The Black Moth by Georgette Heyer (best mobile ebook reader TXT) 📕
"Certainly, sir."
"Then do not keep up this pretence with me; no, nor look so hard neither! I've watched you grow up right from the cradle, and Master Dick too, and I know you both through and through. I know you never cheated at Colonel Dare's nor anywhere else! I could have sworn it at the time--ay, when I saw Master Dick's face, I knew at once that he it was who had played foul, and you had but taken the blame!"
"No!"
"I know better! Can you, Master Jack, look me in the face and truthfully deny what I have said? Can you? Can you?"
My lord sat silent.
With a sigh, Warburton sank on to the settle once more. He was flushed, and his eyes shone, but he spoke calmly again.
"Of course you cannot. I have never known you lie. You need not fear I shall betray you. I kept silence all these years for my lord's sake, and I will not speak now until you give me leave."
"Which I never shall."
"Master Ja
Read free book «The Black Moth by Georgette Heyer (best mobile ebook reader TXT) 📕» - read online or download for free at americanlibrarybooks.com
- Author: Georgette Heyer
- Performer: -
Read book online «The Black Moth by Georgette Heyer (best mobile ebook reader TXT) 📕». Author - Georgette Heyer
“Bear 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 cherish 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? Lud! but I pity Diana an she marries you!”
To her surprise he flushed a little.
“Diana, an 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 Audley 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. Escaping presently from them, he turned into Curzon Street, and from thence down Half 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 Edgecumbe. His Grace affected interest, politely declined Wilding’s proffered escort, and hurried down into Piccadilly, walking eastwards towards St. James’s Square, where was the Andover town house. 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 Belmanoir 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 Bel. would honour him with his company at the small card-party he was giving there on Thursday. George was coming, and Dick Edgecumbe; he had asked March and Gilly Williams, but the Lord knew whether both would be induced to appear! Bel. had heard of Gilly’s absurd jealousy? Wilding was promised, and Markham; several other answers he was awaiting.
Andover accepted gracefully and parted from 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.
Belmanoir 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?”
“No, your Grace—er—yes, your Grace! I should say, not well, your Grace!”
“Have you heard of a place called Littledean?”
“No, s—your Grace.”
“Midhurst?”
“Oh, yes, your Grace.”
“Good. Littledean is seven miles west of it. You will find that out—also an inn called, I think, ‘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. Beauleigh, with his sister and daughter. You are to watch the comings and goings of these people with the utmost care. Eventually you will become groom to Mr. Beauleigh.”
“B-but, your Grace!” feebly protested the astonished Harper.
“You will approach their present groom, and you will insinuate that I, Andover, am in need of a second groom. You will tell him that I pay handsomely—treble what Mr. Beauleigh gives him. If I know human nature, he will apply for the post. You then step in. If Mr. Beauleigh asks for some recommendation, you are to refer him to Sir Hugh Grandison, White’s Chocolate House, St. James’s Street. When you are engaged I will send further instructions.”
The man gaped, shut his mouth, and gaped again.
“Do you fully understand me?” asked Belmanoir calmly.
“Er—er—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. Beauleigh 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 cudgelled 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.
MRS. FANSHAWE LIGHTS A FIRE AND O’HARA FANS THE FLAME
RICHARD CARSTARES 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 settee.
“I am very well, Mr. Carstares. 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. Carstares, 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 ‘48 at Vienna, in the Prater, 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 execrable German.” She smiled a little at the remembrance. “Mr. Fanshawe, 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 look 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 a most entertaining companion, Mr. Carstares; 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 finickingly 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. Fanshawe, 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 galant homme 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 counselled 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 realised 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 and 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 preux chevalier since.” She sighed and looked steadily across at Carstares. “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 an impertinence. Is Anthony your brother?”
The suddenness of the attack threw Carstares off his guard. He went white.
“Madam!”
“Please be not 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. Stapely, who you were. He told me, and much more beside, which I was not at the time desirous of hearing.”
“Trust Will Stapely!” 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
Comments (0)