The Black Moth: A Romance of the XVIIIth Century
"Why, Papa, will you not accompany me this afternoon?" cried Diana
eagerly. "I should so like it!"
It struck her aunt that Harper awaited the answer to this question
rather anxiously. She watched him, puzzled. However, when Mr. Beauleigh
had refused she could not see any change in his expression, and
concluded that she must have been mistaken.
So with a wave of her hand, Diana rode away, the groom following at a
respectful distance. Yet somehow Miss Betty was uneasy. A presentiment
of evil seemed to touch her, and when the riders had disappeared round a
bend in the road she felt an insane desire to run after them and call
her niece back. She gave herself a little shake, saying that she was a
fond old woman, over-anxious about Diana. Nevertheless, she laid a
detaining hand on her brother's arm as he was about to go indoors.
"Wait, Horace! You--you _will_ ride with Di more frequently, will you
not?"
He looked surprised.
"You are uneasy, Betty?"
"Oh--uneasy--! Well, yes--a little. I do not like her to go alone with a
groom, and we do not know this man."
"My dear! I had the very highest references from Sir Hugh Grandison,
who, I am sure, would never recommend anyone untrustworthy. Why, you saw
the letter yourself!"
"Yes, yes. Doubtless I am very stupid. But you _will_ ride with her
after to-day, will you not?"
"Certainly I will accompany my daughter when I can spare the time," he
replied with dignity, and with that she had to be content.
Diana rode leisurely along the lane, beside great trees and hedges that
were a blaze of riotous colour. Autumn had turned the leaves dull gold
and flame, mellow brown and deepest red, with flaming orange
intermingled, and touches of copper here and there where some beech tree
stood. The lane was like a fairy picture, too gorgeous to be real; the
trees, meeting overhead, but let the sunlight through in patches, so
that the dusty road beneath was mottled with gold.
The hedges retained their greenness, and where there was a gap a vista
of fields presented itself. And then they came upon a clump of berries,
black and red, growing the other side of the little stream that
meandered along the lane in a ditch. Diana drew up and addressed her
companion.
"See, Harper--there are berries! We need go no further." She changed the
reins to her right hand and made as if to spring down.
"The place I spoke of is but a short way on, miss," ventured the man,
keeping his seat.
She paused.
"But why will these not suffice?"
"Well, miss, if you like. But those others were a deal finer. It seems a
pity not to get some."
Diana looked doubtfully along the road.
"'Tis not far?"
"No, miss; but another quarter of a mile, and then down the track by the
wood."
Still she hesitated.
"I do not want to be late," she demurred.
"No, miss, of course not. I only thought as how we might come back by
way of Chorly Fields."
"Round by the mill? H'm...."
"Yes, miss. Then as soon as we get past it there is a clear stretch of
turf almost up to the house."
Her eye brightened.
"A gallop? Very well! But let us hurry on."
She touched the cob with her heel, and they trotted on briskly out of
the leafy canopy along the road with blue sky above and pasture land
around. After a little while the wood came in sight, and in a minute
they were riding down the track at right angles to the road. Harper was
at Diana's heels, drawing nearer. Half unconsciously she quickened her
pace. There was not a soul in sight.
They were coming to a bend in the road, and now Harper was alongside.
Choking a ridiculous feeling of frightened apprehension, Diana drew
rein.
"I do not perceive those berries!" she said lightly.
"No, miss," was the immediate response. "They are just a step into the
wood. If you care to dismount here I can show you."
Nothing could be more respectful than the man's tone. Diana shook off
her nervous qualms and slipped down. Harper, already on the ground, took
the cob's rein and tied both horses to a tree.
Diana gathered her skirts over her arm and picked her way through the
brambles to where he had pointed.
The blackberry hedges he held back for her entrance swung back after
they had passed, completely shutting out all view of the road. There
were no berries.
Diana's heart was beating very fast, all her suspicions springing to
life again, but she showed no sign of fear as she desired him to hold
the brambles back again for her to pass out.
"For there are no berries here, as you can see for yourself."
She swept round and walked calmly towards the bushes.
Then, how she could never quite remember, she was seized from behind,
and before she had time to move, a long piece of silk was flung over her
head and drawn tight across her mouth, while an arm, as of steel, held
and controlled her.
Fighting madly, she managed to get one arm free, and struck out
furiously with her slender crop. There was a brief struggle, and it was
twisted from her grasp, and her hands tied behind her, despite all her
efforts to be free.
Then her captor swung her writhing into his arms, and strode away
through the wood without a word.
Diana was passive now, reserving her strength for when it might avail
her something, but above the gag her eyes blazed with mingled fright and
fury. She noticed that she was being carried not into the wood, but
along it, and was not surprised when they emerged on to the road where
it had rounded the bend.
With a sick feeling of terror, she saw a coach standing in the road, and
guessed, even before she knew, what was her fate. Through a haze she saw
a man standing at the door, and then she was thrust into the coach and
made to sit down on the softly-cushioned seat. All her energies were
concentrated in fighting against the faintness that threatened to
overcome her. She won gradually, and strained her ears to catch what was
being said outside.
She caught one sentence in a familiar, purring voice:
"Set them loose and tie this to the pummel." Then there was silence.
Presently she heard footsteps returning. An indistinguishable murmur
from Harper, and the door opened to allow his Grace of Andover to enter
the coach. It gave a lurch and rumbled on.
Tracy looked down with a slight smile into the gold-flecked eyes that
blazed so indignantly into his.
"A thousand apologies, Miss Beauleigh! Allow me to remove this scarf."
As he spoke he untied the knot, and the silk fell away from her face.
For a moment she was silent, struggling for words wherewith to give vent
to her fury; then the red lips parted and the small, white teeth showed,
clenched tightly together.
"You cur!" she flung at him in a panting undertone. "Oh, you cur!--you
coward! Undo my hands!"
"With pleasure." He bowed and busied himself with this tighter knot.
"Pray, accept my heartfelt apologies for incommoding you so grievously.
I am sure that you will admit the necessity."
"Oh, that there were a _man_ here to avenge me!" she raged.
His Grace tugged at the stubborn knot.
"There are three outside," he answered blandly. "But I do not think they
are like to oblige you."
He removed her bonds and sat back in the corner, enjoying her. His eyes
fell on her bruised wrists, and at once his expression changed, and he
frowned, leaning forward.
"Believe me, I did not mean that," he said, and touched her hands.
She flung him off.
"Do not touch me!"
"I beg your pardon, my dear." He leaned back again nonchalantly.
"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, trying to conceal the fear in
her voice.
"Home," replied his Grace.
"Home!" Incredulously she turned to look at him, hope in her eyes.
"Home," he reiterated. "_Our_ home."
The hope died out.
"You are ridiculous, sir."
"'Tis an art, my dear, most difficult to acquire."
"Sir--Mr. Everard--whoever you are--if you have any spark of manliness
in you, of chivalry, if you care for me at all, you will this instant
set me down!"
Never had she seemed more beautiful, more desirable. Her eyes shone with
unshed tears, soft and luminous, and the tragic mouth pleaded, even
trying to smile.
"It would appear that none of these attributes belongs to me," murmured
his Grace, and wondered if she would weep. He had never a taste for a
weeping woman.
But Diana was proud. She realised that tears, prayers and all would
avail her nothing, and she was determined not to break down, at least in
his presence. Tracy was surprised to see her arrange her skirts and
settle back against the cushions in the most unconcerned manner
possible.
"Then, since you are so ungallant, sir, pray tell me what you purpose
doing with me?" The tone was light, even bantering, but with his
marvellous, almost uncanny perspicacity, he sensed the breathless terror
behind it.
"Why, my dear, I had planned to marry you," he answered, bowing.
The knuckles gleamed white on her clenched hand. "And if I refuse?"
"I do not _think_ you will refuse, my dear." She could not repress a
shiver.
"I do refuse!" she cried sharply.
The smile with which he received this statement drove the blood cold in
her veins.
"Wait. I think you will be glad to marry me--in the end," he drawled.
Her great eyes were hunted, desperate, and her face was very white. The
dry lips parted.
"I think--you will be--very sorry--when my father--comes."
The indulgent sneer brought the blood racing back to her cheeks.
"And he will come!"
His Grace was politely interested.
"Really? But I do not doubt it, Diana, an he knows where to come."
"He will find a way, never fear!"
She laughed with a confidence she was far from feeling.
"I do not fear--not in the least--I shall be delighted to welcome him,"
promised his Grace. "I do not anticipate a refusal of your hand from
him."
"No?" Diana, too, could sneer.
"No, my dear. Not after a little--persuasion."
"Who are you?" she shot at him.
His shoulders shook in the soundless laugh peculiar to him.
"I am several people, child."
"So I apprehend," she retorted smoothly. "Sir Hugh Grandison amongst
them?"
"Ah, you have guessed that?"
"It rather leaps to the eye, sir." She spoke in what was almost an exact
imitation of his sarcastic tone.
"True. It was neatly done, I flatter myself."
"Quite marvellous, indeed."
He was enjoying her as he had rarely enjoyed a woman before. Others had
sobbed and implored, railed and raved; he had never till now met one who
returned him word for word, using his own weapons against him.
"Who else have you the honour to be?" she asked, stifling a yawn.
"I am Mr. Everard, child, and Duke of Andover."
Then she turned her head and looked at him with glittering eyes.
"I have heard of you, sir," she said, evenly.
"You are like to hear more, my dear."
"That is as may be, your Grace."
Now she understood the elaborate hilt of the mysterious sword with the
coronet on it, wrought in jewels. She wondered whether Jack had it
still, wherever he was. If only some wonderful providence would bring
him to her now in her dire need! There was no one to strike a blow for
her; she was entirely at the mercy of a ruthless libertine, whose
reputation she knew well, and whose presence filled her with dread and a
speechless loathing. She felt very doubtful that her father would
succeed in finding her. If only Jack were in England! He would come to
her, she knew.
His Grace leaned towards her, laying a thin, white hand on her knee.
"My dear, be reasonable. I am not such a bad bargain after all."
The tenderness in his voice filled her with horror. He felt her shrink
away.
"Take your hand away!" she commanded throbbingly. "Do not touch me!" He
laughed softly and at the sound of it she controlled her terrors and