Suddenly she had a frightful thought. Casting aside all she had learned of the courtesies a guest should extend to her hosts, she rose from the table and followed the sound of voices in hushed and urgent conversation to Simon and Beatrice’s bedroom.
There she found Simon frantically cramming clothing into a valise, which lay open on the bed between him and Beatrice. The valise also contained a pair of silver candlesticks, a silver tureen, and a collection of cutlery.
“Wherever could you be going in such a frightful hurry?” Arabella said, though she feared she knew the answer. “And with the family silver?”
Simon looked up, his eyes wide and staring. “How dare you intrude upon us in our bedchamber!” His attitude, however, was more suited to one who had been surprised in the midst of a shameful activity than to one offended by an intrusion.
“I could not bear the thought of letting you depart without giving you my best regards. Might this have any thing to do with the relative positions of Earth and Mars?”
Simon gaped at her for a long moment, seemingly searching for some response and failing to find one. Then, with a sudden motion, he reached into the valise and brought out a dueling-pistol, which he leveled directly at Arabella. “I—I beg your pardon, but I must depart immediately. And I must insist that you remain here.” He drew back the pistol’s hammer with a definitive click.
Arabella shied away from the pistol, but found her back against the wall. The opening of the barrel, directed toward herself, seemed as big as the world. Her hands pressed the rough wallpaper to either side. “What is the meaning of this display, Cousin?” Though Simon’s expression was diffident, the pistol did not waver, and she could see that the pan was primed with powder.
“I … I beg your pardon,” he repeated. “But the last mail-coach to London departs within the hour, and I must be upon it, and I … I cannot allow you to prevent me from doing so.” Without taking his eye or his weapon off of Arabella, he brought another dueling-pistol from the valise and handed it to his wife. Trembling and uncertain, she nonetheless accepted it. “Dearest, I must ask you to lock Miss Ashby in the pantry. Do not permit her to depart, or to have any communication with the outside world, for at least the next two days.”
Awkwardly Beatrice directed her pistol at Arabella. “Of course, dearest,” she said, her eyes flicking from her husband to Arabella and back. “But … but why?”
Simon, breathing rapidly, swallowed and pressed his eyes closed for a moment before speaking. “My dear, I must confess that for the last several weeks I have … I have withheld confidences from you, and for this I apologize. I have made some … imprudent decisions. Financial decisions.” Beatrice stared at him in dismay, and her pistol sagged toward the floor, but Simon’s gaze and aim remained steady upon Arabella as he spoke. “You knew when you married me that my, my pecuniary situation, was not of the highest degree. I had thought myself inured to this situation, but with Sophie’s birth … I became ashamed.” He blinked away tears, and Arabella steeled herself to spring, but now Beatrice’s weapon was again trained upon her. “I determined that my daughter should not be forced to endure the penury which circumstance has forced upon me, and so I … I invested my inheritance … my entire inheritance … in a projected copper mine. A scheme which promised great and rapid returns.” He shook his head slightly, with a wry smile. “I should not, I suppose, have been surprised by the outcome.”
“Your entire inheritance?” Beatrice asked, but Arabella could see that she, too, was unsurprised by the outcome of Simon’s investment, and though her voice quavered her pistol remained firmly pointed at Arabella’s heart.
“I am afraid so, dearest.” He swallowed. “Only the family silver remains. And if nothing intervenes, before the year is out I shall be lodged in the sponging-house, and you and Sophie … you shall, I suppose, be cast upon the mercy of your parents.” Beatrice’s expression left little doubt as to how little mercy she expected from that quarter. “But now it seems an opportunity has presented itself.” He straightened, firming his jaw and his grip upon his pistol. “And so, my dear cousin, I must ask you to retire to the pantry.” He gestured curtly to the door.
Warily, keeping her eyes upon her cousins and watching for any opportunity of escape, Arabella sidestepped in the indicated direction. “I do not understand what you hope to accomplish by this.”
Simon gave a grim smile. “I suppose I should thank you, Cousin. Until this afternoon I had thought all hope lost. But your presence here—a living reminder of the entailment which has stolen my rightful inheritance from me—together with your very helpful explanation of our current astrological situation with respect to Mars…”