The Black Moth (34 page)

Tracy looked at him.

"Do you think I would soil my blade with you?" he asked, very softly.

Richard's hand fell from the hilt: his eyes searched the other's face.

"You know?" he asked at last, quite calmly.

"You fool," answered his Grace gently. "You fool, do you think I have not always known?"

Richard leaned against the mantel-shelf.

"You never thought I was innocent? You knew that night? You guessed?"

The Duke sneered.

"Knowing both, could I suspect other than you?" he asked insultingly.

"Oh, my God!" cried Carstares suddenly. "Why could you not have said so before?"

The Duke's eyes opened wide.

"It has chafed you–eh? I knew it would. I've watched you." He chuckled beneath his breath. "And those fools never looked beneath the surface. One and all, they believed that John would cheat. John! They swallowed it tamely and never even guessed at the truth."

"You, at least, did not believe?"

"I? Hardly. Knowing you for a weak fool and him for a quixotic fool, I rather jumped to conclusions."

"Instead, you tried to throw the blame on him. I would to God you had exposed me!"

"So you have remarked. I confess I do not understand this heroic attitude. Why should I interfere in what was none of my business? What proof had I?"

"Why did you raise no demur? What motive had you?"

"I should have thought it fairly obvious."

Richard stared at him, puzzled.

"Gad, Richard! but you are singularly obtuse. Have I not pointed out that John was a quixotic fool? When did I say he was a weak one?"

"You mean–you mean you wanted Lavinia to marry me–because you thought to squeeze me as you willed?" asked Carstares slowly.

His Grace's thin nostrils wrinkled up.

"You are so crude," he complained.

"It suited you that Jack should be disgraced? You thought I should seize his money. You–you—"

"Rogue? But you will admit that I at least am an honest rogue. You are–er–a dishonest saint. I would sooner be what I am."

"I know there is nothing on God's earth more vile than I am!" replied Carstares, violently.

His Grace sneered openly.

"Very pretty, Richard, but a little tardy, methinks." He paused, and something seemed to occur to him. "'Tis why you purpose to let Lavinia go, I suppose? You confess the truth on Friday–eh?"

Richard bowed his head.

"I have not the right to stop her. She–chooses her own road."

"She knows?" sharply.

"She has always known."

"The jade! And I never guessed it!" He paused. "Yes, I understand your heroic attitude. I am sorry I cannot pander to it. In spite of all this, I cannot permit my sister to ruin herself."

"She were as effectually ruined an she stayed with me."

"Pshaw! After seven years, who is like to care one way or the other which of you cheated? Play the man for once and stop her!"

"She
loves
Lovelace, I tell you!"

"What of it? She will recover from that."

"No–I cannot ask her to stay with me–'twould be damnably selfish."

His Grace appeared exasperated.

"'Fore Gad, you are a fool! Ask her!
Ask
her! Force her! Kick Lovelace from your house and abandon the heroic pose, I beg of you!"

"Do you suppose I want to lose her?" cried Carstares. "'Tis because I love her so much that I will not stand in the way of her happiness!"

The Duke flung round and picked up his hat.

"I am sorry I cannot join with you in your heroics. I must take the matter into my own hands, as usual, it seems. Lord, but you should have learnt to make her obey you, my good Dick! She has led you by the nose ever since she married you, and she was a woman who wanted mastering!" He went over to the door and opened it. "I will call upon you to-morrow, when I shall hope to find you more sane. They do not purpose to leave until late, I know, for Lovelace is promised to Mallaby at three o'clock. There is time in which to act."

"I shall not interfere," repeated Richard.

His Grace sneered.

"So you have remarked. It remains for me to do. Good-night."

LADY LAVINIA'S frame of mind when she awoke next morning was hardly befitting one who contemplated an elopement. A weight seemed to rest on her chest, hopeless misery was gathered about her head. She could not bring herself to drink her chocolate, and, feeling that inaction was the worst of all, she very soon crawled out of bed and allowed her maid to dress her. Then she went with dragging steps to her boudoir, wondering all the time where Richard was and what he was doing. She seated herself at her window and looked out on to the square, biting the edge of her handkerchief in the effort to keep back her tears.

Richard was in a no more cheerful mood. He, too, left his chocolate untouched, and went presently down to the breakfast table and looked at the red sirloin with a feeling of acute nausea. He managed to drink a cup of coffee, and immediately afterwards left the room and made his way to his wife's boudoir. He told himself he was acting weakly, and had far better avoid her, but in the end he gave way to his longing to see her, and knocked on one white panel.

Lavinia's heart leapt. How well she knew that knock!

"Come in!" she called, and tried to compose her features.

Richard entered and shut the door behind him.

"Oh–oh–good-morning!" she smiled. "You–wanted to speak with me–Dick?"

"I–yes–that is–er–have you the Carlyles' invitation?"

It was, perhaps, an unlucky excuse. Lavinia turned away and fought against her tears.

"I–I believe–'tis in my–escritoire," she managed to say. "I–I will look for it."

She rose and unlocked the bureau, standing with her back to him.

"'Tis no matter," stammered Carstares. "I–only–'twas but that I could not find it. Pray do not disturb yourself!"

"Oh–not–at all," she answered, scattering a handful of letters before her. "Yes–here 'tis." She came up to him with the note in her hand, extending it.

Carstares looked down at the golden head, and at the little face with its eyes cast down, and red mouth set so wistfully. Heavens, how could he bear to live without her! Mechanically he took the letter.

Lavinia turned away, and as she stepped from him something snapped in Richard's brain. The luckless invitation was flung down.

"No, by God you shall not!" he cried suddenly.

Lavinia stopped, trembling.

"Oh–oh, what do you mean?" she fluttered.

The mists were gone from his mind now, everything was clear. Lavinia should not elope with Lovelace. In two strides he was at her side, had caught her by the shoulders and swung her to face him.

"You shall not leave me! Do you understand? I cannot live without you!"

Lavinia gave a little cry full of relief, joy and wonderment, and shrank against him.

"Oh, please, please forgive me and keep me with you!" she cried, and clung to the lapels of his coat.

Carstares swept her right off the ground in the violence of his embrace, but she did not mind, although the crushing was ruinous to her silks. Silks were no longer uppermost in her brain. She returned his kisses eagerly, sobbing a little.

When Carstares was able to say anything beyond how he loved her, he demanded if she did not love him?

"Of course I do!" she cooed. "I always, always did, only I was so selfish and so careless!"

He carried her to the sofa and sat down with her on his knee, trying to look into her face. But she had somehow contrived to hide it on his shoulder, and he did not succeed.

"Then you never loved that puppy?" he asked, amazed.

One hand crept up to his other shoulder.

"Oh, Dicky, no! And–and you–you don't love that horrid Mrs. Fanshawe, do you?"

He was still more amazed.

"Mrs. Fanshawe? Great heavens, no! You never thought that, surely?"

"I did–I did! Since you were always at her house, and so cold to me–how could I help it?"

"Cold to
you?
My dearest, surely not?"

"You were–you truly were–and I was so miserable–I–I thought I had been so unreasonable and so horrid that you had ceased to l-love me–and I did not know what to do. And–and then you told me that you were going to–to confess–and I lost my temper and said I would n-not stay with you— But I never, never meant it–and when you seemed to expect me to go–I–I did not know what to do again!"

He patted her shoulder comfortingly.

"Sweetheart, don't cry! I had no idea of all this–why, I was sure that you loved Lovelace–I never doubted it–why in the world did you not tell me the truth?"

She sat up at that, and looked at him.

"Why, how could I?" she demanded. "I was quite certain that you loved Isabella Fanshawe. I felt I had to go away, and I could not do it alone–so–so–so, of course I had to elope. And I told Harold last night that I would go with him–and I'm afraid he didn't quite want me when he heard that I loved you. Oh, Dicky darling, you'll tell him that I won't go with him, won't you?"

He could not help laughing.

"Ay, I'll tell him. 'Pon rep., sweetheart, I can find it in me to be sorry for him!"

"Oh, he will not mind for long," she said philosophically. "He loves so
easily
, you see! But you, Dick–why did you go so often–so
very
often to see Mrs. Fanshawe?"

His face grew solemn.

"She knew–Jack–in Vienna— I–I wanted to hear all she could tell me of him–I could think of nothing else."

"Oh, Dicky! How–how wickedly foolish I have been! And 'twas that that made you so cold–and I thought–oh, dear!"

He drew her head down on to his shoulder again.

"My poor love! Why, 'tis the kindest lady imaginable, but as to loving her—!" He kissed her hand lingeringly. "I love–and have always loved–a far different being: a naughty, wilful, captivating little person, who—"

Lady Lavinia clasped her arms about his neck.

"You make me feel so very, very dreadful! I have indeed been naughty–I—"

"And you'll be so many times again," he told her, laughing.

"No, no! I–will–try to be good!"

"I do not want you good!" Richard assured her. "I want you to be your own dear self!" . . . Lady Lavinia disengaged herself with a contented little sigh, and stood up.

"How charming it is to be happy again, to be sure!" she remarked naïvely. "To think that only half an hour ago I was wishing to be dead!" She went over to the glass and straightened her hair.

Richard looked at her rather anxiously.

"Lavinia–you–you quite understand, I am going to tell everyone the truth—next Friday?" he asked.

"Yes, I do, of course–'tis dreadfully disagreeable of you, but I suppose you will do it. I do
hope
people will not refuse to recognise us, though."

"No one would ever refuse to recognise you, dearest."

She brightened.

"Do you really think so? Well, perhaps after all, 'twill not be so
very
horrid. And–and you will like to have Jack again, won't you? 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.