The Black Moth

by Georgette Heyer

  He blew his nose rather violently, and then his hand found Richard’s.

  Richard Carstares had plenty to occupy him for the rest of the week. Arrangements had to be made, a house acquired for Lavinia, 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, Lavinia quite enjoyed all the preparations. The new house in Great Jermyn Street she voted charming, and she straightway set to work to buy very expensive furniture for it, and to superintend all the alterations. In her present 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 Grosvenor Square to Jermyn Street, very busy and quite happy.

  Carstares 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, whither 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 chaise 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.

  Twenty-five

  His Grace of Andover Captures the Queen

  Diana stood in the old oak porch, riding-whip in hand, and the folds of her voluminous gown over her arm. Miss Betty stood beside her, surveying 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.

  Presently 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.’

  ‘Indeed, yes,’ agreed Miss Betty. ‘Only think, my dear, he was groom to Sir Hugh Grandison – I saw the letter Sir Hugh writ your Papa – a remarkable elegant epistle, I assure you, my love.’

  Diana nodded and watched the new groom ride up, leading her mount. He jumped down, and, touching his hat, stood awaiting his mistress’s pleasure.

  Diana went up to the cob, 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, my dear, pray 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 Crossdown Woods and back again.’

  She gave her foot to the groom just as Mr Beauleigh came out to watch her start.

  ‘Really, my dear, I must ride with you to-morrow,’ he told her. ‘’Tis 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 Beauleigh had refused she could not see any change in his expression, and concluded that she must have been mistaken.

  So with a wave of her hand, Diana rode away, the groom following at a respectful distance. Yet somehow Miss Betty was uneasy. A presentiment of evil seemed to touch her, and when the riders had disappeared round a bend in the road she felt an inane desire to run after them and call her niece back. She gave herself a little shake, saying that she was a fond old woman, over-anxious about Diana.

  Nevertheless, she laid a detaining hand on her brother’s arm as he was about to go indoors.

  ‘Wait, Horace! You – you will ride with Di more frequently, will you not?’

  He looked surprised.

  ‘You are uneasy, Betty?’

  ‘Oh – uneasy – ! Well, yes – a little. I do not like her to go alone with a groom, and we do not know this man.’

  ‘My dear! I had the very highest references from Sir Hugh Grandison, who, I am sure, would never recommend anyone untrustworthy. Why, you saw the letter yourself!’

  ‘Yes, yes. Doubtless I am very stupid. But you will ride with her after to-day, will you not?’

  ‘Certainly I will accompany my daughter when I can spare the time,’ he replied with dignity, and with that she had to be content.

  Diana rode leisurely along the lane, beside great trees and hedges that were a blaze of riotous colour. Autumn had turned the leaves dull gold and flame, mellow brown and deepest red, with flaming orange intermingled, and touches of copper here and there where some beech tree stood. The lane was like a fairy picture, too gorgeous to be real; the trees, meeting overhead, but let the sunlight through in patches, so that the dusty road beneath was mottled with gold.

  The hedges retained their greenness, and where there was a gap a vista of fields presented itself. And then they came upon a clump of berries, black and red, growing the other side of the little stream that meandered along the lane in a ditch. Diana drew up and addressed her companion.

  ‘See, Harper – there are berries! We need go no further.’ She changed the reins to her right hand and made as if to spring down.

  ‘The place I spoke of is but a short way on, miss,’ ventured the man, keeping his seat.

  She paused.

  ‘But why will these not suffice?’

  ‘Well, miss, if you like. But those others were a deal finer. It seems a pity not to get some.’

  Diana looked doubtfully along the road.

  ‘’Tis not far?’

  ‘No, miss; but another quarter of a mile, and then down the track by the wood.’

  Still she hesitated.

  ‘I do not want to be late,’ she demurred.

  ‘No, miss, of course not. I only thought as how we might come back by way of Chorly Fields.’

  ‘Round by the mill? H’m…’

  ‘Yes, miss. Then as soon as we get past it there is a clear stretch of turf almost up to the house.’

  Her eye brightened.

  ‘A gallop? Very well! But let us hurry on.’

  She touched her cob with her heel, and they trotted on briskly out of the leafy canopy along the road with blue sky above and pasture land around. After a little while the wood came in sight, and in a minute they were riding down the track at right angles to the road. Harper was at Diana’s heels, drawing nearer. Half unconsciously she quickened her pace. There was not a soul in sight.

  They were coming to a bend in the road, and now Harper was alongside.

  Choking a ridiculous feeling of frightened apprehension, Diana drew rein.

  ‘I do not perceive those berries!’ she said lightly.

  ‘No, miss,’ was the immediate response. ‘They are just a step into the wood. If you care to dismount here I can show you.’

  Nothing could be more respectful than the man’s tone. Diana shook off her nervous qualms and slipped down. Harper, already on the ground, took the cob’s rein and tied both horses to a tree
.

  Diana gathered her skirts over her arm and picked her way through the brambles to where he had pointed.

  The blackberry hedges he held back for her entrance swung back after they had passed, completely shutting out all view of the road. There were no berries.

  Diana’s heart was beating very fast, all her suspicions springing to life again, but she showed no sign of fear as she desired him to hold the brambles back again for her to pass out.

  ‘For there are no berries here, as you can see for yourself.’

  She swept round and walked calmly towards the bushes.

  Then, how she could never quite remember, she was seized from behind, and before she had time to move, a long piece of silk was flung over her head and drawn tight across her mouth, while an arm, as of steel, held and controlled her.

  Fighting madly, she managed to get one arm free, and struck out furiously with her slender crop. There was a brief struggle, and it was twisted from her grasp, and her hands tied behind her, despite all her efforts to be free.

  Then her captor swung her writhing into his arms, and strode away through the wood without a word.

  Diana was passive now, reserving her strength for when it might avail her something, but above the gag her eyes blazed with mingled fright and fury. She noticed that she was being carried not into the wood, but along it, and was not surprised when they emerged on to the road where it had rounded the bend.

  With a sick feeling of terror, she saw a coach standing in the road, and guessed, even before she knew, what was her fate. Through a haze she saw a man standing at the door, and then she was thrust into the coach and made to sit down on the softly-cushioned seat. All her energies were concentrated in fighting against the faintness that threatened to overcome her. She won gradually, and strained her ears to catch what was being said outside.

  She caught one sentence in a familiar, purring voice:

  ‘Set them loose and tie this to the pummel.’ Then there was silence.

  Presently she heard footsteps returning. An indistinguishable murmur from Harper, and the door opened to allow his Grace of Andover to enter the coach. It gave a lurch and rumbled on.

  Tracy looked down with a slight smile into the gold-flecked eyes that blazed so indignantly into his.

  ‘A thousand apologies, Miss Beauleigh! Allow me to remove this scarf.’

  As he spoke he untied the knot, and the silk fell away from her face.

  For a moment she was silent, struggling for words wherewith to give vent to her fury; then the red lips parted and the small, white teeth showed, clenched tightly together.

  ‘You cur!’ she flung at him in a panting undertone. ‘Oh, you cur! – you coward! Undo my hands!’

  ‘With pleasure.’ He bowed and busied himself with this tighter knot.

  ‘Pray accept my heartfelt apologies for incommoding you so grievously. I am sure that you will admit the necessity.’

  ‘Oh, that there were a man here to avenge me!’ she raged.

  His Grace tugged at the stubborn knot.

  ‘There are three outside,’ he answered blandly. ‘But I do not think they are like to oblige you.’

  He removed her bonds and sat back in the corner, enjoying her. His eyes fell on her bruised wrists, and at once his expression changed, and he frowned, leaning forward.

  ‘Believe me, I did not mean that,’ he said, and touched her hands.

  She flung him off.

  ‘Do not touch me!’

  ‘I beg your pardon, my dear.’ He leaned back again nonchalantly.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ she demanded, trying to conceal the fear in her voice.

  ‘Home,’ replied his Grace.

  ‘Home!’ Incredulously she turned to look at him, hope in her eyes.

  ‘Home,’ he reiterated. ‘Our home.’

  The hope died out.

  ‘You are ridiculous, sir.’

  ‘’Tis an art, my dear, most difficult to acquire.’

  ‘Sir – Mr Everard – whoever you are – if you have any spark of manliness in you, of chivalry, if you care for me at all, you will this instant set me down!’

  Never had she seemed more beautiful, more desirable. Her eyes shone with unshed tears, soft and luminous, and the tragic mouth pleased, even trying to smile.

  ‘It would appear that none of these attributes belongs to me,’ murmured his Grace, and wondered if she would weep. He had never a taste for a weeping woman.

  But Diana was proud. She realised that tears, prayers and all would avail her nothing, and she was determined not to break down, at least in his presence. Tracy was surprised to see her arrange her skirts and settle back against the cushions in the most unconcerned manner possible.

  ‘Then, since you are so ungallant, sir, pray tell me what you purpose doing with me?’ The tone was light, even bantering, but with his marvellous, almost uncanny perspicacity, he sensed the breathless terror behind it.

  ‘Why, my dear, I had planned to marry you,’ he answered, bowing.

  The knuckles gleamed white on her clenched hand.

  ‘And if I refuse?’

  ‘I do not think you will refuse, my dear.’

  She could not repress a shiver.

  ‘I do refuse!’ she cried sharply.

  The smile with which he received this statement drove the blood cold in her veins.

  ‘Wait. I think you will be glad to marry me – in the end,’ he drawled.

  Her great eyes were hunted, desperate, and her face was very white. The dry lips parted.

  ‘I think – you will be – very sorry – when my father – comes.’

  The indulgent sneer brought the blood racing back to her cheeks.

  ‘And he will come!’

  His Grace was politely interested.

  ‘Really? But I do not doubt it, Diana, an he knows where to come.’

  ‘He will find a way, never fear!’

  She laughed with a confidence she was far from feeling.

  ‘I do not fear – not in the least – I shall be delighted to welcome him,’ promised his Grace. ‘I do not anticipate a refusal of your hand from him.’

  ‘No?’ Diana, too, could sneer.

  ‘No, my dear. Not after a little – persuasion.’

  ‘Who are you?’ she shot at him.

  His shoulders shook in the soundless laugh peculiar to him.

  ‘I am several people, child.’

  ‘So I apprehend,’ she retorted smoothly. ‘Sir Hugh Grandison amongst them?’

  ‘Ah, you have guessed that?’

  ‘It rather leaps to the eye, sir.’ She spoke in what was almost an exact imitation of his sarcastic tone.

  ‘True. It was neatly done, I flatter myself.’

  ‘Quite marvellous, indeed.’

  He was enjoying her as he had rarely enjoyed a woman before. Others had sobbed and implored, railed and raved; he had never till now met one who returned him word for word, using his own weapons against him.

  ‘Who else have you the honour to be?’ she asked, stifling a yawn.

  ‘I am Mr Everard, child, and Duke of Andover.’

  Then she turned her head and looked at him with glittering eyes.

  ‘I have heard of you, sir,’ she said, evenly.

  ‘You are like to hear more, my dear.’

  ‘That is as may be, your Grace.’

  Now she understood the elaborate hilt of the mysterious sword with the coronet on it, wrought in jewels. She wondered whether Jack had it still, wherever he was. If only some wonderful providence would bring him to her now in her dire need! There was no one to strike a blow for her; she was entirely at the mercy of a ruthless libertine, whose reputation she knew well, and whose presence filled her with dread and a speechless loathing. She felt very doubtful that he
r father would succeed in finding her. If only Jack were in England! He would come to her, she knew.

  His Grace leaned towards her, laying a thin, white hand on her knee.

  ‘My dear, be reasonable. I am not such a bad bargain after all.’

  The tenderness in his voice filled her with horror. He felt her shrink away.

  ‘Take your hand away!’ she commanded throbbingly. ‘Do not touch me!’ He laughed softly, and at the sound of it she controlled her terrors and dropped again to the mocking tone she had adopted. ‘What? Ungallant 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 desolated 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 Tracy,’ 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 pleasing you when I was christened,”’ he quoted lazily.

  ‘Hardly, sir,’ she said. ‘You might be my father.’

  It was a master stroke, and for an instant his brows drew together. Then he laughed.

  ‘Merci du compliment, 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 marvelled 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 an I compose myself to sleep a little. I am like to find the journey somewhat tedious, I fear.’