The Black Moth/Chapter 28
With a smothered cry Diana flew across the room to where my lord lay in a pitiful little heap, but before her was Richard. He fell on his knees beside the still figure, feeling for the wound.
Diana, on the other side, looked across at him.
“’Tis his shoulder, sir—an old wound. Oh, he is not—he cannot be—dead?”
Richard shook his head dumbly and gently laid bare the white shoulder. The wound was bleeding very slightly, and they bound it deftly betwixt them, with their united handkerchiefs and a napkin seized from the table.
“’Tis exhaustion, I take it,” frowned Richard, his hand before the pale lips. “He is breathing still.”
Over her shoulder Diana shot an order:
“One of you men, please fetch water and cognac!”
“At once, madam!” responded Andrew promptly, and hurried out.
She bent once more over my lord, gazing anxiously into his face.
“He will live? You—are sure? He—he must have rid all the way from Maltby—for me!” She caught her breath on a sob, pressing one lifeless hand to her lips.
“For you, madam?” Richard looked an inquiry.
She blushed.
“Yes—he—we—I———”
“I see,” said Richard gravely.
She nodded.
“Yes, and—and the Duke—caught me, and—brought me here—and—and then he came—and saved me!”
The air blowing in from the window stirred the ruffles of my lord’s shirt, and blew a strand of her dark hair across Diana’s face. She caught it back and stared at Richard with a puzzled air.
“Pardon me, sir—but you are so like him!”
“I am his brother,” answered Richard shortly.
Her eyes grew round with surprise.
“His brother, sir? I never knew Mr. Carr had a brother!”
“Mr.———who?” asked Richard.
“Carr. It is not his name, is it? I heard the Duke call him Carstares—and—my lord.”
“He is the Earl of Wyncham,” answered Richard, stretching out a hand to relieve Andrew of the jug of water he was proffering.
“Good—gracious!” gasped Diana. “B-but he said he was a highwayman!”
“Quite true, madam.”
“True? But how—how ridiculous—and how like him!”
She soaked a handkerchief in the water, and bathed my lord’s forehead.
“He is not coming to in the least,” she said nervously. “You are sure ’tis not—not———”
“Quite. He’ll come round presently. You said he had ridden far?”
“He must have, sir—I wish he were not so pale—he was staying with the O’Haras at Maltby.”
“What? The O’Haras?”
“Yes—and he must have ridden from there—and his wound still so tender!” Again she kissed the limp hand.
Over by the window his Grace, his breath recovered, was eyeing Andrew through his quizzing-glass.
“May I inquire what brings you here?" he asked sweetly. "And why you saw fit to bring the saintly Richard?”
“I came because it suited me to do so. I never dreamed you were here——— ’Pon my soul, I did not!”
“Where then did you think I was?”
“Never thought about you at all, my dear fellow. I’m not your squire.”
“Why is Richard here?”
“Lord, what a catechism! He is here because he brought me with him on his way to Wyncham. Have you any objection?”
“It would be useless,” shrugged Tracy. “Have I killed that young fool?”
Andrew looked him over in disgust.
“No, you have not. You have barely touched him, thanks be.”
“Dear me! Why this sudden affection for Carstares?”
Andrew swung round on his heel, remarking over his shoulder:
“He may be a cheat, but he’s a damned fine fellow. By Gad! he nearly pinked you as I entered!” He chuckled at the memory of that glorious moment.
“He nearly pinked me a dozen times,” replied Tracy, binding his arm round more tightly. “He fights like ten devils. But he was fatigued.”
He followed Andrew across the room and stood looking down at his unconscious foe.
Diana’s eyes challenged him.
“Stand back, your Grace! You have no more to do here!”
He drew out his snuff-box and took a pinch.
“So that is how the matter lies, my dear. I did not know that.”
“You pretend that it would have made a difference in your treatment of me?”
“Not the slightest, child,” he replied, shutting the box with a snap. “It has merely come as a slight surprise to me. It seems he has the luck this round.” He walked away again as another great bell-peal sounded through the house.
Andrew, pouring cognac into a glass, paused with bottle held in mid-air.
“Thunder and turf! We are like to be a party! Who now?” He set the glass down and lounged out of the room, bottle in hand. They heard him give an astonished cry and a loud laugh, and the next moment O’Hara strode into the room, booted and spurred and enveloped in a heavy surcoat. He came swiftly upon the little group about my lord and went down on one knee beside him. His eyes seemed to take in everyone at a glance. Then he looked across at Richard.
“Is he alive?”
Richard nodded, not meeting the hard, anxious gaze.
O’Hara bent over his friend.
“He has been wounded?”
Diana answered this.
“Only slightly, Sir Miles, but ’twas his shoulder again. He was tired after the ride—Mr. Carstares thinks he has fainted from exhaustion.”
O’Hara very gently slipped one arm beneath my lord’s shoulders and the other under his knees, rising with him as easily as if he were carrying a baby. He walked over to the couch, lowering his burden on to the cushions that Diana placed to receive him.
“He will be easier there,” he said, and looked across at her.
“Ye are quite safe, child?”
“Quite—quite——— He came just in time—and fought for me.” She dabbed openly at her eyes. “I—I love him so, Sir Miles—and now I hear that he is an Earl!” she sighed.
“Well, child, ’twill make no difference, I take it. I hope he’ll make ye happy.”
She smiled through her tears very confidently.
O’Hara turned and faced Richard, who was standing a little in the rear, watching his brother’s face. He met O’Hara’s scathing look squarely.
“Well?”
“Nought,” answered the Irishman cuttingly, and walked over to where Lord Andrew was arguing hotly with his brother.
Carstares returned to my lord’s side and stood looking silently down at him.
Diana suddenly gave a little joyful cry.
“He is coming round! He moved his head! Oh, Jack, my dear one, look at me!” She bent over him with eyes alight with love.
My lord’s eyelids flickered and opened. For a moment he stared at her.
“Why—Diana!”
She took his head between her hands and kissed him full on the mouth. Then she raised his head to look into the blue eyes.
My lord’s arm crept round her and held her tight against him. After a moment she disengaged herself and stood aside. Jack’s eyes, still a little bewildered, fell upon his brother. He struggled up on his elbow.
“Am I dreaming? Dick!” His voice was full of a great joy.
Richard went quickly to him, trying to put him back on the cushions.
“My dear Jack—no, no—lie still!”
“Lie still?” cried my lord, swinging his feet to the ground. “Not a bit of it! I am well enough, but a trifle dizzy. How in thunder did you come here? Surely ’twas you knocked up my sword ? Yes ? Interfering young cub! Give me your arm a minute!”
“But why do you want to get up?” pleaded a soft voice in his ear.
“So that I can take you in my arms, sweetheart,” he answered, and proceeded to do so.
Then his glance, wandering round the room, alighted on the heated group by the table; Andrew vociferously indignant, Tracy coolly sarcastic, and O’Hara furious.
“Tare an’ ouns!” ejaculated my lord. “Where did, they all spring from?”
“I don’t quite know!” laughed Diana. “Sir Miles came a few minutes ago—the other gentleman came with Mr. Carstares.”
“Ay, I remember him—’tis Andrew, eh, Dick? Zounds! how he has grown! But what in the world are they all fighting over? Miles! Miles, I say!”
O’Hara wheeled round, surprised.
“Oho! Ye are up, are ye.” He crossed to his side. “Then sit down!”
“Since you are all so insistent, I will. How did you come here?”
O’Hara went round to the back of the couch to arrange a cushion beneath the hurt shoulder, and leaned his arms upon the back, looking down with a laugh in his eyes.
“Faith, I rode!”
“But how did you know? Where———”
“’Twas all on account of that young rascal David,’ he said. “Molly fretted and fumed all the way to the Frasers, vowing the child would be neglected, and what not, and we’d not been in the house above an hour or so, when up she jumps and says she knows that something has happened at home, and nothing will suffice but that I must drive her back. We arrived just as Beauleigh was setting out. He told us the whole tale, and of course I had Blue Peter saddled in the twinkling of an eye and was off after ye. But, what with taking wrong turns and me horse not happening to be made of lightning, I couldn’t arrive until now.”
“You cannot have been so long after me,” said Jack. “For I wasted full half-an-hour outside here, trying to find an opening in the hedge for Jenny to get through. She is now stalled in a shed at the bottom of the lawn with my cloak over her. I’ll swear she’s thirsty, too.”
“I’ll see to that,” promised O’Hara.
Andrew came across the room and bowed awkwardly to my lord, stammering a little. Carstares held out his hand.
“Lord, Andy! I scarce knew you!”
After a moment’s hesitation, Andrew took the outstretched hand and answered, laughingly. But my lord had not failed to notice the hesitation, short though it had been.
“I—beg your pardon. I had forgot,” he said stiffly.
Andrew sat down beside him, rather red about the ears.
“Oh, stuff. Jack! I’m a clumsy fool, but I did not mean that!”
Richard stepped forward into the full light of the candles.
“If you will all listen to me one moment, I shall be greatly obliged,” he said steadily.
Lord John started forward.
“Dick!” he cried, warningly, and would have gone to him, but for O’Hara’s hand on his shoulder, dragging him back.
“Ah, now, be aisy,” growled Miles. “Let the man say it!”
“Hold your tongue, O’Hara! Dick, wait one moment! I want to speak to you!”
Richard never glanced at him.
“I am about to tell you something that should have been told—seven years ago———”
“Once and for all, I forbid it!” snapped my lord, trying to disengage himself from O’Hara’s grip.
Miles leant over him.
“See here, me boy, if ye don’t keep a still tongue in your head, its meself that’ll be gagging you, and that’s that!”
My lord swore at him.
Diana laid a gentle hand on his arm.
“Please, John! Please be still! Why should not Mr. Carstares speak?”
“You don’t know what he would do!” fumed Jack.
“In fact, Miss Beauleigh, Sir Miles and Andrew are completely in the dark,” drawled the Duke. “Shall I tell the tale, Richard?”
“Thank you, I shall not require your assistance,” was the cold rejoinder. “But I must ask you to be quiet, John.”
“I will not! You must n———”
“That will do,” decided O’Hara, and placed a relentless hand over his mouth. “Go on, Carstares!”
“For the sake of Miss Beauleigh, I will tell you that seven years ago my brother and I went to a card-party. I cheated. He took the blame. He has borne it ever since because I was too much a coward to confess. That is all I have to say.”
“’Twas for that ye wanted to see me on Friday?’ shot out O’Hara.
Richard nodded, dully.
“Yes, I was going to tell you then.”
“H’m! I’m glad ye had decided to play the man’s part for once!”
With a furious oath Jack wrenched himself free and rounded on his friend.
“You take too much upon yourself, O’Hara!”
He rose unsteadily and walked to Richard’s side.
“Dick has told you much, but not all. You none of you know the reasons we had for acting as we did. But you know him well enough to believe that it needed very strong reasons to induce him to allow me take the blame. If anyone has aught to say in the matter, I shall be glad if he will say it to me—now!” His eyes flashed menacingly as they swept the company, and rested for an instant on O’Hara’s unyielding countenance. Then he turned and held out his hand to his brother with his own peculiarly wistful smile.
"Can you bear to speak to me?” muttered Richard, with face averted.
“Gad, Dick, don’t be ridiculous!” He grasped the unwilling hand. “You would have done the same for me!”
Andrew pressed forward.
“Well, I can see no use in raking up old scores! After all, what does it matter? Its buried and finished. Here’s my hand on it, Dick! Lord! I couldn’t turn my back on the man I’ve lived on for years!” He laughed irrepressibly, and wrung Richard’s hand.
My lord’s eyes were on O’Hara, pleading. Reluctantly the Irishman came forward.
“’Tis only fair to tell you, Richard, that I can’t see eye to eye with Andrew, here. However, I’m not denying that I think a good deal better of ye now than I did—seven years ago.”
Richard looked up eagerly.
“You never believed him guilty?”
O’Hara laughed.
"Hardly!”
“You knew ’twas I?”
“I had me suspicions, of course.”
“I wish—oh, how I wish you had voiced them!”
O’Hara raised his eyebrows, and there fell a little silence. His Grace of Andover broke it, coming forward in his inimitable way. He looked round the room at each member of the company.
“One, two, three—four, five———” he counted. “Andrew, tell them to lay covers for five in the dining-room.”
“Aren’t you staying?” asked his brother, surprised.
“I have supped,” replied Tracy coolly.
For a moment O’Hara’s mouth twitched, and then he burst out laughing. Everyone looked at him inquiringly.
“Ecod!” he gasped. “Oh, sink me an I ever came across a more amusing villain! ‘Lay covers for five!’ Oh, damme!”
“Or should I have said six?” continued his Grace imperturbably. “Am I not to have the honour of Mr. Beauleigh’s company?”
O’Hara checked his mirth.
“No, ye are not! He was content to let me manage the business, and went back to Littledean.”
“I am sorry,” bowed his Grace, and turned to my lord, who, with his arm about Diana’s waist, was watching him arrogantly.
“I see how the land lies,” he remarked. I congratulate you, John. I cannot help wishing that I had finished you that day in the road. Permit me to say that you fence rather creditably.”
My lord bowed stiffly.
“Of course,” continued his Grace smoothly, “you also wish you had disposed of me. I sympathise. But, however much you may inwardly despise and loathe me, you cannot show it—unless you choose to make yourself and me the talk of town—not forgetting Mistress Diana. Also I abhor bad tragedy. So I trust you will remain here to-night as my guest—er, Andrew, pray do not omit to order bed-chambers to be prepared——— Afterwards you need never come near me again—in fact, I hope that you will not.”
My lord could not entirely repress a smile.
“I thank your Grace for your hospitality, which I fear,” he glanced down at Diana’s tired face, “I shall be compelled to accept. As to the rest—I agree. Like you, I dislike bad tragedy.”
Diana gave a tiny laugh.
“You are all so stiff!” she said “I shall go to bed!”
“I will take you to the stairs then,” said Jack promptly, and led her forward.
She stopped as they were about to pass his Grace, and faced him.
Tracy bowed very low.
“Good-night, madam. Carstares will know which room I had assigned to you. You will find a servant there.”
“Thank you,” she said steadily. “I shall try to forget the happenings of this day, your Grace. I see the truth in what you say—we cannot afford to let the world see that we are at enmity, lest it should talk. And, I confess it freely, I find it less hard to forgive you the insults of—of to-day, since they brought—Jack—to me. An I had not been in such dire straits, I might never have seen him again.”
“In fact,” bowed his Grace, “everything has been for the best!”
“I would not say that, sir,” she replied, and went out.
For a moment there was silence in the room. No one quite knew what to say. As usual, it was Tracy who came to the rescue, breaking an uncomfortable pause.
“I suggest that we adjourn to the dining-room,” he said. “I gather we may have to wait some time before his lordship reappears. O’Hara, after you!”
“One moment,” replied Miles. “Jack’s mare is in a shed somewhere. I said I would see to her.”
“Andrew!” called his Grace. “When you have finished superintending the laying of the supper, give orders concerning Carstares’ mare!”
A casual assent came from outside, and immediately afterwards Lord Andrew’s voice was heard shouting instructions to someone, evidently some way off.
On the whole, the supper-party passed off quite smoothly. His Grace was smilingly urbane, Andrew boisterous and amusing, and O’Hara bent on keeping the conversation up. Richard sat rather silent, but my lord, already deliriously happy, soon let fall his armour and joined in the talk, anxious to hear all the news of town for the last six years.
O’Hara was several times hard put to it to keep from laughing out loud at his thoughts. The humour of the situation struck him forcibly. After fighting as grimly as these men fought, and after all that had transpired, that they should both sit down to supper as they were doing, appealed to him strongly. He had quite thought that my lord would incline to tragedy and refuse to stay an instant longer in the Duke’s house.
It was not until midnight, when everyone else had gone to bed, that the brothers came face to face, alone. The dining-room was very quiet now, and the table bore a dissipated look with the remains of supper left on it. My lord stood absently playing with the long-handled punch spoon, idly stirring the golden dregs at the bottom of the bowl. The candles shed their light full on his face, and Richard, standing opposite in the shadow, had ample opportunity of studying it.
It seemed to him that he could not look long enough. Unconsciously his eyes devoured every detail of the loved countenance and watched each movement of the slender hand. He found John subtly changed, but quite how he could not define. He had not aged much, and he was still the same laughter-loving Jack of the old days, with just that intangible difference. O’Hara had felt it, too: a slight impenetrability, a reserve.
It was my lord who broke the uncomfortable silence. As if he felt the other’s eyes upon him, he looked up with his appealing, whimsical smile.
“Devil take it, Dick, we’re as shy as two schoolboys!”
Richard did not smile, and his brother came round the table to his side.
“There’s nought to be said betwixt us two, Dick. ’Twould be so damned unnecessary. After all—we always shared in one another’s scrapes!”
He stood a moment with his hand on Richard’s shoulder; then Richard turned to him.
“What you must think of me!” he burst out “My God, when I realise———”
“I know. Believe me, Dick, I know just what you must have felt. But pray forget it! It’s over now, and buried.”
There was another long silence. Lord John withdrew his hand at last, and perched on the edge of the table, smiling across at Richard.
“I’d well-nigh forgot that you were a middle-aged papa! A son?”
“Ay—John—after you.”
“I protest I am flattered. Lord, to think of you with a boy of your own!” He laughed, twirling his eyeglass.
At last Richard smiled.
“To think of you an uncle!” he retorted, and suddenly all vestige of stiffness had fled.
*****
Next morning Richard went on to Wyncham, and Diana, Jack and O’Hara travelled back to Sussex. Jack would not go home yet. He protested that he was going to be married first, and would then bring home his Countess. But he had several instructions to give his brother concerning the preparation of his house. The last thing he requested Richard to do was to seek out a certain city merchant, Fudby by name, and to rescue a clerk, Chilter, from him, bearing him off to Wyncham. All this he called from the coach window, just before they set off.
Richard led Jenny, whom he was to ride home, up to^the door of the vehicle, and expostulated.
“But what in thunder am I to do with the man?”
“Give him to Warburton,” advised Jack flippantly. “I know he needs a clerk—he always did!”
“But perhaps he will not desire to come———”
“You do as I tell you!” laughed his brother. “I shall expect to find him at Wyncham when I arrive! Au revoir!” He drew his head in, and the coach rumbled off.