Lavinia, who had by now quite forgotten the morning’s contretemps, greeted him with a smile. She sat before the mirror in her under-gown, with a loose déshabillé thrown over her shoulders. The coiffeur had departed, and her hair, thickly powdered, was dressed high above her head over cushions, twisted into curls over her ears and allowed to fall in more curls over her shoulders. On top of the creation were poised ostrich feathers, scarlet and white, and round her throat gleamed a great necklet of diamonds. The room was redolent of some heavy perfume; discarded ribbons, laces, slippers and gloves strewed the floor; over the back of a chair hung a brilliant scarlet domino, and tenderly laid out on the bed was her gown, a mass of white satin and brocade, with full ruffles over the hips and quantities of foaming lace falling from the corsage and from the short sleeves. Beside it reposed her fan, her soft lace gloves, her mask and her tiny reticule.
Carstares gingerly sat down on the extreme edge of a chair and watched the maid tint his wife’s already perfect cheeks.
‘I shall break hearts to-night, shall I not?’ she asked gaily, over her shoulder.
‘I do not doubt it,’ he answered shortly.
‘And you, Dicky?’ She turned round to look at him. ‘Puce… ’tis not the colour I should have chosen, but ’tis well enough. A new wig, surely?’
‘Ay.’
Her eyes questioned his coldness, and she suddenly remembered the events of the morning. So he was sulky? Very well! Monsieur should see!
Someone knocked at the door; the maid went to open it.
‘Sir Douglas Faversham, Sir Gregory Markham, Moosso le Chevalier and Captain Lovelace are below, m’lady.’
A little devil prompted Lavinia.
‘Oh, la-la! So many? Well, I cannot see all, ’tis certain. Admit Sir Gregory and Captain Lovelace.’
Louisa communicated this to the lackey and shut the door.
Richard bit his lip angrily.
‘Are you sure I am not de trop?’ he asked, savagely sarcastic.
Lady Lavinia cast aside her déshabillé and stood up.
‘Oh, ’tis no matter – I am ready for my gown, Louisa.’
There came more knocking at the door, and this time it was Carstares who rose to open it.
There entered Markham, heavily handsome in crimson and gold, and Lovelace, his opposite, fair and delicately pretty in palest blue and silver. As usual, he wore his loose wig, and in it sparkled three sapphire pins.
He made my lady a marvellous leg.
‘I am prostrated by your beauty, fairest!’
Sir Gregory was eyeing Lavinia’s white slippers through his quizzing glass.
‘Jewelled heels, ’pon my soul!’ he drawled.
She pirouetted gracefully, her feet flashing as they caught the light.
‘Was it not well thought on?’ she demanded. ‘But I must not waste time – the dress! Now, Markham – now Harry – you will see the creation!’
Lovelace sat down on a chair, straddle-wise, his arms over the back, and his chin sunk in his hands. Markham leant against the garde-robe and watched through his glass.
When the dress was at last arranged, the suggested improvements in the matter of lace, ribbons, and the adjustment of a brooch thoroughly discussed, bracelets fixed on her arms and the flaming domino draped about her, it was full three-quarters of an hour later, and Carstares was becoming impatient. It was not in his nature to join with the two men in making fulsome compliments, and their presence at the toilette filled him with annoyance. He hated that Lavinia should admit them, but it was the mode, and he knew he must bow the head under it.
My lady was at last ready to start; her gilded chair awaited her in the light of the flambeaux at the door, and with great difficulty she managed to enter it, taking absurd pains that her silks should not crush, nor the nodding plumes of her huge head-dress become disordered by unseemly contact with the roof. Then she found that she had left her fan in her room, and Lovelace and Markham must needs vie with one another in the fetching of it. While they wrangled wittily for the honour, Richard went quietly indoors and presently emerged with the painted chicken-skin, just as Lovelace was preparing to ascend the steps. At last Lavinia was shut in and the bearers picked up the poles. Off went the little cavalcade down the long square, the chair in the middle. Lovelace walked close beside it on the right, and Richard and Markham on the left. So they proceeded through the uneven streets, carefully picking their way through the dirtier parts, passing other chairs and pedestrians, all coming from various quarters into South Audley Street. They were remarkably silent: Markham from habitual laziness, Lovelace because he sensed Richard’s antagonism, and Richard himself on account of his extremely worried state of mind. In fact, until they reached Curzon Street no one spoke, and then it was only Markham, who, glancing behind him at the shuttered windows of the great corner house, casually remarked that Chesterfield was still at Wells. An absent assent came from Carstares, and the conversation came to an end.
In Clarges Streets they were joined by Sir John Fortescue, an austere patrician, and although some years his senior, a close friend of Richard’s. They fell behind the chair, and Fortescue took Richard’s proffered arm.
‘I did not see you at White’s to-day, John?’
‘No. I had some business with my lawyer. I suppose you did not stumble across my poor brother?’
‘Frank? I did not – but why the “poor”?’
Fortescue shrugged slightly.
‘I think the lad is demented,’ he said. ‘He was to have made one of March’s supper-party last night, but at four o’clock received a communication from heaven knows whom which threw him into a state of unrest. What must he do but hurry off without a word of explanation. Since then I have not set eyes on him, but his man tells me he went to meet a friend. Damned unusual of him is all I have to say.’
‘Very strange. Do you expect to see him to-night?’
‘I should hope so – ! My dear Carstares, who is the man walking by your lady’s chair?’
‘Markham?’
‘The other.’
‘Lovelace.’
‘Lovelace? And who the devil is he?’
‘I cannot tell you – beyond a captain in the Guards.’
‘That even is news to me. I saw him at Goosetree’s the other night, and wondered. Somewhat of a rake-hell, I surmise.’
‘I daresay. I do not like him.’
They were entering the gates of Devonshire House now, and had to part company, for the crush was so great that it was almost impossible to keep together. Carstares stayed by Lavinia’s chair, and the other men melted away into the crowd. Chairs jostled one another in the effort to get to the door, town coaches rolled up, and having let down their fair burdens, passed out again slowly pushing through the throng.
When the Carstares’ chair at last drew near the house, it was quite a quarter of an hour later. The ball-room was already full and a blaze of riotous colour. Lavinia was almost immediately borne off by an infatuated youth for whom she cherished a motherly affection that would have caused the unfortunate to tear his elegant locks, had he known it.
Richard distinguished Lord Andrew Belmanoir, one of a group of bucks gathered about the newest beauty, Miss Gunning, who, with her sister Elizabeth, had taken fashionable London by storm. Andrew wore a mask, but he was quite unmistakable by his length of limb and carelessly rakish appearance.
Wilding, across the room, beckoned to Richard, and on his approach, dragged him to the card-room to play at lansquenet with March, Selwyn and himself.
Carstares found the Earl in great good-humour, due, so Selwyn remarked, to the finding of an opera singer even more lovely than the last. From lansquenet they very soon passed to dice and betting, with others who strolled up to the table. Then Carstares excused himself and went back to the ball-room. He presently found himself by the side of one Isa
bella Fanshawe, a sprightly widow, greatly famed for her wittiness and good looks. Carstares had met her but once before, and was now rather surprised that she motioned him to her side, patting the couch with an inviting, much be-ringed hand.
‘Come and sit by me, Mr Carstares. I have wanted to speak with you this long time.’ She lowered her mask as she spoke and closely scrutinised his face with her bright, humorous eyes.
‘Why, madam, I am flattered,’ bowed Richard.
She cut him short.
‘I am not in the mood for compliments, sir. Nor am I desirous of making or hearing clever speeches. You are worrying me.’
Richard sat down, intrigued and attracted by this downright little woman.
‘I, madam?’
‘You, sir. That is, your face worries me.’ Seeing his surprise, she laughed, fanning herself. ‘’Tis comely enough, I grant you! I mean there is such a strong likeness to – a friend of mine.’
Richard smiled politely and relieved her of the fan.
‘Indeed, madam?’
‘Yes. I knew – this other gentleman in Vienna, three years ago. I should judge him younger than you, I think. His eyes were blue, but very similar to yours. His nose was almost identical with yours, but the mouth – n-no. Yet the whole expression –’ She broke off, noticing her companion’s sudden pallor. ‘But you are unwell, sir?’
‘No, madam, no! What was your friend’s name?’
‘Ferndale,’ she answered. ‘Anthony Ferndale.’
The fan stopped its swaying for a moment.
‘Ah!’ said Richard.
‘Do you know him?’ she inquired eagerly.
‘Many years ago, madam, I was – acquainted with him. Can you tell me – was he in good spirits when last you saw him?’
She pursed her lips thoughtfully.
‘If you mean was he gay, was he witty – yes. But sometimes I thought – Mr Carstares, when he was silent, his eyes were sad – Indeed, I do not know why I tell you this.’
‘You may be sure, madam, your confidence is safe with me. I had – a great regard for this gentleman.’ He opened and shut her fan as he spoke, fidgeting with the slender sticks. ‘You, too, were interested in him, madam?’
‘I do not think ever anyone knew him and was not, sir. It was something in his manner, his personality – I cannot explain – that endeared him to one. And he once – aided me – when I was in difficulties.’
Richard remembering scraps of gossip concerning the widow’s past, merely bowed his head.
She was silent for a time, staring down at her hands, but presently she looked up smiling, and took her fan away from him.
‘I cannot abide a fidget, sir!’ she told him. ‘And I see Lord Fotheringham approaching. I am promised to him this dance.’ She rose, but Richard detained her.
‘Mrs Fanshawe, will you permit me to call upon you? I would hear more of – your friend. You, mayhap, think it strange – but –’
‘No,’ she answered. ‘I do not. Certainly call upon me, sir. I lodge in Mount Street with my sister – No. 16.’
‘I protest, madam, you are too good –’
‘Again, no. I have told you, I like a man to talk as a man and not as an affected woman. I shall be pleased to welcome you.’
She curtsied and went away on the Viscount’s arm.
At the same moment a voice at Richard’s elbow drawled:
‘Do I see you at the vivacious widow’s feet, my good Dick!’
Carstares turned to face his brother-in-law, Colonel Belmanoir.
‘Is not all London?’ he smiled.
‘Oh, no! Not since the beautiful Gunnings’ arrival. But I admit she is a dainty piece. And Lavinia? Will she break her heart, I wonder?’ He laughed beneath his breath as he saw Richard’s eyes flash.
‘I trust not,’ replied Carstares. ‘Are you all here to-night?’
‘Our illustrious head is absent, I believe. Andrew is flirting with the Fletcher girl in the Blue Salon; I am here, and Lavinia is amusing herself with Lovelace. Yes, Richard, Lovelace! Be careful!’ With another sneering laugh he walked on, bowing to Elizabeth Gunning, who passed by on the arm of her partner, his Grace of Hamilton, most palpably épris.
At that moment two late-comers entered the room and made their way towards their hostess, who appeared delighted to see them, especially the taller of the two, whose hand she slapped with good-humoured raillery. The shorter gentleman wore no mask, and the Colonel recognised Frank Fortescue. His eyes travelled to the other, who, unlike most of the men who only held their masks, had fastened his across his eyes, and they widened in surprise. The purple domino, worn carelessly open, revealed black satin encrusted with silver and diamonds. The natural hair was raven-black, the nostrils were pinched and the lips thin.
‘The Devil!’ ejaculated Robert, and strolled over to him.
Fortescue walked away when he saw who approached, and his Grace of Andover turned slowly towards his brother.
‘I rather thought you were in Paris,’ yawned the Colonel.
‘I am always sorry to disillusion you,’ bowed his Grace.
‘Not at all; I am transported with joy at seeing you. As is Lavinia, it appears.’
Lady Lavinia, on recognising his Grace, had dropped her partner’s hand and fled incontinent towards him.
‘You, Tracy!’ She clasped delighted hands on his arm.
‘This is very touching,’ sneered Robert. ‘It only needs Andrew to complete the happy reunion. Pray excuse me!’
‘With pleasure,’ replied the Duke gently, and bowed as if to a stranger.
‘He grows tedious,’ he remarked, as soon as the Colonel was out of earshot.
‘Oh, Bob! I take no account of him! But, Tracy, how is it you have come to-day? I thought –’
‘My dear Lavinia, do I wear an air of mystery? I imagined you knew I was promised to Dolly Cavendish to-night?’
‘Yes, but – oh, what matters it? I am so charmed to see you again, dear!’
‘You flatter me, Lavinia.’
‘And now that you have come, I want to hear why you ever went! Tracy, take me into the room behind us. I know ’tis empty.’
‘Very well, child, as you will.’ He held back the curtain for her and followed her into the deserted chamber.
‘You want to know why I went?’ he began, seating himself at her side. ‘I counsel you, my dear, to cast your mind back to the spring – at Bath.’
‘Your affaire! Of course! So the lady proved unkind?’
‘No. But I bungled it.’
‘You? Tell me at once! – at once!’
His Grace stretched out his leg and surveyed his shoe-buckle through half-closed lids.
‘I had arranged everything,’ he said, ‘and all would have been well but for an interfering young jackanapes who chanced along the track and saw fit to espouse Madam Diana’s cause.’ He paused. ‘He tripped me up by some trick, and then – que veux-tu?’
‘Who was it?’
‘How should I know? At first he seemed familiar. At all events, he knew me. He may be dead by now. I hope he is.’
‘Gracious. Did you wound him?’
‘I managed to fire at him, but he was too quick, and the bullet took him in the shoulder. It may, however, have been mortal.’
‘And so you went to Paris?’
‘Ay. To forget her.’
‘And have you forgotten?’
‘I have not. She is never out of my thoughts. I plan again.’
His sister sighed.
‘She is then more beautiful than the Pompadour?’ she asked meaningly.
Tracy turned his head.
‘The Pompadour?’
‘Ay! We heard you contrived to amuse yourself in a pretty fashion, Tracy!’
‘Really? I had no idea people were
so interested in my affairs. But “amuse” is an apt word.’
‘Ah? You were not then épris?’
‘I? With that low-born cocotte? My dear Lavinia!’
She laughed at his haughty tone.
‘You’ve not always been so nice, Tracy! But what of your Diana? An you are so infatuated, you had best wed her.’
‘Why, so I think.’
Lady Lavinia gasped.
‘Tracy! You do not mean it? Goodness me, but a marriage!’
‘Why not, Lavinia?’
‘Oh, a respectable married man, forsooth! And how long will the passion last?’
‘I cannot be expected to foretell that, surely? I hope, for ever.’
‘And you’ll tie yourself up for the sake of one chit? Lud!’
‘I can conceive a worse fate for a man.’
‘Can you? Well, tell me more! ’Tis monstrous exciting. Do you intend to court her?’
‘At this stage of the proceedings? That were somewhat tactless, my dear. I must abduct her, but I must be more careful. Once I have her, I can propitiate Papa.’
‘Tracy, ’tis the maddest scheme ever I heard! What will the others say?’
‘Do you really suppose I care?’
‘No, I suppose not. Oh, will not Bob be furious, though!’
‘It were almost worth while – just for the sake of foiling him. He would so like to succeed me. But I really do not think he must.’ His elbow was on his knee, his chin in his hand, and a peculiar smile on his lips. ‘Can you imagine him stepping into my ducal shoes, Lavinia?’
‘Very easily!’ she cried. ‘Oh, yes, yes, Tracy! Marry the girl!’
‘If she will.’
‘Why, ’tis not like you to underrate your persuasive powers!’
His Grace’s thin nostrils wrinkled up in a curious grimace.
‘I believe one cannot force a girl to the altar,’ he said.
‘Unless she is a fool, she’ll have you.’
The Black Moth Page 21
