CHAPTER XXV

HIS GRACE OF ANDOVER CAPTURES THE QUEEN

Diana stood in the old oak porch, riding-whip in hand, and the folds of

her voluminous gown over her arm. Miss Betty stood beside her, surveying

her with secret pride.

Diana's eyes seemed darker than ever, she thought, and the mouth more

tragic. She knew that the girl was, to use her own expression, "moping

quite prodigiously for that Mr. Carr." Not all that she could do to

entertain Diana entirely chased away the haunting sadness in her face;

for a time she would be gay, but afterwards the laughter died away and

she was silent. Many times had Miss Betty shaken her fist at the absent

John.

Presently Diana gave a tiny sigh, and looked down at her aunt, smiling.

"You would be surprised how excellently well Harper manages the horses,"

she said. "He is quite a godsend. So much nicer than that stupid

William."

"Indeed, yes," agreed Miss Betty. "Only think, my dear, he was groom to

Sir Hugh Grandison--I saw the letter Sir Hugh writ your Papa--a

remarkable elegant epistle, I assure you, my love."

Diana nodded and watched the new groom ride up, leading her mount. He

jumped down, and, touching his hat, stood awaiting his mistress's

pleasure.

Diana went up to the cob, patting his glossy neck.

"We are going towards Ashley to-day, aunt," she said. "I am so anxious

to find some berries, and Harper tells me they grow in profusion not far

from here."

"Now, my dear, pray do not tire yourself by going too far--I doubt it

will rain before long and you will catch your death of cold!"

Diana laughed at her.

"Oh, no, aunt! Why, the sky is almost cloudless! But we shall not be

long, I promise you. Only as far as Crossdown Woods and back again."

She gave her foot to the groom just as Mr. Beauleigh came out to watch

her start.

"Really, my dear, I must ride with you to-morrow," he told her. "'Tis an

age since we have been out together."

"Why, Papa, will you not accompany me this afternoon?" cried Diana

eagerly. "I should so like it!"

It struck her aunt that Harper awaited the answer to this question

rather anxiously. She watched him, puzzled. However, when Mr. Beauleigh

had refused she could not see any change in his expression, and

concluded that she must have been mistaken.

So with a wave of her hand, Diana rode away, the groom following at a

respectful distance. Yet somehow Miss Betty was uneasy. A presentiment

of evil seemed to touch her, and when the riders had disappeared round a

bend in the road she felt an insane desire to run after them and call

her niece back. She gave herself a little shake, saying that she was a

fond old woman, over-anxious about Diana. Nevertheless, she laid a

detaining hand on her brother's arm as he was about to go indoors.

"Wait, Horace! You--you _will_ ride with Di more frequently, will you

not?"

He looked surprised.

"You are uneasy, Betty?"

"Oh--uneasy--! Well, yes--a little. I do not like her to go alone with a

groom, and we do not know this man."

"My dear! I had the very highest references from Sir Hugh Grandison,

who, I am sure, would never recommend anyone untrustworthy. Why, you saw

the letter yourself!"

"Yes, yes. Doubtless I am very stupid. But you _will_ ride with her

after to-day, will you not?"

"Certainly I will accompany my daughter when I can spare the time," he

replied with dignity, and with that she had to be content.

Diana rode leisurely along the lane, beside great trees and hedges that

were a blaze of riotous colour. Autumn had turned the leaves dull gold

and flame, mellow brown and deepest red, with flaming orange

intermingled, and touches of copper here and there where some beech tree

stood. The lane was like a fairy picture, too gorgeous to be real; the

trees, meeting overhead, but let the sunlight through in patches, so

that the dusty road beneath was mottled with gold.

The hedges retained their greenness, and where there was a gap a vista

of fields presented itself. And then they came upon a clump of berries,

black and red, growing the other side of the little stream that

meandered along the lane in a ditch. Diana drew up and addressed her

companion.

"See, Harper--there are berries! We need go no further." She changed the

reins to her right hand and made as if to spring down.

"The place I spoke of is but a short way on, miss," ventured the man,

keeping his seat.

She paused.

"But why will these not suffice?"

"Well, miss, if you like. But those others were a deal finer. It seems a

pity not to get some."

Diana looked doubtfully along the road.

"'Tis not far?"

"No, miss; but another quarter of a mile, and then down the track by the

wood."

Still she hesitated.

"I do not want to be late," she demurred.

"No, miss, of course not. I only thought as how we might come back by

way of Chorly Fields."

"Round by the mill? H'm...."

"Yes, miss. Then as soon as we get past it there is a clear stretch of

turf almost up to the house."

Her eye brightened.

"A gallop? Very well! But let us hurry on."

She touched the cob with her heel, and they trotted on briskly out of

the leafy canopy along the road with blue sky above and pasture land

around. After a little while the wood came in sight, and in a minute

they were riding down the track at right angles to the road. Harper was

at Diana's heels, drawing nearer. Half unconsciously she quickened her

pace. There was not a soul in sight.

They were coming to a bend in the road, and now Harper was alongside.

Choking a ridiculous feeling of frightened apprehension, Diana drew

rein.

"I do not perceive those berries!" she said lightly.

"No, miss," was the immediate response. "They are just a step into the

wood. If you care to dismount here I can show you."

Nothing could be more respectful than the man's tone. Diana shook off

her nervous qualms and slipped down. Harper, already on the ground, took

the cob's rein and tied both horses to a tree.

Diana gathered her skirts over her arm and picked her way through the

brambles to where he had pointed.

The blackberry hedges he held back for her entrance swung back after

they had passed, completely shutting out all view of the road. There

were no berries.

Diana's heart was beating very fast, all her suspicions springing to

life again, but she showed no sign of fear as she desired him to hold

the brambles back again for her to pass out.

"For there are no berries here, as you can see for yourself."

She swept round and walked calmly towards the bushes.

Then, how she could never quite remember, she was seized from behind,

and before she had time to move, a long piece of silk was flung over her

head and drawn tight across her mouth, while an arm, as of steel, held

and controlled her.

Fighting madly, she managed to get one arm free, and struck out

furiously with her slender crop. There was a brief struggle, and it was

twisted from her grasp, and her hands tied behind her, despite all her

efforts to be free.

Then her captor swung her writhing into his arms, and strode away

through the wood without a word.

Diana was passive now, reserving her strength for when it might avail

her something, but above the gag her eyes blazed with mingled fright and

fury. She noticed that she was being carried not into the wood, but

along it, and was not surprised when they emerged on to the road where

it had rounded the bend.

With a sick feeling of terror, she saw a coach standing in the road, and

guessed, even before she knew, what was her fate. Through a haze she saw

a man standing at the door, and then she was thrust into the coach and

made to sit down on the softly-cushioned seat. All her energies were

concentrated in fighting against the faintness that threatened to

overcome her. She won gradually, and strained her ears to catch what was

being said outside.

She caught one sentence in a familiar, purring voice:

"Set them loose and tie this to the pummel." Then there was silence.

Presently she heard footsteps returning. An indistinguishable murmur

from Harper, and the door opened to allow his Grace of Andover to enter

the coach. It gave a lurch and rumbled on.

Tracy looked down with a slight smile into the gold-flecked eyes that

blazed so indignantly into his.

"A thousand apologies, Miss Beauleigh! Allow me to remove this scarf."

As he spoke he untied the knot, and the silk fell away from her face.

For a moment she was silent, struggling for words wherewith to give vent

to her fury; then the red lips parted and the small, white teeth showed,

clenched tightly together.

"You cur!" she flung at him in a panting undertone. "Oh, you cur!--you

coward! Undo my hands!"

"With pleasure." He bowed and busied himself with this tighter knot.

"Pray, accept my heartfelt apologies for incommoding you so grievously.

I am sure that you will admit the necessity."

"Oh, that there were a _man_ here to avenge me!" she raged.

His Grace tugged at the stubborn knot.

"There are three outside," he answered blandly. "But I do not think they

are like to oblige you."

He removed her bonds and sat back in the corner, enjoying her. His eyes

fell on her bruised wrists, and at once his expression changed, and he

frowned, leaning forward.

"Believe me, I did not mean that," he said, and touched her hands.

She flung him off.

"Do not touch me!"

"I beg your pardon, my dear." He leaned back again nonchalantly.

"Where are you taking me?" she demanded, trying to conceal the fear in

her voice.

"Home," replied his Grace.

"Home!" Incredulously she turned to look at him, hope in her eyes.

"Home," he reiterated. "_Our_ home."

The hope died out.

"You are ridiculous, sir."

"'Tis an art, my dear, most difficult to acquire."

"Sir--Mr. Everard--whoever you are--if you have any spark of manliness

in you, of chivalry, if you care for me at all, you will this instant

set me down!"

Never had she seemed more beautiful, more desirable. Her eyes shone with

unshed tears, soft and luminous, and the tragic mouth pleaded, even

trying to smile.

"It would appear that none of these attributes belongs to me," murmured

his Grace, and wondered if she would weep. He had never a taste for a

weeping woman.

But Diana was proud. She realised that tears, prayers and all would

avail her nothing, and she was determined not to break down, at least in

his presence. Tracy was surprised to see her arrange her skirts and

settle back against the cushions in the most unconcerned manner

possible.

"Then, since you are so ungallant, sir, pray tell me what you purpose

doing with me?" The tone was light, even bantering, but with his

marvellous, almost uncanny perspicacity, he sensed the breathless terror

behind it.

"Why, my dear, I had planned to marry you," he answered, bowing.

The knuckles gleamed white on her clenched hand. "And if I refuse?"

"I do not _think_ you will refuse, my dear." She could not repress a

shiver.

"I do refuse!" she cried sharply.

The smile with which he received this statement drove the blood cold in

her veins.

"Wait. I think you will be glad to marry me--in the end," he drawled.

Her great eyes were hunted, desperate, and her face was very white. The

dry lips parted.

"I think--you will be--very sorry--when my father--comes."

The indulgent sneer brought the blood racing back to her cheeks.

"And he will come!"

His Grace was politely interested.

"Really? But I do not doubt it, Diana, an he knows where to come."

"He will find a way, never fear!"

She laughed with a confidence she was far from feeling.

"I do not fear--not in the least--I shall be delighted to welcome him,"

promised his Grace. "I do not anticipate a refusal of your hand from

him."

"No?" Diana, too, could sneer.

"No, my dear. Not after a little--persuasion."

"Who are you?" she shot at him.

His shoulders shook in the soundless laugh peculiar to him.

"I am several people, child."

"So I apprehend," she retorted smoothly. "Sir Hugh Grandison amongst

them?"

"Ah, you have guessed that?"

"It rather leaps to the eye, sir." She spoke in what was almost an exact

imitation of his sarcastic tone.

"True. It was neatly done, I flatter myself."

"Quite marvellous, indeed."

He was enjoying her as he had rarely enjoyed a woman before. Others had

sobbed and implored, railed and raved; he had never till now met one who

returned him word for word, using his own weapons against him.

"Who else have you the honour to be?" she asked, stifling a yawn.

"I am Mr. Everard, child, and Duke of Andover."

Then she turned her head and looked at him with glittering eyes.

"I have heard of you, sir," she said, evenly.

"You are like to hear more, my dear."

"That is as may be, your Grace."

Now she understood the elaborate hilt of the mysterious sword with the

coronet on it, wrought in jewels. She wondered whether Jack had it

still, wherever he was. If only some wonderful providence would bring

him to her now in her dire need! There was no one to strike a blow for

her; she was entirely at the mercy of a ruthless libertine, whose

reputation she knew well, and whose presence filled her with dread and a

speechless loathing. She felt very doubtful that her father would

succeed in finding her. If only Jack were in England! He would come to

her, she knew.

His Grace leaned towards her, laying a thin, white hand on her knee.

"My dear, be reasonable. I am not such a bad bargain after all."

The tenderness in his voice filled her with horror. He felt her shrink

away.

"Take your hand away!" she commanded throbbingly. "Do not touch me!" He

laughed softly and at the sound of it she controlled her terrors and

dropped again to the mocking tone she had adopted. "What? Ungallant

still, your Grace? Pray keep your distance!"

The pistol holster on the wall at her side caught her attention.

Instantly she looked away, hoping he had not observed her. Very little

escaped his Grace.

"I am desolated to have to disappoint you, my dear. It is empty."

She laid a careless hand on the holster, verifying his statement.

"This? Oh, I guessed it, your Grace!"

He admired her spirit more and more. Was there ever such a girl?

"My name is Tracy," he remarked.

She considered it with her head tilted to one side.

"I do not like your name, sir," she answered.

"'There was no thought of pleasing you when I was christened,'" he quoted

lazily.

"Hardly, sir," she said. "You might be my father."

It was a master stroke, and for an instant his brows drew together. Then

he laughed.

"_Merci du compliment, mademoiselle_! I admire your wit."

"I protest I am overwhelmed. May I ask when we are like to arrive at our

destination?"

"We should reach Andover soon after eight, my dear."

So it was some distance he was taking her?

"I suppose you had the wit to provide food for the journey?" she yawned.

"You will not wish to exhibit me at an inn, I take it?"

He marvelled at her indomitable courage

"We shall halt at an inn certainly, and my servant will bring you

refreshment. That will be in about an hour."

"So long?" she frowned. "Then, pray excuse me an I compose myself to

sleep a little. I am like to find the journey somewhat tedious, I fear."

She shifted farther into the corner, leaned her head back against the

cushions and closed her eyes.

Thus outwitting his Grace. For it is impossible to be passionate with a

girl who feigns sleep when she should be struggling to escape from you.

So Tracy, who, whatever else he might lack, possessed a keen sense of

humour, settled himself in his corner and followed her example. So they

jogged on....

Arrived at length at the inn, the coach pulled up slowly. Diana opened

her eyes with a great assumption of sleepiness.

"Already?" she marvelled.

"I trust you have slept well," said his Grace suavely.

"Excellently well, I thank you, sir," was the unblushing reply.

"I am relieved to hear you say so, my dear. I had thought you unable

to--your mouth kept shut so admirably. Doubtless you have schooled your

jaw not to drop when you sleep sitting up? I wish I might do the same."

The triumph in his voice was thinly veiled. She found nothing to say.

He rose.

"With your leave, I will go to procure you some refreshment, child. Do

not think me uncivil if I remind you that a servant stands without

either door."

"I thank you for the kind thought," she smiled, but her heart was sick

within her.

He disappeared, returning a few moments later with a glass of wine and

some little cakes.

"I deplore the scanty nature of your repast," he said. "But I do not

wish to waste time. You shall be more fittingly entertained when we

reach Andover."

Diana drank the wine gratefully, and it seemed to put new life into her.

The food almost choked her, but rather than let him see it, she broke a

cake in half and started to eat it, playing to gain time: time in which

to allow her father a chance of overtaking them before it was too late.

She affected to dislike the cake, and rather petulantly demanded a 'maid

of honour.'

Tracy's eyes gleamed.

"I fear I cannot oblige you, my dear. When we are married you can go to

Richmond, and you shall have maids of honour in plenty."

He relieved her of her glass, taking it from hands that trembled

pitifully.

The rest of the journey was as some terrible nightmare. She felt that

she dared no longer feign sleep. She was terrified at what his Grace

might do, and kept him at arm's length by means of her tongue and all

her woman's wit. As a matter of fact, Andover had himself well in hand,

and had no intention of letting his passion run away with him. But as

the time went on and the light went, some of Diana's control seemed to

slip from her, and she became a little less the self-possessed woman,

and a little more the trapped and frightened child. When they at last

reached Andover Court, and his Grace assisted her to alight her legs

would barely carry her up the steps to the great iron-clamped door. She

trembled anew as he took her hand.

On the threshold he paused and bowed very low. "Welcome to your future

home, my queen," he murmured, and led her in, past wooden-faced footmen

who stared over her head, to his private room, where a table was set for

two. He would have taken her in his arms then, but she evaded him and

slipped wearily into a chair.

"I protest," she managed to say, "I protest, I am faint through want of

food."

Andover, looking at her white lips, believed her. He took a seat

opposite.

Two footmen came to wait on them, and although her very soul was shamed

that they should see her there, she was thankful for their restraining

presence.