The Black Moth by Georgette Heyer (famous ebook reader .TXT) 📖

opened to admit a veritable apparition, and was closed again with a snap.

The lawyer found himself gazing at a slight, rather tall gentleman who swept him a profound bow, gracefully flourishing his smart three-cornered hat with one hand and delicately clasping cane and perfumed handkerchief with the other. He was dressed in the height of the Versailles fashion, with full-skirted coat of palest lilac laced with silver, small-clothes and stockings of white, and waistcoat of flowered satin. On his feet he wore shoes with high red heels and silver buckles, while a wig of the latest mode, marvellously powdered and curled and smacking greatly of Paris, adorned his shapely head. In the foaming lace of his cravat reposed a diamond pin, and on the slim hand, half covered by drooping laces, glowed and flashed a huge emerald.

The lawyer stared and stared again, and it was not until a pair of deep blue, rather wistful eyes met his in a quizzical glance, that he found his tongue. Then a look of astonishment came into his face, and he took a half step forward.

“Master Jack!” he gasped. “Master—_Jack!_”

The elegant gentleman came forward and held up a reproving hand. The patch at the corner of his mouth quivered, and the blue eyes danced.

“I perceive that you are not acquainted with me, Mr. Warburton,” he said, amusement in his pleasant, slightly drawling voice. “Allow me to present myself: Sir Anthony Ferndale, à vous servir!”

A gleam of humour appeared in the lawyer’s own eyes as he clasped the outstretched hand.

“I think you are perhaps not acquainted with yourself, my lord,” he remarked drily.

Lord John laid his hat and cane on the small table, and looked faintly intrigued.

“What’s your meaning, Mr. Warburton?”

“I am come, my lord, to inform you that the Earl, your father, died a month since.”

The blue eyes widened, grew of a sudden hard, and narrowed again.

“Is that really so? Well, well! Apoplexy, I make no doubt?”

The lawyer’s lips twitched uncontrollably.

“No, Master Jack; my lord died of heart failure.”

“Say you so? Dear me! But will you not be seated, sir? In a moment my servant will have induced the chef to serve dinner. You will honour me, I trust?”

The lawyer murmured his thanks and sat down on the settle, watching the other with puzzled eyes.

The Earl drew up a chair for himself and stretched his foot to the fire.

“Six years, eh? I protest ‘tis prodigious good to see your face again, Mr. Warburton… . And I’m the Earl? Earl and High Toby, by Gad!” He laughed softly.

“I have here the documents, my lord… .”

Carstares eyed the roll through his quizzing glass.

“I perceive them. Pray return them to your pocket, Mr. Warburton.”

“But there are certain legal formalities, my lord—”

“Exactly. Pray do not let us mention them!”

“But, sir!”

Then the Earl smiled, and his smile was singularly sweet and winning.

“At least, not until after dinner, Warburton! Instead, you shall tell me how you found me?”

“Mr. Richard directed me where to come, sir.”

“Ah, of course! I had forgot that I told him my—_pied-à-terre_ when I waylaid him.”

The lawyer nearly shuddered at this cheerful, barefaced mention of his lordship’s disreputable profession.

“Er—indeed, sir. Mr. Richard is eager for you to return.”

The handsome young face clouded over. My lord shook his head.

“Impossible, my dear Warburton. I am convinced Dick never voiced so foolish a suggestion. Come now, confess! ‘tis your own fabrication?”

Warburton ignored the bantering tone and spoke very deliberately.

“At all events, my lord, I believe him anxious to make—amends.”

Carstares shot an alert, suspicious glance at him.

“Ah!”

“Yes, sir. Amends.”

My lord studied his emerald with half-closed eyelids.

“But why—amends, Warburton?” he asked.

“Is not that the word, sir?”

“I confess it strikes me as inapt. Doubtless I am dull of comprehension.”

“You were not wont to be, my lord.”

“No? But six years changes a man, Warburton. Pray, is Mr. Carstares well?”

“I believe so, sir,” replied the lawyer, frowning at the deft change of subject.

“And Lady Lavinia?”

“Ay.” Mr. Warburton looked searchingly across at him, seeing which, my lord’s eyes danced afresh, brim full with mischief.

“I am very delighted to hear it. Pray present my compliments to Mr. Carstares and beg him to use Wyncham as he wills.”

“Sir! Master Jack! I implore you!” burst from the lawyer, and he sprang up, moving excitedly away, his hands twitching, his face haggard.

My lord stiffened in his chair. He watched the other’s jerky movements anxiously, but his voice when he spoke was even and cold.

“Well, sir?”

Mr. Warburton wheeled and came back to the fireplace, looking hungrily down at my lord’s impassive countenance. With an effort he seemed to control himself.

“Master Jack, I had better tell you what you have already guessed. I know.”

Up went one haughty eyebrow.

“You know what, Mr. Warburton?”

“That you are innocent!”

“Of what, Mr. Warburton?”

“Of cheating at cards, sir!”

My lord relaxed, and flicked a speck of dust from his great cuff.

“I regret the necessity of having to disillusion you, Mr. Warburton.”

“My lord, do not fence with me, I beg! You can trust me, surely?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Then do not keep up this pretence with me; no, nor look so hard neither! I’ve watched you grow up right from the cradle, and Master Dick too, and I know you both through and through. I know you never cheated at Colonel Dare’s nor anywhere else! I could have sworn it at the time—ay, when I saw Master Dick’s face, I knew at once that he it was who had played foul, and you had but taken the blame!”

“No!”

“I know better! Can you, Master Jack, look me in the face and truthfully deny what I have said? Can you? Can you?”

My lord sat silent.

With a sigh, Warburton sank on to the settle once more. He was flushed, and his eyes shone, but he spoke calmly again.

“Of course you cannot. I have never known you lie. You need not fear I shall betray you. I kept silence all these years for my lord’s sake, and I will not speak now until you give me leave.”

“Which I never shall.”

“Master Jack, think better of it, I beg of you! Now that my lord is dead—”

“It makes no difference.”

“No difference? ‘Twas not for his sake? ‘Twas not because you knew how he loved Master Dick?”

“No.”

“Then ‘tis Lady Lavinia—”

“No.”

“But—”

My lord smiled sadly.

“Ah, Warburton! And you averred you knew us through and through! For whose sake should it be but his own?”

“I feared it!” The lawyer made a hopeless gesture with his hands. “You will not come back?”

“No, Warburton, I will not; Dick may manage my estates. I remain on the road.”

Warburton made one last effort.

“My lord!” he cried despairingly, “Will you not at least think of the disgrace to the name an you be caught?”

The shadows vanished from my lord’s eyes.

“Mr. Warburton, I protest you are of a morbid turn of mind! Do you know, I had not thought of so unpleasant a contingency? I swear I was not born to be hanged!”

The lawyer would have said more, had not the entrance of a servant, carrying a loaded tray, put an end to all private conversation. The man placed dishes upon the table, lighted candles, and arranged two chairs.

“Dinner is served, sir,” he said.

My lord nodded, and made a slight gesture toward the windows. Instantly the man went over to them and drew the heavy curtains across.

My lord turned to Mr. Warburton.

“What say you, sir? Shall it be burgundy or claret, or do you prefer sack?”

Warburton decided in favour of claret.

“Claret, Jim,” ordered Carstares, and rose to his feet.

“I trust the drive has whetted your appetite, Warburton, for honest Chadber will be monstrous hurt an you do not justice to his capons.”

“I shall endeavour to spare his feelings,” replied the lawyer with a twinkle, and seated himself at the table.

Whatever might be Mr. Chadber’s failings, he possessed an excellent cook. Mr. Warburton dined very well, beginning on a fat duck, and continuing through the many courses that constituted the meal.

When the table was cleared, the servant gone, and the port before them, he endeavoured to guide the conversation back into the previous channels. But he reckoned without my lord, and presently found himself discussing the Pretender’s late rebellion. He sat up suddenly.

“There were rumours that you were with the Prince, sir.”

Carstares set down his glass in genuine amazement.

“I?”

“Indeed, yes. I do not know whence the rumour came, but it reached Wyncham. My lord said nought, but I think Mr. Richard hardly credited it.”

“I should hope not! Why should they think me turned rebel, pray?”

Mr. Warburton frowned.

“Rebel, sir?”

“Rebel, Mr. Warburton. I have served under his Majesty.”

“The Carstares were ever Tories, Master Jack, true to their rightful king.”

“My dear Warburton, I owe nought to the Stuart princes. I was born in King George the First’s reign,

and I protest I am a good Whig.”

Warburton shook his head disapprovingly.

“There has never been a Whig in the Wyncham family, sir.”

“And you hope there never will be again, eh? What of Dick? Is he faithful to the Pretender?”

“I think Mr. Richard does not interest himself in politics, sir.”

Carstares raised his eyebrows, and there fell a silence.

After a minute or two Mr. Warburton cleared his throat.

“I—I suppose, sir—you have no idea of—er—discontinuing your—er—profession?”

My lord gave an irrepressible little laugh.

“Faith, Mr. Warburton, I’ve only just begun!”

“Only— But a year ago, Mr. Richard—”

“I held him up? Ay, but to tell the truth, sir, I’ve not done much since then!”

“Then, sir, you are not—er—notorious?”

“Good gad, no! Notorious, forsooth! Confess, Warburton, you thought me some heroic figure? ‘Gentleman Harry,’ perhaps?”

Warburton blushed.

“Well, sir— I—er—wondered.”

“I shall have to disappoint you, I perceive. I doubt Bow Street has never heard of me—and—to tell the truth—‘tis not an occupation which appeals vastly to my senses.”

“Then why, my lord, do you continue?”

“I must have some excuse for roaming the country,” pleaded Jack. “I could not be idle.”

“You are not—compelled to—er—rob, my lord?”

Carstares wrinkled his brow inquiringly.

“Compelled? Ah—I take your meaning. No, Warburton, I have enough for my wants—now; time was—but that is past. I rob for amusement’s sake.”

Warburton looked steadily across at him.

“I am surprised, my lord, that you, a Carstares, should find it—amusing.”

John was silent for a moment, and when he at length spoke it was defiantly and with a bitterness most unusual in him.

“The world, Mr. Warburton, has not treated me so kindly that I should feel any qualms of conscience. But, an it gives you any satisfaction to know it, I will tell you that my robberies are few and far between. You spoke a little while ago of my probable—ah—fate—on Tyburn Tree. I think you need not fear to hear of that.”

“I— It gives me great satisfaction, my lord, I confess,” stammered the lawyer, and found nothing more to say. After a long pause he again produced the bulky roll of parchment and laid it down before the Earl with the apologetic murmur of:

“Business, my lord!”

Carstares descended from the clouds and eyed the packet with evident distaste. He proceeded to fill his and his companion’s glass very leisurely. That done, he heaved a lugubrious sigh, caught Mr. Warburton’s eye, laughed in answer to its quizzical gleam, and broke the seal.

“Since you will have it, sir—business!”

*

Mr. Warburton stayed the night at the Chequers and travelled back