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

Yes—I knew you would. Oh, ‘twill all be quite comfortable after a little while, I make no doubt!”

*

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 in company with one Dare, who, seven years before, had given a certain memorable card-party.

Dare was pleasantly intrigued over Richard’s latest oddity.

“Have you an idea what ‘tis about, Belmanoir?” he inquired. “Has he written you to come as well?”

“I believe I did receive some communication from Carstares; yes— I remember, Andrew brought it.”

“Well, what does it mean? Fortescue is bidden, and Davenant. ‘Tis very curious.”

“My dear Dare, 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 ‘twill be a pleasant reunion… . Fortescue and Davenant, you say? Strange! I have heard that Evans and Milward have also received their sum—invitations. It should be most entertaining.”

“‘Tis prodigious curious,” repeated Dare. “No one can imagine what ‘tis all about!”

“Ah?” His Grace’s thin lips twitched.

Midway through the afternoon he repaired to Wyncham House and was ushered into the library.

Richard sat writing, but rose on seeing him, and came forward.

It struck his Grace that Carstares 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 Shepherd.”

“Shepherd?” interrogated Carstares.

“Lovelace’s 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 Carstares, a twinkle in his eye.

The Duke started forward.

“She has gone?” he almost hissed.

“Gone? No! She is in the drawing-room with him.”

“With Lovelace! 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 laboured under a delusion,” replied Carstares 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; Lovelace 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.

“Then there remains nothing more to be done in the matter.”

He looked piercingly across at Carstares. “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 door-knob, when something seemed to occur to him.

“I take it my presence at Wyncham on Friday will not be necessary?” he said cynically.

Richard flushed.

“It will not be necessary.”

“Then I am sure you will excuse me an I do not appear. I have other, more important affairs on hand… . . But I shall be loth 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 Lovelace 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.”

Carstares turned and came eagerly forward to greet the newcomer.

“Well? Well?”

Mr. Warburton spread out deprecating hands.

“Alas! Mr. Carstares.”

Richard caught his arm.

“What mean you? He is not—dead?”

“I do not know, sir.”

“You could not find him? Quick! Tell me?”

“Alas! no, sir.”

“But the Chequers—he said— Surely they knew something?”

“Nought, Mr. Carstares.” Out came Mr. Warburton’s snuffbox. Very deliberately he took a pinch, shaking the remains from his finger-tips. “The host, Chadber—an honest man, though lacking in humour—has not set eyes on my lord for well-nigh six months. Not since I went to advise my lord of the Earl’s death.”

“But, Warburton, he cannot be far? He is not dead! Oh, surely not that?”

“No, no, Master Dick,” soothed the lawyer. “We should have heard of it had he been killed. I fear he has 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. Carstares! Do not despair yet. We have no proof that he has left the country. I daresay we shall find him almost at once. Chadber thinks it likely he will visit the inn 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 ‘twould 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!”

Carstares 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—well—as—”

“You cared for him.”

“Er—yes, sir, exactly!—and of late years I may, perhaps, have been hard. I would desire to—er—apologise for any unjust—er—thoughts I may have harboured against you. I—I—possibly, I never quite understood. That is all, sir.”

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.