The Black Moth: A Romance of the XVIIIth Century
My lord opened his mouth to speak, encountered a fiery glance, and shut
it again.
"Anything to say?" inquired O'Hara with a threatening gleam in his eye.
"No, sir," replied Jack meekly.
"Ye will come?"
"Please."
O'Hara sprang up joyfully.
"Good lad! Lud! but I was afraid at one time--Put on your other boot
while I go and look for that rascal of yours!" He hurried out of the
room to find Jim, who, having foreseen the result of the contest, was
already stowing the luggage away on the chaise.
Half-an-hour later, his _adieux_ made, Jim and the baggage following, my
lord rode out with O'Hara on his way to Thurze House.
For some time there was silence between the two men, with only a
perfunctory remark or two on the fineness of the day and the freshness
of the mare to break it. Carstares' mind was, as his friend well knew,
dwelling on all that he had left behind him. His parting with Diana had
been quite ordinary, she at least making no sign that he was anything
beyond a chance acquaintance; indeed, it had almost seemed to him that
her attitude was slightly aloof, as if she had drawn a little into
herself. Her hand when he had kissed it had been lifeless and cold, her
smile sweetly remote. He knew that he had held the hand a fraction of a
minute longer than was strictly in accordance with the rules of good
manners, and he feared that he had clasped it in most unseemly wise,
pressing it hard against his lips. He wondered whether she had remarked
it. He little guessed that long after he had ridden out of sight, she
continued to feel that pressure. If he could have seen her passionately
kissing each finger separately for fear her lips might pass over the
exact spot his had touched, his heart might have been lighter.
It was true that she had retired into her shell, a little hurt at what
she termed his man's blind obstinacy. She had laid her heart bare for
him to read; she had offered herself to him as plainly as if she had
spoken in terms less general than in the pleasaunce; she had fought
desperately for her happiness, thrusting aside all thought of maiden
modesty, and when she afterwards had realised what she had done, and
tried to imagine what he must think of her, she had blushed dark, and
mentally flayed herself for her lack of proper pride and manners.
Terrified that he might think her immodest, overwhelmed with sudden
shyness, she had been colder in her attitude towards him, than she had
intended, even in her anxiety not to appear forward. But in spite of
her coldness, how intensely had she hoped that he would sense her love
and all that she wanted him to know! Incomprehensible the ways of women!
Not endowed with feminine perspicacity or intuition, how could John hope
to understand her dual feelings? He only knew that he had hurt her, and
that she had drawn back that she might not lay herself open to more. He
could not hope to understand her when she did not fully understand
herself.
Reflecting on the swiftness with which love had come to them, he
believed that with a like swiftness it might fade, at least from Diana's
memory. He told himself that he hoped for that end, but he was honest
enough to know that it was the last thing in the world he wanted. The
mere thought of Diana indifferent to him, or worse, another man's bride,
made him bite on his underlip and tighten his hold on the rein.
O'Hara cast many a surreptitious glance at the stern young profile
beside him, wondering whether his lordship would last out the tedious
ride or no. He knew enough of Carstares' indomitable courage to believe
that he would, but he feared that it would prove too great a strain on
him in his present weakened condition.
Very wisely he made no attempt to draw Carstares out of his abstraction,
but continued to push on in silence, past fields knee-deep in grass,
soon to be hay, with sorrel and poppies growing apace, along lanes with
hedges high above their heads on either side, over hill and down
dale--always in silence.
Presently O'Hara fell a little to the rear that he might study his
friend without palpably turning to do so. He thought he had never seen
Jack's face wear such a black look. The fine brows almost met over his
nose with only two sharp furrows to separate them; the mouth was
compressed, the chin a little prominent, and the eyes, staring ahead
between Jenny's nervous ears, seemed to see all without absorbing
anything. One hand at his hip was clenched on his riding-whip, the other
mechanically guided the mare.
O'Hara found himself admiring the lithe grace of the man, with his
upright carriage and splendid seat.
Suddenly, as if aware that he was being studied, my lord half turned his
head and met O'Hara's eyes. He gave a tiny shrug and with it seemed to
throw off his oppression. The frown vanished, and he smiled.
"I beg your pardon, Miles. I am a surly fellow."
"Mayhap your shoulder troubles you," suggested O'Hara tactfully.
"N-no, I am barely conscious of it. I've no excuse beyond bad manners
and a worse temper."
From thence onward he set himself to entertain his friend, and if his
laugh was sometimes rather forced, at least his wit was enough to keep
O'Hara in a pleasurable state of amusement for some miles.
By the time they arrived at Thurze House, Carstares was suspiciously
white about the mouth, and there was once more a furrow--this time of
pain--between his brows. But he was able to greet my Lady O'Hara with
fitting elegance and to pay her at least three neat, laughing
compliments before O'Hara took him firmly by the arm and marched him to
his room, there to rest and recover before the dinner hour.
Shortly after, Jim arrived, highly contented with his new surroundings,
and able to give a satisfactory verdict on Jenny's stalling. He had
quite accepted O'Hara as a friend, after some jealous qualms, and was
now well pleased that his master should be in his house instead of
roaming the countryside.
At five o'clock, as the gong rang, my lord descended the stairs
resplendent in old gold and silver trimmings, determined to be as gay
and light-hearted as the occasion demanded, as though there had never
been a Diana to upset the whole course of a man's life.
Not for nothing had he fought against the world for six long years.
Their teaching had been to hide all feeling beneath a perpetual mask of
nonchalance and wit; never for an instance to betray a hurt, and never
to allow it to appear that he was anything but the most care-free of
men. The training stood him in good stead now, and even O'Hara wondered
to see him in such spirits after all that had passed. Lady Molly was
delighted with her guest, admiring his appearance, his fine, courtly
manners, and falling an easy victim to his charm.
O'Hara, watching them, saw with content that his capricious little wife
was really attracted to my lord. It was a high honour, for she was hard
to please, and many of O'Hara's acquaintances had been received, if not
with actual coldness, at least not with any degree of warmth.
At the end of the meal she withdrew with the warning that they were not
to sit too long over their wine, and that Miles was not to fatigue his
lordship.
O'Hara pushed the decanter towards his friend.
"I've a piece of news I daresay will interest ye!" he remarked.
Carstares looked at him inquiringly.
"Ay. 'Tis that his Grace of Andover has withdrawn his precious person to
Paris."
Carstares raised one eyebrow.
"I suppose he would naturally wish to remain in the background after our
little fracas."
"Does he ever wish to be in the background?"
"You probably know him better than I do. Does he?"
"He does not. 'Tis always in front he is, mighty prominent. Damn him!"
My lord was faintly surprised.
"Why that? Has he ever interfered with you?"
"He has interfered with me best friend to some purpose."
"I fear the boot was on the other leg!"
"Well, I know something of how he interferes with Dick."
Carstares put down his glass, all attention now.
"With Dick? How?"
O'Hara seemed to regret having spoken
"Oh, well--I've no sympathy with _him_."
"What has Tracy done to him?"
"'Tis nothing of great moment. Merely that he and that worthless brother
of his seek to squeeze him dry."
"Robert?"
"Andrew. I know very little of Robert."
"Andrew! But he was a child--"
"Well, he's grown up now, and as rakish a young spendthrift as ye could
wish for. Dick seems to pay their debts."
"Devil take him! Why?"
"Heaven knows! I suppose Lavinia insists. We all knew that 'twas for
that reason Tracy flung you both in her way."
"Nonsense! We went of our own accord. She had but returned from school."
"Exactly. And whose doing was that but Tracy's?"
Carstares opened his eyes rather wide and leant both arms on the table,
crooking his fingers round the stem of his wine glass.
"Do the debts amount to much?"
"I can't tell ye that. 'Twas but by chance I found it out at all. The
Belmanoirs were never moderate in their manner of living."
"Nor were any of us. Don't be so hard on them, Miles!... I knew, of
course, that the Belmanoir estate was mortgaged, but I did not guess to
what extent."
"I don't know that either, but Dick's money does not go to pay it off.
'Tis all frittered away on gambling and pretty women."
My lord's brow darkened ominously.
"Ye-s. I think I shall have a little score to settle with Tracy on that
subject--some day."
Miles said nothing.
"But how does Dick manage without touching my money?"
"I do not know." O'Hara's tone implied that he cared less.
"I hope he is not in debt himself," mused Carstares, "'Tis like enough
he is in some muddle. I wish I might persuade him to accept the
revenue." He frowned and drummed his fingers on the table.
O'Hara exploded.
"Sure, 'twould be like you to be doing the same. Let the man alone for
the Lord's sake, and don't be after worrying your head over a miserable
spalpeen that did ye more harm than--"
"Miles, I cannot allow you to speak so of Dick! You do not understand."
"I understand well enough. 'Tis too Christian ye are entirely. And let
us have an end of this farce of yours! I know that Dick cheated as well
as you do, and I say 'tis unnatural for you to be wanting him to take
your money after he's done you out of honour and all else!"
Carstares sipped his wine quietly, waiting for Miles' anger to
evaporate, as it presently did, leaving him to glower balefully. Then he
started to laugh.
"Oh, Miles, let me go my own road! I'm a sore trial to you, I know."
Then suddenly sobering: "But I want you not to think so hardly of Dick.
You know enough of him to understand a little how it all came about. You
know how extravagant he was and how often in debt--can you not pardon
the impulse of a mad moment?"
"That I could pardon. What I cannot forgive is his--unutterable meanness
in letting you bear the blame."
"O'Hara, he was in love with Lavinia--"
"So were you."
"Not so deeply. With me 'twas a boy's passion, but with him 'twas
serious."
O'Hara remained silent, his mouth unusually hard.
"Put yourself in his place," pleaded Jack. "If you--"
"Thank you!" O'Hara laughed unpleasantly. "No, Jack, we shall not agree
on this subject, and we had best leave it alone. I do not think you need
worry about him, though. I believe he is not in debt."
"Does he have fair luck with his racing and his--"
O'Hara smiled grimly.
"Dick is a very changed man, John. He does not keep racehorses, neither
does he play cards, save for appearance's sake."
"Dick not play! What then does he do?"
"Manages your estates and conducts his wife to routs. When in town,"
bitterly, "he inhabits your house."
"Well, there is none else to use it. But I cannot imagine Dick turned
sober!"