The Black Moth by Georgette Heyer (best mobile ebook reader TXT) 📕

FOR a long minute silence reigned, all three actors in the little comedy listening to the heavy footsteps retreating down the passage, Carstares with one arm still around my lady’s waist and a rather strained look on his face. Molly instinctively felt that something beyond her ken was in the air, and glanced fearfully up at the white face above her. The expression in the blue eyes fixed on her husband made her turn sharply to look at him. She found that he was staring at my lord as though he saw a ghost: She wanted to speak, to relieve the tension, but all words stuck in her throat, and she could only watch the dénouement breathlessly. At last O’Hara moved, coming slowly towards them, reading John’s countenance. Some of the wonder went out of his face, and, as if he sensed the other’s agony of mind, he smiled suddenly and laid his hands once more on the straight, stiff shoulders.

“Jack, ye rascal, what do ye mean by hugging and kissing me wife under me very eyes?”

Molly all at once remembered the position of her “Cousin Harry’s” arm, and gave a little gasp, whisking herself away.

My lord put out his hands and strove to thrust his friend off.

“Miles, don’t forget—don’t forget—what I am!”

The words were forced out, but his head was held high.

“Tare an’ ouns, man! And is it meself that’ll be caring what ye may or may not be? Oh, Jack, Jack, I’m so pleased to see ye, that I can scarce realise ‘tis yourself I am looking at! When did ye come to England, and what-a-plague are you doing in that costume?” He jerked his head to where John’s mask lay, and wrung the hand he held as though he would never stop.

“I’ve been in England a year. As to the mask—!” He shrugged and laughed.

Lady O’Hara pushed in between them.

“But please I do not understand!” she said plaintively.

Carstares bowed over her hand.

“May I be permitted to thank you for your kindly intervention, my lady? And to congratulate Miles on his marriage?”

She dimpled charmingly and curtsied. Her husband caught her round the waist.

“Ay, the saucy minx! Oh, me cousin Harry, forsooth! If it had been anyone but Jack I should be angry with ye, asthore, for ‘twas a wicked thrick to play entirely!”

She patted his hand and smiled across at Jack.

“Of course, I would never have done such a forward thing had I not known that he was indeed a gentleman—and had he not saved me from sudden death!” she added as an afterthought.

Miles looked sharply round at her and then at Carstares.

“What’s this?”

“My lady exaggerates,” smiled my lord “‘Tis merely that I had the honour to catch her as she fell down the steps this morning.”

O’Hara looked relieved.

“Ye are not hurt, alanna?”

“Gracious, no! But I had to do something to show my gratitude—and I was sure that you would never expose my fraud—so I— But,” as a sudden thought struck her, “you seem to know my highwayman!”

“Sure an’ I do, Molly. ‘Tis none other than Jack Carstares of whom ye’ve often heard me speak!”

She turned round eyes of wonderment upon my lord.

“Can it be—is it possible that you are my husband’s dearest friend—Lord John?”

Jack flushed and bowed.

“I was once—madam,” he said stiffly.

“Once!” she scoffed. “Oh, if you could but hear him speak of you! But I’ll let you hear him speak to you, which perhaps you’ll enjoy more. I know you’ve a prodigious great deal to say to one another, so I shall run away and leave you alone.” She smiled graciously upon him, blew an airy kiss to her husband and went quickly out of the room.

Carstares closed the door behind her and came back to O’Hara, who had flung himself back into his chair, trying, manlike, to conceal the excitement he was feeling.

“Come, sit ye down, Jack, and let me have the whole story!”

My lord divested himself of his long cloak and shook out his hitherto tucked-up ruffles. From the pocket of his elegant scarlet riding coat he drew a snuffbox, which he opened languidly. With his eyes resting quizzically on O’Hara’s face, he took a delicate pinch of snuff and minced across the room.

Miles laughed.

“What’s this?”

“This, my dear friend, is Sir Anthony Ferndale, Bart.!” He bowed with great flourish.

“Ye look it. But come over here, Sir Anthony Ferndale, Bart., and tell me everything.”

Jack perched on the edge of the desk and swung his leg.

“Well really, I do not think there is much to tell that you do not already know, Miles. You know all about Dare’s card-party, for instance, precisely six years ago?”

“‘Tis just exactly what I do not know!” retorted O’Hara.

“You surprise me! I thought the tale was rife.”

“Now, Jack, will ye have done drawling at me? Don’t be forgetting I’m your friend—”

“But are you? If you know the truth about me, do you feel inclined to call me friend?”

“There never was a time when I would not have been proud to call ye friend, as ye would very well have known, had ye been aught but a damned young hothead! I heard that crazy tale about the card-party, but do ye think I believed it?”

“It was the obvious thing to do.”

“Maybe, but I fancy I know ye just a little too well to believe any cock-and-bull story I’m told about ye. And even if I had been fool enough to have believed it, do ye think I’d be going back on ye? Sure, ‘tis a poor friend I’d be!” .

Jack stared down at the toe of his right boot in silence.

“I know something more than we guessed happened at that same party, and I have me suspicions, but ‘tis your affair, and whatever ye did ye had your reasons for. But, Jack, why in the name of wonder must ye fly off to the devil alone knows where, without so much as a good-bye to anyone?”

Carstares never raised his eyes from the contemplation of that boot. He spoke with difficulty.

“Miles—in my place—would you not have done the same?”

“Well—”

“You know you would. Was it likely that I should inflict myself on you at such a time? What would you have thought of me had I done so?”

O’Hara brought his hand down smartly on the other’s knee.

“I’d have thought ye less of a young fool! I would have gone away with ye, and nothing would have stopped me!”

Jack looked up and met his eyes.

“I know,” he said. “‘Twas the thought of that—and—and—I could not be sure. How should I know whether you would even receive me? Last night—last night—I was horribly afraid… .”

The hand on his knee tightened.

“Ye foolish boy! Ye foolish boy!”

Bit by bit he drew the story of the past six years out of Carstares, and though it was a very modified version, Miles understood his friend well enough to read between the lines.

“And now,” said Jack, when the recital was over, “tell me about yourself. When did you marry the attractive lady whom I have just been kissing?”

“Ye rogue! I married Molly three years ago. ‘Tis a real darling she is, isn’t she? And upstairs there’s a little chap—your godson.”

“You lucky fellow! My godson, you say? Could you not find anyone more worthy for that? I want to see him.”

“So ye shall presently. Have ye seen Richard?”

“A year ago I held up his coach. ‘Twas dark, and I could scarce see him, but I thought he seemed aged.”

“Aged! Ye wouldn’t be afther knowing him! ‘Tis an old man he is. Though I swear ‘tis no wonder with that hussy about the house! Lord, Jack, you were well out of that affair with her ladyship!”

Carstares

nursed his foot reflectively.

“Lavinia? What ails her?”

“Nought that I know of, save it be her shrewish temper. ‘Tis a dog’s life she leads poor Dick.”

“Do you mean to say she does not love Dick?”

“I cannot say—sometimes she’s as affectionate as you please, but at others she treats him to a fine exhibition of rage. And the money she spends! Of course, she married him for what she should get. There was never anything else to count with her.”

Jack sat very still.

“And anyone but a young fool like yourself would have seen that!”

A gleam of amusement shot into the wistful blue eyes.

“Probably. Yourself, for instance?”

O’Hara chuckled.

“Oh, ay, I knew! ‘Twas the money she was after all along; and now there’s not so much, it seems, as Dick won’t touch a penny that belongs to you.”

“M’m. Warburton told me. Foolish of him.”

A grunt was the sole response.

Jack’s eyes narrowed a little as he gazed out of the window.

“So Lavinia never cared? Lord, what a mix-up! And Dick?”

“I’m afraid he still does.”

“Poor old Dick! Devil take the woman! Does she bully him? I know what he is—always ready to give in.”

“I am not so sure. Yet I’ll swear if ‘twere not for John his life would be a misery. He misses you, Jack.”

“Who is John?”

“Did not Warburton tell you? John is the hope of the house. He’s four and a half, and as spoilt a little rascal as you could wish for.”

“Dick’s child? Good Lord!”

“Ay, Dick’s child and your nephew.” He broke off and looked into the other’s face. “Jack, cannot this mystery be cleared up? Couldn’t ye go back?” He was clasping Jack’s hand, but it was withdrawn, and the eyes looking down into his were suddenly bored and a little cold.

“I know of no mystery,” said Carstares.

“Jack, old man, will ye be afther shutting me out of your confidence?”

A faint, sweet smile curved the fine lips.