The Black Moth (25 page)

"What will happen?"

"Something!"

"How do ye know?"

"I don't know; I only feel it."

"Very well, asthore. If you can tease Jack into staying, I'll bless ye."

"That will be most enjoyable, I make no doubt!" she answered, and stepped back out of reach.

"Oh, thank you, John!" She tied the hat over her curls, and placed her hand on my lord's arm. "Lazy Miles is going to sleep again!" she said. "And I so dislike to hear him snore, so let's go a long way away–into the rose garden!"

"Don't go so far as all that!" drawled Miles, closing his eyes. "You will tire yourselves."

"Do you allow him to make these ribald remarks?" inquired Jack, waiting for her to extricate a stone from her shoe.

"Not usually," she answered. "He takes advantage when you are here." She dropped the pebble on top of O'Hara and strolled away with my lord.

As soon as they had rounded a corner in the shrubbery, she commenced the attack.

"I want to speak to you of Miles," she confided. "He is so worried."

"Is he, Molly? Faith, I hadn't noticed it!"

She reflected that neither had she, but continued, nothing daunted:

"Ah, but he is!"

"What worries him?"

"You," sighed the lady mournfully. "'Tis the thought of your leaving us. I feel it myself."

"Why—"

"He had hoped you would be with us for a long time–as I had."

"'Tis monstrous good of you both, but—"

"I am sure I do not know what I shall do with Miles when you are gone. He was so looking forward to having you with him."

"Molly—"

"And, indeed, it has come as a great disappointment to both of us to hear you talk of leaving. Won't you think better of it?"

"Molly, you overwhelm me. . . . How can I remain here indefinitely?"

"If only you would! You don't know how happy it would make us. I declare Miles will worry himself quite ill if you persist in being so unkind."

"Oh, Molly, you rogue!"

She could not repress a smile, but checked it almost at once.

"I mean it, Jack."

"What! That Miles is worrying himself ill over me? Fie!"

"Perhaps not as bad as that," she admitted. "But, indeed, he is much perturbed. . . . and, oh! I wish that you would not make us so unhappy." She dabbed at her eyes with a wispy handkerchief, but managed to watch his face all the same. "David loves you so, the pet! and Miles is so delighted to have found you again–and
I
like you–and–and–and I think 'twill be indeed rude and horrid if you do go–besides being so silly!"

"Do you, Molly? You make me feel I should be an ungrateful boor to refuse—"

The handkerchief was whisked away.

"Then, of course you won't try to refuse! You'll stay? Promise!"

"I cannot thank you enough—"

"Oh, you nice Jack! Till the autumn? Promise!"

"Molly, I really—"

"Promise! I shall cry if you do not!"

"I cannot! How could I prey upon your hospitality for so—"

"What rubbish, Jack! As if Miles had not spent months and months at Wyncham when you were boys—"

"That was different—"

"—when you were boys, and now you are so proud that you refuse to stay three miserable little months with us—"

"No, no, Molly; indeed, 'tis not that!"

"Confess, if Miles were a bachelor, you would not hesitate?"

He was silent, nonplussed.

"You see! And just because he has a wife you are disagreeable and proud. You feel you cannot bear to stay with me—"

"I swear I do not!"

"Then why do you refuse?" she triumphed.

"Molly–really, I—" He broke off, laughing. "You little wretch, you leave me nothing to say!"

"Then you will stay, as I ask?"

"You are quite sure—"

"Quite."

"Thank you very much, I will stay. 'Tis monstrous good of you, I vow. When you are tired of me, say so."

"I will," she promised. "Oh, but we shall do famously! How pleased Miles will be! By the way," she continued, airily, "I asked the Miss Beauleighs to honour us on Wednesday, but, unfortunately, they could not. Still, perhaps some other d—"

She stopped, a little frightened, for he was standing before her, gripping her shoulders in a very elder-brotherly fashion.

"Listen to me, Molly. I know that you have discovered that I love Diana, and I know that you think to be very kind and to bring us together. But I tell you that 'twill not be kind at all, only very cruel to us both. If you worry her to come here, I must go. Do you see?"

Molly looked into the stern eyes, and her lip trembled.

"I'm very–sorry!" she faltered.

Jack drew her arm through his once more.

"'Tis nothing to be sorry about; and, indeed, I am very grateful to you for trying to make me happy. But please do not!"

"No, I promise I will not. But–but do you think you are being quite fair to—"

"Molly, tell me this: do you think you are being quite good to disobey your husband?"

The blue eyes were dancing. She smiled doubtfully.

"What do you mean, Jack?"

"Do you tell me that Miles did not expressly forbid you to mention this subject to me?"

She pulled her hand away, her mouth forming a soundless "Oh!"

"Well–well–well, how horrid of you!" she cried, and shook her fist at him. "I'm going now!"

Later, she found her husband in the library, and ran into his arms.

"Do you mind holding me tightly?" she asked. "I've–I've been put in the corner!"

"What?" O'Hara drew her on to his knee.

"Yes–figuratively–by Jack. I think, perhaps, I shouldn't like to marry him after all!"

"What has he done?"

"N-nothing. I'm
afraid
," polishing one of his buttons with an assiduous finger, "I'm
afraid
that it was rather my own fault!"

"Oh!"

"Yes–but I only said
very
little about the Miss Beauleighs, and he suddenly turned into an iceberg and made me feel like a naughty little girl. But he is going to stay, all the same; so kiss me, Miles!"

AT the end of August, after having spent a moderately quiet summer in the country, Lady Lavinia was again seized with a longing for town and its attractions. She would not listen to Richard's warnings of the atrocious condition of the roads, declaring that she cared not one jot, and go to London she must. After that one protest he desisted, and promised to take her there the following week, secretly counting himself lucky to have kept her so long at Wyncham in comparative cheerfulness of spirits. Lavinia was overjoyed, kissed him again and again, scolded herself for being such a wicked tease, and set about making her preparations for the journey.

The roads proved even worse than Richard had prophesied, and twice the coach nearly upset, and times without number stuck fast in the mire, causing the inmates much inconvenience. Carstares rode by the side of the heavy vehicle, in which were his wife, her maid, her tiny dog, and countless bandboxes and small parcels. In spite of the worry the constant stoppages entailed, he quite enjoyed the journey, for Lavinia was in excellent spirits, and made light of their mishaps, receiving each fresh one with roguish laughter and some witty remark. Even when the chimney of her bed-chamber, at one of the inns at which they halted, smoked most vilely, she did not, as Richard quite expected she would, fly into a rage and refuse to spend another moment in the house, but after looking extremely doleful, cheered up and told dear Dicky that she would have his room while he should have hers. Then in the morning she would find him all dried up and
smoked!
In high good humour she went down to dinner with him, voted the partridges excellent, the pasties quite French, and the wine marvellously tolerable for such an out-of-the-way place, and kept him laughing at her antics until bed-time.

The journey was, of necessity, very slow, not only on account of the bad roads, but because whenever my lady caught sight of wild roses growing on the hedges, she must stop to pluck some. Then she and Richard would stroll along for some way, he leading his horse, the coach following at a walking pace. All of which was very idyllic, and had the effect of sending Richard to the seventh heaven of content.

When at length they arrived at Wyncham House, Mayfair, they found that the servants had arrived a week before, and had made good use of their time. Never, declared Lavinia, had the house looked so inviting–so spick and span.

One of her black pages proffered a small monkey with much bowing and grinning, and the murmur of: "Massa's present."

Lady Lavinia flew to embrace her Dicky. How did he guess that she had for so long yearned for a monkey? Surely she had but once or twice mentioned it? Oh, he was the very best of husbands! She danced off to her apartments in a state of ecstasy.

The
beau monde
was returning to town, and when, a few days later, Carstares conducted his wife to Ranelagh, they found the gardens fairly crowded and very gay. Lamps hung from tree branches, although it was still quite light; the fiddlers scraped away almost without a pause; fireworks shot up from one end; the summer-houses had all been freshly painted, and the Pavilion was a blaze of light.

Consciousness of her beauty and the smartness of her Georgia silk gown, with its petticoat covered in gold net, considerably added to Lavinia's enjoyment. Her hair she wore powdered and elaborately curled down on both sides with dainty escalloped lace half concealing it, and a grey
capuchin
over all. Her tippet was gold-laced to match her petticoat, and to fasten it she wore a brooch composed of clustered rubies. Rubies also hung in her earrings, which last were of such length that the other ladies turned to stare in envy, and the bracelets that she wore over her long gloves flashed also with the great red stones. She was well-pleased with Richard's appearance, and reflected that, when he chose, he could be very fashionable indeed. The claret-coloured velvet he was wearing was most distinguished, and the gold clocks to his hose quite ravishing.

They had not been in the Gardens ten minutes before a little crowd of men had gathered around them, professing themselves enraptured to behold the fair Lady Lavinia once more. One of them fetched her a chair, another a glass of negus, and the rest hovered eagerly about her.

Becomingly flushed with triumph, my lady gave her little hand to Mr. Selwyn, who had been once a very ardent admirer, laughed at his neat compliment, and declared that he was a dreadful flattering demon, and positively she would not listen to him!

Sir Gregory Markham, who brought her the negus, she discovered to have just returned from Paris. On hearing this, she broke off in the middle of a conversation with an enchanted French Chevalier and turned to him, raising her china-blue eyes to his face and clasping tight-gloved hands.

"Oh, Sir Gregory! Paris? Then tell me–please, tell me–have you seen my darling Devil?"

"Why, yes, madam," responded Markham, handing her the glass he held.

She sipped the negus, and gave it to the Chevalier to take care of.

"I declare, I quite love you then!" she exclaimed. "What is he doing, and, oh!
when
will he return to England?"

Sir Gregory smiled.

"How can I say?" he drawled. "I fear
monsieur s'amuse!
"

She flirted her fan before her face.

"Dreadful creature!" she cried. "How dare you say such things?"

"Belmanoir?" inquired Lord D'Egmont, twirling his cane. "Enamoured of the Pompadour, is he not–saving your presence, Lady Lavvy!"

Lavinia let fall her fan.

"The Pompadour! He had best have a care!"

"I believe there has already been some unpleasantness between his Majesty and the fair Jeanne on the subject of Devil. Since then she is supposed to have turned on him a cold shoulder."

"
I
heard 'twas he wearied of madame," said Markham.

"Well, whichever it was, I am glad the episode is closed," decided Lavinia. "'Tis too dangerous a game to play with Louis' mistresses. Oh, mon cher Chevalier! if I had not forgot your presence! But I am sure you say dreadful ill-natured things of our George, now don't you? Oh, and have you held my negus all this time? How monstrous good of you! There, I will drink it, and Julian shall take the glass away . . .
Voilà
!" She handed it to D'Egmont and rapped Mr. Selwyn's knuckles with her fan, looking archly up at him as he stood behind her chair.

"Naughty man! Will you have done whispering in my ear? I vow I will not listen to your impudences! No, nor laugh at them neither! Sir Gregory, you have given me no answer. When will Tracy return? For the Cavendish rout on Wednesday week? Ah, say yes!"

"Certainly I will say yes, fair tormentor! But, to tell the truth, Tracy said no word of coming to London when I saw him."

She pouted.