The Black Moth · Chapter 22 (2/2)

“I cannot continue any longer this living of a lie⁠—I have been feeling it more and more ever since⁠—ever since I met⁠—Jack⁠—that time on the road. And now I can no longer stand it. Everywhere I go I seem to see him⁠—looking at me⁠—you don’t understand⁠—”

Lavinia cast aside her work.

“No! No! I do not! ’Pon rep., but you should have thought of this before, Dick!”

“I know it. Nothing can excuse my cowardice⁠—my weakness. I know all that, but it is not too late even now to make amends. In a week they will all know the truth.”

“What⁠—what do you mean?”

“I have requested all whom it concerns to come to Wyncham the Friday after this.”

“Good heavens! Dick, Dick, think!”

“I have thought. God! how I have thought!”

“It is not fair to me! Oh, think of your honour⁠—Wyncham!”

“My honour is less than nothing. ’Tis of his that I think.”

She sprang up, clutching at his arm, shaking him.

“Richard, you are mad! You must not do this! You must not, I say!”

“I implore you, Lavinia, not to try to make me change my decision. It is of no use. Nothing you can say will make any difference.”

She flew into a passion, flinging away from him, her good resolutions forgotten.

“You have no right to disgrace me! If you do it, I will never forgive you! I won’t stay with you⁠—I⁠—”

He broke in⁠—this was what he had expected; he must not whine; this was retribution.

“I know. I have faced that.”

She was breathless for a moment. He knew! He had faced it! He had taken her seriously⁠—he always expected her to leave him! Oh, he must indeed be tired of her, and wanted her to go! What was he saying?

“I know that you love Lovelace. I⁠—I have known it for some time.”

Lavinia sank into the nearest chair. To what depths had her folly led her?

“I shall put no obstacle in the way of your flight, of course.⁠ ⁠…”

This was dreadful! Lady Lavinia buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. It was true then⁠—he did not love her⁠—he loved Mrs. Fanshawe⁠—she was to elope. She sobbed pitifully as the full horror of the situation struck her.

The temptation to gather her into his arms almost overmastered Richard, but he managed to choke it down. If he allowed himself to kiss her, she would try to break his resolution⁠—mayhap, she would succeed. So he looked away from her, tortured by the sound of her crying.

Lavinia wept on, longing to feel his arms about her, ready to consent to anything if only he would show that he loved her. But when he made no movement towards her, pride came back, and flicking her handkerchief across her eyes, she rose to her feet.

“You are cruel!⁠—cruel!⁠—cruel! If you do this thing I shall leave you!”

Now surely he would say something⁠—contradict her!

With an immense effort, Richard controlled himself.

“I am⁠—sorry⁠—Lavinia,” he said in a queer, constrained voice.

It was of no avail. She had killed his love, and he was longing to be rid of her. She walked to the door, and turned.

“I see that you do not love me,” she said, with deadly calmness. “I understand perfectly.” Then, as she wrenched the handle round: “I hate you!” she cried, and fled, her silken skirts rustling furiously down the corridor. A door slammed in the distance, and there was silence.

Carstares stood very still, staring down at her crumpled broidery. Presently he stooped to pick it up, and her violet scent was wafted up to him. He carried it to his lips, passionately.

If Lavinia had been able to see him, it would have changed the whole state of affairs; as it was she locked herself into her room and continued her cry in private. When she had no more tears to shed, she sat up and tried to think that she wanted to elope. Harold would be very good to her, she was sure, and she would doubtless lead a very exciting life, but⁠—somehow the more she thought of it, the less she wanted to elope. Then she remembered that Dicky⁠—why had she never realised how much she cared for him?⁠—was in love with some horrid widow, and did not want her to remain with him. The idea was not to be borne, she was not going to be the unwanted wife. She would have to go away, though not with Lovelace. Dicky should not force her to elope with another man. She would go somewhere alone⁠—she had forgotten⁠—she had no money. The dowry that had been hers was spent years ago. She was utterly dependent on her husband. That settled it: she must elope with Harry!

“Oh, was anyone ever so beset!” she sobbed as her misery swept in upon her with full force. “Why should I run away if I don’t want to?”