The Black Moth: A Romance of the XVIIIth Century
you need see no one--and--oh, Jack! don't look like that. Miles, is he
not ridiculous?"
"Sure, alanna, 'tis a dreary life he'd be leading," chuckled O'Hara.
"I see what it is, Molly. You have planned to make me a recluse, _and_
to marry me to my housekeeper. I protest, 'tis great ill-usage!"
Molly eyed him doubtfully.
"Would you _much_ object to the life, John?"
"Madam," he replied solemnly, "you would find my corpse in the garden at
the end of the first week."
"Of course I should not like that," she pondered. "But I do not see what
else we can do for you. Oh, and that reminds me! I drove over to
Littledean yesterday--Miles, my love, will you be so kind as to fetch me
my hat? I protest, the sun--"
"We will move more into the shade," said her disobliging husband.
"Oh, well! 'tis of no account, though I did hear that Brown was wanting
to speak to you about the new cob--"
"'Tis prodigious thoughtful of you, Molly, but I met Brown some time
ago."
Lady O'Hara gave it up.
"Well, as I was saying, Jack, I went to call at Horton House. Dear me,
what a beautiful girl Diana is, to be sure!"
Carstares tried to think of something to say, and failing, made a
non-committal sound.
"Yes. They both sent their kind wishes, and hoped you were better.
Goodness! 'tis very close here. I wonder if you will give me your arm
round the garden? And would _you_ fetch me my hat? I left it in the
hall, I think. Thank you very much!"
She waited until he was out of earshot before she turned to her husband.
"Now, Miles, you must please to stay where you are. I am not going to do
anything indiscreet."
"Molly, I can't have ye worry him--"
"No such thing! I am going to coax him to stay here instead of going
abroad. I feel sure that if we can but persuade him to stay, something
will happen."
"What will happen?"
"Something!"
"How do ye know?"
"I don't know; I only feel it."
"Very well, asthore. If you can tease Jack into staying, I'll bless ye."
"That will be most enjoyable, I make no doubt!" she answered, and
stepped back out of reach.
"Oh, thank you, John!" She tied the hat over her curls, and placed her
hand on my lord's arm. "Lazy Miles is going to sleep again!" she said.
"And I so dislike to hear him snore, so let's go a long way away--into
the rose garden!"
"Don't go so far as all that!" drawled Miles, closing his eyes. "You
will tire yourselves."
"Do you allow him to make these ribald remarks?" inquired Jack, waiting
for her to extricate a stone from her shoe.
"Not usually," she answered. "He takes advantage when you are here." She
dropped the pebble on top of O'Hara and strolled away with my lord.
As soon as they had rounded a corner in the shrubbery, she commenced the
attack.
"I want to speak to you of Miles," she confided. "He is so worried."
"Is he, Molly? Faith, I hadn't noticed it!"
She reflected that neither had she, but continued, nothing daunted:
"Ah, but he is!"
"What worries him?"
"You," sighed the lady mournfully. "'Tis the thought of your leaving us.
I feel it myself."
"Why--"
"He had hoped you would be with us for a long time--as I had."
"'Tis monstrous good of you both, but--"
"I am sure I do not know what I shall do with Miles when you are gone.
He was so looking forward to having you with him."
"Molly--"
"And, indeed, it has come as a great disappointment to both of us to
hear you talk of leaving. Won't you think better of it?"
"Molly, you overwhelm me.... How can I remain here indefinitely?"
"If only you would! You don't know how happy it would make us. I declare
Miles will worry himself quite ill if you persist in being so unkind."
"Oh, Molly, you rogue!"
She could not repress a smile, but checked it almost at once. "I mean
it, Jack."
"What! That Miles is worrying himself ill over me? Fie!"
"Perhaps not as bad as that," she admitted. "But, indeed, he is much
perturbed ... and, oh! I wish that you would not make us so unhappy."
She dabbed at her eyes with a wispy handkerchief, but managed to watch
his face all the same. "David loves you so, the pet! and Miles is so
delighted to have found you again--and _I_ like you--and--and--and I
think 'twill be indeed rude and horrid if you do go--besides being so
silly!"
"Do you, Molly? You make me feel I should be an ungrateful boor to
refuse--"
The handkerchief was whisked away.
"Then, of course you won't try to refuse! You'll stay? Promise!"
"I cannot thank you enough--"
"Oh, you nice Jack! Till the autumn? Promise!"
"Molly, I really--"
"Promise! I shall cry if you do not!"
"I cannot! How could I prey upon your hospitality for so--"
"What rubbish, Jack! As if Miles had not spent months and months at
Wyncham when you were boys--"
"That was different--"
"--when you were boys, and now you are so proud that you refuse to stay
three miserable little months with us--"
"No, no, Molly; indeed, 'tis not that!"
"Confess, if Miles were a bachelor, you would not hesitate?" He was
silent, nonplussed.
"You see! And just because he has a wife you are disagreeable and proud.
You feel you cannot bear to stay with me--"
"I swear I do not!"
"Then why do you refuse?" she triumphed.
"Molly--really, I--" He broke off, laughing. "You little wretch, you
leave me nothing to say!"
"Then you will stay, as I ask?"
"You are quite sure--"
"Quite."
"Thank you very much, I will stay. 'Tis monstrous good of you, I vow.
When you are tired of me, say so."
"I will," she promised. "Oh, but we shall do famously! How pleased Miles
will be! By the way," she continued, airily, "I asked the Miss
Beauleighs to honour us on Wednesday, but, unfortunately, they could
not. Still, perhaps some other d--"
She stopped, a little frightened, for he was standing before her,
gripping her shoulders in a very elder-brotherly fashion.
"Listen to me, Molly. I know that you have discovered that I love Diana,
and I know that you think to be very kind and to bring us together. But
I tell you that 'twill not be kind at all, only very cruel to us both.
If you worry her to come here, I must go. Do you see?"
Molly looked into the stern eyes, and her lip trembled.
"I'm very--sorry!" she faltered.
Jack drew her arm through his once more.
"'Tis nothing to be sorry about; and, indeed, I am very grateful to you
for trying to make me happy. But please do not!"
"No, I promise I will not. But--but do you think you are being quite
fair to--"
"Molly, tell me this: do you think you are being quite good to disobey
your husband?"
The blue eyes were dancing. She smiled doubtfully.
"What do you mean, Jack?"
"Do you tell me that Miles did not expressly forbid you to mention this
subject to me?"
She pulled her hand away, her mouth forming a soundless
"Oh!"
"Well--well--well, how horrid of you!" she cried, and shook her fist at
him. "I'm going now!"
Later, she found her husband in the library, and ran into his arms.
"Do you mind holding me tightly?" she asked. "I've--I've been put in the
corner!"
"What?" O'Hara drew her on to his knee.
"Yes--figuratively--by Jack. I think, perhaps, I shouldn't like to marry
him after all!"
"What has he done?"
"N-nothing. I'm _afraid_," polishing one of his buttons with an
assiduous finger, "I'm _afraid_ that it was rather my own fault!"
"Oh!"
"Yes--but I only said _very_ little about the Miss Beauleighs, and he
suddenly turned into an iceberg and made me feel like a naughty little
girl. But he is going to stay, all the same; so kiss me, Miles!"
CHAPTER XVIII
ENTER CAPTAIN HAROLD LOVELACE
At the end of August, after having spent a moderately quiet summer in
the country, Lady Lavinia was again seized with a longing for town and
its attractions. She would not listen to Richard's warnings of the
atrocious condition of the roads, declaring that she cared not one jot,
and go to London she must. After that one protest he desisted, and
promised to take her there the following week, secretly counting himself
lucky to have kept her so long at Wyncham in comparative cheerfulness of
spirits. Lavinia was overjoyed, kissed him again and again, scolded
herself for being such a wicked tease, and set about making her
preparations for the journey.
The roads proved even worse than Richard had prophesied, and twice the
coach nearly upset, and times without number stuck fast in the mire,
causing the inmates much inconvenience. Carstares rode by the side of
the heavy vehicle, in which were his wife, her maid, her tiny dog, and
countless bandboxes and small parcels. In spite of the worry the
constant stoppages entailed, he quite enjoyed the journey, for Lavinia
was in excellent spirits, and made light of their mishaps, receiving
each fresh one with roguish laughter and some witty remark. Even when
the chimney of her bed-chamber, at one of the inns at which they halted,
smoked most vilely, she did not, as Richard quite expected she would,
fly into a rage and refuse to spend another moment in the house, but
after looking extremely doleful, cheered up and told dear Dicky that she
would have his room while he should have hers. Then in the morning she
would find him all dried up and _smoked_! In high good humour she went
down to dinner with him, voted the partridges excellent, the pasties
quite French, and the wine marvellously tolerable for such an
out-of-the-way place, and kept him laughing at her antics until
bed-time.
The journey was, of necessity, very slow, not only on account of the bad
roads, but because whenever my lady caught sight of wild roses growing
on the hedges, she must stop to pluck some. Then she and Richard would
stroll along for some way, he leading his horse, the coach following at
a walking pace. All of which was very idyllic, and had the effect of
sending Richard to the seventh heaven of content.
When at length they arrived at Wyncham House, Mayfair, they found that
the servants had arrived a week before, and had made good use of their
time. Never, declared Lavinia, had the house looked so inviting--so
spick and span.
One of her black pages proffered a small monkey with much bowing and
grinning, and the murmur of: "Massa's present."
Lady Lavinia flew to embrace her Dicky. How did he guess that she had
for so long yearned for a monkey? Surely she had but once or twice
mentioned it? Oh, he was the very best of husbands! She danced off to
her apartments in a state of ecstasy.
The _beau monde_ was returning to town, and when, a few days later,
Carstares conducted his wife to Ranelagh, they found the gardens fairly
crowded and very gay. Lamps hung from tree branches, although it was
still quite light; the fiddlers scraped away almost without a pause;
fireworks shot up from one end; the summer-houses had all been freshly
painted, and the Pavilion was a blaze of light.
Consciousness of her beauty and the smartness of her Georgia silk gown,
with its petticoat covered in gold net, considerably added to Lavinia's
enjoyment. Her hair she wore powdered and elaborately curled down on
both sides with dainty escalloped lace half concealing it, and a grey
_capuchin_ over all. Her tippet was gold-laced to match her petticoat,
and to fasten it she wore a brooch composed of clustered rubies. Rubies
also hung in her earrings, which last were of such length that the other
ladies turned to stare in envy, and the bracelets that she wore over her
long gloves flashed also with the great red stones. She was well-pleased
with Richard's appearance, and reflected that, when he chose, he could
be very fashionable indeed. The claret-coloured velvet he was wearing
was most distinguished, and the gold clocks to his hose quite ravishing.
They had not been in the Gardens ten minutes before a little crowd of