up at him under his black brows. ‘Once bit twice shy, wasn’t it?’

Miss Grantham, who detested Sir James, cast her late opponent a grateful look. Sir James’s colour darkened, but the smile lingered on his lips, and he said equably: ‘Oh, picquet’s not my game! I will not meet you there. But in the field of sport, now—! That is a different matter!’

‘Which field of sport?’ inquired Ravenscar.

‘Have you still a pair of match greys in your stable?’ said Sir James, drawing out his snuff box.

‘What, are you at that again? I still have them, and they will still beat any of the cattle you own.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Sir James, taking snuff with an elegant turn of his wrist.

‘I wouldn’t bet against them,’ said a man in a puce coat, and a tie-wig. ‘I’d buy them, if you’d sell, Ravenscar.’ Mr Ravenscar shook his head.

‘Oh, Max wins all his races!’ Lord Mablethorpe declared. ‘He bred those greys, and I’ll swear he wouldn’t part with them for a fortune. Have they ever been beaten, Max?’

‘No. Not yet.’

‘They have not yet been evenly matched,’ said Sir James.

‘You thought they were once,’ remarked Ravenscar, with a slight smile.

‘Oh, admittedly!’ replied Filey, with an airy gesture. ‘I underrated them, like so many other men.’

Mr Lucius Kennet came back into the room, and laid some bills and a number of rouleaus on the table. Miss Grantham pushed them towards Mr Ravenscar. ‘Your winnings, sir.’

Mr Ravenscar glanced at them indifferently, and, stretching out his hand, picked up two of the bills, and held them crushed between his fingers. ‘Five hundred pounds on the table, Filey,’ he said. ‘I will engage to drive my greys against any pair you may choose to match ’em with, over any distance you care to set, upon a day to be fixed by yourself.’

Lord Mablethorpe’s eyes sparkled. ‘A bet! Now what do you say, Filey?’

‘Why, this is paltry!’ said Sir James. ‘For five hundred pounds, Ravenscar? You don’t take me seriously, I fear!’

‘Oh, we multiply the stake, of course!’ said Ravenscar carelessly.

‘Now I am with you!’ said Sir James, putting his snuffbox back into his pocket. ‘Multiply it by what?’

‘Ten,’ said Ravenscar.

Miss Grantham sat very still in her chair, glancing from one man to the other. Lord Mablethorpe gave a whistle. ‘That’s five thousand!’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t accept it! We all know your greys. Flying too high, Filey!’

‘You’d accept it if I offered you odds,’ said Ravenscar.

The man in the puce coat gave a laugh. ‘Gad’s life, there’s some pretty plunging in the wind! Do you take him, Filey?’

‘With the greatest readiness in life!’ said Sir James. He looked down at Ravenscar, still lying in his chair with one hand thrust deep into his pocket. ‘You’re very sure of your greys and your skill! .But I fancy I have you this time! Did you say you would offer me odds?’

‘I did,’ replied Mr Ravenscar imperturbably.

Lord Mablethorpe, who had been watching Sir James, said quickly: ‘Careful, Max! You don’t know, after all, what kind of a pair he may be setting against your greys!’

‘Well, I hope they may be good enough to give me a race,’ said Ravenscar.

‘Just good enough for that,’ smiled Sir James. ‘What odds will you offer against my unknown pair?’

‘Five to one,’ replied Ravenscar.

Even Sir James was startled. Lord Mablethorpe gave a groan, and exclaimed: ‘Max, you’re mad!’

‘Or drunk,’ suggested the man in the puce coat, shaking his head.

‘Nonsense!’ said Ravenscar.

‘Are you serious?’ demanded Filey. ‘Never more so.’

‘Then, by God, I’ll take you! The race to be run a week from today, over a course to be later decided on. Agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ nodded Ravenscar.

Mr Kennet, who had been following the discussion with bright-eyed interest, said: ‘Ah,—now, we’ll record this bet, gentlemen! Waiter, fetch up the betting-book!’

Mr Ravenscar glanced at Miss Grantham, his lip curling.

‘So you even have a betting-book!’ he remarked. ‘You think of everything, don’t you, ma’am?’

Chapter 3

Mr Ravenscar left Lady Bellingham’s house while his young relative was still engaged at the faro-table, having himself declined to hazard any of his winnings at his favourite game. As he was shrugging his shoulders into his drab overcoat, he was joined, rather to his surprise, by Lord Ormskirk, who came sauntering down the stairs, swinging his quizzing glass between his white fingers.

‘Ah, my dear Ravenscar!’ said his lordship, with a lift of his delicately pencilled brows. ‘So you too find it a trifle flat! Wantage; my cloak! If you are going in my direction, Ravenscar, I am sure you will bear me company. My cane, Wantage!’