CHAPTER XXVI

MY LORD RIDES TO FRUSTRATE HIS GRACE

My lord yawned most prodigiously and let fall the _Spectator._ His eyes

roved towards the clock, and noted with disgust that the hands pointed

to half after five. He sighed and picked up the _Rambler_.

His host and hostess were visiting some miles distant, and were not

likely to be back until late, so my lord had a long dull evening in

front of him, which he relished not at all. Lady O'Hara had tried to

induce him to accompany them, promising that he would meet no one he

knew, but he had for once been prudent and refused steadfastly. So my

lady, after pouting crossly at him and assuring him that he was by far

the most obstinate and disagreeable man that she had ever come across,

not excepting her husband, who, to be sure, had been quite prodigiously

annoying all day, relented, told him she understood perfectly, and even

offered to kiss him to make up for her monstrous ill-humour. Jack

accepted the offer promptly, waved farewell to her from the porch, and

returned to the empty drawing-room to while away the time with two

numbers of the _Spectator_ and his own thoughts till dinner, which was

to be later than usual to-day, on account of an attack of vapours which

had seized the cook.

His thoughts were too unpleasant to be dwelt on; everything in his world

seemed to have gone awry. So he occupied himself with what seemed to him

a particularly uninteresting number of the _Spectator_. The sun had

almost disappeared, and very soon it became too dark to read; no candles

having been brought as yet, my lord, very unromantically, went to sleep

in his chair. Whether he would have eventually snored is not known, for

not more than a quarter of an hour afterwards the butler roused him with

the magic words:

"Dinner is served, sir."

Carstares turned his head lazily.

"What's that you say, James?"

"Dinner is served, sir," repeated the man, and held the door wide for

him to pass out.

"Faith! I'm glad to hear it!"

My lord rose leisurely and pulled his cravat more precisely into

position. Although he was to be alone, he gave his costume a touch here

and there, and flicked a speck of dust from one great cuff with his

elegant lace handkerchief.

He strolled across the old panelled hall to the dining-room, and sat

down at the table.

The curtains were drawn across the windows, and clusters of candles in

graceful silver holders were arranged on the table, shedding a warm

light on to the white damask and the shining covers. The footmen

presented a fish, and my lord permitted a little to be put on his plate.

The butler desired to know if Mr. Carr would drink claret or burgundy,

or ale? Mr. Carr would drink claret. A sirloin of beef next made its

appearance, and went away considerably smaller. Then before my lord was

spread an array of dishes. Partridges flanked one end, a pasty stood

next, a cream, two chickens, a duck, and a ham of noble proportions.

My lord went gently through.

The butler desired to know if Mr. Carr would drink a glass of burgundy?

He exhibited a dusty bottle. My lord considered it through his eyeglass

and decided in favour. He sipped reflectively and waved the ham away.

Sweetmeats appeared before him and a soup, while plump pigeons were

uncovered at his elbow.

One was whipped deftly on to his plate, and as he took up his knife and

fork to carve it, a great scuffling sounded without, angry voices being

raised in expostulation, and, above all, a breathless, insistent appeal

for Mr. Carr or Sir Miles. My lord laid down the knife and fork and came

to his feet.

"It appears I am demanded," he said, and went to the door. It was opened

for him at once, and he stepped out into the hall to find Mr. Beauleigh

trying to dodge the younger footman, who was refusing to let him pass.

At the sight of Carstares he stepped back respectfully. Mr. Beauleigh,

hot, distraught, breathless, fell upon my lord.

"Thank God you are here, sir!" he cried.

Carstares observed him with some surprise. Mr. Beauleigh had been so

very frigid when last they had met.

"I am glad to be at your service, sir," he bowed. "You have commands for

me?"

"We are in terrible trouble," almost moaned the other. "Betty bade me

come to find you, or failing you, Sir Miles, for none other can help

us!"

Carstares' glance grew sharper.

"Trouble? Not--But I forget my manners--we shall talk more at ease in

here." He led Mr. Beauleigh into the morning-room. Beauleigh thrust a

paper into his hands.

"Diana went riding this afternoon, and only her horse returned--with

this attached to the pommel! Read it, sir! Read it!"

"Diana!" Carstares strode over to the light, and devoured the contents

of the single sheet, with eager eyes.

They were not long, and they were very much to the point:

"Mr. Beauleigh may haply recall to mind a certain 'Mr. Everard,' of

Bath, whose Addresses to Miss Beauleigh were cruelly repulsed. He

regrets having now to take the Matter into his Own Hands, and trusts to

further his Acquaintance with Mr. Beauleigh at some Future Date, when

Miss Beauleigh shall, He trusts, have become 'Mrs. Everard.'"

Jack crumpled the paper furiously in his hand, grinding out a startling

oath.

"--insolent cur!"

"Yes, yes, sir! But what will that avail my daughter? I have come

straight to you, for my sister is convinced you know this Everard, and

can tell me where to seek them!"

Carstares clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Never fear, Mr. Beauleigh! I pledge you my word she shall be found this

very night!"

"You know where he has taken her? You do? You are sure?"

"Back to his earth, I'll lay my life; 'tis ever his custom." He strode

to the door, flung it wide and shot clear, crisp directions at the

footman. "See to it that my mare is saddled in ten minutes and Blue

Devil harnessed to your master's curricle! Don't stand staring--go! And

send Salter to me!"

The footman scuttled away, pausing only to inform my lord that Salter

was not in.

Carstares remembered that he had given Jim leave to visit his Mary at

Fittering, and crushed out another oath. He sprang up the stairs, Mr.

Beauleigh following breathlessly.

In his room, struggling with his boots, he put a few questions.

Mr. Beauleigh related the whole tale, dwelling mournfully on the

excellent references for Harper he had received from Sir Hugh Grandison.

Jack hauled at his second boot.

"Tracy himself, of course!" he fumed, adjusting his spurs.

"Pray, Mr. Carr, who is this scoundrel? Is it true that you know him?"

"Andover," answered Jack from the depths of the garde-robe. "Damn the

fellow, where has he put my cloak?" This to the absent Jim, and not the

Duke.

"Andover! Not--surely not the Duke?" cried Mr. Beauleigh.

"I know of none other. At last!"

He emerged and tossed a heavy, many-caped coat on to the bed.

"Now, sir, your attention for one moment."

He was buckling on his sword as 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.