The Black Moth: A Romance of the XVIIIth Century
"You will not? Well, I didn't think you would somehow! But I wish you
might contrive to let me have it, Tracy. I've had prodigious ill-luck of
late, and the Lord knows 'tis not much I get from you! I don't want to
ask Dick again."
"I should not let the performance grow monotonous, certainly," agreed
the other. "Fifty, you said?"
"Forty-five would suffice."
"Oh, you may have it!" shrugged his Grace. "At once?"
"Blister me, but that's devilish good of you, Tracy! At once would be
convenient to _me_!"
His Grace produced a key from his vest pocket and unlocked a drawer in
the desk. From it he took a small box. He counted out fifty guineas, and
added another to the pile. Andrew stared at it.
"What's that for?" he inquired.
"The stockings," replied Tracy, with a ghost of a smile. Andrew burst
out laughing.
"That's good! Gad! but you're devilish amusing, 'pon rep. you are!" He
thanked his Grace profusely and gathering up the money, left the room.
Outside he gave vent to a low whistle of astonishment. "Tare an' ouns!
he must be monstrous well-pleased over something!" he marvelled. "I
shall awaken soon, I doubt not." He chuckled a little as he descended
the staircase, but his face was full of wonderment.
* * * * *
Lovelace called nearly every day at Wyncham House, but was always
refused admittance, as Lady Lavinia deemed it prudent not to see him.
There came a day, however, when he would not be gainsaid, and was
ushered into her drawing-room. He kissed her hands lingeringly, holding
them for a long while in his.
"Lavinia! Cruel fair one!"
She drew her hands away, not too well pleased at his intrusion.
"How silly, Harold! I cannot have you tease me every day!"
She allowed him to sit by her on the window seat, and he again possessed
himself of her hands. Did she love him? She hoped he was not going to be
foolish. Of course not. He did not believe her, and started to plead his
suit, imploring her to come away with him. In vain Lady Lavinia begged
him to be quiet; she had stirred up a blaze, and it threatened to
consume her. He was so insistent that, expecting Richard at any moment,
and terrified lest there should be a disturbance, she promised to give
him an answer next evening, at the theatre. She managed to be rid of him
in this way, and, with a relieved sigh, watched him walk down the
square. She was very fond of dear Harry, but really, he was dreadfully
tiresome at times.
She brought her tiny mirror out from her pocket and surveyed her
reflection critically, giving a tweak to one curl, and smoothing another
back. She was afraid she was looking rather old this evening, and hoped
that Richard would not think so. She glanced up at the clock, wondering
where he was; surely he should be in by now? Then she arranged a chair
invitingly, pushed a stool up to it and sat down opposite. With a sigh,
she reflected that it was an entirely new departure for her to strive to
please and captivate her husband, and she fell a-thinking of how he must
have waited on her in the old days, waiting as she was waiting
now--hoping for her arrival. Lady Lavinia was beginning to realise that
perhaps Dick's life had not been all roses with her as wife.
The door opened and Richard came into the room. Deep lines were between
his brows, but his mouth was for once set firmly. He looked sombrely
down at her, thinking how very beautiful she was.
Lady Lavinia smiled and nodded towards the chair she had prepared.
"Sit down, Dicky! I am so glad you have come! I was monstrous dull and
lonely, I assure you!"
"Were you?" he said, fidgeting with her scissors. "No, I will not sit
down. I have something to say to you, Lavinia. Something to tell you."
"Oh, _have_ you?" she asked. "Something nice, Dicky?"
"I fear you will hardly think so. I am about to make an end."
"Oh--oh, are you? Of _what_?"
"Of this--this deceitful life I am leading--have been leading. I--I--I
am going to confess the whole truth."
"Rich-ard!"
He let fall the scissors and paced restlessly away down the room.
"I--I tell you, Lavinia, I cannot endure it! I cannot! I cannot! The
thought of what John may be bearing is driving me crazy! I must speak!"
"You--you can't!" she gasped. "After seven years! Dicky, for heaven's
sake--!" The colour ebbed and flowed in her cheeks.
"I cannot continue any longer this living of a lie--I have been feeling
it more and more ever since--ever since I met--Jack--that time on the
road. And now I can no longer stand it. Everywhere I go I seem to see
him--looking at me--you don't understand--"
Lavinia cast aside her work.
"No! No! I do not! 'Pon rep., but you should have thought of this
before, Dick!"
"I know it. Nothing can excuse my cowardice--my weakness. I know all
that, but it is not too late even now to make amends. In a week they
will all know the truth."
"What--what do you mean?"
"I have requested all whom it concerns to come to Wyncham the Friday
after this."
"Good heavens! Dick, Dick, _think_!"
"I have thought. God! _how_ I have thought!"
"It is not fair to me! Oh, think of your honour--Wyncham!"
"My honour is less than nothing. 'Tis of his that I think."
She sprang up, clutching at his arm, shaking him.
"Richard, you are mad! You must not do this! You must not, I say!"
"I implore you, Lavinia, not to try to make me change my decision. It is
of no use. Nothing you can say will make any difference."
She flew into a passion, flinging away from him, her good resolutions
forgotten.
"You have no right to disgrace me! If you do it, I will never forgive
you! I won't stay with you--I--"
He broke in--this was what he had expected; he must not whine; this was
retribution.
"I know. I have faced that."
She was breathless for a moment. He knew! He had faced it! He had taken
her seriously--he always expected her to leave him! Oh, he must indeed
be tired of her, and wanted her to go! What was he saying?
"I know that you love Lovelace. I--I have known it for some time."
Lavinia sank into the nearest chair. To what depths had her folly led
her?
"I shall put no obstacle in the way of your flight, of course...."
This was dreadful! Lady Lavinia buried her face in her hands and burst
into tears. It was true then--he did not love her--he loved Mrs.
Fanshawe--_she_ was to elope. She sobbed pitifully as the full horror of
the situation struck her.
The temptation to gather her into his arms almost overmastered Richard,
but he managed to choke it down. If he allowed himself to kiss her, she
would try to break his resolution--mayhap, she would succeed. So he
looked away from her, tortured by the sound of her crying.
Lavinia wept on, longing to feel his arms about her, ready to consent to
anything if only he would show that he loved her. But when he made no
movement towards her, pride came back, and flicking her handkerchief
across her eyes, she rose to her feet.
"You are cruel!--cruel!--cruel! If you do this thing I _shall_ leave
you!"
Now surely he would say something--contradict her!
With an immense effort, Richard controlled himself.
"I am--sorry--Lavinia," he said in a queer, constrained voice.
It was of no avail. She had killed his love, and he was longing to be
rid of her. She walked to the door, and turned.
"I see that you do not love me," she said, with deadly calmness. "I
understand perfectly." Then, as she wrenched the handle round: "I hate
you!" she cried, and fled, her silken skirts rustling furiously down the
corridor. A door slammed in the distance, and there was silence.
Carstares stood very still, staring down at her crumpled broidery.
Presently he stooped to pick it up, and her violet scent was wafted up
to him. He carried it to his lips, passionately.
If Lavinia had been able to see him, it would have changed the whole
state of affairs; as it was she locked herself into her room and
continued her cry in private. When she had no more tears to shed, she
sat up and tried to think that she wanted to elope. Harold would be very
good to her, she was sure, and she would doubtless lead a very exciting
life, but--somehow the more she thought of it, the less she wanted to
elope. Then she remembered that Dicky--why had she never realised how
much she cared for him?--was in love with some horrid widow, and did not
want her to remain with him. The idea was not to be borne, she was not
going to be the unwanted wife. She would have to go away, though not
with Lovelace. Dicky should _not_ force her to elope with another man.
She would go somewhere alone--she had forgotten--she had no money. The
dowry that had been hers was spent years ago. She was utterly dependent
on her husband. That settled it: she _must_ elope with Harry!
"Oh, was anyone ever so beset!" she sobbed as her misery swept in upon
her with full force. "Why should I run away if I don't want to?"
CHAPTER XXIII
LADY LAVINIA GOES TO THE PLAY
Richard was away from home all next day, and his wife had plenty of time
in which to meditate upon her situation. She had quite come to the
conclusion that she must elope with Lovelace, and was only waiting for
to-night to tell him so. She would never, never ask Richard to let her
stay with him now that she knew he loved another. Truly a most trying
predicament. The Carstares were going to-night to Drury Lane to see
Garrick play one of his most successful comedies: the _Beaux'
Stratagem_. The _monde_ that would flock to see the inimitable Archer
was likely to be a very distinguished one, especially as the cast held
the added attraction of Mrs. Clive, and ordinarily Lady Lavinia would
have looked forward with much excitement to seeing the piece. To-day,
however, she felt that she would far rather go to bed and cry. But
Lovelace had to be answered, and besides that, she had invited two
cousins, new come from Scotland, to accompany her, and she could not
fail them.
So that evening saw her seated in her box, wonderfully gowned as usual,
scanning the house. Behind her stood her husband--when she thought that
this was the last time she would ever go with him to the theatre she had
much ado to keep from bursting into tears before them all--and in the
chair at her side was the cousin, Mrs. Fleming. Mr. Fleming stood with
his hands behind his back, exclaiming every now and then as his kinsman,
young Charles Holt, pointed out each newcomer of note. He was a short,
tubby little man, dressed in sober brown, very neat as regards his
wrists and neckband, but attired, so thought Lavinia, for the country,
and not for town. His dark suit contrasted strangely with Mr. Holt's
rather garish mixture of apple-green and pink, with waistcoat of yellow,
and Richard's quieter, but far more handsome apricot and silver. His
wig, too, was not at all modish, being of the scratch type that country
gentlemen affected. His wife was the reverse of smart, but she was loud
in her admiration of her more affluent cousin's stiff silks and laces.
She had married beneath her, had Mrs. Fleming, and the Belmanoirs had
never quite forgiven the shocking _mesalliance_. William Fleming was
nought but a simple Scotsman, whose father--even now the family
shuddered at the thought--had been a farmer!
Lavinia was not over-pleased that they should have elected to visit
London, and still less pleased that they should evince such an affection
for the Hon. Richard and his wife.
"Well, to be sure, Lavvy, 'tis pleasant to sit here and admire all the
people!" exclaimed Mrs. Fleming, for perhaps the twentieth time. "I
declare I am grown positively old-fashioned from having lived for so
long in the country!--yes, my dear, positively old-fashioned! ... I
cannot but marvel at the great hoops everyone is wearing! I am sure mine