The Black Moth: A Romance of the XVIIIth Century Page 7

  CHAPTER VII

  INTRODUCING SUNDRY NEW CHARACTERS

  Not twenty minutes' walk from Lady Lavinia's house in Queen Squareresided a certain Madam Thompson--a widow--who had lived in Bath fornearly fifteen years. With her was staying Miss Elizabeth Beauleigh andher niece, Diana. Madam Thompson had been at a seminary with MissElizabeth when both were girls, and they had ever afterwards kept uptheir friendship, occasionally visiting one another, but more oftencontenting themselves with the writing of lengthy epistles, full ofunimportant scraps of news and much gossip, amusing only on MissElizabeth's side, and on the widow's uninteresting and rambling.

  It was a great joy to Madam Thompson when she received a letter fromMiss Beauleigh begging that she and her niece might be allowed to pay avisit to her house in Bath, and to stay at least three weeks. The goodlady was delighted at having her standing invitation at last accepted,and straightway wrote back a glad assent. She prepared her very bestbedchamber for Miss Beauleigh, who, she understood, was coming to Bathprincipally for a change of air and scene after a long and rather tryingillness.

  In due course the two ladies arrived, the elder very small and thin, andbirdlike in her movements; the younger moderately tall, and graceful asa willow tree, with great candid brown eyes that looked fearlessly outon to the world, and a tragic mouth that belied a usually cheerfuldisposition, and hinted at a tendency to look on the gloomy side oflife.

  Madam Thompson, whose first meeting with Diana this was, remarked on thesad mouth to Miss Elizabeth, or Betty as she was more often called, asthey sat over the fire on the first night, Diana herself having retiredto her room.

  Miss Betty shook her head darkly and prophesied that her precious Diwould one day love some man as no man in _her_ opinion deserved to beloved!

  "And she'll have love badly," she said, clicking her knitting-needlesenergetically. "_I_ know these temperamental children!"

  "She looks so melancholy," ventured the widow.

  "Well there you are wrong!" replied Miss Betty. "'Tis thesunniest-tempered child, and the sweetest-natured in the whole wideworld, bless her! But I don't deny that she can be miserable. Far fromit. Why, I've known her weep her pretty eyes out over a dead puppy even!But usually she is gay enough."

  "I fear this house will be dull and stupid for her," said Madam Thompsonregretfully. "If only my dear son George were at home to entertainher--"

  "My love, pray do not put yourself out! I assure you Diana will not atall object to a little quiet after the life she has been leading in townthis winter with her friend's family."

  Whatever Diana thought of the quiet, she at least made no complaint, andadapted herself to her surroundings quite contentedly.

  In the morning they would all walk as far as the Assembly Rooms, andMiss Betty would drink the waters in the old Pump Room, pacing sedatelyup and down with her friend on one side and her niece on the other.Madam Thompson had very few acquaintances in Bath, and the people shedid know were all of her own age and habits, rarely venturing as far asthe crowded fashionable quarter; so Diana had to be content with thesociety of the two old ladies, who gossiped happily enough together, butwhose conversation she could not but find singularly uninteresting.

  She watched the _monde_ with concealed wistfulness, seeing Beau Nashstrut about among the ladies, bowing with his extreme gallantry, alwaysimpeccably garbed, and in spite of his rapidly increasing age and bulkstill absolute monarch of Bath. She saw fine painted madams in enormoushoops, and with their hair so extravagantly curled and powdered that itappeared quite grotesque, mincing along with their various cavaliers;elderly beaux with coats padded to hid their shrunken shoulders, andpaint to fill the wrinkles on their faces; young rakes; stout dowagerswith their demure daughters; old ladies who had come to Bath for theirhealth's sake; titled folk of fashion, and plain gentry from thecountry--all parading before her eyes.

  One or two young bucks tried to ogle her, and received such indignantglances from those clear eyes, that they never dared annoy her again,but for the most part no one paid any heed to the unknown and plainlyclad girl.

  Then came his Grace of Andover upon the stage.

  He drew Diana's attention from the first moment that he entered the PumpRoom--a black moth amongst the gaily-hued butterflies. He had swept acomprehensive glance round the scene and at once perceived Diana.Somehow, exactly how she could never afterwards remember, he hadintroduced himself to her aunt and won that lady's good will by hissmoothness of manner and polished air. Madam Thompson, who, left toherself, never visited the Assembly Rooms, could not be expected torecognise Devil Belmanoir in the simple Mr. Everard who presentedhimself.

  As he had told his sister, Diana was cold. There was something about hisGrace that repelled her, even while his mesmeric personality fascinated.He was right when he said that she feared him; she was nervous, and theelement of fear gave birth to curiosity. She was intrigued, and began tolook forward to his daily appearance in the Pump Room with mingledexcitement and apprehension. She liked his flattering attention, and hisgrand air. Often she would watch him stroll across the floor, bowing toright and left with that touch of insolence that characterised him, andrejoiced in the knowledge that he was coming straight to her, and thatthe painted beauties who so palpably ogled and invited him to theirsides could not alter his course. She felt her power with a thrill ofdelight, and smiled upon Mr. Everard, giving him her hand to kiss, andgraciously permitting him to sit with her beside her aunt. He wouldpoint out all the celebrities of town and Bath for her edification,recalling carefully chosen and still more carefully censured anecdotesof each one. She discovered that Mr. Everard was an entertaining andharmless enough companion, and even expanded a little, allowing him aglimpse of her whimsical nature with its laughter and its hint of tears.

  His Grace of Andover saw enough to guess at the unsounded depths in hersoul, and he became lover-like. Diana recoiled instinctively, throwingup a barrier of reserve between them. It was not what he said thatalarmed her, but it was the way in which he said it, and the vaguesomething in the purring, faintly sinister voice that she could notquite define, that made her heart beat unpleasantly fast, and the bloodrush to her temples. She began first to dread the morning promenade,and then to avoid it. One day she had a headache; the next her foot wassore; another time she wanted to work at her fancy stitchery, until heraunt, who knew how she disliked her needle, and how singularly free fromheadaches and all petty ailments she was wont to be, openly taxed herwith no longer wishing to walk abroad.

  They were in the girl's bedroom at the time, Diana seated before herdressing-table, brushing out her hair for the night. When her aunt putthe abrupt question she hesitated, caught a long strand in her comb, andpretended to be absorbed in its disentanglement. The clouds of ripplinghair half hid her face, but Miss Betty observed how her fingerstrembled, and repeated her question. Then came the confession. Mr.Everard was unbearable; his attentions were odious; his continuedpresence revolting to Mistress Di. She was afraid of him, afraid of hisdreadful green eyes and of his soft voice. She wished they had nevercome to Bath, and still more that they had not met him. He looked at heras if--as if--oh, in short, he was hateful!

  Miss Betty was horrified.

  "You cannot mean it! Dear, dear, dear! Here was I thinking what apleasant gentleman he was, and all the time he was persecuting my poorDi, the wretch! _I_ know the type, my love, and I feel inclined to givehim a good piece of my mind!"

  "Oh, no--no!" implored Diana. "Indeed, you must do no such thing,Auntie! He has said nought that I could possibly be offended at--'tisbut his _manner_, and the--and the way he looked at me. Indeed, indeed,you must not!"

  "Tut, child! Of course I shall say nought. But it makes me so monstrousangry to think of my poor lamb being tormented by such as he that Ideclare I could tear his eyes out! Yes, my dear, I could! Thank goodnesswe are leaving Bath next week!"

  "Yes," sighed Diana. "I cannot help being glad, though Madam Thompson isvery amiable! 'Tis so very different
when there is no man with one!"

  "You are quite right, my love. We should have insisted on your father'sstaying with us instead of allowing him to fly back to his fusty, mustyold volumes. I shall not be so foolish another time, I can assure you.But we need not go to the Assembly Rooms again."

  "I need not go," corrected Diana gently. "Of course you and MadamThompson will continue to."

  "To tell the truth, my love," confessed Miss Betty, "I shall not besorry for an excuse to stay away. 'Tis doubtless most ill-natured of me,but I cannot but think that Hester has altered sadly since last I sawher. She is always talking of sermons and good works!"

  Diana twisted her luxuriant hair into a long plait, and gave a gurglinglittle laugh.

  "Oh, Auntie, is it not depressing? I wondered how you could tolerate it!She is so vastly solemn, poor dear thing!"

  "Well," said Miss Betty charitably, "she has seen trouble, has HesterThompson, and I have my doubts about this George of hers. A worthlessyoung man, I fear, from all accounts. But, unkind though it may be, Ishall be glad to find myself at home again, and that's the truth!" Sherose and picked up her candle. "In fact, I find Bath not half so amusingas I was told 'twould be."

  Diana walked with her to the door.

  "'Tis not amusing at all when one has no friends; but last year, when mycousins were with us and papa took a house for the season on the NorthParade, 'twas most enjoyable. I wish you had been there, instead of withthat disagreeable Aunt Jennifer!"

  She kissed her relative most affectionately and lighted her across thelanding to her room. Then she returned to her room and shut the door,giving a tired little yawn.

  It was at about that moment that his Grace of Andover was ushered intothe already crowded card-room of my Lord Avon's house in CatharinePlace, and was greeted with ribald cries of "Oho, Belmanoir!", and"Where's the lady, Devil?"

  He walked coolly forward into the full light of a great pendantchandelier, standing directly beneath it, the diamond order on hisbreast burning and winking like a living thing. The diamonds in hiscravat and on his fingers glittered every time he moved, until he seemedto be carelessly powdered with iridescent gems. As usual, he was clad inblack, but it would have been difficult to find any other dress in theroom more sumptuous or more magnificent than his sable satin with itsheavy silver lacing, and shimmering waistcoat. Silver lace adorned histhroat and fell in deep ruffles over his hands, and in defiance ofFashion, which decreed that black alone should be worn to tie the hair,he displayed long silver ribands, very striking against his unpowderedhead.

  He raised his quizzing glass and looked round the room with an air ofsurprised hauteur. Lord Avon, leaning back in his chair at one of thetables, shook a reproving finger at him.

  "Belmanoir, Belmanoir, we have seen her and we protest she is toocharming for you!"

  "In truth, we think we should be allowed a share in the lady'ththmileth," lisped one from behind him, and his Grace turned to facedainty, effeminate little Viscount Fotheringham, who stood at his elbow,resplendent in salmon-pink satin and primrose velvet, with skirts sofull and stiffly whaleboned that they stood out from his person, andheels so high that instead of walking he could only mince.

  Tracy made a low leg.

  "Surely shall you have a share in her smiles an she wills it so," hepurred, and a general laugh went up which caused the fop to flush to theears, as he speedily effaced himself.

  He had been one of those who had tried to accost Diana, andgossip-loving Will Stapely, with him at the time, had related the storyof his discomfiture to at least half-a-dozen men, who immediately toldit to others, vastly amused at the pertinacious Viscount's rebuff.

  "What was it Selwyn said?" drawled Sir Gregory Markham, shuffling cardsat Lord Avon's table.

  Davenant looked across at him inquiringly.

  "George? Of Belmanoir? When?"

  "Oh, at White's one night--I forget--Jack Cholmondely was there--hewould know; and Horry Walpole. 'Twas of Devil and his light o'loves--quite apt, on the whole."

  Cholmondely looked up.

  "Did I hear my name?"

  "Ay. What was it George said of Belmanoir at White's the night Gillymade that absurd bet with Ffolliott?"

  "When Gilly--oh, yes, I remember. 'Twas but an old hexameter tag,playing on his name: '_Est bellum bellis bellum bellare puellis_.' Heseemed to think it a fitting motto for a ducal house."

  There was another general laugh at this. Markham broke in on it:

  "Who is she, Tracy?"

  His Grace turned.

  "Who is who?" he asked languidly.

  Lord Avon burst out laughing.

  "Oh, come now, Belmanoir, that won't do! It really will not! Who is she,indeed!"

  "Ay, Belmanoir, who is the black-haired beauty, and where did you findher?" cried Tom Wilding, pressing forward with a glass in one hand and abottle of port in the other. "I thought you were captivated by CynthiaEvans?"

  Tracy looked bewildered for the moment, and then a light dawned on him.

  "Evans! Ah, yes! The saucy widow who lived in Kensington, was it not? Iremember."

  "He had forgotten!" cried Avon, and went off into another of the noisylaughs that had more than once caused Mr. Nash to shudder and to closehis august eyes. "You'll be the death of me, Devil! Gad! but you will!"

  "Oh, I trust not. Thank you, Wilding." He accepted the glass that Tomoffered, and sipped delicately.

  "But you've not answered!" reminded Fortescue from another table. Hedealt the cards round expertly. "Is it hands off, perhaps?"

  "Certainly," replied his Grace. "It generally is, Frank, as you know."

  "To my cost!" was the laughing rejoinder, and Fortescue rubbed his swordarm as if in memory of some hurt. "You pinked me finely, Tracy!"

  "Clumsily, Frank, clumsily. It might have been quicker done."

  The Viscount, who had been a second at the meeting, tittered amiably.

  "Neatetht thing I ever thaw, 'pon my honour. All over in leth than aminute, Avon! Give you my word!"

  "Never knew you had fought Devil, Frank? What possessed you?"

  "I was more mad than usual, I suppose," replied Fortescue in his low,rather dreamy voice, "and I interfered between Tracy and his Frenchsinger. He objected most politely, and we fought it out in Hyde Park."

  "Gad, yes!" exclaimed his partner, Lord Falmouth. "Why, I was Devil'ssecond! But it was ages ago!"

  "Two years," nodded Fortescue, "but I have not forgotten, you see!"

  "Lord, I had! And 'twas the funniest fight I ever saw, with you asfurious as could be and Devil cool as a cucumber. You were never much ofa swordsman, Frank, but that morning you thrust so wildly that stap meif I didn't think Devil would run you through. 'Stead of that he pinksyou neatly through the sword-arm, and damme if you didn't burst outlaughing fit to split! And then we all walked off to breakfast with you,Frank, as jolly as sandboys. Heavens, yes. That was a fight!"

  "It was amusing," admitted Tracy at Fortescue's elbow. "Don't play,Frank."

  Fortescue flung his cards face downwards on the table. "Curse you,Tracy, you've brought bad luck!" he said entirely without rancour. "Ihad quite tolerable hands before you came."

  "Belmanoir, I will thtake my chestnut mare 'gaintht your new grey,"lisped the Viscount, coming up to the table, dice-box in hand.

  "Stap me, but that is too bad!" cried Wilding. "Don't take him, Devil!Have you seen the brute?"

  The four players had finished their card-playing and were quite readyfor the dice.

  "Trust in your luck, Belmanoir, and take him!" advised Pritchard, wholoved hazarding other men's possessions, but kept a tight hold on hisown.

  "Ay, take him!" echoed Falmouth.

  "Don't," said Fortescue.

  "Of course I shall take him," answered his Grace tranquilly. "My greyagainst your chestnut and the best of three. Will you throw?"

  The Viscount rattled his box with a flourish. Two threes and a oneturned up.

  With a hand on Fortescue's shoulder, and one
foot on the rung of hischair, Tracy leaned forward and cast his own dice on to the table. Hehad beaten the Viscount's throw by five. The next toss Fotheringham won,but the last fell to his Grace.

  "Damnathion!" said the Viscount cheerfully. "Will you thtake your greyagaintht my Terror?"

  "Thunder and turf, Fotheringham! You'll lose him!" cried Nettlefoldwarningly. "Don't stake the Terror!"

  "Nonthenth! Do you take me, Belmanoir?"

  "Certainly," said the Duke, and threw.

  "Oh, an you are in a gaming mood, I will play you for the right to trymy hand with the dark beauty!" called Markham across the room.

  "Against what?" asked Fortescue.

  "Oh, what he wills!"

  The Viscount had cast and lost, and his Grace won the second throw.

  "It appears my luck is in," he remarked. "I will stake my beauty againstyour estates, Markham."

  Sir Gregory shook his head, laughing.

  "No, no! Keep the lady!"

  "I intend to, my dear fellow. She is not your style. I begin to wonderwhether she altogether suits my palate." He drew out his snuff-box andoffered it to his host, and the other men finding that he was proofagainst their railing, allowed the subject to drop.

  In the course of the evening his Grace won three thousand guineas--twoat ombre and one at dice--lost his coveted grey hunter and won him backagain from Wilding, to whom he had fallen. He came away at three o'clockin company with Fortescue, both perfectly cool-headed, although hisGrace, for his part, had imbibed a considerable quantity of burgundy,and more punch than any ordinary man could take without afterwardsfeeling very much the worse for wear.

  As my Lord Avon's door closed behind them, Tracy turned to his friend:

  "Shall we walk, Frank?"

  "Since our ways lie together, yes," replied Fortescue, linking his armin the Duke's. "Down Brock Street and across the Circus is our quickestway."

  They strolled down the road for a few moments in silence, passing alinkman on the way. Fortescue bade him a cheery good-night, which wasanswered in a very beery voice, but the Duke said nothing. Frank lookedinto his dark-browed face thoughtfully.

  "You've had the luck, to-night, Tracy."

  "Moderately. I hoped entirely to repair last week's losses."

  "You are in debt, I suppose?"

  "I believe so."

  "To what extent, Tracy?"

  "My dear fellow, I neither have, nor wish to have, the vaguest notion.Pray do not treat me to a sermon!"

  "I shall not. I've said all I have to say on the subject."

  "Many times."

  "Yes--many times. And it has had no more effect upon you than if I hadnot spoken."

  "Less."

  "I daresay. I wish it were not so, for there's good in you somewhere,Tracy."

  "By what strange process of reasoning do you arrive at that?"

  "Well," said Fortescue laughing, "there's nearly always some good in thevery worst of men. I count on that--and your kindness to me."

  "I should be interested to know when I have been kind to you--beyond thetime when I was compelled to teach you to leave me and my affairsalone."

  "I was not referring to that occasion," was the dry answer. "I had notseen your act in that light. I meant well over the episode."

  "You could not damn yourself more effectually than by saying that," saidhis Grace calmly. "But we wander from the point. When have I done you anact of kindness?"

  "You know very well. When you extricated me from that cursedsponging-house."

  "I remember now. Yes, that _was_ good of me. I wonder why I did it?"

  "'Tis what I want to know."

  "I suppose I must have had some sort of an affection for you. I wouldcertainly never have done such a thing for anyone else."

  "Not even for your own brother!" said Frank sharply.

  They had crossed the Circus and were walking down Gay Street now.

  "Least of all for them," came the placid response. "You are thinking ofAndrew's tragic act? Most entertaining, was it not?"

  "You evidently found it so."

  "I did. I wanted to prolong the sensation, but my esteemedbrother-in-law came to the young fool's rescue."

  "Would you have assisted him?"

  "In the end I fear I should have had to."

  "I believe there must be a kink in your brain!" cried Fortescue. "Icannot else account for your extraordinary conduct!"

  "We Belmanoirs are all half-mad," replied Tracy sweetly, "but I thinkthat in my case it is merely concentrated evil."

  "I will not believe it! You have shown that you can behave differently!You do not try to strip me of all I possess--why all those unfortunateyouths you play with?"

  "You see, you possess so little," the Duke excused himself.

  "Neither do you sneer at me in your loathsome fashion. Why?"

  "Because I have hardly ever any desire to. I like you."

  "Tare an' ouns! you must like someone else in the world besides me?"

  "I can think of no one. And I do not exactly worship the ground _you_tread on. The contemplation of my brothers appals me. I have lovedvarious women, and shall no doubt love many more--"

  "No, Tracy," interposed Fortescue, "you have never loved a woman in yourlife. 'Tis that that might save you. I do not allude to the lustfulpassion you indulge in, but real love. For God's sake Belmanoir, liveclean!"

  "Pray do not distress yourself, Frank. I am not worth it."

  "I choose to think that you are. I cannot but feel that if you had beenloved as a boy--Your mother--"

  "Did you ever see my mother?" inquired his Grace lazily.

  "No--but--"

  "Have you ever seen my sister?"

  "Er--yes--"

  "In a rage?"

  "Really, I--"

  "Because, if you have, you have seen my mother. Only she was ten timesmore violent. In fact, we were a pleasant party when we were all athome."

  "I understand."

  "Good Gad! I believe you are sorry for me?" cried Tracy scornfully.

  "I am. Is it a presumption on my part?"

  "My dear Frank, when I am sorry for myself you may be sorry too. Untilthen--"

  "When that day comes I shall no longer pity you."

  "Very deep, Frank! You think I shall be on the road to recovery? Apretty conceit. Luckily, the happy moment has not yet come--and I do notthink it is like to. We appear to have arrived."

  They were standing outside one of the tall houses where Fortescuelodged. He turned and grasped his friend's shoulders.

  "Tracy, give up this mad life you lead! Give up the women and the drink,and the excessive gaming; for one day, believe me, you will overstepyourself and be ruined!"

  The Duke disengaged himself.

  "I very much object to being man-handled in the street," he complained."I suppose you still _mean_ well. You should strive to conquer thetendency."

  "I wonder if you know how insolent is your tone, Belmanoir?" askedFortescue steadily.

  "Naturally. I should not have attained such perfection in the art else.But pray accept my thanks for your good advice. You will forgive me an Ido not avail myself of it, I am sure. I prefer the crooked path."

  "Evidently," sighed the other. "If you will not try the straight andnarrow way, I can only hope that you will fall very deeply and veryhonestly in love; and that the lady will save you from yourself."

  "I will inform you of it when it comes to pass," promised his Grace."And now: good-night!"

  "Good-night!" Frank returned the low bow with a curt nod. "I shall seeyou to-morrow--that is, this morning--at the Baths?"

  "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," was the smilingrejoinder. "Sleep soundly, Frank!" He waved an ironic farewell andcrossed the road to his own lodgings, which stood almost directlyopposite.

  "And I suppose _you_ will sleep as soundly as if you had not a stain onyour conscience--and had not tried your uttermost to alienate the regardof the only friend you possess," remarked Frank bitterly
to thedarkness. "Damn you, Tracy, for the villain you are!" He walked up thesteps to his own front door and turned the key in the lock. He lookedover his shoulder as a door slammed across the street. "Poor Devil!" hesaid. "Oh, you poor Devil!"