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

CHAPTER XIII MY LORD MAKES HIS BOW

AFTER Jim’s arrival my lord recovered quickly, each day making great progress, much to the doctor’s satisfaction, who never tired of telling Mr. Beauleigh and Miss Betty that it was entirely owing to his treatment that the patient had recovered at all. As his idea of treatment mainly consisted of copiously bleeding John, which process Miss Betty very soon put an end to, he and she had many arguments on the subject, in which he was completely routed. She held that Mr. Carr was well on the strength of her nursing and his own constitution—and very probably she was right. In any case, hardly a fortnight after O’Hara’s first visit, my lord was standing before his mirror, surveying himself, with his head speculatively on one side and a worried look in his eyes. Salter watched him anxiously, knowing this to be a critical moment. His master was somewhat of an enigma to him; the important things in life never appeared to affect him, but over a question of two cravats as opposed to each other, or some equally trivial matter, he would become quite harassed.

After contemplating his appearance for several moments, Carstares frowned and looked over his shoulder.

“I have changed my mind, Jim. I will wear blue after all.”

Salter sighed despairingly.

“Ye look very well in what ye have on, sir,” he grunted.

Jack sat down obstinately.

“I have conceived a dislike—nay, a veritable hatred—for puce. I will wear blue.”

“Now, sir, do ha’ done changing your clothes! Ye’ll be tired out before ever ye get downstairs, and ye know what the doctor said.”

My lord consigned the doctor and his words of wisdom to a place of great heat.

“Ay, sir, but—”

“The doctor is a worthy individual, Jim, but he knows even less of the art of dressing than you do. He does not understand the soul-agony of a man who makes his first appearance in puce.”

“But—”

“The blue coat laced with gold.”

“Sir—”

“I order it! I insist; The blue coat or nought!”

“Very well, sir.” Resignedly Jim walked to the cupboard.

When at length his lordship was dressed to his entire satisfaction it was midway through the hot June afternoon, and Miss Betty was tapping at the door, wishing to know whether Mr. Carr was coming down, or whether he was not.

Carstares shifted his sling, and taking up his hat, moved just a little shakily to the door.

Salter opened it, and cast a triumphant glance at Miss Betty, as though he were showing off all my lord’s graces. He proffered an arm.

“Shall I help ye, sir?”

Miss Betty curtsied low.

“La, Mr. Carr!”

John bowed profoundly.

“Give ye good den, madam,” he said. “I am just about to descend. Thank you, Jim.” He leaned heavily on the man’s arm.

Miss Betty walked round him admiringly.

“Lud! ‘Tis mighty elegant, I vow! But I protest, I am shy!”

“Egad, Miss Betty! and why?”

“You are not so young as I imagined,” she replied candidly.

“Bear in mind, madam, that I never sought to deceive you. I am an aged man.”

“Thirty!” she scoffed, and went on ahead. “Come, child, and mind the first step!”

At the bottom of the staircase stood Mr. Beauleigh, a man of medium height, thin-lipped and grey-eyed. He came forward with one hand outstretched.

“I am delighted to see you so much better, sir. I trust your shoulder no longer pains you?”

My lord pushed Jim gently to one side and placed his hand in Mr. Beauleigh’s.

“I thank you, sir, it is almost well. But for Miss Betty, who, I fear, has the makings of a true tyrant, I should not wear this obnoxious sling.”

Mr. Beauleigh smiled a little.

“Ah, yes, she keeps us all in order, does Betty. Pray, will you not walk a little in the garden? There are chairs on the lawn—and here is my daughter.”

He waved to the door, and Carstares, turning, beheld Diana.

She stood framed by the dark wood, gowned in amber silk, with old lace falling from her elbows and over the bosom of her dress. Her hair was dark as night, with little tendrils curling over her broad, white brow. One rolling curl fell over her shoulder, the rest were gathered up under a small lace cap, which was secured by means of a riband passed beneath her chin.

Jack gazed, and gazed again, and in her turn Diana studied him with wide brown eyes of almost childlike innocence. Then her lids fluttered and curling lashes veiled the glorious depths, as a slow blush mounted to her cheeks.

My lord recovered his manners and made his most approved leg as her father presented him.

“My love, this is Mr. Carr—”

Diana sank into a curtsey.

“—and, Mr. Carr, this is my daughter, Diana.”

“I am delighted to make Miss Beauleigh’s acquaintance,” said John, and raised her hand to his lips.

The delicate, tapering fingers trembled a little in his hold, and tremulous lips parted in the shyest and most adorable smile that he had ever seen.

“Indeed, sir, we are already acquainted. I am not like to forget my rescuer.”

“I am happy to think that I was able to be of some service to you, mademoiselle. Believe me, it was an honour to fight in your cause.” His eyes were on the fascinating dimple that played about her mouth.

“‘Tis very kind of you to say so, sir. I fear we greatly incommoded you—and—” She made a gesture towards his sling.

“That, mademoiselle, is less than nothing. All the obligation is on my side.”

Miss Betty bustled forward.

“Now that will do! I never heard such a foolish set of compliments! You are looking tired, Mr. Carr; come into the garden and rest.”

Salter stepped forward, but Diana stayed him with uplifted finger.

“If Mr. Carr will accept my arm?” she hazarded.

Jack flushed.

“Indeed, no, Miss Beauleigh—I can—”

“Oh, tut-tut!” cried Miss Betty. “Have done dilly-dallying! Take him out, Di!”

Mr. Beauleigh had already disappeared. His world lay in his library, and he was never far from it for any length of time. Now he had seized the moment when his sister was not looking to withdraw quietly, and, when she turned round, she was only in time to see the library door close softly.

“Your papa has gone again,” she remarked to her niece. “What a trying man he is, to be sure!”

She followed the pair out on to the lawn, and helped to make Carstares seat himself in a long chair under a great elm. A cushion was placed under his wounded shoulder and another at his back.

“And are you sure that you are quite comfortable?” inquired Miss Betty, anxiously bending over him.

Jack laughed up at her.

“Quite sure, thank you, madam. But where will you sit?”

“I shall sit in this chair, and Di will sit on a cushion”—throwing one down—“at my feet—so.”

“I see that you are all ruled with a rod of iron, mademoiselle,” he said, and watched the dimple tremble into being.

“Indeed, yes, sir. ‘Tis very sad.”

Miss Betty chuckled, and unrolled a packet of silks which she threw into her niece’s lap.

“Will you have the goodness to sort those for me, love?” she asked, taking out her embroidery.

“Pray allow me to assist!” pleaded John.

Diana rose and planted her cushion down beside his chair. She then knelt down upon it and emptied the multi-coloured strands on to his knee.

“Very well! You must be very careful to separate the different pinks, though. See, we will have the rose here, the salmon here, the deeper rose here, the pale pink over there, and the reds—there is no more room—we will put the reds in this paper.”

“Certainly,” agreed Carstares. “Are we to leave the other colours until the pinks are sorted?”

She nodded and bent her head over the silks.

“Is Sir Miles coming this afternoon, Mr. Carr?”

“Why yes, Miss Betty—now you mention it, I remember that he is. Miss Beauleigh, I defy you to put that one on the rose pile; ‘tis a shade too deep.”

“I am sure ‘tis not! Where is one to compare with it?”

Carstares produced a long thread and held it next to hers. The two heads were bent close over it. Diana sighed.

“You are right; I can just see the difference. But ‘tis very slight!”

Miss Betty peeped over their shoulders.

“Gracious, what an eye you must have! I can detect no difference.” Her eye ran along the row of silks laid out on my lord’s white satin leg.

“Mr. Carr,” said Diana suddenly, “I want to ask you something—something that has been puzzling me.”

“Faith, what is it, Miss Beauleigh?”

“Just this: why did you call Mr. Everard M. le Duc?”

There was a tiny pause. My lord looked down into the gold-flecked eyes and frowned a little.

“Did I call him that?”

“Yes, I remember it distinctly. Was it just—a manner of speaking?”

“Just a manner of speaking… . You may call it that, mademoiselle. Do you not think that he looks rather ducal?”

“I tried not to think of him at all. I hate him!”

“Almost I begin to pity this Mr. Everard,” quoth Jack.

The dimple peeped out.

“Then ‘tis most ungallant of you, sir!” she reproved. “Do you know Mr. Everard?”

“I have certainly seen him before, madam.”

Diana sat back on her heels and eyed him wonderingly.

“I believe you do not wish to answer me,” she said slowly. “Tell me, is ‘Everard’ that man’s real name?”

My lord twisted the ring on his finger uneasily. He did not feel himself at liberty to expose Belmanoir, and if he should reveal his true identity, it was quite possible that Mr. Beauleigh might seek him out, in which case he himself might be recognised. He looked up.

“Pardon me, mademoiselle, but whence this cross-examination?”

Diana nodded placidly.

“I thought you would refuse, but I have discovered something that will confound you, sir!” She rose to her feet. “I will go and get it.” She walked gracefully away towards the house, and my lord watched her go.

“Now I am going to ask a question,” broke in Miss Betty’s voice.

He threw out an imploring hand.

“Madam, I beg you will consider my feeble condition Am I fit to bear the strain, think you?”

“I do!—Is it usual for gentlemen to ride masked, as you were?”

At that he laughed.

“No, madam, but for the gentlemen of the High Toby, it is de règle.”

She paused, with her needle held in mid-air:

“Now, what mean you by that?”

“Just that I am a common highwayman, Miss Betty.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then resumed her work.