 CHAPTER XIX. The Reappearance of His Grace of Andover. Part II. OF BLACKMOTH BY GEORGET HIRE. RedferlyBrivox.org into the Public Domain. The fan stopped at swaying for a moment. Ah! said Richard. Do you know him? she inquired eagerly. Many years ago, madam, I was acquainted with him. Can you tell me? Was he in good spirits when last you saw him? She pursed her lips thoughtfully. If you mean, was he gay? was he witty? Yes. But sometimes I thought—Mr. Carstairs, when he was silent, his eyes were so sad. Indeed, I do not know why I tell you this. You may be sure, madam, your confidence is safe with me. I had a great regard for this gentleman. He opened and shut her fan as he spoke, fidgeting with the slender sticks. You two were interested in him, madam? I do not think ever anyone knew him and was not, sir. It was something in his manner, his personality. I cannot explain that endeared him to one. And he once aided me when I was in difficulties. Richard, remembering scraps of gossip concerning the widow's past, merely bowed his head. She was silent for a time, staring down at her hands, but presently she looked up smiling and took her fan away from him. I cannot abide a fidget, sir, she told him, and I see Lord Fatheringham approaching. I am promised to him this stance. She rose, but Richard detained her. Mrs. Fansha, will you permit me to call upon you? I would hear more of your friend. You may have, think it strange, but— No, she answered, I do not. Certainly call upon me, sir. I lodge in Mount Street with my sister, number sixteen. I protest, madam, you are too good. Again, no, I have told you. I like a man to talk as a man and not as an affected woman. I shall be pleased to welcome you. She curtsied and went away on the Viscount's arm. At the same moment a voice at Richard's elbow drawled, Do I see you at the vivacious widow's feet, my good dick? Carstairs turned to face his brother-in-law, Colonel Belmanwa. Is not all London? he smiled. Oh, no, not since the beautiful Gunning's arrival. But I admit she is a dainty piece. And Lavinia? Will she break her heart, I wonder? He laughed beneath his breath as he saw Richard's eyes flash. I trust not, replied Carstairs. Are you all here to-night? Our illustrious head is absent, I believe. Andrew is flirting with the Fletcher girl in the blue salon. I am here, and Lavinia is amusing herself with lovelace. Yes, Richard, lovelace. Be careful. With another sneering laugh he walked on, bowing to Elizabeth Gunning, who passed by on the arm of her partner, his Grace of Hamilton, most palpably a pre. At that moment two latecomers entered their room and made their way towards their hostess, who appeared delighted to see them, especially the taller of the two, whose hand she slapped with good-humored railery. The shorter gentleman wore no mask, and the colonel recognized Frank Fortescu. His eyes traveled to the other, who unlike most of the men, who only held their masks, had fastened his across his eyes, and they widened in surprise. The purple domino worn carelessly open revealed black satin encrusted with silver and diamonds. The natural hair was raven-black, the nostrils were pinched, and the lips thin. The devil ejaculated Robert and strolled over to him. Fortescu walked away when he saw who approached, and his Grace of Andover turned slowly toward his brother. I rather thought you were in Paris, yawned the colonel. I am always sorry to disillusion you, vowed his Grace. Not at all. I am transported with joy at seeing you, as is Lavinia it appears. Lavinia, unrecognizing his Grace, had dropped her partner's hand and fled incontinent towards him. You, Tracy! she clasped delighted hands on his arm. This is very touching, sneered Robert. It only needs Andrew to complete the happy reunion. Pray excuse me. With pleasure, replied the duke gently, and bowed as if to a stranger. He grows tedious, he remarked, as soon as the colonel was out of earshot. Oh, Bob! I take no account of him. But, Tracy, how is it you have come to-day? I thought... My dear Lavinia, do I wear an air of mystery? I imagined you knew I was promised to Dolly Cavendish to-night. Yes, but... oh, what matters it? I am so charmed to see you again, dear. You flatter me, Lavinia. And now that you have come, I want to hear why you ever went. Tracy, take me into the room behind us. I know, tis empty. Very well, child, as you will. He held back the curtain for her and followed her into the deserted chamber. You want to know why I went? he began, seating himself at her side. I counsel you, my dear, to cast your mind back to the spring at Bath. You are fair, of course. So the lady proved unkind? No, but I bungled it. You tell me at once, at once! His gray stretched out his leg and surveyed his shoe-buckle through half-closed lids. I had arranged everything, he said, and all would have been well but for an interfering young Jecanapes who chanced along at the track and saw fit to espouse Madame Diana's cause. He paused. He tripped me up by some trick, and then, cov' you, too. Who was it? How should I know? At first he seemed familiar. At all events he knew me. He may be dead by now. I hope he is. Gracious! Did you wound him? I managed to fire at him, but he was too quick, and the bullet took him in the shoulder. It may, however, have been mortal. And so you went to Paris? I, to forget her. And have you forgotten? I have not. She is never out of my thoughts. I plan again. His sister sighed. She is then more beautiful than the pompadour, she asked meaningly. Tracy turned his head. The pompadour? I! We heard you had contrived to amuse yourself in a pretty fashion, Tracy. Really? I had no idea people were so interested in my affairs. But amuse is an apt word. Ah! You are not then, Apriline? I, with that low-born coquette. My dear Lavinia! She laughed at his haughty town. You've not always been so nice, Tracy. But what of your Diana? And you are so infatuated you had best wed her. Why so, I think? Lady Lavinia gasped. Tracy, you did not mean it. Goodness me but a marriage! Why not, Lavinia? Oh! A respectable married man, forsooth! And how long will the passion last? I cannot be expected to foretell that, surely. I hope for ever. And you'll tie yourself up for the sake of one chit. Lord! I can conceive a worst fate for a man. Can you? Well, tell me more. To his monstrous exciting, do you intend to court her? At this stage of the proceedings. That were somewhat tackless, my dear. I must abduct her, but I must be more careful. Once I have her, I can propitiuate papa. Tracy, to his the maddest scheme I ever heard, what will the others say? Do you really suppose I care? No, I suppose not. Oh, will not Bob be furious, though. It were almost worthwhile just for the sake of foiling him. He would so like to succeed me. But I really do not think he must. His elbow was on his knee, his chin in his hand, and a peculiar smile on his lips. Can you imagine him stepping into my dookal shoes, Lavinia? Very easily she cried. Oh, yes, yes, Tracy. Marry the girl. If she will. Why, it is not like you to underrate your persuasive powers. His grace's thin nostrils wrinkled up in a curious grimace. I believe one cannot force a girl to the altar, he said. Unless she is a fool, she'll have you. Her parent would be influenced by my duke-dom, but she, no. Not even if she knew of it. Does she not know? Certainly not. I am Mr. Everhard. How wise of you, Tracy, so you've not to fear. Fear, he snapped his fingers, I. The heavy curtain swung noiselessly aside. Richard Carstere stood in the opening. Tracy turned his head and scrutinized him languidly. Then he put up his hand and removed his mask. Is it possible the husband sent it an intrigue? It seems I am doomed to disappoint to-night. Lavinia, smarting from her morning's wrong, laughed savagely. More probable he mistook me for someone else, she snapped. Richard bowed, his hand on the curtain. He had shown no surprise at seeing the duke. Far more probable, my dear. I thought you, Lady Charwood. Pray give me leave. He was gone on the word. Tracy replaced his mask, chuckling. On a stick grows cold, eh? But what a snub, Lavinia! Her little hand clenched. Oh, how dare he! How dare he insult me so? My dear sister, in all justice to him, you must admit the boot was rather on the other leg. Oh, I know, I know, but he is so provoking, so jealous, so unreasonable. Jealous and why? With an impatient twitch at her petticoat she made answer, not looking at him. Oh, I do not know, nor he. Take me back to the ballroom. Certainly, my dear, he rose and let her out. I shall do myself the honour of waiting on you to-morrow. Yes, how delightful it will be. Come to die, and, Tracy, assured his promise to the Fortescus. In that case, I have much pleasure in accepting your imitation. In Heaven's name, who is this? Lovelace was bearing down upon them. Lavinia! I've been seeking you everywhere. Ah, your servant, sir. He bowed to his grace and took Lavinia's hand. Oh, oh, Harold! You remember, Tracy? She said nervously. Tracy, I did not know you masked. I saw you last in Paris. Really? I regret I was not aware of your presence. It is a good many years since I had the honour of seeing you. Five. Noted Lovelace and sent a smiling, amorous glance at Lavinia. Exactly, bowed his grace. You have, I perceive, renewed your acquaintance with my sister. When they were gone he caressed his chin thoughtfully. Lovelace! Unrichard is so jealous, so unreasonable. Now I do hope Lavinia will do nothing in discreet. Yes, Frank, I was talking to myself a bad habit. Fortescus, who had come up behind him, took his arm. A sign of lunacy, my dear. Jim Cavadish demands you. Does he? Mask, why? He is in the card room. There is some bed on, I believe. In that case I shall have to go. You had best accompany me, Frank. Very well. You have seen Lavinia? Beneath the mask his grace's eyes narrowed. I have seen Lavinia. Also I have seen an old friend, Lovelace, by name. The captain with the full bottomed wig. Your friend, you say. Did I say so? I should correct myself, a friend of my sisters. Indeed, yes, I believe I have seen him in her company. Tracy smiled enigmatically. I daresay. And what of you, Tracy? Well, what of me? You told me this morning that you had fallen at last in love. Is it true? You are honestly in love. Honestly, how do I know? I only know that I have felt this passion for four months, and now it is stronger than ever. It sounds like love. Lavinia, and she is a good woman, I hope she will consent to take you, such as you are, and make of you, such as she can. Now, that is very neat, Frank. I congratulate you. Of course she will take me. As to the rest, I think not. Taranowns, Tracy! Taranowns, Tracy! But in that is the tone you take with her. She'll have none of you. I have never found it unsuccessful. With your common trollops, no. But if your Diana is a lady, she will dispatch you about your business. Woo her, Taranown. Forget your own damned importance, for I think you need to humble yourself to the dust if all that you tell me has passed between you is true. They had paused outside the card-room. A curtain shut it off from the ball-room, and with his hand on it, Tracy stared arrogantly down at his friend. Humble myself? For God, you must be mad! Be like I am, but I tell you, Tracy, that if your passion is love, it is a strange one that puts yourself first. I would not give the snap of a finger for it. You want this girl, not for her happiness, but for your own pleasure. That is not the love I once told you would save you from yourself. When it comes you will count yourself as not. You will realize your own insignificance, and above all, be ready to make any sacrifice for her sake. Yes, even to the point of losing her. His grace's lips sneered. Your eloquence is marvellous, he remarked. I have not been so amused since I left Paris. When the Duke of Andover died next day at Grovener Square, he contrived, by subtle means, to make his sister feel inexplicably ill at ease. He let fall pleasant little remarks concerning her friendship with Captain Lovelace, in which she read disapproval and a sinister warning. She was afraid of him, as she was not of her husband, and she knew that if he ever guessed at the depths of her affection for the Old Flane, he would take very effective measures towards stopping her intercourse with him. It was then entirely owing to his return that she told Lovelace that he must not so palpably adore her. Neither must he visit her so frequently. They were both in her boudoir at the time one morning, and no doubt Lavinia looked very lovely and very tempting in her wrapper, with her golden curls free from powder, and loosely dressed beneath her escaloped lace ruffle. At all events Lovelace abandoned his daintily bantering pose and seized her in his arms, nearly smothering her with fierce, passionate caresses. Her ladyship struggled, gave a faint shriek, and started to cry. As his kisses seemed to aggravate her tears, he picked her up, and carrying her to a chair, lowered her gently into it. Then, having first dusted the floor with his handkerchief, he knelt down beside her and possessed himself of both of her hands. "'Lavinia! Goddess, I adore you!' Betthinking herself that tears were ruinous to her complexion, Lady Lavinia pulled her hands away and dabbed at her eyes. "'Oh, Harold!' she reproached him. "'I've offended you, wretch that I am. Oh, no, no!' Lady Lavinia gave him her hand again. But it was wicked of you, Harry. You must never, never do it again!' His arm crept round her waist. "'But I love you, sweetheart. Oh, oh, think of Dickie!' He released her at that, and sprang to his feet. "'Why should I think of him? To the view in myself that I think? Only a week ago you vowed he was unkind. You are monstrous wicked to remind me of that. We were both cross, and then we were both sorry. I am very fond of poor Dickie. I am fond of him. I, so you may be, but you do not love him. Not as a woman loves a man, do you?' "'Herald!' "'Of course you do not. You used to love me. No. Do not shake your head. It is true. You would have married me had it not been for Tracy.' "'Oh, Harry, how can you say so? What had he to do with it?' "'What indeed! Whose fault was it that I was time after time refused admittance at Andover? Whose fault was it that you were induced to marry car-stairs?' "'Not Tracy's. It was my own wish.'" Fostered by his influence. "'Oh, no!' "'You never loved car-stairs.' "'I did. I do.' "'You may think so, but I know better. Why, he is not even suited to you. You were made for life and pleasure and hazard. With me you would have had all that. With him—' She had risen to her feet and drawn nearer to him, her eyes sparkling, but now she covered her ears with her hands and stamped pettishly. I will not listen. I will not, I tell you. Oh, you are unkind to plague me so!' 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 there not come an interruption. A knock fell on the door and the footman announced. His grace of Andover, my lady. The guilty pair sprang apart in the nick of time. She, fiery dead, 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 Levinia! Captain Lovelace, you are very obedient.' Lovelace returned the bow with much flourish. Your grace.' "'Dear me, Tracy,' cried Levinia, advancing, what an unexpected visit. I trust I have not arrived at an inopportune moment, my dear. Oh, no!' she assured him. "'I'm 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. "'No, I'm 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, Levinia.' "'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 Davinon'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, Levinia. 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, Levinia. Also, he glanced around 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 Levinia, that you will commit no indiscretion.' Her cheeks flamed. "'You mean—' "'I mean that you have grown too friendly with Harold Lovelace.' End of Chapter 20, Part 1. Chapter 20. His grace of Andover takes a hand in the game, Part 2, of Blackmoth by George Atire, redfriarlybravox.org, into the public domain. "'Well, what of it?' His grace put up his eyeglass, faintly astonished. "'What of it? Pray, think a moment, Levinia.' "'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, caking her skirts as she always did when angered. "'Money! Money! Always money!' she cried. I do not care one wrap for it, and Richard is not wealthy.' "'Richard is heir to wealth,' replied his grace calmly, and even and are you 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 worst for that?' "'Evidently not. There has never been another serious love with him. I hate you.' "'You are over-free with your emotions, my dear. So you do indeed contemplate an allotment.' "'No! No! No! I do not. I am fond of Dickie.' "'Dear me! Of course I shall not leave him.' "'Why, then, I am satisfied,' he answered in rose-two-speed. "'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 padded her cheek indulgently. "'Bare 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 cherished 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? Lord, but I pity Diana, and she marries you.' To her surprise he flushed a little. "'Diana and 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 Aldley 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. Being presently from them he turned into Curson Street and from thence down Hack 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 Edgecombe. His grace affected interest, politely declined Wilding's proffered escort, and hurried down into Piccadilly, walking eastward towards St. James's Square, where was the Andover Townhouse. 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 Belmondois 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 Belmondois would honour him with his company at the small card-party he was giving there on Thursday. George was coming, and Dick Edgecombe, and he had asked March and Jilly Williams, but the Lord knew whether both would be induced to appear. Bel had heard of Jilly's absurd jealousy. Wilding was promised, and Markham, and several other answers he was awaiting. Andover accepted gracefully and parted for 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. Belmondois 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? Know your grace? Uh, yes, your grace. I should say not well, your grace. Have you heard of a place called Little Deen? Nuts, your grace. Midhurst? Oh, yes, your grace. Good. Little Deen is seven miles west of it. You will find that out, also an inn, I think, called 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. Bolie, with his sister and daughter. You are to watch the comings and goings of these people with the utmost care. Eventually you will become groomed to Mr. Bolie. But your grace, feebly protested the astonished Harper. You will approach their present groom, and you will insinuate that I, and over, am in need of a second groom. You will tell him that I pay handsomely, treble what Mr. Bolie gives him. If I know human nature he will apply for the post. You then step in. If Mr. Bolie asked for some recommendation you are to refer him to Sir Hugh Grandison, White Chocolate's house, on St. James's Street. When you are engaged I will send further instructions. The man gaited, shut his mouth, and gaped again. Do you fully understand me? asked Belman-Waugh calmly. Uh, uh, 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. Bolie 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 cudgled 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. Part I. OF BLACK MOTH BY GEORGET HIGHER. RETFORLIEBREVOX.ORGAN TO THE PUBLICAL GOMAIN. Richard Carstairs 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 setee. I am very well, Mr. Carstairs, 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. Carstairs, 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. No, if one attempted to draw his confidence he became a polite iceberg. Nevertheless, madam, please tell me all that you know. It will not take long, I fear. I met him in forty-eight at Vienna, in the Praetor, where I was walking with my husband, who had come to Vienna for his health. I chanced to let fall my reticule when Sir Anthony was passing us, and he picked it up, speaking the most excruable German. She smiled a little at the remembrance. Mr. Fanshaugh, who had the greatest dislike for all foreigners, was overjoyed to hear the English accent. He induced Sir Anthony to continue his walk with us, and afterwards he called at our lodgings. I think he, too, was glad to meet a fellow countryman, for he came often, and once, when I had been talking with him for some time, he let fall—what shall I say, his reserve, his guard—and told me that he had scarcely spoken his own language for four years. Afterwards he seemed to regret having said even that much, and turned the subject. She paused and looked up to see if her auditor was interested. Yes, yes, urged Richard, and then—I do not remember. He came, as I said often, mostly to talk to my husband, who was a great invalid, but sometimes to see me. He would hardly ever speak of England. I think he did not trust himself. He never mentioned any relations or any English friends, and when I spoke of home, he would shut his mouth very tightly and looked terribly sad. I saw that for some reason the subject pained him, so I never spoke of it if I could help it. He was the most entertaining companion, Mr. Carstairs. He used to tell my husband tales that made him laugh, as I had not heard him laugh for months. He was very lively, very witty, and almost finnically well dressed, but what his occupation was I could not quite ascertain. He said he was a gentleman of leisure, but I do not think he was at all wealthy. He frequented all the gaming houses, and I heard tales of his marvellous luck, so one day I taxed him with it, and he laughed and said he lived by chance. He meant dice. Yet I know, for I once had conversation with his servant, that his purse was at times very, very slender. The time he aided you, Mrs. Fanshaw, when was that? She flushed. That was a few months after we first met him. I was foolish. My married life was not very happy, and I was, or rather I fancied myself, in love with an Austrian nobleman, who, who, well, sir, suffice it that I consented to dine with him one evening. I found then that he was not the gallant alme I had thought him, but something quite different. I do not know what I should have done had not Sir Anthony arrived. He did arrive then? Yes. You see, he knew that this Austrian had asked me to dine. I told him, and he counseled me to refuse. But I—well, sir, I have told you, I was young and very foolish. I would not listen. When he called at our house and found that I was out, he at once guessed where I had gone, and he followed me to the Count's house, gave an Austrian name, and was announced, just as the Count tried to—tried to kiss me. I think I shall never forget the relief of that moment. He was so safe and so English. The Count was furious, and at first I thought he would have his lackeys throw Anthony out. But when he heard all that Anthony had to say, he realized that it was useless to try to detain me, and I was taken home. Anthony was very kind. He did not scold, neither had he told my husband. Two days after he in the Count fought a duel, and the Count was wounded in the lung. That was all. But it made me very grateful to him and interested in his affairs. Mr. Fanshawe left Vienna a few weeks after that, and I have never seen my Pré-Chevalier since. She sighed and looked steadily across the car-stairs, and you—you are so like him. You think so, madam? was all he could find to say. I do, sir, and something more, which perhaps you will deem in impertence. Is Anthony your brother? The suddenness of the attack through car-stairs off his guard. He went white. Madam! Please do not be afraid that mine is the proverbial woman's tongue, sir. It does not run away with me, I assure you. When I saw you the other night for the first time, I was struck by the resemblance, and I asked my partner, Mr. Stapley, who you were. He told me, and much more beside, which I was not at the time desirous of hearing. Trust will, Stapley, exclaimed Richard, and mentally cursed the amiable gossip monger. Among other things he told me of your elder brother, who—who, in fact, he told me the whole story. Of course my mind instantly leapt to my poor sir Anthony, despite that in appearance he is younger than you. Was I right? Richard rose to his feet and walked away to the window, standing with his back to her. I? I was sure of it, she nodded, so that was why he would not speak of England. Poor boy! Richard's soul writhed under the lash of her pity. So he will always be outcast she continued, alone, unhappy, without friends. No, he cried, turning. For God, no, madam. Will society, cruel, hard society, receive him, then? she asked. Society will one day receive him, Mrs. Fanshaugh. You will see. I long for that day, she sighed. I wish I had it in my power to help him, to repay in part the debt I owe him. CHAPTER XXI. At that he lifted his head. My brother, madam, would count it not a debt, but an honour, he answered proudly. Yes, she smiled, you are like him, when you speak like that you might almost be he. He is worth a thousand of me, Mrs. Fanshaugh, he replied vehemently, and broke up, staring down at the table. And his name, she asked softly. John Anthony, St. Irvine Delaney, Carstairs, he said, Earl of Wincham. So the Anthony was real. I am so glad, for he would always be Anthony to me. There was a long silence broken at last by the lady. I fear I have made you sad, Mr. Carstairs. You will drink a dish of boheah with me before you go, and we will not speak of this again. You are very good, madam. Believe me, I am grateful to you for telling me all that you have. I beg you will allow me to wait on you again ere long. I shall be honoured, sir. I am nearly always at home to my friends. Her sister entered the room soon after, and private conversation came to an end. Carstairs lay awake long that night, hearing the hours told by, and the owls screech in the square. The widow's words had sunk deep into his ever-uneasy conscience, and he could not sleep for the thought of John, alone, unhappy, without friends. Time after time he had argued this question with himself, John or LaVinia. He felt a wondering where his brother now was, whether he was still roaming the South Country, a highwayman. No one would ever know how he, Richard, dreaded each fresh capture made by the military. Every time he expected John to be among the prisoners, and he visited Newgate so often that his friends twitted him on it, bowing he had Selwyn's love of horrors. He would argue that the matter rested in John's own hands. If he were minded to come back to society he would do so, but deep within himself he knew that such decision was unworthy of one even so debased as he was. Then his mind went to LaVinia, who alternately enchanted and exasperated him. Only a week ago she had defied him openly in the matter of her friendship with Lovelace, yet had she not afterwards apologized and thrust the Captain aside for his sake? She was so sweetly naughty, so childishly unreasonable. Selfish? Yes, he supposed so, but he loved her. Loved her so greatly that it were a pleasure to him to die for her sake. Yet John, John was his brother, the adored elder brother, and by obeying LaVinia he was wronging him, hurting him. If only LaVinia would consent to the truth being told. It always came back to that point, if only she would consent, and she never would. She insisted that, having married her under false pretenses, he had no right to disgrace her now. She was right, he knew, but he wished she could be for once unselfish. So he worried on through the night, tossing to and fro in his great bed, a weight on his mind, a ceaseless ache in his heart. Once dawn he fell asleep, and did not wake again until his chocolate was brought to him. Bitterly he reflected that at least John had no conscience to prey upon him, he did not fall asleep with his brains seething with conflicting arguments, and awake with the decision as far off as ever. Today his head ached unbearably, and he stayed in bed for some time contemplating the gray morning. A fog hung over the square, and threw at the trees, with their withered autumn leaves, loomed dismally before the windows. There was something infinitely depressing about the dull outlook, and presently he rose, and allowed his valet to dress him, not able to stand the inaction any longer. His headache was better by the time he had visited his wife in her room, and he listened to her enthusiastic account of last night's rout, and, going out into the square, he called a chair, ordering the men to carry him to White's, where he intended to write two letters. Somehow, Wyncham House was too poignantly full of memories of John to-day, and he was thankful to be out of it. White's was crowded even at that hour of the morning, and the noise seemed to cut through his head. Men held him from all sides, offering him bets. Someone tried to tell him some piece of scandal. They would not let him alone, and at last his jagged nerves would no longer support it, and he left the house to go further down the street to his other club, the Coco Tree, which he hoped to find less rowdy. It was fuller than he expected, but many of the men had come, as he had, to write letters and to be quiet. Every little gaming was, as yet, in swing. Richard wrote steadily for perhaps an hour, and sealed his last letter preparatory to leaving. As he affixed the wafer, he was conscious of a stir behind him, and heard exclamations of, Where in thunder did you spring from? God, tis an age since I've seen you. Lord, tis O'Hara! Then came the soft Irish voice and answer, and he slewed round in his chair to face them all. Miles O'Hara was the centre of a little group of interested in welcoming clubmen, explaining his arrival. Sure I was in town on a matter of business, and I thought I must come to the club to see y'all while I was here, for tis not often I get the chance. Richard rose, gathering up his letters, and stared across at this man who had been Jack's greatest friend. He took a step towards him. As he did so, O'Hara turned and caught sight of him. Richard was about to hail him when he suddenly noticed the change in his expression. The good humour died out of the Irishman's eyes and left them hard and scornful. His pleasant mouth curved into a disdainful line. Car stares stood still, one hand on the back of a chair, his eyes riveted to O'Hara's face, reading the reproach, the red-hot anger that Miles was trying to convey to him. O'Hara achieved a sneer and turned to shoulder, continuing to address his friends. Richard's head swam. O'Hara was ignoring him, would not speak to him. O'Hara knew the truth. He walked blindly to the door, and groped for the handle. O'Hara knew. He was in the passage, on the front steps, in the road, shuddering. O'Hara knew, and he had looked at him as if—as if—again, he shuddered, and, seeing an empty chair, hailed it, bidding the men to carry him to Grosvenor Square. O'Hara despised him, reproached him. Then Jack was in trouble. He had seen him and learnt the truth. God! But his brain was reeling. CHAPTER XXII. After the encounter with O'Hara, whatever peace of mind Richard had left him. He knew not a moment's quiet, all day and sometimes all night, his brain worried, round and around the everlasting question, John or LaVenia. He had quite declared that it must be either the one or the other, the idea that he might conceivably retain his wife and confess the truth never occurred to him. So often had LaVenia assured him that he had no right to expect her to share his disgrace that he now believed it. He thought that she would elope with lovelace, whom, his tortured mind decided, she really loved. Any attempt to frustrate such an action would, he supposed, wretchedly, be the essence of selfishness. Of course he was not himself, and his brain was not working normally or rationally. Had he but known it, he was mentally ill, and if LaVenia had thought to examine him closely she could not have failed to observe the fever spots on each cheek, the unnaturally bright eyes and the dark rings encircling them. Richard bore the look of one goaded beyond endurance, and utterly tired and overwrought. As he told Mrs. Fanshawe, when she exclaimed at his appearance, he could not rest, he must always be moving, thinking. She saw that he was not entirely himself, and counseled him to consult a doctor. His half-angry repudiation of all illness did not surprise her, but she was considerably startled when, in answer to her pleading, that he should have a care for himself, he vehemently said, if I could die I should be glad. She wondered what his wife was about not to see his condition, and wished that she might do something. But she was not acquainted with Lady LaVenia, and she felt it would be a piece of gross presumption on her part to speak to her of Richard. If she had thought his malady to be physical, she reflected, she might venture a word. But as she perceived it to be mental, she could only hope that it would pass in time, and that he would recover from his run-down condition. Lady LaVenia was pursuing her butterfly existence, heeding nothing but her own pleasure, bent on enjoying herself. She succeeded very well, on the whole, but she could not help wishing that Dickie were a little more cheerful and wishful to join in her gaiety. Of late he was worse than ever, and though he supplied her wants uncomplainingly, she would almost rather he had refused her and shown a little life than give way to her with this dreadful apathy. Lovelace was out of town for a week, and LaVenia was surprised to find how little she missed him. To be sure, playing with fire was very pleasant, but when it was removed out of her reach it really made no odds. She missed Harry's adulation and his passionate love-making, for she was one of those women who must always have admiration and excitement, but she was not made miserable by his absence. She continued to flutter round to all the entertainments of the season with one or another of her brothers, and when Lovelace returned, he was disturbed by her casual welcome. However, she was undoubtedly pleased to see him, and soon fell more or less under his spell, allowing him to be by her side when Tracy was not near, and to charm her ears with compliments and gallantry. To do him justice, Captain Harold was really in love with her and was quite ready to relinquish his commission if only she would run away with him. He had private means of his own, and promised her that her every whim should be satisfied. But LaVenia scolded him and shook her head. Apart from any ulterior consideration, Richard was after all her husband. He, too, loved her, and she was very, very fond of him, although she did plague him dreadfully. Lovelace assured her that her husband did not love her nearly as much as he, and when she smiled her disbelief, lost his tempering, cried, that all the town knew car-stairs to be at Mrs. Fanshawe's feet. LaVenia stiffened. Harold! I am only surprised that you have been blind to it, he continued. Where do you think he goes every day for so long? Bites? No, to Sixteen Mount Street. Stapley called there and met him. Another day Lady Davinat saw him with her. Wilding has also met him at her house. He spends nearly every afternoon with her. LaVenia was a belmenois, and she had all the belmenois pride. Rising to her feet she drew her cloak about her with her most queenly air. You forget yourself, Harold, she said haughtily. Never dare to speak to me of my husband again in that tone. You may take me at once to my brother. He was very penitent, wording his apology most cleverly, smoothing her ruffled plumage, withdrawing his words, but at the same time contriving to leave their sting behind. She forgave him, yes, but he must never offend her so again. Although she had indignantly refused to believe the scandal, it nevertheless rankled, and she found herself watching her husband with jealous eyes, noticing his seeming indifference towards her and his many absences from home. Then came a day when she caused her chair to be borne down Mount Street at the very moment when Richard was coming out of Number 16. That was enough for LaVenia. So he was indeed tired of her. He loved another woman, some wretched widow. For the first time a real worry plagued her. She stayed at home that evening and exerted all her arts to captivate her husband. But Richard, seeing John unhappy, reproachful, every way he turned, his head on fire, his brain seething with conflicting arguments, hardly noticed her, and as soon as he might politely do so, left her to pace up and down the library floor trying to make up his mind what to do. LaVenia was stricken with horror. She had sickened him by her magroms, as Tracy had prophesied she would. He no longer cared for her. This was why he continually excused himself from accompanying her when she went out. For once in her life she faced facts and the prospect alarmed her. If it was not already too late, she must try to win back his love, and to do this she realized she must cease to tease him for money, and also cease to snap at him whenever she felt at all out of sorts. She must charm him back to her. She had no idea how much she cared for him, until now that she thought he did not care for her. It was dreadful! She had always been so sure of Tickey. Whatever she did, how exasperating she might be, he would always adore her. And all the time, Richard, far from making love to Mrs. Fanshawe, was hearing anecdotes of his brother from her, little details of his appearance, things he had said. He drank in all the information, clutching eagerly at each fresh scrap of gossip, greedy to hear it, if it in any way concerned John. His brain was absorbed with this one subject, and he never saw when LaVenia smiled upon him, nor did he seem to hear her coaxing speeches. When she remarked, as she presently did, on his pallor, he almost snapped at her and left the room. Once she put her arms about him and kissed him on the lips, he put her gently aside, too worried to respond to the caress, but had she known it, grateful for it. His grace of Andover, meeting his sister at Round Lake Gardens, thought her face looked pinched and her eyes unhappy. He inquired the reason, but Lady LaVenia refused to confide even in him, and pleaded a headache. Andover, knowing her, imagined that she had been refused some kick-shaw, and thought no more about it. He himself was very busy. Only two days before a groom had presented himself at St. James's Square, bearing a missive from Harper, very illegible and ill-spelled, but to the point. Your Grace. I have took the liberty of engaging this man, Douglas, in your name. I hope I shall soon be able to have carried out the rest of your Grace's instructions, and trust my conduct will meet with your Grace's approval. Very obediently, M. Harper. Tracy confirmed the engagement in straightway dispatched the man to Andover, where the head groom would undoubtedly find work for him to do. He was amused at the blind way in which the man had walked into his trap, and meditated cynically on the frailty of human nature, which will always follow the great God Mammon. Not three days later came another letter, this time for Mr. Bowley, addressed to him at Whites, under the name of Sir Hugh Grandison. It asked for the man Harper's character. His Grace of Andover answered it in the library of his own home, and smiled sarcastically as he wrote Harper down, exceeding honest and trustworthy, as I have always found. He was in the middle of the letter when the door was unceremoniously pushed open and Andrew lounged into the room. His Grace looked up frowning. Not a witness made by the coolness of his reception, his brother kicked the door to and lowered his long limbs into a chair. May I ask to what I owe the honour of this intrusion? smiled Tracy dangerously. Richard, was the cheerful reply. Richard. As I am not interested in either him or his affairs. How truly amiable you are today, but I think you'll be interested in this, to so vastly mysterious. Indeed, what is the matter? Just what I want to know. Tracy sighed wearily. Pray come to the point, Andrew, if point there be. I have no time to waste. Lord, busy, working, God and mercy! The young rake stretched his legs out before him and cast his eyes down their shapeliness. Then he stiffened and sat up, staring at one white, stockinged ankle. Now, damn and curse it! Where did that come from? he expostulated mildly. Where did what come from? That great splash of mud on my leg. Brand new on this morning, and I've scarce set my nose without doors. Damn it, I say, a brand new leg. Hey, what's that she say? Not. When you have quite finished your eulogy, perhaps you would consent to tell me your errand. Oh, aye, but twenty shillings the pair, think of it. Well, the point, there is one you see, is this. It is Richard's desire that you honour him with your presence at Wincham on Friday week, at three in the afternoon exactly. To which effect he sends you this? He tossed a letter onto the desk. You are like to have the felicity of meeting me there. Tracy ripped open the packet and spread the single sheet on the desk before him. He read it through very deliberately, turned it over as if in search of more, re-read it, folded it, and dropped it into the waist-basket at his side. He then picked up his quill and dipped it in the ink again. What think you? demanded Andrew impatiently. His grace wrote tranquilly on to the end of his line. What think I of what? Why the letter, of course. What ails the man? Something of great import to impart to us for sooth. What means he? Yes, I noticed was very badly worded, commented Tracy. I have not the vaguest notion as to his meeting. But what do you make of it? Lord Tracy, don't be such a fish. Dick is summoning quite a party. You appear to be in his confidence, my dear Andrew. Allow me to congratulate you. No doubt we shall know more. On Friday week, at three o'clock. Oh, you'll go then? Quite possibly. He went on writing unconcernedly. And you've no idea what it is about? Dick is very strange. He hardly listens to what one has to say, and I fidget. Lord! Ah! I think he looks ill, and pond my soul so does Laby. Do you suppose there's autumnists? I really have no idea. Pray do not let me detain you. Andrew hoisted himself out of his chair. Oh, I'm not staying, never fear. I suppose you can oblige me with, say, fifty guineas. I should be lost to upset your suppositions," replied his grace sweetly. You will not? Well, I didn't think you would, somehow. But I wish you might contribe to let me have it, Tracy. I've had prodigious ill luck of late, and the Lord knows to 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 say. 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 then locked 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. God, but you're devilish and musing. Pon rep, you are. He thanked his grace profusely and, gathering up the money, left the room. But he gave vent to a low whistle of astonishment. Taran-owns! He must be monstrously well-pleased over something, he marveled. I shall awaken soon, I doubt not. He chuckled a little as he descended the staircase, but his face was full of wonderment. CHAPTER XXII. Lovelace called nearly every day at Wincham House, but was always refused admittance, as Lady Levinia deemed it prudent not to see him. There came a day, however, when he would not be gained, said, and was ushered into her drawing-room. He kissed her hands lingeringly, holding them for a long while in his. Levinia, 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 Levinia 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 realize that perhaps Dick's life had not been all roses with her as a wife. The door opened and Richard came into the room. Deep lines were between his brows, but his mouth was, for once, firmly set. He looked somberly 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. Where are 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 am going to confess the whole truth. Richard! He let fall the scissors and paced restlessly away down the room. 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 color 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 Wincham 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 honor! Wincham! My honor is less than nothing, because 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 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. Lovelace 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. Fansha. 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. May hap 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. The door slammed in the distance, and there was silence. Car stares stood very still, staring down at her crumpled broidery. Presently he stooped to pick it up, and her violent 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 doubtlessly to very exciting life, but somehow the more she thought of it the less she wanted to elope. Then she remembered that Dickie, why had she never realized 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 born. She was not going to be the unwanted wife. She would have to go away, though not with lovelace. Dickie 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. PART ONE OF BLACK MOTH BY GEORGET HIRE. REDFORLIBREVOX.ORG INTO THE PUBLIC DOMAIN. 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 car-stairs were going to-night to Drury Lane to see Garrick play one of his most successful comedies, the Bose Stratagem. The moaned 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 sing the piece. Today, 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 adieu 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 kinsmen, 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 bell-menoise had never quite forgotten the shocking mes alliances. William Fleming was not but a simple Scotsman, whose father, even now the family shuttered at the thought, had been a farmer. Lady LaVinia was not over-pleased that they should have elected to visit London, and still less pleased that they should event such an affection for the honourable Richard and his wife. Well, to be sure, LaVinia, it is 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 is not half the size of yours, and the lady down there in the stage-box has won even larger. LaVinia directed her gaze towards the box in question. At any other time she would have been annoyed to see that the occupant was Lady Carlyle, her pet rival in all matters of fashion. Now she felt that nothing signified, and merely remarked that she considered those absurd garlands of roses on her dress quite grotesque. Behind Holt was directing Mr. Fleming's attention to a box at the back of the house. Pond my soul, William, tis the Duchess of Queensbury and her son. March, you know. I assure you there is no one more amiable in town. When I last visited her. Charles knows well nigh every one here, remarked Mrs. Fleming ingenuously, and wondered why her cousin laughed. When the curtain rose on the first act Lovelace was nowhere to be seen, and LaVinia tried to interest herself in the play. But it is difficult to be interested in anything when one's whole mind is occupied with something else far more overwhelming. She was not the only one of the party that Garrick failed to amuse. Richard sat wretchedly in the shadow of the box, thinking how, in a short while, he would never again conduct his wife to the theatre, and never again sit at her side, watching her every change of expression. In the first interval Lovelace had still not arrived, but many other acquaintances had arrived and called to see the car-stairs. Markham, Wilding, Devro, Sir John Fratescu, all came into the box at different times, paid homage to LaVinia, were introduced to Mrs. Fleming, laughed and cracked jokes with the men and drifted away again. How was it she never before realized how much she enjoyed her life? wondered LaVinia. She settled down to listen to the second act, and Garrick's skill caught her interest and held it. For a moment she forgot her woes and clapped as heartily as any one, laughing as gaily. The next instant she remembered again and sank back into ununderable gloom. But Richard had heard her merry laugh, and his heart was even gloomier than hers. There was no help for it. LaVinia was delighted at the thought of leaving him. As the curtain fell Mrs. Fleming suddenly demanded if it was not Tracey sitting in the box over on the other side. LaVinia turned to look. In the box alone sat his grace, seemingly unaware of her presence. Is it not Tracey? persisted Mrs. Fleming. I remember his face so well. Yes, nodded LaVinia and waved to him. And over Rose bowed and left his box. In a few moments he was in their own, placing his cousin's hand. LaVinia now caught sight of Lovelace standing on the floor of the theatre looking up at her. He too disappeared from view, and she guessed that he was coming to speak with her. He had evidently failed to perceive the Duke, who was just a little behind her in the shadow. Richard and Mr. Fleming had left the box, and only Charles Holt remained, engaging Mrs. Fleming's whole attention. If only Tracey would go, how was she ever to give Lovelace her answer with him sitting there so provokingly? On Lovelace knocked at the door. Carelessly she bade him enter and affected surprise on seeing him. His grace looked at her through narrowed lids and shot a swift glance at Lovelace, whose disconfiture at finding him there was palpable. Not a trace of emotion was visible on that impassive countenance, but LaVinia felt her brother's attitude to be sinister as if he divined her wishes and was determined to frustrate them. She watched him smile on Lovelace and begged him to be seated. Whether by accident or design, she was not sure of which, he had so placed the chairs that he himself was between her and the captain. Skillfully he drew Mrs. Fleming into the conversation and rearranged his stage. LaVinia found herself listening to the amiable Mr. Holt, and out of the tail of her eye observed that Lovelace had fallen a victim to her cousin. She could find in no way of speaking to him and dared not even signal, so adroitly was his grace stage managing the scene. LaVinia was now quite certain that he was managing it. Somehow he had guessed that she had arranged to speak to Lovelace to-night and was determined to prevent her. How he had found out she could not imagine, but she was too well acquainted with him to be surprised. He would never let her disgrace herself if he could help it. She knew that. In whatever manner he himself might behave, his sister's conduct must be above reproach. He would find some means of separating them until he could cause Lovelace to be removed. She did not in the least know how he would contrive to do this, but she never doubted that he could and would. And then she would have to stay with Richard—Richard, who did not want her. If only Tracy would go. Ah, he was rising. His grace of handover begged Captain Lovelace to bear him company in his box. He would brook no refusal. He bore his captive off in triumph. A minute later Mr. Fleming re-entered the box. The third act had just begun when Richard reappeared and softly took a seat. On went the play. Neither Tracy nor Lovelace came to the box during the next interval, and from her point of vantage Lavinia could see that Andrew had been introduced to the latter. She could guess how cleverly his grace was keeping the Captain by him. Lord Avon, who had only a week ago returned from Bath, came to pay his respects. He had much to tell, dear Lady Lavinia, how chalminly and foulmouth had dared if I to duel in crescent fields and had been arrested—how furious the bow was, how his age was beginning to tell on him, and how it was whispered that his power was waning—all of which, at any ordinary time, would have interested my Lady quite prodigiously, but now bored and even annoyed her. On went the play. Scrub and Boniface kept the house in arrore, all but Richard and his wife were enthralled. The incomparable kitty failed to hold Lavinia's attention. Would Lovelace manage to speak to her in the last interval? A solicitous inquiry from Mrs. Fleming roused her, and she had perforced to smile, to own to a slight headache and to evince some interest in the play. One more interval. Would he come? She became aware of a hand laid on her shoulder. Richard's voice, gravely courteous, sounded in her ears. You are heated, my dear. Will you walk outside a little? She felt a mad desire to cling to his hand and suppressed it forcibly. She rose, hesitating. Mrs. Fleming decided the point. The very thing! How considerate of you, Mr. Carstairs! I shall like to walk amongst all the people, to be sure. Here is Charles offering to escort us, too. What say you, Lavin? I—oh! I shall be pleased to do what suits you best, cousin!" she answered. Then let us go, my love. Charles has an arm for each, so we may leave our husbands to chat. They went out into the broad passage and walked towards the foyer. Our Lord March aspired Lavinia, who was always a favourite with him, and came forward offering his arm. Lavinia took it, thankful to escape for Mr. Holt's vapid conversation. She let March conduct her to where his mother was sitting, with Mr. Selwyn at her elbow. Someone fetched her glass of ratifi, and Montague came to talk to her. Stepping out of his box, Richard fell into the arms of his Grace of Andover. Ah, Dick! Richard eyed him coldly. He wanted me? Tracey saw Mr. Fleming approaching. Only to ask if I may return with you to Grosvenor Square I have something important to say. Certainly, bowed Richard and turned aside. Lovelace, who had succeeded in escaping from the Belmenois clause, hurried in search of Lavinia. Not finding her in her box, he gathered she must be in the foyer, and made his way towards it. As soon as she saw him coming she set down her glass and rose to her feet. Oh, Captain Lovelace! Have you come to fetch me back to my seat? I have scarce said eyes on you this evening. No, Markham, you may not come. Nor you, my lord. Madam!" she curtsied low to the old duchess, and walked away on Harold's arm. CHAPTER XXIII Lady Lavinia goes to the play, Part II of Black Moth by George Atire, read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. When they were once in the deserted passage behind the boxes he turned eagerly towards her. Well, my dearest, well? He Lavinia's mouth drooped miserably. Yes, she said, I shall have to come with you. The tone was stamping, to say the least, but he did not seem to notice it. Lavinia, you mean it? Yes, she assented, still more deductively. My beautiful love, you will really come when, at once. Oh, no, no! Darling, the sooner the better. I understand it is a great step to expect you to take in a hurry, but I assure you, to his wisest. Can you come to-morrow? Her big eyes dilated. No, no! I—oh! I cannot leave Dickie so soon!" she ended with a sob. But, Lavinia, my dearest, you surely do not want to stay with him, he cried. Yes, I do, she answered. I—I don't want to ever leave him. This blighting speech left him gasping. But you—heavens, what are you saying? You love me. No, I don't," she contradicted. I always said I didn't. I love my husband. You are distraught, he exclaimed. If you love him, why do you consent to alope with me? She looked at him reproachfully. There is no one else, she said mournfully. Good Lord! What? I have to alope with someone, because—Dick, doesn't love me any more, you see. I will come with you and I will try to be good. He kissed her hand quickly. Sweetheart, I still think you are not yourself. You will think differently to-morrow. You do not really love car-stairs." She shut her mouth obstinately, tilting her regal little head. He watched her anxiously. If you really do love him, tis ridiculous to alope with me, he said. Her fingers tightened on his wrist. But I must. You don't understand, Harry. You must take me. Don't you want me? Of course I do. But not if you are longing to be somewhere else all the time. The whole thing seems preposterous. Tis all dreadful, dreadful. I have never been so unhappy in my life. I—oh, I wish I had not been so heedless and selfish! Lovelace pondered for a moment as they stood outside her box, then seeing that people were returning to their seats, he opened the door and took her in. Listen, dear, this is the maddest scheme I ever heard, but if you are determined you shall carry it through. Come to my lodgings to-morrow evening. Bring as little baggage as possible. I will have already, and we will post it once to Dover. Then in time I hope you will forget Richard and come to care for me a little. You are very, very good, Harry. Yes, I will do just as you say, and oh, I am sorry to put you out like this. I am not but a plague to every one, and I wish I were dead. You don't really love me, and I shall be a burden. I do indeed love you," he assured her, but within himself he could not help wishing that he had not fallen quite so passionately in love with her. I'll leave you now, sweet, for your husband will be returning at any moment. He kissed her hands lightly. Adama, fairest! How she sat through the last act LaMiglia could never afterwards imagine. She was longing to be at home, so soon to be home no longer, and quiet. Her head ached now as Richard had ached for weeks. More than anything did she want to rest it against her husband's shoulder so temptingly near and to feel his sheltering arms about her. But Dick was in love with Isabella Fanshawe, and she must sit straight and stiffen her chair and smile at the proper places. At last the play was ended. The curtain descended on the bowing archer, and the house stamped and clapped its appreciation. The curtain rose again. What? Not finished yet. Ah, no, it was but Garrick leading Mrs. Clive forward. Would they never have done? Mrs. Fleming was standing. She supposed they were going and got up. Someone put her cloak about her shoulders. Richard, for the last time. Mr. Holt escorted her to the coach, and put her and her cousin into it. He and Mr. Fleming had their chairs, so only Richard and Tracey went with the ladies. The Fleming's were staying with friends in Brook Street, just off Grovener Square, so that when they had put Harriet down, only a few more yards remained to be covered. LaMiglia wondered dolly why Tracey had elected to come with them. What did he want? Was he going to warn Dick of her intended flight? He little knew the true state of affairs. At the foot of the staircase at Wincham House she turned to say good night. She merely nodded to Tracey, but to Dick she extended her hand. He took it in his, kissing it, and she noticed how cold were his fingers, how burning hot his lips. Then he released her and she went slowly up the stairs to her room. His grace watched her through his eyeglass. When she was out of sight he turned and surveyed Richard critically. If that is the way you kiss a woman, LaMiglia has my sympathies, he remarked. Richard's lips tightened. He picked up a strand of lighted candles and ushered his grace into the drawing-room. I presume you did not come to tell me that? He asked. Your presumption is correct, Richard. I've come to open your eyes. You are too kind. His grace laid his hat on the table and sat down on the arm of a chair. I think perhaps I am. It may interest you to hear that LaMiglia intends to elope with our gallant friend the Captain. Richard bowed. You knew it? Certainly. And overlooked him over. May I ask what steps you are taken to prevent her? None. His grace's expression was quite indescribable. For a moment he was speechless and then he reverted to heavy sarcasm. Pray remember to be at hand to conduct her to her chair, she drawled. Upon my soul you sicken me. I am grieved. There is a remedy," replied Carstairs, significantly. Tracey ignored the suggestion. I suppose it is nothing to you that you lose her. No, it is nothing to you that she disgraces her name. Oh, no. My name, I think. Our name. Is it possible for her to disgrace yours?" Richard went white and his hand flew instinctively to his sword-hilt. Tracey looked at him. Do you think I would soil my blade with you? he asked very softly. Richard's hand fell from his hilt. His eyes searched the other's You know, he asked at last, quite calmly. You fool, answered his grace gently. You fool, do you think I have not always known? Richard leaned on the mantel-shell. You never thought I was innocent? You knew that night? You guessed? The duke sneered. Knowing both, could I suspect other than you? he asked insultingly. Oh, my God! cried Carstairs suddenly. Why could you not have said so before? The duke's eyes opened wide. It has chafed you, eh? I knew it would. I've watched you. He chuckled beneath his breath. And those fools never looked beneath the surface. One and all they believed that John would cheat. John! They swallowed it tamely and never even guessed at the truth. You at least did not believe? I, hardly. Knowing you for a weak fool and him for a chaotic fool, I rather jumped to conclusions. Instead you tried to throw the blame on him. I would to God you had exposed me. So you have remarked. I confess I do not understand this heroic attitude. Why should I interfere in what was none of my business? What proof had I? Why did you raise no demerre? What motive had you? I should have thought it fairly obvious. Richards dared at him puzzled. God, Richard, but you are singularly obtuse! Have I not pointed out that John was a chaotic fool? When did I say he was a weak one? You mean—you mean you wanted Lavinia to marry me because you thought to squeeze me as you will? asked Carstairs slowly. His graces thin nostrils wrinkled up. You are so crude, he complained. It suited you that Jack should be disgraced. You thought I should seize his money. You—you— rogue. But you will admit that I at least am an honest rogue. You are a dishonest saint. I would sooner be what I am. I know there is nothing on God's earth more vile than I am, replied Carstairs violently. His grace sneered openly. Very pretty, Richard, but a little tardy, me thinks. He paused, and something seemed to occur to me. Tis why you purposed to let Lavinia go, I suppose. You confess the truth on Friday, eh? Richard bowed his head. I have not the right to stop her. She chooses her own road. She knows—sharply. She is always known. The jade, and I never guessed it, he paused. Yes, I understand your heroic attitude. I am sorry I cannot pander to it. In spite of all of this, I cannot permit my sister to ruin herself. She were as effectually ruined and she stayed with me. Shaw, after seven years, who is like to care one way or the other, which of you cheated? Play the man for once and stop her. She loves Lovelace, I tell you. What of it? She will recover from that. No, I cannot ask her to stay with me, but would be damnably selfish. His grace appeared exasperated. For God, you are a fool. Ask her. Ask her. Force her. Take Lovelace from your house and abandon the heroic pose, I beg of you. Do you suppose I want to lose her? cried Carstairs. Tis because I love her so much that I will not stand in the way of her happiness. The duke flung round and picked up his hat. I am sorry I cannot join with you and your heroics. I must take the matter into my own hands, as usual it seems. Lord, but you should have learnt to make her obey you, my good dick. She has led you by the nose ever since she married you, and she was a woman who wanted mastering. He went over to the door and opened it. I will call upon you to-morrow, when I shall hope to find you more sane. They do not purpose to leave until late, I know, for Lovelace is promised to Maliby at three o'clock. There is time in which to act. I shall not interfere, repeated Richard. His grace sneered. So you have remarked. It remains for me to do. Good night. CHAPTER XXIV. Lady Lavinia's frame of mind when she awoke next morning was hardly befitting one who contemplated an allotment. Await seemed to rest on her chest. Hopeless misery was gathered about her head. She could not bring herself to drink her chocolate, and feeling that inaction was the worst of all, she very soon crawled out of bed and allowed her maid to dress her. Then she went with dragging steps to her boudoir, wondering all the time where Richard was and what he was doing. She seated herself at her window and looked out onto the square, biting the edge of her handkerchief in the effort to keep back her tears. Richard was in a no more cheerful mood. He too left his chocolate untouched, and went presently down to the breakfast-table and looked at the red surloin with a feeling of acute nausea. He managed to drink a cup of coffee, and immediately afterwards left the room and made his way to his wife's boudoir. He told himself he was acting weakly, and had far better avoid her, but in the end gave way to his longing to see her, and knocked on one white panel. Lavinia's heart leapt. How well she knew that knock! Come in! she called and tried to compose her features. Richard entered and shut the door behind him. Oh! Oh! Good morning! she smiled. You...wanted to speak with me, Dick? I...yes. That is, uh...have you seen the Carl Isle's imitation? It was perhaps an unlucky excuse. Lavinia turned away and fought against her tears. I...I believe Tiz and Maise-Quachois, she managed to say. I...I will look for it. She rose and unlocked the bureau, standing with her back to him. Tiz, no matter, stammered Carstairs. I...only...twas...that...I could not but find it. Pray, do not disturb yourself. Oh! Not at all! she answered, scattering a handful of letters before her. Yes, here, Tiz! she came up to him with the note in her hand extending it. Carstairs looked down at the golden head, and that the little face with its eyes cast down and red mouth set so wistfully. Heavens! how could he bear to live without her? Mechanically, he took the letter. Lavinia turned away, and as she stepped from him something snapped in Richard's brain. The luckless invitation was flung down. No, by God, you shall not! he cried suddenly. Lavinia stopped, trembling. Oh! Oh! what do you mean? she fluttered. The mists were gone from his mind now. Everything was clear. Carstairs should not elope with lovelace. In two strides he was at her side, had caught her by the shoulders and swung her to face him. You shall not leave me, do you understand? I cannot live without you. Lavinia gave a little cry of relief, joy and wonderment, and shrank against him. Oh! please! please! forgive me and keep me with you! she cried and clung to the lapels of his coat. Carstairs swept her right off the ground in the violence of his embrace, but she did not mind, although the crushing was ruinous to her silks. Silks were no longer uppermost in her brain. She returned his kisses eagerly, sobbing a little. When Carstairs was able to say anything beyond how he loved her, he demanded if she did not love him. Of course I do! she could. I always did, always did! only I was so selfish and so careless. He carried her to the sofa and sat down with her on his knee, trying to look under her face. But she had somehow contrived to hide it on his shoulder, and he did not succeed. Then you never loved that puppy, he asked, amazed. One hand crept up on his other shoulder. Oh, Dicky, no! and—and you don't love that horrid Mrs. Fanshawe, do you? He was still more puzzled. Mrs. Fanshawe? Good heavens, no! you never thought that, surely. I did! I did! since you were always at her house and so cold to me, how could I help it? Cold to you? My dearest, surely not. You were! you truly were! And I was so miserable! I—I thought that I had been so unreasonable and so horrid that you had ceased to love me. And I did not know what to do. And—and then you told me that you were going to—to confess, and I lost my temper and said I would not stay with you. But I never, never meant it, and—when you seemed to expect me to go, I—I did not know what to do again. He patted her shoulder comfortingly. Sweetheart, don't cry. I had no idea of all this. Why, I was sure that you loved Lovelace. I never doubted it. Why in the world did you not tell me the truth? She sat up at that and looked at him. Why, how could I? she demanded. I was quite certain that you loved Isabella Fanshawe. I felt I had to go away, and I could not do it alone, so—so—so, of course, I had to elope. And I told Harold last night that I would go with him, and I'm afraid he didn't quite want me when he heard that I loved you. Oh, Dickie, darling, you'll tell him that I won't go with him, won't you?" He could not help laughing. I—I'll tell him. Ponwrap, sweetheart, I can find it in me to be sorry for him. Oh, he will not mind for long, she said philosophically. He loves so easily, you see. But you, Dick, why did you go so often—so very often—to see Mrs. Fanshawe? His face grew solemn. She knew Jack in Vienna. I—I wanted to hear all she could tell me of him. I could think of nothing else. Oh, Dickie, how wickedly foolish I've been! And was that that made you so cold? And I thought—oh, dear! He drew her head down onto his shoulder again. My poor love! Why, it is the kindest lady imaginable, but as to loving her— He kissed her hand lingeringly. I love and have always loved a far different being. A naughty, willful, captivating little person who—Lady Lavinia—classed her hands about his neck. You make me feel so very, very dreadful. I indeed have been naughty. I—and you'll be so many times again, he told her, laughing. No! No! I will try to be good. I do not want you good, Richard assured her. I want you to be your own dear self. Lady Lavinia disengaged herself with a contented little sigh and stood up. How charming it is to be happy again to be sure, she remarked naively, to think that only half an hour ago I was wishing to be dead. She went over to the glass and straightened her hair. Richard looked at her rather anxiously. Lavinia, you—you quite understand. I am going to tell everyone the truth next Friday, he asked. Yes, I do, of course. Tis dreadfully disagreeable of you, but I suppose you will do it. I do hope people will not refuse to recognize us, though. No one would ever refuse to recognize you, dearest. She brightened. Do you really think so? Well, perhaps, after all, it will not be so very horrid. And—and you will like to have Jack again, won't you? Yes, I knew you would. Oat will be all quite comfortable after a little while. I make no doubt. CHAPTER XXIV Richard Plays the Man Part II Of Black Moth by George Atire Red for LibriVox.org into the Public Domain His grace of Andover arose betimes, and early sallied forth into the street. He called a chair and drove to an address in the Strand, where lodged a certain Colonel Shepherd. Half an hour did he spend with the Colonel, and when he at length emerged from the house the curl of his lip betokened satisfaction. He did not at once hail a chair, but walked along in the direction of St. James's, entering the park and company with one Dair, who seven years before had given a certain memorable card-party. Dair was pleasantly intrigued over Richard's latest oddity. Have you an idea what is about, Velmenois? he inquired. Has he written you to come as well? I believe I did receive some communication from car-stairs. Yes, I remember. Andrew brought it. Well, what does it mean? Fortescue has been in Davinot. Tis very curious. My dear Dair, I am not in Richard's confidence. We shall doubtless hear all that there is to hear at the given time. Mysteries do not interest me. But it will be a pleasant reunion. Fortescue and Davinot, you say. Strange. I have heard that Evans and Millward have also received there some invitation. It should be most entertaining. Tis prodigious curious, repeated Dair. No one can imagine what is all about. Ah! his grace's thin lips twitched. Midway through the afternoon he repaired to Wincham House and was ushered into the library. Richard sat writing, but rose on seeing him and came forward. It struck his grace that car-stairs was looking quite happy. You seem cheerful, Richard. I am, smiled his brother-in-law. I am much relieved to hear it. I have seen Shepard. Shepard? interrogated car-stairs. Love-laces Colonel, my dear Richard. You may count on Captain Harold's departure on an important mission in, say, forty-eight hours. You may count on Captain Harold's departure in very much less, Tracy," said car-stairs, a twinkle in his eye. The duke started forward. She's gone. He almost hissed. Gone! No, she's in the drawing-room with him. With love-lace and you permit it. You stand by and watch another man. Say farewell to my wife. But I am not watching it as you see. The anger died out of his grace's eyes. Farewell! Do you tell me, you at last came to your senses? We found that we both labored under a delusion," replied car-stairs pleasantly. I am delighted to hear you say so. I hope you will for the future keep a stricter hold over Lavinia. Do you? I do. I think I will not undo what I have done. Love-lace were perhaps better out of the way for a time. Why, I have no objection to that, bowed Richard. His grace nodded shortly and picked up his hat. And there remains nothing more to be done in the matter. He looked piercingly across at car-stairs. She did not love him? Richard gave a happy little sigh. She loves me. The heavy lids drooped again. You cannot conceive my delight. If she indeed loves you, she is safe. I thought she had not got it in her. Pray bear my respects to her. His hand was on the doorknob when something seemed to occur to him. I take it my presence at Wincham on Friday will not be necessary," he said cynically. It will not be necessary. Then I am sure you will excuse me and I do not appear. I have other more important affairs on hand. But I shall be lothed to miss the heroics," he added pensively and chuckled. Au revoir, my good Richard. Richard bowed him out, thankfully. Presently the front door opened and shut again, and looking out of the window he saw that Captain Harold Love-lace had taken his departure. He was now awaiting Mr. Warburton, whom he had sent in search of John some days ago. He should have been here by now, he thought, but perhaps he had been detained. Richard was aching to hear news of his brother longing to see him once more. But at the same time he was dreading the meeting, he shrank from the thought of looking into Jack's eyes, cold, even scornful. It was not possible, so he reasoned, that Jack should feel no resentment. Mr. Warburton, sir. Carstairs turned and came eagerly forward to greet the newcomer. Well, well— Mr. Warburton spread out deprecating hands. Alas, Mr. Carstairs! Richard caught his arm. What mean you? He's not dead. I do not know, sir. You could not find him. Quick, tell me. Alas, no, sir. But the checkers—he said—surely they knew something. Not, Mr. Carstairs. Out came Mr. Warburton's snuff-box. Very deliberately he took a pinch, shaking the remains from his fingertips. The host, Chadbur, an honest man, though lacking in humor, has not set eyes on my lord for well nice six months—not since I went to advise my lord of the earl's death. But Warburton, he cannot be far. He's not dead—oh, surely not that. No, no, Master Dick, sued the lawyer. We should have heard of it had he been killed. I fear he's gone abroad once more. It seems he often spoke of travelling again. Abroad? God, don't let me lose him again. He sank into a chair, his head in his arms. Tut, I implore you, Mr. Carstairs, do not despair yet. We have no proof that he has left the country. I dare say we shall find him almost at once. Chadbur thinks it likely he will visit the end again ere long. Calm yourself, Master Dick. He walked up to the man and laid a hand on one heaving shoulder. We shall find him, never fear. But do not—I know it would grieve him to see you so upset, Master Dick. Pray, do not—if I could only make amends, groaned Richard. Well, sir, are you not about to? He would not wish you to distress yourself like this. He was so fond of you. Pray, pray, do not— Carstairs rose unsteadily and walked to the window. I crave your pardon, Mr. Warburton. You must excuse me. I have been living in hell this last week. Warburton came over to his side. Master Dick, I—you know I have never cared for you as—uh, yes, sir, exactly. And of late years I may, perhaps, have been hard. I would desire to uh—apologize for any unjust—uh, thoughts I may have harbored against you. I—I possibly—I never quite understood. That is all, sir. He blew his nose rather violently, and then his hand found Richards. Richard Carstairs had plenty to occupy him for the rest of the week. Arrangements had to be made, a house acquired for Levinia, Wyncham House to be thoroughly cleaned and put in order, awaiting its rightful owner. Once she had made up her mind to face the inevitable, Levinia quite enjoyed all the preparations. The new house in Great German Street she voted charming, and she straightaway set to work to buy very expensive furniture for it, and to superintend all the alterations. In her penitent mood she would even have accompanied her husband to Wyncham on Monday, to stand by him on the fateful Friday, but this he would not allow, insisting that she remain in town until his return. So she fluttered contentedly from Groverner Square to German Street, very busy and quite happy. Carstairs was to travel to Wyncham on Monday, arriving there the following evening in company with Andrew, whom he was taking as far as Andover. His lordship had lately embroiled himself in a quarrel over a lady when deep in his cups, and owing to the subsequent duel at Barn Elms and the almost overpowering nature of his debts, he deemed it prudent to go into seclusion for a spell. Tracy disappeared from town in the middle of the week, neither no one knew, but it was universally believed that he had gone to Scotland on a visit. Monday at length dawned fair and promising. After bidding his wife a very tender farewell, and gently drying her wet eyelashes with his own handkerchief, Richard set out with his brother-in-law in the big travelling sheis soon after noon. Andrew had quite recovered his hitherto rather dampened spirits, and produced a dice-box from one pocket and a pack of cards from the other, wherewith to beguile the tedium of the journey. END OF CHAPTER XXIV PART I Diana stood on the old oak porch, riding whip at hand, and the folds of her voluminous gown over her arm. Miss Betty stood beside her, praying her with secret pride. Diana's eyes seemed darker than ever, she thought, and the mouth more tragic. She knew that the girl was, to use her own expression, moping quite prodigiously for that Mr. Carr. Not all that she could do to entertain Diana entirely chased away the haunting sadness in her face, for a time she would be gay, but afterwards the laughter died away and she was silent. Many times had Miss Betty shaken her fist at the absent John. Many Diana gave a tiny sigh, and looked down at her aunt, smiling. You would be surprised how excellently well Harper manages the horses, she said. He is quite a godsend. So much nicer than that stupid William. Oh, yes! agreed Miss Betty. Only think, my dear, he was a groom to Sir Hugh Grandison. I saw the letter Sir Hugh writ to your papa, a remarkable, elegant epistle I assure you, my love. Diana nodded and watched the new groom ride up, leading her aunt. He jumped down and touching his hat stood awaiting his mistress's pleasure. Diana went up to the cove, patting his glossy neck. We are going towards Ashley to day, aunt, she said. I am so anxious to find some berries, and Harper tells me they grow in profusion not far from here. Now pray, my dear, do not tire yourself by going too far. I doubt it will rain before long, and you will catch your death of cold. Diana laughed at her. Oh, no, aunt, why, the sky is almost cloudless. But we shall not be long, I promise you, only as far as cross down woods and back again. She gave her foot to the groom just as Mr. Bowley came out to watch her start. Really, my dear, I must ride with you to-morrow, he told her, to as an age since we have been out together. 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. Bowley 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 Diana more frequently, will you not? He looks surprised. You are uneasy, Betty? Oh, uneasy! Well, yes, a little. I do not like her to go along with the 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 any one 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. Some 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 modelled 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 a 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. 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 chorley fields. Round by the mill? Hmm. 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 briskly out of the leafy canopy along the road with blue sky above and pasture land around. After a 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 around to bend in the road and now Harper was alongside. Choking a ridiculous feeling of frightened apprehension Diana drew rain. 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 rain 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 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 woods 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 onto 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 ready 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 set outside. She caught one sentence in a familiar purring voice. Set them loose and tied this to the pommel. Then there was silence. Presently she heard footsteps returning. An indistinguishable murmur from Harper and the door open to allow his grace of hand over to enter the coach. It gave a lurch and rumbled on. Tracy looked down with a slight smile into the gold-flect eyes that blazed so indignantly into his. A thousand apologies, Miss Bowley. 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 curr! she flung at him in a panting undertone. Oh, you curr! You coward! Undo my hands! With pleasure! he bowed and busied himself with this tighter knot. Pray accept my heartfelt apologies for incomoding you so grievously. I am sure that you will admit the necessity. Oh! that there was 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. CHAPTER XXV. His grace of handover captures the queen, part two of Black Moth by George Atire, read for LibriVox.org into the public domain. She flung him off. Do not touch me! I beg your pardon, my dear. He lained 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, hoping 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 never had a taste for a weeping woman. But Diana was proud. She realized that tears, prayers, and all will 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 un-gallant, sir, pray tell me what you purpose doing with me. The tone was light, even bantering, but with his marvelous, most 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, and he knows where to come. He will find a way, never fear. She laughed with the 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 laughter 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 flattered 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 do you have 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 it may be, your grace. Now she understood the elaborate hilt of the mysterious sword with the cornet 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 toward 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 dropped again to the mocking-tone she had adopted. What! Ungalant still, your grace! Pray, keep your distance. The pistol-holster on the wall at her side caught her attention. Instantly she looked away, hoping he had not observed her. Very little escaped his grace. I am desolate to have to disappoint you, my dear. It is empty. She laid a careless hand on the holster, verifying his statement. This! Oh, I guessed it, your grace! He admired her spirit more and more. Was there ever such a girl? My name is Tracey, he remarked. She considered it with her head tilted to one side. I do not like your name, sir, she answered. There was no thought of pleasuring you when I was christened, he quoted lazily. Hardly, sir, you might be my father. It was a master-stroke, and for an instant his brows drew together. Then he laughed. Merci du complément, mademoiselle. I admire your wit. I protest I am overwhelmed. May I ask when we are like to arrive at our destination? We should reach Andover soon after eight, my dear. So it was some distance he was taking her. I suppose you had the wit to provide food for the journey, she yawned. You will not wish to exhibit me at an inn, I take it. He marveled at her indomitable courage. We shall halt at an inn, certainly, and my servant will bring you refreshment. That will be in about an hour. So long, she frowned. Then pray excuse me, and I compose myself to sleep a little. I am like to find the journey somewhat tedious, I fear. She shifted further into the corner, leaned her head back against the cushions, and closed her eyes. Thus outwitting his grace. For it is impossible to be passionate with a girl who feigns sleep when she should be struggling to escape from you. So Tracy, who, whatever else he might lack, possessed a keen sense of humor, settled himself in his corner and followed her example. So they jogged on. Arrived at length at the inn, the coach pulled up slowly. Diana opened her eyes with a great assumption of sleepiness. Already, she marveled, I trust you have slept well, said his grace, swively. Excellently well, I thank you, sir, was the unblessing reply. I am relieved to hear you say so, my dear. I had thought you unable to. Your mouth kept shut so admirably. Doubtless you have schooled your jaw not to drop when you were sleep-sitting up. I wish I might do the same. The triumph in his voice was thinly veiled. She found nothing to say. He rose. With your leave I will go to procure you some refreshment, child. Do not think me uncivil if I remind you that a servant stands without either door. I thank you for the kind thought, she smiled, but her heart was sick within her. He disappeared, returning a few moments later with a glass of wine and some little cakes. I deplore the scanty nature of your repast, he said, but I do not wish to waste time. You shall be more fittingly entertained when we reach handover. Diana drank the wine gratefully, and it seemed to put a new life into her. The food almost choked her, but rather than let him see it, she broke a cake in half and started to eat it, playing to gain time, time in which to allow her father a chance of overtaking them before it was too late. She affected to dislike the cake and rather petionately demanded a maid of honour. Tracy's eyes gleamed. I fear I cannot oblige you, my dear. When we are married you can go to Richmond, and you shall have maids of honour and plenty. He relieved her of her glass, taking it from hands that trembled pitifully. The rest of the journey was as some terrible nightmare. She felt that she dared no longer faint sleep. She was terrified at what his grace might do, and kept him at arm's length by means of her tongue and all her woman's wit. As a matter of fact, Andover had himself well in hand and had no intention of letting his passion run away with him. But as the time went on and the light went, some of Diana's control seemed to slip from her, and she became a little less the self-possessed woman and a little more the trapped and frightened child. When they at last reached Andover Court, and his grace assisted her to a light, her legs would barely carry her up the steps to the great, iron-clamped door. She trembled anew as he took her hand. On the threshold he paused and bowed very low. Welcome to your future home, my queen, he murmured, and let her in, past wooden-faced footmen who stared over her head, to his private room, where a table was set for two. He would have taken her in his arms then, but she evaded him and slipped wearily into a chair. I protest, she managed to say, I protest I am faint through want of food. Andover, looking at her white lips, believed her. He took a seat opposite. Two footmen came to wait on them, and although her very soul was shamed that they should see her there, she was thankful for their restraining presence.