The Black Moth

by Georgette Heyer

  ‘I’m afraid he still does.’

  ‘Poor old Dick! Devil takes the woman! Does she bully him? I know what he is – always ready to give in.’

  ‘I am not so sure. Yet I’ll swear if ’twere not for John his life would be a misery. He misses you, Jack.’

  ‘Who is John?’

  ‘Did not Warburton tell you? John is the hope of the house. He’s four and a half, and as spoilt a little rascal as you could wish for.’

  ‘Dick’s child? Good Lord!’

  ‘Ay, Dick’s child and your nephew.’ He broke off and looked into the other’s face. ‘Jack, cannot this mystery be cleared up? Couldn’t ye go back?’ He was clasping Jack’s hand, but it was withdrawn, and the eyes looking down into his were suddenly bored and a little cold.

  ‘I know of no mystery,’ said Carstares.

  ‘Jack, old man, will ye be afther shutting me out of your confidence?’

  A faint, sweet smile curved the fine lips.

  ‘Let us talk of the weather, Miles, or my mare. Anything rather than this painful subject.’

  With an impatient movement O’Hara flung back his chair and strode over to the window with his back to my lord. Jack’s eyes followed him seriously.

  ‘If ye cannot trust me, sure I’ve no more to say, thin!’ flashed O’Hara. ‘It seems ye do not value your friends too highly!’

  My lord said never a word. But the hand that rested on the desk clenched suddenly. O’Hara wheeled about and came back to his side.

  ‘Sure, Jack, I never meant that! Forgive me bad temper!’

  Carstares slipped off the table and straightened himself, linking his arm in the Irishman’s.

  ‘Whisht, Miles, as you’d say yourself,’ he laughed, ‘I know that. ’Tis not that I don’t trust you, but –’

  ‘I understand. I’ll not ask ye any more about it at all. Instead, answer me this: what made ye come out with unloaded pistols?’

  The laugh died out of Carstares’ face.

  ‘Oh, just carelessness!’ he answered shortly, and he thought of the absent Jim with a tightening of the lips.

  ‘’Twas that very reason with meself thin!’

  Jack stared at him.

  ‘Miles, don’t tell me yours were unloaded, too?’

  ‘’Deed an’ they were! Ecod, Jack! ’tis the best joke I’ve heard for a twelvemonth.’ They both started to laugh. ‘Sure ’twas bluff on my part, Jack, when I told ye yours was unloaded. And me lady was determined to set you free from the moment I told her all about it this morning. We were sure ye were no ordinary highwayman, though I was a fool not to have known ye right away. But now I have found ye out, ye’ll stay with us – Cousin Harry?’

  ‘I cannot thank you enough, Miles, but I will not do that. I must get back to Jim.’

  ‘And who the devil is Jim?’

  ‘My servant. He’ll be worried nigh to death over me. Nay, do not press me, I could not stay here, Miles. You must see for yourself ’tis impossible – Jack Carstares does not exist; only Anthony Ferndale is left.’

  ‘Jack, dear man, can I not –’

  ‘No, Miles, you can do nothing, though ’tis like you to want to help, and I do thank you. But – oh well!… What about my mare?’

  ‘Plague take me if I’d not forgotten! Jack, that scoundrel of mine let her strain her fetlock. I’m demmed sorry.’

  ‘Poor Jenny! I’ll swear she gave him an exciting ride, though.’

  ‘I’ll be trying to buy her off ye, Jack, if I see much of her. ’Tis a little beauty she is.’

  ‘I’m not selling, though I intended to ask you to keep her, if –’

  A quick pressure on his arm arrested him.

  ‘That will do! I’m too heavy for her anyway.’

  ‘So was that devil of a groom you put on her.’

  ‘Ay. I’m a fool.’

  ‘I always knew that.’

  ‘Whisht now, Jack! Ye’ll have to take one of my nags while she heals, if ye won’t stay with us. Can ye trust her to me for a week, do ye suppose?’

  ‘I don’t know. It seems as though I must – oh, I retract, I retract. You are altogether too large, the day is too hot, and my cravat too nicely tied – Egad, Miles! I wish – oh, I wish we were boys again, and – Yes. When may I see your son and heir?’

  ‘Sure, ye may come now and find Molly, who’ll be aching for the sight of you. Afther you, Sir Anthony Ferndale, Bart!’

  Eleven

  My Lord Turns Rescuer and Comes Nigh Ending His Life

  Late that afternoon Carstares left Thurze House on one of his friend’s horses. He waved a very regretful farewell to O’Hara and his lady, promising to let them know his whereabouts and to visit them again soon. O’Hara had extracted a solemn promise that if ever he got into difficulties he would let him know:

  ‘For I’m not letting ye drift gaily out of me life again, and that’s flat.’

  Jack had assented gladly enough – to have a friend once more was such bliss – and had given Miles the name of the inn and the village where he would find him, for O’Hara had insisted on bringing the mare over himself. So Carstares rode off to Trencham and to Jim, with the memory of a very hearty handshake in his mind. He smiled a little as he thought of his friend’s words when he had shown himself reluctant to give the required promise:

  ‘Ye obstinate young devil, ye’ll do as I say, and no nonsense, or ye don’t leave this house!’

  For six years no one had ordered him to obey; it had been he who had done all the ordering. Somehow it was very pleasant to be told what to do, especially by Miles.

  He turned down a lane and wondered what Jim was thinking. That he was waiting at the Green Man, he was certain, for those had been his orders. He was annoyed with the man over the incident of the pistols, for he had inspected them and discovered that they were indeed unloaded. Had his captor been other than O’Hara, on whom he could not fire, such carelessness might have proved his undoing. Apart from that, culpable negligence always roused his wrath. A rather warm twenty minutes was in store for Salter.

  For quite an hour Carstares proceeded on his way with no mishaps nor adventures, and then, suddenly, as he rounded a corner of a deserted road – little more than a cart-track – an extraordinary sight met his eyes. In the middle of the road stood a coach, and by it, covering the men on the box with two large pistols, was a seedy-looking ruffian, while two others were engaged in what appeared to be a life-and-death struggle at the coach-door.

  Jack reined in his horse and rose in his stirrups to obtain a better view. Then his eyes flashed, and he whistled softly to himself. For the cause of all the turmoil was a slight, graceful girl of not more than nineteen or twenty. She was frenziedly resisting the efforts of her captors to drag her to another coach further up the road. Jack could see that she was dark and very lovely.

  Another, elderly lady, was most valiantly impeding operations by clawing and striking at one of the men’s arms, scolding and imploring all in one breath. Jack’s gaze went from her to a still, silent figure at the side of the road in the shadow of the hedge, evidently the stage-manager. ‘It seems I must take a hand in this,’ he told himself, and laughed joyously as he fixed on his mask and dismounted. He tethered his mount to a young sapling, took a pistol from its holster, and ran softly and swiftly under the lea of the hedge up to the scene of disaster, just as the man who covered the unruly and vociferous pair on the box made ready to fire.

  Jack’s bullet took him neatly in the neck, and without a sound he crumpled up, one of his pistols exploding harmlessly as it fell to earth.

  With an oath the silent onlooker wheeled round to face the point of my lord’s gleaming blade.

  Carstares drew in his breath sharply in surprise as he saw the white face of his Grace of Andover.

  ‘Damn you!’ said Tracy calmly, and sprang back, w
hipping out his own rapier.

  ‘Certainly,’ agreed Jack pleasantly. ‘On guard, M. le Duc!’

  Tracy’s lips curled back in a snarl. His eyes were almost shut. Over his shoulder he ordered curtly:

  ‘Keep watch over the girl. I will attend to this young jackanapes.’

  On the word the blades clashed.

  Jack’s eyes danced with the sheer joy of battle, and his point snicked in and out wickedly. He knew Tracy of old for an expert swordsman, and he began warily.

  The girl’s persecutors retained a firm hold on either arm, but all their thoughts were centred on the duel. The men on the box got out their blunderbuss, ready to fire should the need arise, and the girl herself watched breathlessly, red lips apart, and eyes aglow with fright, indignation, and excitement. As for the old lady, she positively bobbed up and down shrieking encouragement to Carstares.

  The blades hissed continuously against one another; time after time the Duke thrust viciously, and ever his point was skillfully parried. He was absolutely calm, and his lips sneered. Who it was that he was fighting, he had not the faintest idea; he only knew that his opponent had recognised him, and must be speedily silenced. Therefore he fought with deadly grimness and purpose. Carstares, on the other hand, had no intention of killing his Grace. He had never liked him in the old days, but he was far too good-natured to contemplate any serious bloodshed. He was so used to Tracy’s little affairs that he had not been filled with surprise when he discovered who the silent figure was. He did not like interfering with Belmanoir, but, on the other hand, he could no more stand by and see a woman assaulted than he could fly. So he fought on with the idea of disarming his Grace, so as to have him at a disadvantage and to be able to command his withdrawal from the scene. Once he feinted cleverly, and lunged, and a little blood trickled down over the Duke’s hand. No sign made Belmanoir, except that his eyelids flickered a moment and his play became more careful.

  Once the Duke thrust in tierce and Jack’s sword arm wavered an instant, and a splash of crimson appeared on his sleeve. He, for the most part, remained on the defensive, waiting for the Duke to tire. Soon his Grace’s breath began to come unevenly and fast, and beads of moisture started on his forehead. Yet never did the sneer fade nor his temper go; he had himself well in hand, and although his face was livid, and his brain on fire with fury, no trace of it showed itself in his sword-play.

  Then Carstares changed his tactics, and began to put into practice all the arts and subtleties of fence that he had learnt abroad. He seemed made of steel and set on wires, so agile and untireable was he. Time after time he leapt nimbly aside, evading some wicked thrust, and all the while he was driving his Grace back and back. He was not panting, and now and again he laughed softly and happily. The blood from the wound on his arm was dripping steadily on to the ground, yet it seemed to Tracy to affect him not at all. But Jack himself knew that he was losing strength rapidly, and must make an end.

  Suddenly he feinted, and fell back. Tracy saw his advantage and pressed forward within the wavering sword-point.

  The next instant his sword was whirled from his grasp, and he lay on the ground, unhurt but helpless, gazing up at the masked face and at the shortened rapier. How he had been thrown he did not know, but that his opponent was a past master in the art of fence he was perfectly sure.

  My lord gave a little chuckle and twisted a handkerchief about his wounded arm.

  ‘I am aware, m’sieur, that this is most unusual – and, in duels – forbidden. But I am sure milor’ will agree that the circumstances are also – most unusual – and the odds – almost overwhelming!’ He turned his head to the two men, one of whom released his hold on the girl’s arm and started forward.

  ‘Oh, no!’ drawled my lord, shaking his head. ‘Another step and I spit your master where he lies.’

  ‘Stand,’ said his Grace calmly.

  ‘Bien! Throw your arms down here at my feet, and – ah – release Mademoiselle!’

  They made no move to obey, and my lord shrugged deprecatingly, lowering his point to Tracy’s throat.

  ‘Eh bien!’

  They still hesitated, casting anxious glances at their master.

  ‘Obey,’ ordered the Duke.

  Each man threw down a pistol, eyeing Jack furtively, while the girl ran to her aunt, who began to soothe and fuss over her.

  Jack stifled a yawn.

  ‘It is not my intention to remain here all night. Neither am I a child – or a fool. Dépêchez!’

  Belmanoir saw that the coachman had his blunderbuss ready and was only too eager to fire it, and he knew that the game was up. He turned his head towards the reluctant bullies who looked to him for orders.

  ‘Throw down everything!’ he advised.

  Two more pistols and two daggers joined their comrades.

  ‘A thousand thanks!’ bowed my lord, running a quick eye over the men. ‘M. le Duc, I pray you be still. Now, you with the large nose – yes, mon ami, you – go pick up the pistol our defunct friend dropped.’

  The man indicated slouched over to the dead body and flung another pistol on to the heap.

  My lord shook his head impatiently.

  ‘Mais non. Have I not said that I am not entirely a fool? The unexploded pistol, please. You will place it here, doucement. Very good.’

  His eye travelled to the men on the box. The coachman touched his hat and cried:

  ‘I’m ready, sir.’

  ‘It is very well. Be so good as to keep these gentlemen covered, but do not fire until I give the order. And now, M. le Duc, have I your parole that you will return swiftly from whence you came, leaving this lady unmolested, an I permit you to rise?’

  Tracy moved his head impatiently.

  ‘I have no choice.’

  ‘Monsieur, that is not an answer. Have I your parole?’

  ‘Yes, curse you!’

  ‘But certainly,’ said Jack politely. ‘Pray rise.’

  He rested his sword-point on the ground, and watched Tracy struggle to his feet.

  For an instant the Duke stood staring at him, with face slightly out-thrust.

  ‘I almost think I know you,’ he said softly, caressingly.

  Jack’s French accent became a shade more pronounced.

  ‘It is possible. I at least have the misfortune to know monsieur by sight.’

  Tracy ignored the insult, and continued very, very silkily:

  ‘One thing is certain: I shall know you again – if I meet you!’

  Even as the words left his mouth Jack saw the pistol in his hand and sprang quickly to one side, just in time to escape a shot that would have gone straight through his head. As it was, it caught him in his left shoulder.

  ‘Do not fire!’ he called sharply to the coachman, and bowed to his Grace. ‘As I was saying, m’sieu – do not let me detain you, I beg.’

  The Duke’s green eyes flashed venom for a minute, and then the heavy lids descended over them again, and he returned the bow exaggeratedly.

  ‘Au revoir, monsieur,’ he smiled, and bent to pick up his sword.

  ‘It will – not be necessary for – m’sieu to – take his sword,’ said Jack. ‘I have a – desire to keep – it as a – souvenir. Yes.’

  ‘As you will, monsieur,’ replied Tracy, carelessly, and walked away to his coach, his men following close on his heels.

  My lord stood leaning heavily on his sword, watching them go, and not until the coach had swung out of sight did he give way to the weakness that was overwhelming him. Then he reeled and would have fallen, had it not been for two cool hands that caught his, steadying him.

  A tremulous, husky voice sounded in his ears:

  ‘You are hurt! Ah, sir, you are hurt for my sake!’

  With a great effort Jack controlled the inclination to swoon, and lifted the girl’s hand shakily to his
lips.

  ‘It is a – pleasure – mademoiselle,’ he managed to gasp. ‘Now – you may – I think – proceed in safety.’

  Diana slipped an arm under his shoulder and cast an anxious glance at the footman, hurrying towards them.

  ‘Quick!’ she commanded. ‘Sir, you are faint! You must allow my servant to assist you to the coach.’

  Jack forced a smile.

  ‘It is – nothing – I assure you – pray do not – I –’ and he fainted comfortably away into stout Thomas’s arms.

  ‘Carry him into the coach, Thomas!’ ordered the girl. ‘Mind his arm, and – oh! his poor shoulder. Aunt, have you something to bind his wounds with?’

  Miss Betty hurried forward.

  ‘My darling child, what an escape! The dear, brave gentleman! Do have a care, Thomas! Yes, lay him on the seat.’

  My lord was lowered gently on to the cushions, and Miss Betty fluttered over to him like a distracted hen. Then Diana told Thomas to take charge of my lord’s horse that they could see, quietly nibbling the grass further down the road, stooped and picked up his Grace of Andover’s sword, with its curiously wrought hilt, and jumped into the coach to help Miss Betty to attend to Jack’s wounds.

  The slash on the arm was not serious, but where the pistol had taken him was very ugly-looking. While she saw to that, Miss Betty loosened the cravat and removed my lord’s mask.

  ‘Di, see what a handsome boy ’tis! The poor brave gentleman! What a lucky thing he came up! If only this bleeding would stop!’ So she ran on, hunting wildly for her salts.

  Diana looked up as her aunt finished, and studied the pale face lying against the dark cushions. She noted the firm, beautifully carved mouth, the aristocratic nose and delicately pencilled eyebrows, with a little thrill. The duel had set her every nerve tingling; she was filled with admiration for her preserver, and the sight of his sensitive, handsome countenance did nothing to dispel that admiration.

  She held the salts to his nostrils and watched eagerly for some sign of life. But none was forthcoming, and she had to be content with placing cushions beneath his injured shoulder, and guarding him as best she might from the jolts caused by the uneven surface of the road.