The Black Moth: A Romance of the XVIIIth Century
duels--forbidden. But I am sure that 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 curved 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.
Miss Betty bustled about and did all she could to stanch the bleeding,
and when they had comfortably settled my lord, she sat down upon the
seat opposite and nodded decisively.
"We can do no more, my dear--but, yes--certainly bathe his forehead with
your lavender water. Dear me, what an escape! I must say I would never
have thought it of Mr. Everard! One would say we were living in the
Stone Age! The wretch!"
Diana shuddered.
"I knew he was dreadful, but never _how_ dreadful! How can he have found
out when we were to leave Bath--and why did he waylay us so near home?
Oh, I shall never be safe again!"
"Nonsense, my dear! Fiddlesticks! You saw how easily he was vanquished.
Depend upon it, he will realise that he has made a bad mistake to try to
abduct you, and we shall not be worried with him again."
With this comfortable assurance, she nodded again and leant back against
the cushions, watching her niece's ministrations with a professional and
slightly amused air.
CHAPTER XII
MY LORD DICTATES A LETTER AND RECEIVES A VISITOR
My lord came sighing back to life. He opened his eyes wearily, and
turned his head. A faint feeling of surprise stole over him. He was in a
room he had never been in before, and by the window, busy with some
needlework, sat a little old lady who was somehow vaguely familiar.
"Who--are--you?" he asked, and was annoyed to find his voice so weak.
The little lady jumped, and came across to him.
"Praise be to God!" she ejaculated. "Likewise, bless the boy! The fever
is passed." She laid a thin hand on his brow, and smiled down into his
wondering eyes.
"As cool as a cucumber, dear boy. What a mercy!"
It was a long time since anyone had called Jack dear, or boy. He
returned the smile feebly and closed his eyes.
"I--do not--understand--anything," he murmured drowsily.
"Never trouble your head then. Just go to sleep."
He considered this gravely for a moment. It seemed sensible enough, and
he was so very, very tired. He shut his eyes with a little sigh.
* * * * *
When he awoke again it was morning of the next day, and the sun streamed
in the window, making him blink.
Someone rustled forward, and he saw it was the lady who had called him
dear and bidden him go to sleep.
He smiled, and a very thin hand came out of the bedclothes.
"But who are you?" he demanded a little querulously.
Miss Betty patted his hand gently.
"Still worrying your poor head over that? I am Di's Aunt Betty--though,
to be sure, you don't know who Di is!"
Remembrance was coming back to my lord.
"Why--why--you are the lady in the coach!--Tracy--I remember!"
"Well, I know nought of Tracy, but I'm the lady in the coach."
"And the other--"
"That was Diana Beauleigh, my niece--the pet. You will see her when you
are better."
"But--but--where am I, madam?"
"Now don't get excited, dear boy!"
"I'm thirty!" protested Jack with a wicked twinkle.
"I should not have thought it, but thirty's a boy to me, in any case!"
retorted Miss Betty, making him laugh. "You are in Mr. Beauleigh's
house--Di's father, and my brother. And here you will stay until you are
quite recovered!"
Jack raised himself on his elbow, grimacing at the pain the movement
caused him.
"Egad, madam! have I been here long?" he demanded.
Very firmly was he pushed back on to his pillows.
"Will you be still? A nice thing 'twould be if you were to aggravate
that wound of yours! You will have been here a week to-morrow. Bless my
heart, what ails the boy?" For Jack's face took on an expression of
incredulous horror.
"A _week_, madam? Never say so!"
"'Tis as true as I stand here. And a nice fright you have given us, what
with nearly dying, and raving about your Dicks and your Jims!"
My lord glanced up sharply.
"Oh! So I--talked?"
"Talk? Well, yes, if you can call all that mixture of foreign jargon
talking. Now you must be still and wait till the doctor comes again."
For a while Carstares lay in silence. He thought of Jim and smiled a
little. "I could not have thought of a better punishment had I tried,"
he told himself, and then frowned. "Poor fellow! He'll be off his head
with fright over me. Miss--er--Betty?"
"Well, and are you not asleep yet?"
"Asleep, Madam? Certainly not!" he said with dignity. "I must write a
letter."
"'Deed, an' you shall not!"
"But I must! 'Tis monstrous important, madam."
She shook her head resolutely.
"Not until Mr. Jameson gives permission," she said firmly.
Jack struggled up, biting his lip.
"Then I shall get up!" he threatened.
In an instant she was by his side.
"No, no! Now lie down and be good!"
"I will not lie down and be good!"
"Then I shan't let you touch a pen for weeks!"
Jack became very masterful and frowned direfully upon her.
"Madam, I insist on being allowed to write that letter!"
"Sir, I insist on your lying down!"
He controlled a twitching lip.
"Woe betide you unless you bring me pen and paper, Miss Betty!"
"But, dear boy, reflect! You could not use your arm."
"I will use it!" replied Jack indomitably, but he sank back on to the
pillows with his eyes closed and a tiny furrow of pain between his
straight brows.
"I told you so!" scolded Miss Betty, not without a note of triumph in
her voice, and proceeded to rearrange the disorderly coverlet.
The blue eyes opened wide, pleadingly.
"Madam, indeed 'tis very important."
She could not withstand that look.
"Well," she compromised, "I'll not let you write yourself, that's