The Black Moth: A Romance of the XVIIIth Century Read online

  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