The Black Moth - Georgette Heyer (best ereader for students TXT) 📗

he spoke, and not looking at the other man.

“Tracy will have borne Di—Miss Beauleigh off to Andover Court, seven miles beyond Wyncham, to the south-west. Your horse, I take it, is not fresh”(he knew Mr. Beauleigh’s horse). “I have ordered the curricle for you. I will ride on at once by short cuts, for there is not a moment to be lost—”

“The Duke of Andover!” interrupted Mr. Beauleigh. “The Duke of Andover! Why, do you think he purposes to marry my daughter?”

Jack gave a short, furious laugh.

“Ay! As he married all the others!”

Mr. Beauleigh winced.

“Sir! Pray why should you say so?”

“I perceive you do not know his Grace. Perchance you have heard of Devil Belmanoir?”

Then the little man paled.

“Good God, Mr. Carr, ‘tis not he?”

Carstares caught up his hat and whip.

“Ay, Mr. Beauleigh, ‘tis indeed he. Now perhaps you appreciate the necessity for haste?”

Mr. Beauleigh’s eyes were open at last.

“For God’s sake, Mr. Carr, after them!”

“‘Tis what I intend, sir. You will follow as swiftly as possible?”

“Yes, yes, but do not wait for anything! Can you reach Andover—in time?”

“I reach Andover to-night,” was the grim answer. “And you, sir? You know the road?”

“I will find out. Only go, Mr. Carr! Do not waste time, I implore you!”

Jack struggled into his riding coat, clapped his hat on to his head, and with his Grace of Andover’s sword tucked beneath his arm, went down the stairs three and four at a time, and hurried out on to the drive, where the groom stood waiting with Jenny’s bridle over his arm. Carstares cast a hasty glance at the girths and sprang up. The mare sidled and fidgeted, fretting to be gone, but was held in with a hand of iron while her master spoke to the groom.

“You must drive Mr. Beauleigh to Andover Court as fast as you can. It is a matter of life and death. You know the way?”

The amazed groom collected his wits with difficulty.

“Roughly, sir.”

“That will do—Mr. Beauleigh will know. Drive your damnedest, man—Sir Miles won’t mind. You understand?”

Jack’s word was law in the O’Hara household.

“Yes, sir,” answered the man, and touched his hat.

On the word, he saw the beautiful straining mare leap forward, and the next moment both horse and rider were swallowed in the gloom.

“Well I’m—darned,” exploded the groom, and turned to fetch the curricle.

Across the stretch of moorland went Jack at a gallop, Jenny speeding under him like the wind, and seeming to catch something of her master’s excitement. Low over her neck he bent, holding the Duke’s sword across his saddle-bows with one hand and with the other guiding her. So he covered some three miles. He reined in then, and forced her to a canter, saving her strength for the long distance ahead of them. She was in splendid condition, glorying in the unrestrained gallop across the turf, and although she was too well-mannered to pull on the rein, Carstares could see by the eager twitching of her ears how she longed to be gone over the ground. He spoke soothingly to her and guided her on to the very lane where Diana had ridden that afternoon. She fell into a long, easy stride that seemed to eat up the ground. Now they were off the lane, riding over a field to join another road, leading west. A hedge cut them off, but the mare gathered her legs beneath her and soared over, alighting as gracefully as a bird, and skimming on again up the road.

Her responsive ears flickered as he praised her, and pulled her up.

“Easy now, Jenny, easy!”

She was trembling with excitement, but she yielded to his will and trotted quietly for perhaps another half-hour.

Carstares rose and fell rhythmically in the saddle, taking care to keep his spurred heels from her glossy sides. He guessed the time to be about seven o’clock, and his brows drew together worriedly. Jenny was made of steel and lightning, but would she manage it? He had never tested her powers as he was about to now, and he dared not allow her much breathing space. Every minute was precious if he were to reach Andover before it was too late.

Assuming that Tracy had captured Diana at four, or thereabouts, he reckoned that it should take a heavy coach four hours or more to reach Andover. Jenny might manage it in two and a half hours, allowing for short cuts, in which case he ought to arrive not long after the others.

He was tortured by the thought of Diana at the mercy of a man of Tracy’s calibre; Diana in terror; Diana despairing. Unconsciously he pressed his knees against the smooth flank and once more Jenny fell into that long, swift stride. She seemed to glide over the ground with never a jar nor a stumble. Carstares was careful not to irk her in any way, only keeping a guiding, restraining hand on the rein, and for the rest letting her go as she willed. On and on they sped, as the time lagged by, sometimes through leafy lanes, at others over fields and rough tracks. Not for nothing had Carstares roamed this country for two years; almost every path was familiar to him; he never took a wrong turn, never swerved, never hesitated. On and on, past sleeping villages and lonely homesteads, skirting woods, riding up hill and down dale, never slackening his hold on the rein, never taking his eyes off the road before him, except now and then to throw a glance to the side on the look-out for some hidden by-path. After the first hour a dull pain in his shoulder reminded him of his wound, still troublesome. He set his teeth and pressed on still faster.

The mare caught her foot on a loose stone and stumbled. His hand held her together, the muscles standing out like ribbed steel, his voice encouraged her, and he made her walk again. This time she did not fret against the restraint. He shifted the sword under his bridle hand, and passed the right down her steaming neck, crooning to her softly beneath his breath.

She answered with a low, throbbing whinny. She could not understand why he desired her to gallop on, braving unknown terrors in the dark; all she could know was that it was his wish. It seemed also that he was pleased with her. She would have cantered on again, but he made her walk for, perhaps, another five minutes, until they were come to a stretch of common he knew well. It was getting late, and he pressed her with his knee, adjuring her to do her best, and urging her to a gallop, leaning right forward, the better to pierce the darkness ahead. A gorse bush loomed before them, and Jenny shied at it, redoubling her pace.

With hand and voice he soothed her, and on they sped. He judged the time to be now about half-past eight, and knew that they must make the remaining miles in an hour. Even now the coach might have arrived, and beyond that he dared not think.

Another half-hour crept by, and he could feel the mare’s breath coming short and fast, and reined in again, this time to a canter. He was off the moor now, on a road he remembered well, and knew himself to be not ten miles from Wyncham. Five more miles as the crow flies… . He knew he must give Jenny another rest, and pulled up, dismounting and going to her head.

Her legs were trembling, and the sweat rolled off her satin skin. She dropped her nose into his hand, sobbingly. He rubbed her ears and patted her, and she lipped his cheek lovingly, breathing more easily.

Up again then, and forward once more, skimming over the ground.

Leaving Wyncham on his right, Carstares cut west and then north-west, on the highroad now, leading to Andover. Only two more miles to go… .

Jenny stumbled again and broke into a walk. Her master tapped her shoulder, and she picked up her stride again.

She was almost winded, and he knew it, but he had to force her onwards. She responded gallantly to his hand, although her breath came sobbingly and her great, soft eyes were blurred.

At last the great iron gates were in view; he could see them through the dusk, firmly shut. He pulled up and walked on, looking for a place in the hedge where Jenny might push through.