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

CHAPTER XV O’HARA’S MIND IS MADE UP

JIM SALTER folded one of my lord’s waistcoats, and placed it carefully in an open valise; then he picked up a coat, and spread it on the bed preparatory to folding it in such wise that no crease should afterwards mar its smoothness. All about him my lord’s clothing was strewn; Mechlin ruffles and cravats adorned one chair, silk hose another; gorgeous coats hung on their backs; shoes of every description, red-heeled and white, riding boots and slippers, stood in a row awaiting attention; wigs perched coquettishly on handy projections, and piles of white cambric shirts peeped out from an almost finished bag.

Jim laid the coat tenderly in the valise, coaxing it into decorous folds, and wondering at the same time where his master was. He had been out all the morning, and on his return had looked so ill that Jim had been worried, and wished that they were not leaving Horton House quite so soon. A little while ago my lord had been closeted with his host; Jim supposed he must still be there. He reached out his hand for another waistcoat, but before his fingers had touched it, he stopped, and lifted his head, listening. Hasty, impetuous footsteps sounded on the stairs, and came furiously along the corridor. The door was twisted open, and my lord stood on the threshold. Jim scanned the tired face anxiously, and noted with a sinking heart that the blue eyes were blazing and the fine lips set in a hard, uncompromising line. The slender hand gripping the door-handle twitched in a way that Jim knew full well; evidently my lord was in an uncertain mood.

“Have you finished?” rapped out Carstares.

“Not quite, sir.”

“I wish to leave this year and not next, if ‘tis all the same to you!”

“Yes, sir. I didn’t know you was in a hurry, sir.”

There was no reply to this. My lord advanced into the room and cast one glance at his scattered baggage and another all round him.

“Where is my riding dress?”

Jim shivered in his luckless shoes.

“I—er—‘tis packed, sir. Do ye want it?”

“Of course I want it! Do you suppose that I am going to ride in what I have on?”

“I rather thought ye were driving, your honour.”

“I am not. The scarlet suit at once, please.”

He flung himself down in a chair before his dressing-table and picked up a nail-file.

Salter eyed his reflection in the glass dismally, and made no movement to obey. After a moment my lord swung round.

“Well! What are you standing there for? Didn’t you hear me?”

“Ay, sir, I did, but—your pardon, sir—but do ye think ‘tis wise to ride to-day for—for the first time?”

The file slammed down on to the table.

“I am riding to Horley this afternoon!” said his master dangerously.

“‘Tis a matter of fifteen miles or so, your honour. Hadn’t ye better—”

“Damn you, Jim, be quiet!”

Salter gave it up.

“Very well, sir,” he said, and unearthed the required dress. “I’ll see the baggage goes by coach, and saddle the mare and Peter.”

“Not Peter. You go in the coach.”

“No, sir.”

“What!”

My lord stared at him. There had been a note of finality in the respectful tone. My lord became icy.

“You forget yourself, Salter.”

“I ask your pardon, sir.”

“You will travel in charge of my things, as usual.”

Jim compressed his lips, and stowed a shoe away in one corner of the bag.

“You understand me?”

“I understand ye well enough, sir.”

“Then that is settled.”

“No, sir.”

My lord dropped his eyeglass.

“What the devil do you mean—‘No, sir’?”

“I ask your pardon, sir, an I presume, but I can’t and won’t let ye ride alone with your wound but just healed.” There was not a hint of defiance or impertinence in the quiet voice, but it held a great determination.

“You won’t, eh? Do you imagine I am a child?”

“No, sir.”

“Or unable to take care of myself?”

“I think ye are weaker than ye know, sir.”

“Oh, you do, do you?”

Jim came up to him.

“Ye’ll let me ride with ye, sir? I won’t trouble ye, and I can ride behind, but I can’t let ye go alone. Ye might faint—sir—”

“I can assure you I am not like to be a pleasant companion!” said Carstares with a savage little laugh.

“Why, sir, I understand there’s something troubling ye. Will ye let me come?”

My lord scowled up at him, then relented suddenly.

“As you please.”

“Thank ye, sir.” Salter returned to his packing, cording one bag and placing it near the door, and quickly filling another. The piles of linen grew steadily smaller until they disappeared, and he retired into a cupboard to reappear with a great armful of coats and small-clothes.

For a long while my lord sat silent staring blankly before him. He walked to the window and stood with his back to the room, looking out, then he turned and came back to his chair. Jim, watching him covertly, noted that the hard glitter had died out of his eyes, and that he looked wearier than ever.

Carstares studied his nails for a moment in silence. Presently he spoke:

“Jim.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I shall be—going abroad again shortly.”

If Carstares had remarked that it was a fine day the man could not have shown less surprise.

“Shall we, sir?”

John looked across at him, smiling faintly.

“You’ll come, Jim?”

“I would go anywhere with ye, sir.”

“And what about that little girl at Fittering?”

Salter blushed and stammered hopelessly.

“My dear fellow, since when have I been blind? Did you think I did not know?”

“Why, sir—well, sir—yes, sir!”

“Of course I knew! Can you leave her to come with me?”

“I couldn’t leave ye to stay with her, sir.”

“Are you sure? I do not want you to come against your inclinations.”

“Women ain’t everything, sir.”

“Are they not? I think they are … a great deal,” said my lord wistfully.

“I’m mighty fond o’ Mary, but she knows I must go with you.”

“Does she? But is it quite fair to her? And I believe I am not minded to drag you ‘cross Continent again.”

“Ye won’t leave me behind, sir? Ye couldn’t do that! Sir—ye’re never thinking of going by yourself? I—I—I won’t let ye!”

“I am afraid I cannot spare you. But if you should change your mind, tell me. Is it a promise?”

“Ay, sir. If I should change my mind.” Salter’s smile was grimly sarcastic.

“I am selfish enough to hope you’ll not change. I think no one else would bear with my vile temper as you do. Help me out of this coat, will you?”

“I’ll never change, sir. And as to tempers— As if I minded!”

“No. You are marvellous. My breeches. Thanks.”

He shed his satin small-clothes, and proceeded to enter into white buckskins. “Not those boots, Jim, the other pair.” He leaned against the table as he spoke, drumming his fingers on a chairback.

A knock fell on the door, at which he frowned and signed to Jim, who walked across and opened it, slightly.

“Is your master here?” inquired a well-known voice, and at the sound of it my lord’s face lighted up, and Salter stood aside.

“Come in, Miles!”

The big Irishman complied and cast a swift glance round the disordered room. He raised his eyebrows at sight of Jack’s riding boots and looked inquiringly across at him.

My lord pushed a chair forward with his foot.

“Sit down, man! I thought you were in London?”

“I was. I brought Molly home yesterday, the darlint, and I heard that ye were leaving here this afternoon.”

“Ah?”

“And as I’m not going to let ye slip through me fingers again, I thought I would come and make sure of ye. Ye are a deal too slippery, Jack.”

“Yet I was coming to see you again whatever happened.”

“Of course. Ye are coming now—to stay.”

“Oh no!”

O’Hara placed his hat and whip on the table, and stretched his legs with a sigh.

“Sure, ‘tis stiff I am! Jim, I’ve a chaise outside for the baggage, so ye may take it down as soon as may be.”

“Leave it where it is, Jim. Miles, ‘tis monstrous good of you, but—”

“Keep your buts to yourself, Jack. Me mind’s made up.”

“And so is mine! I really cannot—”

“Me good boy, ye are coming to stay with us until ye are recovered, if I have to knock ye senseless and then carry ye!”

The lightning smile flashed into Jack’s eyes.

“How ferocious! But pray do not be ridiculous over a mere scratch. Recovered, indeed!”

“Ye still look ill. Nay, Jack, take that frown off your face; ‘tis of no avail, I am determined.”

The door closed softly behind Jim as Carstares shook his head.

“I can’t, Miles. You must see ‘tis impossible.”

“Pooh! No one who comes to Thurze House knows ye or anything about ye. Ye need not see a soul, but come ye must!”

“But, Miles—”

“Jack, don’t be a fool! I want ye, and so does Molly. ‘Tis no trap, so ye need not look so scared.”

“I’m not. Indeed, I am very grateful, but—I cannot. I am going abroad almost at once.”

“What?”

“Yes. I mean it.”

O’Hara sat up.

“So it has come! I knew it would!”

“What mean you?”

“Ye’ve found out that ye love Mistress Di.”

“Nonsense!”

“And she you.”

Jack looked at him.

“Oh, ay! I’m a tactless oaf, I know, and me manners are atrocious to be for trying to break through the barriers ye’ve put up round yourself. But, I tell ye, Jack, it hurts to be kept at the end of a pole! I don’t want to force your confidence, but for God’s sake don’t be treating me as if I were a stranger!”

“I beg your pardon, Miles. It’s confoundedly hard to confide in anyone after six years’ solitude.” He struggled into his coat as he spoke, and settled his cravat. “If you want to know the whole truth, ‘tis because of Diana that I am going.”

“Of course. Ye are in love with her?”

“It rather points that way, does it not?”

“Then why the divil don’t ye ask her to marry ye?”

“Why don’t I ask her? Because I will not offer her a smirched name! Because I love her so much that—” He broke off with a shaky, furious laugh. “How can you ask me such a question? I am a desirable parti, hein? Nom d’un nom! For what do you take me?”

O’Hara looked up, calmly studying the wrathful countenance.

“Chivalrous young fool,” he drawled.

Again the short, angry laugh.

“It is so likely that I should ask her to marry me, is it not? ‘Mademoiselle, you see in me an improvident fool: I