The Black Moth, Georgette Heyer [self help books to read .txt] 📗
- Author: Georgette Heyer
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The lawyer retired to rest in a measure reassured by the other’s good spirits, but at the same time dispirited by his failure to induce Carstares to return to Wyncham.
Next morning, although he was not up until twelve, he was before my lord, who only appeared in time for lunch, which was served as before in the oak parlour.
He entered the room in his usual leisurely yet decided fashion and made Mr. Warburton a marvellous leg. Then he bore him off to inspect his mare, Jenny, of whom he was inordinately proud. By the time they returned to the parlour luncheon was served, and Mr. Warburton realised that he had scarcely any time left in which to plead his cause.
My lord’s servant hovered continually about the room, waiting on them, until his master bade him go to attend to the lawyer’s valise. When the door had closed on his retreating form, Carstares leaned back in his chair, and, with a rather dreary little smile, turned to his companion.
“You want to reason with me, I know, Mr. Warburton, and, indeed, I will listen an I must. But I would so much rather that you left the subject alone, believe me.”
Warburton sensed the finality in his voice, and wisely threw away his last chance.
“I understand ‘tis painful, my lord, and I will say no more. Only remember—and think on it, I beg!”
The concern in his face touched my lord.
“You are too good to me, Mr. Warburton, I vow. I can only say that I appreciate your kindness—and your forbearance. And I trust that you will forgive my seeming churlishness and believe that I am indeed grateful to you.”
“I wish I might do more for you, Master Jack!” stammered Warburton, made miserable by the wistful note in his favourite’s voice. There was no time for more; the coach already awaited him, and his valise had been hoisted up. As they stood together in the porch, he could only grip my lord’s hand tightly and say good-bye. Then he got hurriedly into the coach, and the door was slammed behind him.
My lord made his leg, and watched the heavy vehicle move forward and roll away down the street. Then with a stifled sigh he turned and walked towards the stables. His servant saw him coming and went at once to meet him.
“The mare, sir?”
“As you say, Jim—the mare. In an hour.”
He turned and would have strolled back.
“Sir—your honour!”
He paused, looking over his shoulder.
“Well?”
“They’re on the look-out, sir. Best be careful.”
“They always are, Jim. But thanks.”
“Ye—ye wouldn’t take me with ye, sir?” pleadingly.
“Take you? Faith, no! I’ve no mind to lead you into danger. And you serve me best by remaining to carry out my orders.”
The man fell back.
“Ay, sir; but—but—”
“There are none, Jim.”
“No, sir—but ye will have a care?”
“I will be the most cautious of men.” He walked away on the word, and passed into the house.
In an hour he was a very different being. Gone was the emerald ring, the foppish cane; the languid air, too, had disappeared, leaving him brisk and businesslike. He was dressed for riding, with buff coat and buckskin breeches, and shining top boots. A sober brown wig replaced the powdered creation, and a black tricorne was set rakishly atop.
He stood in the deserted porch, watching Jim strap his baggage to the saddle, occasionally giving a curt direction. Presently Mr. Chadber appeared with the stirrup-cup, which he drained and handed back with a word of thanks and a guinea at the bottom.
Someone called lustily from within, and the landlord, bowing very low, murmured apologies and vanished.
Jim cast a last glance at the saddle-girths, and, leaving the mare quietly standing in the road, came up to his master with gloves and whip.
Carstares took them silently and fell to tapping his boot, his eyes thoughtfully on the man’s face.
“You will hire a coach, as usual,” he said at length, “and take my baggage to—” (He paused, frowning)—“Lewes. You will engage a room at the White Hart and order dinner. I shall wear—apricot and—h’m!”
“Blue, sir?” ventured Jim, with an idea of being helpful.
His master’s eyes crinkled at the corners.
“You are a humorist, Salter. Apricot and cream. Cream? Yes, ‘tis a pleasing thought—cream. That is all—Jenny!”
The mare turned her head, whinnying as he came towards her.
“Good lass!” He mounted lightly and patted her glossy neck. Then he leaned sideways in the saddle to speak again to Salter, who stood beside him, one hand on the bridle.
“The cloak?”
“Behind you, sir.”
“My wig?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pistols?”
“Ready primed, sir.”
“Good. I shall be in Lewes in time for dinner—with luck.”
“Yes, sir. Ye—ye will have a care?” anxiously.
“Have I not told you?” He straightened in the saddle, touched the mare with his heel, and bestowing a quick smile and a nod on his man, trotted easily away.
MY LORD AT THE WHITE HART
“SIR ANTHONY FERNDALE” sat before the dressing-table in his room at the White Hart, idly polishing his nails. A gorgeous silk dressing gown lay over the back of his chair, and, behind him, Jim was attending to his wig, at the same time hovering anxiously over the coat and waistcoat that were waiting to be donned.
Carstares left off polishing his nails, yawned, and leaned back in his chair, a slim, graceful figure in cambric shirt and apricot satin breeches. He studied his cravat for some moments in the mirror, and lifted a hand to it. Salter held his breath. With extreme deliberation the hand moved a diamond and emerald pin the fraction of an inch to one side, and fell to his side again. Salter drew a relieved breath, which brought his master’s eyes round to himself.
“No trouble, Jim?”
“None at all, sir.”
“Neither had I. ‘Twas most surprisingly easy. The birds had no more fight in them than sparrows. Two men in a coach—one a bullying rascal of a merchant, the other his clerk. Gad! but I was sorry for that little man!” He paused, his hand on the rouge pot.
Salter looked an inquiry.
“Yes,” nodded Carstares. “Very sorry. The fat man would appear to bully and browbeat him after the manner of his kind; he even blamed him for my advent, the greasy coward! Yes, Jim, you are right—he did not appeal to me, ce M. Fudby. So—” ingenuously, “I relieved him of his cash-box and two hundred guineas. A present for the poor of Lewes.”
Jim jerked his shoulder, frowning.
:“If ye give away all ye get, sir, why do ye rob at all?” he asked bluntly.
His whimsical little smile played about my lord’s mouth.
“‘Tis an object for my life, Jim: a noble object. And I believe it amuses me to play Robin Hood—take from the rich to give to the poor,” he added, for Salter’s benefit. “But to return to my victims—you would have laughed had you but seen my little man come tumbling out of the coach when I opened the door!”
“Tumble, sir? Why should he do that?”
“He was at pains to explain the reason. It seems he had been commanded to hold the door to prevent my entering—so when I jerked it open, sooner than loose his hold, he fell out on to the road. Of course, I apologised most abjectly—and we had some conversation. Quite a nice little man… It made me laugh to see him sprawling on the road, though!”
“Wish I could have seen it, your honour. I would ha’ liked fine to ha’ been beside ye.” He looked down at the lithe form with some pride. “I’d give something to see ye hold up a coach, sir!”
Haresfoot in hand, Jack met his admiring eyes in the glass, and laughed.
“I make no doubt you would… . I have cultivated a superb voice, a trifle thick and beery, a little loud, perhaps—ah, something to dream of o’ nights! I doubt they do, too,” he added reflectively, and affixed the patch at the corner of his mouth.
“So? A little low, you think? But ‘twill suffice— What’s toward?”
Down below in the street there was a great stirring and bustling: horses’ hoofs, shouts from the ostlers, and the sound of wheels on the cobble-stones. Jim went to the window and looked down, craning his neck to see over the balcony.
“‘Tis a coach arrived, sir.”
“That much had I gathered,” replied my lord, busy with the powder.
“Yes, sir. O lord, sir!” He was shaken with laughter.
“What now?”
“‘Tis the curiousest sight, sir! Two gentlemen, one fat and t’other small! One’s all shrivelled-looking, like a spider, while t’other—”
“Resembles a hippopotamus—particularly in the face?”
“Well yes, sir. He do rather. And he be wearing purple.”
“Heavens, yes! Purple, and an orange waistcoat!”
Jim peered afresh.
“So it is, sir! But how did ye know?” Even as he put the question, understanding flashed into Jim’s eyes.
“I rather think that I have had the honour of meeting these gentlemen,” replied my lord placidly. “My buckle, Jim… . Is’t a prodigious great coach with wheels picked out in yellow?”
“Ay, your honour. The gentlemen seem a bit put out, too.”
“That is quite probable. Does the smaller gentleman wear somewhat—ah—muddied garments?”
“I can’t see, sir; he stands behind the fat gentleman.”
“Mr. Bumble Bee… . Jim!”
“Sir!” Jim turned quickly at the sound of the sharp voice.
He found that my lord had risen, and was holding up a waistcoat of pea-green pattern on a bilious yellow ground, between a disgusted finger and thumb. Before his severe frown Jim dropped his eyes and stood looking for all the world like a schoolboy detected in some crime.
“You put this—this monstrosity—out for me to wear?” in awful tones.
Jim eyed the waistcoat gloomily and nodded.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did I not specify cream ground?”
“Yes, sir. I thought—I thought that ‘twas cream!”
“My good friend, it is—it is—I cannot say what it is. And pea-green!” he shuddered. “Remove it.”
Jim hurried forward and disposed of the offending garment.
“And bring me the broidered satin. Yes, that is it. It is particularly pleasing to the eye.”
“Yes, sir,” agreed the abashed Jim.
“You are excused this time,” added my lord, with a twinkle in his eye. “What are our two friends doing?”
Salter went back to the window
“They’ve gone into the house, sir. No, here’s the spider gentleman! He do seem in a hurry, your honour!”
“Ah!” murmured his lordship. “You may assist me into this coat. Thanks.”
With no little difficulty, my lord managed to enter into the fine satin garment, which, when on, seemed moulded to his back, so excellently did it fit. He shook out his ruffles and slipped the emerald ring on to his finger with a slight frown.
“I believe I shall remain here some few days,” he remarked presently. “To—ah—allay suspicion.” He looked across at his man as he spoke, through his lashes.
It was not in Jim’s nature to inquire into his master’s affairs, much less to be surprised at anything he might do
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