The Black Moth: A Romance of the XVIIIth Century
Lovelace took her into his arms once more, and drawing down her hands,
kissed her again and again. She resisted, trying to thrust him off, but
she was crushed against him, and he would have kissed her again, had not
there come an interruption.
A knock fell on the door, and the footman announced:
"His Grace of Andover, m'lady!"
The guilty pair sprang apart in the nick of time, she fiery red, he
pale, but composed.
His Grace stood in the doorway, his quizzing glass raised inquiringly.
His eyes went swiftly from one to the other and widened. He bowed
elaborately.
"My dear Lavinia! Captain Lovelace, your very obedient!"
Lovelace returned the bow with much flourish.
"Your Grace!"
"Dear me, Tracy!" cried Lavinia, advancing. "What an unexpected visit!"
"I trust I have not arrived at an inopportune moment, my dear?"
"Oh, no!" she assured him. "I am quite charmed to see you! But at such
an early hour--! I confess, it quite astonishes me!" She brought him to
a chair, chattering like a child, and so innocent was his expression, so
smiling his attitude towards the Captain, that she imagined that he
suspected nothing, and had not noticed her blushes.
It was only when Lovelace had departed that she was undeceived. Then,
when his Grace moved to a chair opposite her, she saw that he was
frowning slightly.
"You--you are put out over something, Tracy?" she asked nervously.
The frown deepened.
"N-no. I am not 'put out.' I merely anticipate the sensation."
"I--I don't understand. What mean you?"
"At present, nothing."
"Tracy, please do not be mysterious! Are you like to be put out?"
"I trust not, Lavinia."
"But what annoys you?"
Instead of answering, he put a question:
"I hope you amused yourself well--last night, my dear sister?"
She flushed. Last night had been Lady Davenant's masquerade, to which
Lord Robert had conducted her. She had danced almost exclusively with
Lovelace the whole evening, but as they were both masked, she was rather
surprised at the question.
"I enjoyed myself quite tolerably, thank you. You were there?"
"No, Lavinia, I was not there."
"Then how do you kn--" She stopped in confusion, biting her lips. For an
instant she caught a glimpse of his eyes, piercing and cold.
"How do I know?" smoothly finished his Grace "One hears things, Lavinia.
Also--" he glanced round the room, "one sees things."
"I--I don't understand you!" she shot out, twisting the lace of her gown
with restless, uneasy fingers.
"No? Must I then be more explicit?"
"Yes! Yes! I should be glad!"
"Then let me beg of you, my dear Lavinia, that you will commit no
indiscretion."
Her cheeks flamed.
"You mean--"
"I mean that you have grown too friendly with Harold Lovelace."
"Well! What of it?"
His Grace put up his eye-glass, faintly astonished.
"What of it? Pray think a moment, Lavinia!"
"'Tis not likely that _I_ shall be the one to disgrace the name, Tracy!"
"I sincerely hope not. I give you my word I should do all in my power to
prevent any foolhardy action on your part. Pray do not forget it."
She sat silent, biting her lips.
"It is, my child, unwise to play with fire. Sooner or later one gets
burnt. And remember that your gallant captain has not one half of
Richard's wealth."
Up she sprang, kicking her skirts as she always did when angered.
"Money! money!--always money!" she cried. "I do not care one rap for it!
And Richard is not wealthy!"
"Richard is heir to wealth," replied his Grace calmly. "And even an you
are so impervious to its charms, I, my dear, am not. Richard is
extremely useful to me. I beg you will not leave him for any such mad
rake as Lovelace, who would be faithful to you for perhaps three months,
certainly not longer."
"Tracy, I will not have you speak to me like this! How dare you insult
me so? I have given you no cause! I did not say I had any desire to run
away with him--and he _would_ be faithful to me! He has been faithful
all these years!"
His Grace smiled provokingly.
"My dear--!"
"Oh, I know there have been episodes--indiscretions. Do you think I
count him the worse for that?"
"Evidently not."
"There has never been another serious love with him! I hate you!"
"You are overfree with your emotions, my dear. So you do indeed
contemplate an elopement?"
"No, no, no! I do not! I am _fond_ of Dicky!"
"Dear me!"
"Of course I shall not leave him!"
"Why then, I am satisfied," he answered, and rose to his feet. "I shall
look to see Captain Lovelace more out of your company." He picked up his
hat and cane and stood directly in front of her. One dead white hand, on
which blazed a great ruby seal ring, took her little pointed chin in a
firm clasp and tilted her head up until she was forced to meet his eyes.
They held hers inexorably, scorchingly.
"You understand me?" he asked harshly.
Lavinia's eyes filled with tears and her soft underlip trembled.
"Yes," she fluttered, and gave a tiny sob. "Oh, yes, Tracy!"
The eyes lost something of their menacing gleam, and he smiled, for once
without a sneer, and releasing her chin, patted her cheek indulgently.
"Bear in mind, child, that I am fifteen years your senior, and I have
more worldly wisdom in my little finger than you have in the whole of
your composition. I do not wish to witness your ruin."
The tears brimmed over, and she caught his handkerchief from him,
dabbing at her eyes with one heavily-laced corner.
"You do love me, Tracy?"
"In the recesses of my mind I believe I cherish some affection for you,"
he replied coolly, rescuing his handkerchief. "I used to class you with
your deplorable brothers, but I think perhaps I was wrong."
She gave an hysterical laugh.
"Tracy, how can you be so disagreeable? Lud! but I pity Diana an she
marries you!"
To her surprise he flushed a little.
"Diana, an she marries me, will have all that her heart could desire,"
he answered stiffly, and took his leave.
Once outside in the square he looked for a sedan, and not seeing one,
walked away towards Audley Street. He went quickly, but his progress was
somewhat retarded by two ladies, who, passing in their chairs down the
street, perceived him and beckoned him to their sides. Escaping
presently from them, he turned into Curzon Street, and from thence down
Half Moon Street, where he literally fell into the arms of Tom Wilding,
who had much to say on the subject of March's last bet with Edgecumbe.
His Grace affected interest, politely declined Wilding's proffered
escort, and hurried down into Piccadilly, walking eastwards towards St.
James's Square, where was the Andover town house. He was fated to be
again detained, for as he walked along Arlington Street, Mr. Walpole was
on the point of descending the steps of No. 5. He also had much to say
to his Grace. He had no idea that Belmanoir had returned from Paris. A
week ago he had arrived? Well, he, Walpole, had been out of town all the
week--at Twickenham. He hoped Bel. would honour him with his company at
the small card-party he was giving there on Thursday. George was coming,
and Dick Edgecumbe; he had asked March and Gilly Williams, but the Lord
knew whether both would be induced to appear! Bel. had heard of Gilly's
absurd jealousy? Wilding was promised, and Markham; several other
answers he was awaiting.
Andover accepted gracefully and parted from Mr. Walpole. He made the
rest of his journey in peace, and on arriving at his house, went
straight to the library, where sat a sleek, eminently
respectable-looking individual, dressed like a groom. He stood up as his
Grace entered, and bowed.
Belmanoir nodded shortly and sat down at his desk.
"I have work for you, Harper."
"Yes, sir--your Grace, I should say."
"Do you know Sussex?"
"Well, your Grace, I don't know as how--"
"_Do you know Sussex?_"
"No, your Grace--er--yes, your Grace! I should say, not well, your
Grace!"
"Have you heard of a place called Littledean?"
"No, s--your Grace."
"Midhurst?"
"Oh, yes, your Grace."
"Good. Littledean is seven miles west of it. You will find that
out--also an inn called, I think, 'The Pointing Finger.' There you will
lodge."
"Yes, your Grace, certainly."
"At a very little distance from there is a house--Horton House, where
lives a certain Mr. Beauleigh, with his sister and daughter. You are to
watch the comings and goings of these people with the utmost care.
Eventually you will become groom to Mr. Beauleigh."
"B-but, your Grace!" feebly protested the astonished Harper.
"You will approach their present groom, and you will insinuate that I,
Andover, am in need of a second groom. You will tell him that I pay
handsomely--treble what Mr. Beauleigh gives him. If I know human nature,
he will apply for the post. You then step in. If Mr. Beauleigh asks for
some recommendation, you are to refer him to Sir Hugh Grandison, White's
Chocolate House, St. James's Street. When you are engaged I will send
further instructions."
The man gaped, shut his mouth, and gaped again.
"Do you fully understand me?" asked Belmanoir calmly.
"Er--er--yes, your Grace!"
"Repeat what I have said, then."
Harper stumbled through it and mopped his brow unhappily.
"Very well. In addition, I pay you twice as much as Mr. Beauleigh gives
you, and, at the end, if you serve me well--fifty guineas. Are you
satisfied?"
Harper brightened considerably.
"Yes, your Grace! Thank you, sir!"
Tracy laid twenty guineas before him.
"That is for your expenses. Remember this: the sooner the thing is done,
the more certain are your fifty guineas. That is all. Have you any
questions to ask?"
Harper cudgelled his still dazed brain, and finding none, shook his
head.
"No, your Grace."
"Then you may go."
The man bowed himself out, clutching his guineas. He was comparatively a
newcomer in his Grace's service, and he was by no means accustomed to
the Duke's lightning method of conducting his affairs. He was not sure
that he quite appreciated it. But fifty guineas were fifty guineas.
CHAPTER XXI
MRS. FANSHAWE LIGHTS A FIRE AND O'HARA FANS THE FLAME
Richard Carstares very soon availed himself of Mrs. Fanshawe's
permission to call upon her, and duly put in an appearance at No. 16,
Mount Street. He found the house very tastefully appointed, the sister
elderly and good-natured, and the widow herself an excellent hostess.
The first time he called he was not the only visitor; two ladies whom he
did not know and a young cousin were already there, and later, a bowing
acquaintance, Mr. Standish, also arrived. Seeing that he would have no
opportunity to talk with the widow on the subject of his brother, he
very soon took his leave, promising to wait upon her again at no very
distant date. When, three days later, he again sent in his name and was
admitted, he found the lady alone, and was gratified to hear her order
the servant to deny her to all other visitors.
He bowed over her hand and hoped she was well.
Mrs. Fanshawe drew him down beside her on the settee.
"I am very well, Mr. Carstares. And you?"
"Also," he smiled, but his looks belied his words.
She told him so, laughing, and he pleaded a worried week.
"Well, sir, I presume you did not come to talk to me about your health,
but about my friend--eh?"
"I assure--"
"Remember, no vapid compliments!" she besought.
"Then, madam, yes. I want to hear about--Ferndale. You see, I--like
you--took a great interest in him."
She sent him a shrewd glance, and nodded.
"Of course. I will tell you all I know, Mr. Carstares, but it is not
very much, and maybe you will be disappointed. But I only knew him the
short time we were both in Vienna, and--he was not very communicative."
"Ah!--he did not confide in you, madam?"