The Black Moth

by Georgette Heyer

  She shifted farther into the corner, leaned her head back against the cushions and closed her eyes.

  Thus outwitting his Grace. For it is impossible to be passionate with a girl who feigns sleep when she should be struggling to escape from you. So Tracy, who, whatever else he might lack, possessed a keen sense of humour, settled himself in his corner and followed her example. So they jogged on…

  Arriving at length at the inn, the coach pulled up slowly. Diana opened her eyes with a great assumption of sleepiness.

  ‘Already?’ she marvelled.

  ‘I trust you have slept well,’ said his Grace suavely.

  ‘Excellently well, I thank you, sir,’ was the unblushing reply.

  ‘I am relieved to hear you say so, my dear. I had thought you unable to – your mouth kept shut so admirably. Doubtless you have schooled your jaw not to drop when you sleep sitting up? I wish I might do the same.’

  The triumph in his voice was thinly veiled. She found nothing to say.

  He rose.

  ‘With your leave, I will go to procure you some refreshment, child. Do not think me uncivil if I remind you that a servant stands without either door.’

  ‘I thank you for the kind thought,’ she smiled, but her heart was sick within her.

  He disappeared, returning a few moments later with a glass of wine and some little cakes.

  ‘I deplore the scanty nature of your repast,’ he said. ‘But I do not wish to waste time. You shall be more fittingly entertained when we reach Andover.’

  Diana drank the wine gratefully and it seemed to put new life into her. The food almost choked her, but rather than let him see it, she broke a cake in half and started to eat it, playing to gain time: time in which to allow her father a chance of overtaking them before it was too late. She affected to dislike the cake, and rather petulantly demanded a ‘maid of honour’.

  Tracy’s eyes gleamed.

  ‘I fear I cannot oblige you, my dear. When we are married you can go to Richmond, and you shall have maids of honour in plenty.’

  He relieved her of her glass, taking it from hands that trembled pitifully.

  The rest of the journey was as some terrible nightmare. She felt that she dared no longer feign sleep. She was terrified at what his Grace might do, and kept him at arm’s length by means of her tongue and all her woman’s wit. As a matter of fact, Andover had himself well in hand, and had no intention of letting his passion run away with him. But as the time went on and the light went, some of Diana’s control seemed to slip from her, and she became a little less the self-possessed woman, and a little more the trapped and frightened child. When they at last reached Andover Court, and his Grace assisted her to alight, her legs would barely carry her up the steps to the great iron-clamped door. She trembled anew as he took her hand.

  On the threshold he paused and bowed very low. ‘Welcome to your future home, my queen,’ he murmured, and led her in, past wooden-faced footmen, who stared over her head, to his private room, where a table was set for two. He would have taken her in his arms then, but she evaded him and slipped wearily into a chair.

  ‘I protest,’ she managed to say, ‘I protest, I am faint through want of food.’

  Andover, looking at her white lips, believed her. He took a seat opposite.

  Two footmen came to wait on them, and although her very soul was shamed that they should see her there, she was thankful for their restraining presence.

  Twenty-six

  My Lord Rides to Frustrate His Grace

  My lord yawned most prodigiously and let fall the Spectator. His eyes roved towards the clock, and noted with disgust that the hands pointed to half after five. He sighed and picked up the Rambler.

  His host and hostess were visiting some miles distant, and were not likely to be back until late, so my lord had a long dull evening in front of him, which he relished not at all. Lady O’Hara had tried to induce him to accompany them, promising that he would meet no one he knew, but he had for once been prudent and refused steadfastly. So my lady, after pouting crossly at him and assuring him that he was by far the most obstinate and disagreeable man that she had ever come across, not excepting her husband, who, to be sure, had been quite prodigiously annoying all day, relented, told him she understood perfectly, and even offered to kiss him to make up for her monstrous ill-humour. Jack accepted the offer promptly, waved farewell to her from the porch, and returned to the empty drawing-room to while away the time with two numbers of the Spectator and his own thoughts till dinner, which was to be later than usual to-day, on account of an attack of vapours which had seized the cook.

  His thoughts were too unpleasant to be dwelt on; everything in his world seemed to have gone awry. So he occupied himself with what seemed to him a particularly uninteresting number of the Spectator. The sun had almost disappeared, and very soon it became too dark to read; no candles having been brought as yet, my lord, very unromantically, went to sleep in his chair. Whether he would have eventually snored is not known, for not more than a quarter of an hour afterwards the butler roused him with the magic words:

  ‘Dinner is served, sir.’

  Carstares turned his head lazily.

  ‘What’s that you say, James?’

  ‘Dinner is served, sir,’ repeated the man, and held the door wide for him to pass out.

  ‘Faith! I’m glad to hear it!’

  My lord rose leisurely and pulled his cravat more precisely into position. Although he was to be alone, he gave his costume a touch here and there, and flicked a speck of dust from one great cuff with his elegant lace handkerchief.

  He strolled across the old panelled hall to the dining-room, and sat down at the table.

  The curtains were drawn across the windows, and clusters of candles in graceful silver holders were arranged on the table, shedding a warm light on to the white damask and the shining covers. The footmen presented a fish, and my lord permitted a little to be put on his plate. The butler desired to know if Mr Carr would drink claret or burgundy, or ale? Mr Carr would drink claret. A sirloin of beef next made its appearance, and went away considerably smaller. Then before my lord was spread an array of dishes. Partridges flanked one end, a pastry stood next, a cream, two chickens, a duck, and a ham of noble proportions.

  My lord went gently through.

  The butler desired to know if Mr Carr would drink a glass of burgundy? He exhibited a dusty bottle. My lord considered it through his eyeglass and decided in favour. He sipped reflectively and waved the ham away.

  Sweetmeats appeared before him and a soup, while plump pigeons were uncovered at his elbow.

  One was whipped deftly on to his plate, and as he took up his knife and fork to carve it, a great scuffling sounded without, angry voices being raised in expostulation, and, above all, a breathless, insistent appeal for Mr Carr or Sir Miles. My lord laid down the knife and fork and came to his feet.

  ‘It appears I am demanded,’ he said, and went to the door. It was opened for him at once, and he stepped out into the hall to find Mr Beauleigh trying to dodge the younger footman, who was refusing to let him pass. At the sight of Carstares he stepped back respectfully. Mr Beauleigh, hot, distraught, breathless, fell upon my lord.

  ‘Thank God you are here, sir!’ he cried.

  Carstares observed him with some surprise. Mr Beauleigh had been so very frigid when last they had met.

  ‘I am glad to be at your service, sir,’ he bowed. ‘You have commands for me?’

  ‘We are in terrible trouble,’ almost moaned the other. ‘Betty bade me come to find you, or failing you, Sir Miles, for none other can help us!’

  Carstares’ glance grew sharper.

  ‘Trouble? Not – But I forget my manners – we shall talk more at ease in here.’ He led Mr Beauleigh into the morning room. Beauleigh thrust a paper into his hands.

  ‘Diana
went riding this afternoon, and only her horse returned – with this attached to the pommel! Read it, sir! Read it!’

  ‘Diana!’ Carstares strode over to the light, and devoured the contents of the single sheet, with eager eyes.

  They were not long, and they were much to the point:

  Mr Beauleigh may haply recall to mind a certain ‘Mr Everard’, of Bath, whose Addresses to Miss Beauleigh were cruelly repulsed. He regrets having now to take the matter into his Own Hands, and trusts to further his Acquaintance with Mr Beauleigh at some Future Date, when Miss Beauleigh shall, He trusts, have become ‘Mrs Everard’.

  Jack crumpled the paper furiously in his hand, grinding out a startling oath.

  ‘– insolent cur!’

  ‘Yes, yes, sir! But what will that avail my daughter? I have come straight to you, for my sister is convinced you know this Everard, and can tell me where to seek them!’

  Carstares clapped a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Never fear, Mr Beauleigh! I pledge you my word she shall be found this very night!’

  ‘You know where he has taken her? You do? You are sure?’

  ‘Back to his earth, I’ll lay my life; ’tis ever his custom.’ He strode to the door, flung it wide and shot clear, crisp directions at the footman. ‘See to it that my mare is saddled in ten minutes and Blue Devil harnessed to your master’s curricle! Don’t stand staring – go! And send Salter to me!’

  The footman scuttled away, pausing only to inform my lord that Salter was not in.

  Carstares remembered that he had given Jim leave to visit his Mary at Fittering, and crushed out another oath. He sprang up the stairs, Mr Beauleigh following breathlessly.

  In his room, struggling with his boots, he put a few questions.

  Mr Beauleigh related the whole tale, dwelling mournfully on the excellent references for Harper he had received from Sir Hugh Grandison.

  Jack hauled at his second boot.

  ‘Tracy himself, of course!’ he fumed, adjusting his spurs.

  ‘Pray, Mr Carr, who is this scoundrel? It is true that you know him?’

  ‘Andover,’ answered Jack from the depths of the garde-robe. ‘Damn the fellow, where has he put my cloak?’ This to the absent Jim, and not the Duke.

  ‘Andover! Not – surely not the Duke!’ cried Mr Beauleigh.

  ‘I know of none other. At last!’

  He emerged and tossed a heavy, many-caped coat on to the bed.

  ‘Now, sir, your attention for one moment.’

  He was buckling on his sword as he spoke, and not looking at the other man.

  ‘Tracy will have borne Di – Miss Beauleigh off to Andover Court, seven miles beyond Wyncham, to the south-west. Your horse, I take it, is not fresh’ (he knew Mr Beauleigh’s horse). ‘I have ordered the curricle for you. I will ride on at once by short cuts, for there is not a moment to be lost –’

  ‘The Duke of Andover!’ interrupted Mr Beauleigh. ‘The Duke of Andover! Why, do you think he purposes to marry my daughter?’

  Jack gave a short, furious laugh.

  ‘Ay! As he married all the others!’

  Mr Beauleigh winced.

  ‘Sir! Pray why should you say so?’

  ‘I perceive you do not know his Grace. Perchance you have heard of Devil Belmanoir?’

  Then the little man paled.

  ‘Good God, Mr Carr, ’tis not he?’

  Carstares caught up his hat and whip.

  ‘Ay, Mr Beauleigh, ’tis indeed he. Now perhaps you appreciate the necessity for haste?’

  Mr Beauleigh’s eyes were open at last.

  ‘For God’s sake, Mr Carr, after them!’

  ‘’Tis what I intend sir. You will follow as swiftly as possible?’

  ‘Yes, yes, but do not wait for anything! Can you reach Andover – in time?’

  ‘I reach Andover to-night,’ was the grim answer. ‘And you, sir? You know the road?’

  ‘I will find out. Only go, Mr Carr! Do not waste time, I implore you!’

  Jack struggled into his riding coat, clapped his hat on to his head, and with his Grace of Andover’s sword tucked beneath his arm, went down the stairs three and four at a time, and hurried out on to the drive, where the groom stood waiting with Jenny’s bridle over his arm. Carstares cast a hasty glance at the girths and sprang up. The mare sidled and fidgeted, fretting to be gone, but was held in with a hand of iron while her master spoke to the groom.

  ‘You must drive Mr Beauleigh to Andover Court as fast as you can. It is a matter of life and death. You know the way?’

  The amazed groom collected his wits with difficulty.

  ‘Roughly, sir.’

  ‘That will do – Mr Beauleigh will know. Drive your damnedest, man – Sir Miles won’t mind. You understand?’

  Jack’s word was law in the O’Hara household.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ answered the man, and touched his hat.

  On the word, he saw the beautiful straining mare leap forward, and the next moment both horse and rider were swallowed in the gloom.

  ‘Well I’m – darned,’ exploded the groom, and turned to fetch the curricle.

  Across the stretch of moorland went Jack at a gallop, Jenny speeding under him like the wind, and seeming to catch something of her master’s excitement. Low over her neck he bent, holding the Duke’s sword across his saddle-bows with one hand and with the other guiding her. So he covered some three miles. He reined in then, and forced her to a canter, saving her strength for the long distance ahead of them. She was in splendid condition, glorying in the unrestrained gallop across the turf, and although she was too well-mannered to pull on the rein, Carstares could see by the eager twitching of her ears how she longed to be gone over the ground. He spoke soothingly to her and guided her on to the very lane where Diana had ridden that afternoon. She fell into a long, easy stride that seemed to eat up the ground. Now they were off the lane, riding over a field to join another road, leading west. A hedge cut them off, but the mare gathered her legs beneath her and soared over, alighting as gracefully as a bird, and skimming on again up the road.

  Her responsive ears flickered as he praised her, and pulled her up.

  ‘Easy now, Jenny, easy!’

  She was trembling with excitement, but she yielded to his will and trotted quietly for perhaps another half-hour.

  Carstares rose and fell rhythmically in the saddle, taking care to keep his spurred heels from her glossy sides. He guessed the time to be about seven o’clock and his brows drew together worriedly. Jenny was made of steel and lightning, but would she manage it? He had never tested her powers as he was about to now, and he dared not allow her much breathing space. Every minute was precious if he were to reach Andover before it was too late.

  Assuming that Tracy had captured Diana at four, or thereabouts, he reckoned that it should take a heavy coach four hours or more to reach Andover. Jenny might manage it in two and a half hours, allowing for short cuts, in which case he ought to arrive not long after the others.

  He was tortured by the thought of Diana at the mercy of a man of Tracy’s calibre; Diana in terror; Diana despairing. Unconsciously he pressed his knees against the smooth flank and once more Jenny fell into that long, swift stride. She seemed to glide over the ground with never a jar nor a stumble. Carstares was careful not to irk her in any way, only keeping a guiding, restraining hand on the rein, and for the rest letting her go as she willed. On and on they sped, as the time lagged by, sometimes through leafy lanes, at others over fields and rough tracks. Not for nothing had Carstares roamed this country for two years; almost every path was familiar to him; he never took a wrong turn, never swerved, never hesitated. On and on, past sleeping villages and lonely homesteads, skirting woods, riding up hill and down dale, never slackening his hold on the rein, never taking his eyes off the road before him, except
now and then to throw a glance to the side on the look-out for some hidden by-path. After the first hour a dull pain in his shoulder reminded him of his wound, still troublesome. He set his teeth and pressed on still faster,

  The mare caught her foot on a loose stone and stumbled. His hand held her together, the muscles standing out like ribbed steel, his voice encouraged her, and he made her walk again. This time she did not fret against the restraint. He shifted the sword under his bridle hand, and passed the right down her steaming neck, crooning to her softly beneath his breath.

  She answered with a low, throbbing whinny. She could not understand why he desired her to gallop on, braving unknown terrors in the dark; all she could know was that it was his wish. It seemed also that he was pleased with her. She would have cantered on again, but he made her walk for, perhaps, another five minutes, until they were come to a stretch of common he knew well. It was getting late, and he pressed her with his knee, adjuring her to do her best, and urging her to a gallop, leaning right forward, the better to pierce the darkness ahead. A gorse bush loomed before them, and Jenny shied at it, redoubling her pace.

  With hand and voice he soothed her, and on they sped. He judged the time to be now about half-past eight, and knew that they must make the remaining miles in an hour. Even now the coach might have arrived, and beyond that he dared not think.

  Another half-hour crept by, and he could feel the mare’s breath coming short and fast, and reined in again, this time to a canter. He was off the moor now, on a road he remembered well, and knew himself to be not ten miles from Wyncham. Five more miles as the crow flies… He knew he must give Jenny another rest, and pulled up, dismounting and going to her head.

  Her legs were trembling, and the sweat rolled off her satin skin. She dropped her nose into his hand, sobbingly. He rubbed her ears and patted her, and she lipped his cheek lovingly, breathing more easily.

  Up again then, and forward once more, skimming over the ground.

  Leaving Wyncham on his right, Carstares cut west and then north-west, on the high road now, leading to Andover. Only two more miles to go…