The Black Moth: A Romance of the XVIIIth Century
late. This is your chance, now. In truth," he took a pinch of snuff, "in
truth, it matters not to me whether you will be a bride or no."
With a sudden movement she wrenched herself free and darted to the
window. In a flash he was up and had caught her as she reached it,
swinging her round to face him.
"Not so fast, my dear. You do not escape me so."
His arm was about her waist, drawing her irresistibly towards him. Sick
with fear, she struck madly at the face bent close to hers.
"Let me go! How dare you insult me so? Oh, for God's sake let me go!"
He was pressing her against him, one hand holding her wrists behind her
in a grip of iron, his other arm about her shoulders.
"For my own sake I will keep you," he smiled, and looked gloatingly down
at her beautiful, agonised countenance, with its wonderful eyes gazing
imploringly at him, and the sensitive mouth a-quiver. For one instant he
held her so, and then swiftly bent his head and pressed his lips to
hers.
She could neither struggle nor cry out. A deadly faintness assailed her,
and she could scarcely breathe.
"By God, it is too late!" he swore. "You had best give in, madam--nought
can avail you now."
And then the unexpected happened. Even as in her last desperate effort
to free herself she moaned the name of him whom she deemed hundreds of
miles away across the sea, a crisp voice, vibrating with a species of
cold fury, sounded directly behind them.
"You delude yourself, Belmanoir," it said with deadly quiet.
With an oath Tracy released the girl and wheeled to face the intruder.
Framed by the dark curtains, drawn sword in hand, murder in his blue
eyes, stood my lord.
Tracy's snarl died slowly away as he stared, and a look of blank
amazement took its place.
Diana, almost unable to believe her eyes, dizzy with the suddenness of
it all, stumbled blindly towards him, crying:
"Thank God! Thank God! Oh, Jack!"
He caught her in his arms, drawing her gently to the couch.
"Dear heart, you never doubted I should come?"
"I thought you in France!" she sobbed, and sank down amongst the
cushions.
Carstares turned to meet his Grace.
Tracy had recovered from the first shock of surprise and was eyeing him
though his quizzing glass.
"This is an unexpected pleasure, my lord," he drawled with easy
insolence.
Diana started at the mode of address and looked up at Carstares,
bewildered.
"I perceive your sword in the corner behind you, your Grace!" snapped
Jack, and flung over to the door, twisting the key round in the lock and
slipping it into his breeches pocket.
To Diana he was as a stranger, with no laugh in the glittering blue
eyes, and none of the almost finicking politeness that usually
characterised his bearing. He was very white, with lips set in a hard
straight line, and his nostrils slightly expanded.
His Grace shrugged a careless refusal.
"My dear Carstares, why should I fight you?" he inquired, seemingly not
in the least annoyed by the other's intrusion.
"I had anticipated that answer, your Grace. So I brought _this_!"
As he spoke Jack drove the sword he held into the wood floor, where it
stayed, quivering.
Nonchalantly Tracy took it in his hand and glanced at the hilt.
His fingers tightened on it convulsively, and he shot a piercing glance
at Jack.
"I am entirely at your service," he said very smoothly, and laid the
sword on the table.
Some of the glare died out of my lord's eyes, and a little triumphant
smile curved the corners of his mouth. Quickly he divested himself of
his fine velvet coat, his waistcoat and his scabbard, and pulled off
the heavy riding boots, caked with mud. He proceeded to tuck up his
ruffles, awaiting his Grace's convenience.
As one in a dream, Diana saw the table pushed back, the paces measured,
and heard the ring of steel against steel.
My lord opened the attack after a few moments' cautious circling,
lunging swiftly and recovering, even as the Duke countered and delivered
a lightning _riposte en quinte_. My lord parried gracefully in tierce,
and chuckled softly to himself.
With parted lips and wide eyes, the girl on the couch watched each fresh
lunge. A dozen times it seemed as though Carstares must be run through,
but each time, by some miraculous means, he regained his opposition, and
the Duke's blade met steel.
Once, indeed, thrusting in _quarte_, Tracy's point, aimed too high,
flashed above the other's guard and ripped the cambric shirt at the
sleeve. My lord retired his foot nimbly, parried, and _riposted_ with a
straight thrust, wrist held high, before Tracy could recover his
opposition. The blades clashed as forte met foible, and my lord lunged
straight at his opponent's breast.
Diana shut her eyes, expecting every moment to hear the dull thud of
Tracy's body as it should fall to the ground. It did not come, but
instead there sounded a confused stamping, and scraping of blades, and
she looked again to find the Duke disengaging over my lord's supple
wrist and being parried with the utmost ease and dexterity.
Carstares knew that he would not be able to last long, however. His
shoulder, fretted by the long ride, was aching intolerably, and his
wrist seemed to have lost some of its cunning. He was conscious of a
singing in his head which he tried, in vain, to ignore. But his eyes
glowed and sparkled with the light of battle and the primitive lust to
kill.
The Duke was fencing with almost superhuman skill, moving heavily and
deliberately, seemingly tireless.
Carstares, on the other hand, was as swift and light as a panther, grace
in every turn of his slim body.
He feinted suddenly inside the arm, deceiving the parade of tierce. His
Grace fell back a pace, parrying in _quarte_, and as John with a quick
twist changed to _quarte_ also and the blades crossed, Tracy lunged
forward the length of his arm, and a deep red splash stained the
whiteness of my lord's sleeve at the shoulder.
Diana gave a choked cry, knowing it to be the old wound, and the Duke's
blade came to rest upon the ground.
"You are--satisfied?" he asked coolly, but panting a little.
My lord reeled slightly, controlled himself and brushed his left hand
across his eyes.
"On guard!" was all he replied, ignoring a pleading murmur from the
girl.
Tracy shrugged, meeting Carstares' blade with his, and the fight went
on.
Tracy's eyes were almost shut, it appeared to Diana, his chin thrust
forward, his teeth gripping the thin lower lip.
To her horror she saw that Carstares was breathing in gasps, and that
his face was ashen in hue. It was torture to her to sit impotent, but
she held herself in readiness to fly to his rescue should the need
arise. Suddenly my lord feinted on both sides of the arm and ripped open
the Duke's sleeve, causing a steady trickle of blood to drip down on to
the floor.
Tracy took no notice, but countered so deftly that John's blade wavered,
and he staggered back. For an instant it seemed as though the end had
come, but somehow he steadied himself, recovering his guard.
Diana was on her feet now, nearly as white as her lover, her hands
pressed to her breast. She saw that John's point was no longer so
purposeful, and the smile had gone from his lips. They were parted now,
the upper one rigid, and a deep furrow cut into his brow.
Then, startling in the stillness of the great house, came the clanging
of a bell, pulled with some violence.
Carstares' white lips moved soundlessly, and Diana, guessing it to be
her father, moved, clinging to the wall, towards the door.
A moment later along the passage came the sound of steps; a gay,
boisterous voice was raised, followed by a deeper, graver one.
His Grace's face became devilish in its expression, but Carstares took
no notice, seeming not to hear. Only he thrust with such skill that his
Grace was forced to fall back a pace. The loud voices demanded to know
what was toward in the locked room, and Diana, knowing that my lord was
nearly spent, beat upon the panels.
"Quickly, quickly!" she cried. "Break through, for heaven's sake,
whoever you are! 'Tis locked!"
"Good Gad! 'tis a woman!" exclaimed the voice. "Listen,
Dick!--why--why--'tis a fight!"
"Oh, be _quick_!" implored poor Diana.
And then came the deeper voice: "Stand away, madam, we will burst the
lock."
She moved quickly aside, turning her attention once more to the duel by
the window, as Andrew flung his shoulder against the stout wood. At the
third blow the lock gave, the door flew wide, and Lord Andrew was
precipitated into the room.
And the two by the window fought on unheeding, faster and faster.
"Well, I'm damned!" said Andrew, surveying them. He walked forward
interestedly, and at the same moment caught sight of Jack's face. He
stared in amazement, and called to Richard.
"Good Lord! Here! Dick! Come here! Surely it's--_who_ is that man?"
Diana saw the tall gentleman, so like her lover in appearance, step
forward to the young rake's side. The next events happened in a flash.
She heard a great cry, and before she had time to know what he was
doing, Richard had whipped his sword from its scabbard and had struck up
the two blades. In that moment the years rolled back, and, recognising
his brother, Jack gasped furiously:
"Damn--you--Dick! Out--of--the way!"
Tracy stood leaning on his sword, watching, his breath coming in gasps,
but still with that cynical smile on his lips.
Richard, seeing that his brother would fly at the Duke again, closed
with him, struggling to wrest the rapier from his weakened grasp.
"You fool, John, leave go! Leave go, I say!"
With a twist he had the sword in his hand and sent it spinning across
the room as without a sound my lord crumpled up and fell with a thud to
the floor.
CHAPTER XXVIII
IN WHICH WHAT THREATENED TO BE TRAGEDY TURNS TO COMEDY
With a smothered cry Diana flew across the room to where my lord lay in
a pitiful little heap, but before her was Richard. He fell on his knees
beside the still figure, feeling for the wound.
Diana, on the other side, looked across at him.
"'Tis his shoulder, sir--an old wound. Oh, he is not--he cannot
be--_dead_?"
Richard shook his head dumbly and gently laid bare the white shoulder.
The wound was bleeding very slightly, and they bound it deftly betwixt
them, with their united handkerchiefs and a napkin seized from the
table.
"'Tis exhaustion, I take it," frowned Richard, his hand before the pale
lips. "He is breathing still."
Over her shoulder Diana shot an order:
"One of you men, please fetch water and cognac!"
"At once, madam!" responded Andrew promptly, and hurried out.
She bent once more over my lord, gazing anxiously into his face.
"He will live? You--are sure? He--he must have rid all the way from
Maltby--for me!" She caught her breath on a sob, pressing one lifeless
hand to her lips.
"For you, madam?" Richard looked an inquiry.
She blushed.
"Yes--he--we--I--"
"I see," said Richard gravely.
She nodded.
"Yes, and--and the Duke--caught me, and--brought me here--and--and then
_he_ came--and saved me!"
The air blowing in from the window stirred the ruffles of my lord's
shirt, and blew a strand of her dark hair across Diana's face. She
caught it back and stared at Richard with a puzzled air.
"Pardon me, sir--but you are so like him!"
"I am his brother," answered Richard shortly.
Her eyes grew round with surprise.
"His _brother_, sir? I never knew Mr. Carr had a brother!"
"Mr.--who?" asked Richard.
"Carr. It is not his name, is it? I heard the Duke call him
Carstares--and--my lord."
"He is the Earl of Wyncham," answered Richard, stretching out a hand to
relieve Andrew of the jug of water he was proffering.