The Black Moth: A Romance of the XVIIIth Century
"And anyone but a young fool like yourself would have seen that!"
A gleam of amusement shot into the wistful blue eyes.
"Probably. Yourself, for instance?"
O'Hara chuckled.
"Oh, ay, I knew! 'Twas the money she was after all along; and now
there's not so much, it seems, as Dick won't touch a penny that belongs
to you."
"M'm. Warburton told me. Foolish of him."
A grunt was the sole response.
Jack's eyes narrowed a little as he gazed out of the window. "So Lavinia
never cared? Lord, what a mix-up! And Dick?"
"I'm afraid he still does."
"Poor old Dick! Devil take 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 He was clasping Jack's hand, but it was withdrawn, and the eyes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 same 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!"
CHAPTER XI
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.
Jacked 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, whipping 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 skilfully 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