The Black Moth: A Romance of the XVIIIth Century
He emerged and tossed a heavy, many-caped coat on to the bed.
"Now, sir, your attention for one moment."
He was buckling on his sword as he spoke, and not looking at the other
man.
"Tracy will have borne Di--Miss Beauleigh off to Andover Court, seven
miles beyond Wyncham, to the south-west. Your horse, I take it, is not
fresh," (he knew Mr. Beauleigh's horse). "I have ordered the curricle
for you. I will ride on at once by short cuts, for there is not a moment
to be lost--"
"The Duke of Andover!" interrupted Mr. Beauleigh. "The Duke of Andover!
Why, do you think he purposes to marry my daughter?"
Jack gave a short, furious laugh.
"Ay! As he married all the others!"
Mr. Beauleigh winced.
"Sir! Pray why should you say so?"
"I perceive you do not know his Grace. Perchance you have heard of Devil
Belmanoir?"
Then the little man paled.
"Good God, Mr. Carr, 'tis not he?"
Carstares caught up his hat and whip.
"Ay, Mr. Beauleigh, 'tis indeed he. Now perhaps you appreciate the
necessity for haste?"
Mr. Beauleigh's eyes were open at last.
"For God's sake, Mr. Carr, after them!"
"'Tis what I intend, sir. You will follow as swiftly as possible?"
"Yes, yes, but do not wait for anything! Can you reach Andover--in
time?"
"I reach Andover to-night," was the grim answer. "And you, sir? You know
the road?"
"I will find out. Only go, Mr. Carr! Do not waste time, I implore you!"
Jack struggled into his riding coat, clapped his hat on to his head, and
with his Grace of Andover's sword tucked beneath his arm, went down the
stairs three and four at a time, and hurried out on to the drive, where
the groom stood waiting with Jenny's bridle over his arm. Carstares cast
a hasty glance at the girths and sprang up. The mare sidled and
fidgeted, fretting to be gone, but was held in with a hand of iron while
her master spoke to the groom.
"You must drive Mr. Beauleigh to Andover Court as fast as you can. It is
a matter of life and death. You know the way?"
The amazed groom collected his wits with difficulty.
"Roughly, sir."
"That will do--Mr. Beauleigh will know. Drive your damnedest, man--Sir
Miles won't mind. You understand?"
Jack's word was law in the O'Hara household.
"Yes, sir," answered the man, and touched his hat.
On the word, he saw the beautiful straining mare leap forward, and the
next moment both horse and rider were swallowed in the gloom.
"Well I'm--darned," exploded the groom, and turned to fetch the
curricle.
Across the stretch of moorland went Jack at a gallop, Jenny speeding
under him like the wind, and seeming to catch something of her master's
excitement. Low over her neck he bent, holding the Duke's sword across
his saddle-bows with one hand and with the other guiding her. So he
covered some three miles. He reined in then, and forced her to a canter,
saving her strength for the long distance ahead of them. She was in
splendid condition, glorying in the unrestrained gallop across the turf,
and although she was too well-mannered to pull on the rein, Carstares
could see by the eager twitching of her ears how she longed to be gone
over the ground. He spoke soothingly to her and guided her on to the
very lane where Diana had ridden that afternoon. She fell into a long,
easy stride that seemed to eat up the ground. Now they were off the
lane, riding over a field to join another road, leading west. A hedge
cut them off, but the mare gathered her legs beneath her and soared
over, alighting as gracefully as a bird, and skimming on again up the
road.
Her responsive ears flickered as he praised her, and pulled her up.
"Easy now, Jenny, easy!"
She was trembling with excitement, but she yielded to his will and
trotted quietly for perhaps another half-hour.
Carstares rose and fell rhythmically in the saddle, taking care to keep
his spurred heels from her glossy sides. He guessed the time to be about
seven o'clock, and his brows drew together worriedly. Jenny was made of
steel and lightning, but would she manage it? He had never tested her
powers as he was about to now, and he dared not allow her much breathing
space. Every minute was precious if he were to reach Andover before it
was too late.
Assuming that Tracy had captured Diana at four, or thereabouts, he
reckoned that it should take a heavy coach four hours or more to reach
Andover. Jenny might manage it in two and a half hours, allowing for
short cuts, in which case he ought to arrive not long after the others.
He was tortured by the thought of Diana at the mercy of a man of Tracy's
calibre; Diana in terror; Diana despairing. Unconsciously he pressed his
knees against the smooth flank and once more Jenny fell into that long,
swift stride. She seemed to glide over the ground with never a jar nor a
stumble. Carstares was careful not to irk her in any way, only keeping a
guiding, restraining hand on the rein, and for the rest letting her go
as she willed. On and on they sped, as the time lagged by, sometimes
through leafy lanes, at others over fields and rough tracks. Not for
nothing had Carstares roamed this country for two years; almost every
path was familiar to him; he never took a wrong turn, never swerved,
never hesitated. On and on, past sleeping villages and lonely
homesteads, skirting woods, riding up hill and down dale, never
slackening his hold on the rein, never taking his eyes off the road
before him, except now and then to throw a glance to the side on the
look-out for some hidden by-path. After the first hour a dull pain in
his shoulder reminded him of his wound, still troublesome. He set his
teeth and pressed on still faster.
The mare caught her foot on a loose stone and stumbled. His hand held
her together, the muscles standing out like ribbed steel, his voice
encouraged her, and he made her walk again. This time she did not fret
against the restraint. He shifted the sword under his bridle hand, and
passed the right down her steaming neck, crooning to her softly beneath
his breath.
She answered with a low, throbbing whinny. She could not understand why
he desired her to gallop on, braving unknown terrors in the dark; all
she could know was that it was his wish. It seemed also that he was
pleased with her. She would have cantered on again, but he made her walk
for, perhaps, another five minutes, until they were come to a stretch of
common he knew well. It was getting late, and he pressed her with his
knee, adjuring her to do her best, and urging her to a gallop, leaning
right forward, the better to pierce the darkness ahead. A gorse bush
loomed before them, and Jenny shied at it, redoubling her pace.
With hand and voice he soothed her, and on they sped. He judged the time
to be now about half-past eight, and knew that they must make the
remaining miles in an hour. Even now the coach might have arrived, and
beyond that he dared not think.
Another half-hour crept by, and he could feel the mare's breath coming
short and fast, and reined in again, this time to a canter. He was off
the moor now, on a road he remembered well, and knew himself to be not
ten miles from Wyncham. Five more miles as the crow flies.... He knew
he must give Jenny another rest, and pulled up, dismounting and going to
her head.
Her legs were trembling, and the sweat rolled off her satin skin. She
dropped her nose into his hand, sobbingly. He rubbed her ears and patted
her, and she lipped his cheek lovingly, breathing more easily.
Up again then, and forward once more, skimming over the ground.
Leaving Wyncham on his right, Carstares cut west and then north-west, on
the highroad now, leading to Andover. Only two more miles to go....
Jenny stumbled again and broke into a walk. Her master tapped her
shoulder, and she picked up her stride again.
She was almost winded, and he knew it, but he had to force her onwards.
She responded gallantly to his hand, although her breath came sobbingly
and her great, soft eyes were blurred.
At last the great iron gates were in view; he could see them through the
dusk, firmly shut. He pulled up and walked on, looking for a place in
the hedge where Jenny might push through.
CHAPTER XXVII
MY LORD ENTERS BY THE WINDOW
His Grace of Andover made a sign to the footmen, and with a sinking
heart Diana watched them leave the room, discreetly closing the door
behind them. She affected to eat a peach, skinning it with fingers that
were stiff and wooden. Tracy leaned back in his chair, surveying her
through half-shut eyelids. He watched her eat her peach and rise to her
feet standing with her hand on the back of the high, carved chair. She
addressed him nervously and with would-be lightness.
"Well, sir, I have eaten, and I protest I am fatigued. Pray have the
goodness to conduct me to your housekeeper."
"My dear," he drawled, "nothing would give me greater pleasure--always
supposing that I possessed one."
She raised her eyebrows haughtily.
"I presume you have at least a maidservant," she inquired. "If I am to
remain here, I would retire."
"You shall, child, all in good time. But do not be in a hurry to deprive
me of your fair company." He rose as he spoke, and taking her hand, led
her dumbly to a low-backed settee at the other end of the great room.
"If you have aught to say to me, your Grace, I beg that you will reserve
it until to-morrow. I am not in the humour to-night."
He laughed at her.
"Still so cold, child?"
"I am not like to be different, sir."
His eyes glinted.
"You think so? I shall show you that you are wrong, my dear. You may
loathe me, you may love me, but I think you will lose something of that
icy indifference. Allow me to point out to you that there is a couch
behind you."
"I perceive it, sir."
"Then be seated."
"It is not worth the while, sir. I am not staying." He advanced one step
towards her with that in his face that made her sink hurriedly on to the
couch.
He nodded smiling.
"You are wise, Diana."
"Why so free with my name, sir?" This with icy sweetness.
Tracy flung himself down beside her, his arm over the back of the settee
and the fingers of his drooping hand just touching her shoulder. It was
all the girl could do to keep from screaming. She felt trapped and
helpless, and her nerve was in pieces.
"Nay, sweet! An end to this quibbling. Bethink you, is it worth your
while to anger me?"
She sat rigid and silent.
"I love you--ay, you shudder. One day you will not do that."
"You call this love, your Grace?" she cried out, between scorn and
misery.
"Something near it," he answered imperturbably.
"God help you then!" she shivered, thinking of one other who had loved
her so differently.
"Belike He will," was the pleasant rejoinder. "But we wander from the
point. It is this: you shall retire to your chamber at once--er--armed
with the key--an you will swear to marry me to-morrow."
Very white, she made as if to rise. The thin fingers closed over her
shoulders, forcing her to remain.
"No, my dear. Sit still."
Her self-control was slipping away from her; she struggled to be free of
that hateful hand.
"Oh, you brute, you brute! Let me go!"
"When you have given me your answer, sweetheart."
"It is no!" she cried. "A thousand times no!"
"Think...."
"I have thought! I would rather die than wed you!"
"Very possibly. But death will not be your lot, my pretty one," purred
the sinister voice in her ear. "Think carefully before you answer; were
it not better to marry me with all honour than to--"
"You devil!" she panted, and looked wildly round for some means of
escape. The long window was open, she knew, for the curtain blew out
into the room. But his Grace was between it and her.
"You begin to think better of it, child? Remember, to-morrow will be too