The Black Moth - Georgette Heyer

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"'Twas a great ruffianly fellow, monstrous tall—"

      "How tall?" interrupted the town-clerk. "Six feet?"

      "Oh, quite!" lied Mr. Chilter. "And fat."

      Jack's shoulders shook.

      "Fat, you say?" he asked gently.

      "Very fat," affirmed Mr. Chilter. "And prodigious rough, swearing dreadfully in his speech."

      "You could not see his face, I suppose?"

      Mr. Chilter hesitated.

      "I could see his mouth and chin," he said, "and I remarked a long scar running from his under-lip to the—er—bottom of his face."

      Involuntarily Carstares' hand caressed his perfectly smooth chin. Either the little clerk was a born romancer, or for some reason or other he did not want the highwayman to be taken.

      "Well, Sir Anthony?" the mayor was saying. "Does that description fit your man?"

      My lord frowned thoughtfully.

      "Tall," he said slowly, "and fat—you said fat, I think, Mr. Chilter?"

      Rather anxiously Mr. Chilter reiterated this statement.

      "Ah! And with a long scar—yes, that is undoubtedly he. Furthermore," he added audaciously, "he has a squint in his left eye. 'Tis a most ill-favoured rogue in all."

      "It would appear so, Sir Anthony," remarked the mayor drily. He did not in the least believe the story of the squint, and imagined that the fine court gentleman was amusing himself at their expense. Nevertheless, he had no intention of remonstrating; the sooner he could withdraw from this very tiresome affair the better. So he gravely took down all the absurd particulars, remarked that the man should be easy to find, and made ready to depart.

      The town-clerk rose, and tapped the beadle on the shoulder, whereupon that worthy, with a grunt, abandoned his pose of masterly inactivity and followed the mayor out of the room.

      Mr. Fudby rose.

      "I doubt I shall never see my money again," he said pettishly. "If you, Chilter had not been so—"

      "Allow me to offer you some snuff, Mr. Chilter," interposed my lord gently, extending his jewelled box. "Doubtless, sir, you would wish to see my mare?"

      "I know nought of horses," snorted Mr. Fudby. "'Tis my clerk who appears to have remarked all the details." He sneered terrifically.

      "Then pray, do me the honour of walking as far as the stables, Mr. Chilter. 'Twere as well to be certain about the mare. Mr.-ah—Fudby, your servant."

      "And now, Mr. Chilter, I have a grudge against you," said Carstares, as they walked across the little garden.

      "Me, sir? Oh—er—have you, Sir Anthony?"

      He looked up and perceived that the gentleman was laughing.

      "Yes, Mr. Chilter, a very serious grudge: you have described me as fat!"

      Chilter nearly fainted.

      "You, sir," he gasped, and stared in amazement.

      "Also that I swear dreadfully in my speech, and that I have a scar running from my mouth to my chin."

      Mr. Chilter stood stock-still in the middle of the path.

      "It was you, sir, all the time? You held us up? Were you the man who wrenched open the door?"

      "I was that infamous scoundrel. I beg leave once more to apologise for my carelessness in opening that same door. Now tell me, why did you take such pains to throw dust in their sleepy eyes?"

      They resumed their walk slowly. The little clerk flushed.

      "I scarce know, sir, save that I—that I liked you, and—and—"

      "I see. 'Twas prodigious good of you, Mr. Chilter. I wonder if there is anything that I can do to show my gratitude?"

      Again the clerk flushed and lifted his head proudly.

      "I thank you, sir, but there is nought."

      By now they had reached the stable. Carstares opened the door and they entered.

      "Then will you accept this in token of my regard, sir?"

      Mr. Chilter gazed at the emerald ring that glowed and winked at him from the palm of my lord's hand. He looked up into the blue eyes and stammered a little.

      "Indeed, sir—I—I—"

      "'Tis honestly come by!" pleadingly. "Come, Mr. Chilter, you'll not hurt my feelings by refusing? You will keep it in remembrance of a man—a fat man, Mr. Chilter—who rudely jerked you on to the road?"

      The clerk took it with unsteady fingers.

      "I thank you most—"

      "Nay, I beg of you. 'Tis I thank you for aiding me so kindly. … Come and see my Jenny! Well, lass?" For the mare at the first sound of his voice had turned in her loose-box, and was whinnying and pawing the ground eagerly.

      "I do not understand, sir, anything: how it is that you are a highwayman, or why you have honoured me with your confidence—why you should trust me. But—thank you."

      As he spoke, Mr. Chilter placed his hand in my lord's, and for the second time in his life, felt the pressure of those firm, kindly fingers.

      "Why, your honour! Ye've lost your emerald!"

      "No, Jim. I gave it away."

      "Ye—ye gave it away, sir?"

      "M'm. To the small spider."

      "B-but—"

      "And he called me fat, too."

      "Called ye fat, sir?" asked the man, bewildered.

      "Yes. Very fat. By the way, let me tell you that I bought Jenny at Fittering to-day from the naughty ruffian who waylaid Mr. Bumble Bee." He proceeded to give Jim a sketch of what had transpired below. When he had finished the man shook his head severely.

      "I doubt ye'll never learn wisdom, sir," he scolded.

      "I? What have I done?"

      "What did ye want to tell it all to the spider man for, sir? 'Twas most incautious of ye. Like as not, he'll split to the fat gentleman, and we'll have the whole town at our heels."

      "Which just shows all you know of the small spider," replied his master calmly. "Hand me the powder."

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       Table of Contents

      Wyncham! A stately old house with mullioned windows, standing high on its stone terraces, half-covered by creepers; a house surrounded by lawns, rolling down on the one side to a river that rippled and murmured its way along beneath overhanging trees and a blue sky, over boulders and rocks, so clear and sparkling that the myriad pebbles could be seen deep down on its bed.

      In the other direction, the velvet lawns stretched away till they met the orchards and the quiet meadowland.

      On two sides the house had its terraces, very white in the sunshine, with stone steps leading down to a miniature lake where water-lilies grew, and where the tiny fish darted to and fro unconcernedly.

      Flagged walks there were, running between flower beds a riot of colour, and solemn old trees that had stood there through all the years. Cool woodland lay beyond the little river, carpeted with dark moss,

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