CHAPTER XII.
Shakspeare.
“We could not make a House: it is the day of the Derby,” said a treasury-hack to Oakley, as he met him in Parliament-street. And that is not the only house by many thousands that is on that day deserted. Private, as well as public concerns give way to the all-engrossing excitement of the moment; though there are many who do not know, and still more who do not care what “the Derby” means, whether it is a wild beast, a giant, a house, or a horse. There never was any expedition on which every one of the hundred thousand goes so entirely, because the other 99999 do so. To be sure, whatever other advantages they may derive from it, all have that of receiving in full the “price of a king’s ransom, a peck of March dust,” which, our climate being apt to be in arrear, is usually paid at two months after date, and is just due about this time, with its usual accompaniments of a hot sun and a cold wind.
Upon this occasion, however, the weather was more than usually propitious, and as for Lady Flamborough—no bustle bewildered, no dust blinded, no sun dazzled her watchful eyes, as she marked the proceedings on the barouche-box. She thought she could not be deceived, for there was a more than usual animation in Germain’s profile; and there was a peculiar tinge on the little she could catch of Jane’s delicate cheek, as it was turned away from him.
She was right; the proposal had been made, and accepted. It may be objected to Germain’s discretion, that he chose rather a public opportunity for his declaration; but his is no singular case. Secluded woodbine bowers are not to be found from March to August; and less favourable moments have sometimes sufficed; and though it was by no means a sentimental journey on which they were bound, yet in their present position, they might at least be said to be elevated above the rest of the world.
Arrived at the course, the business of the morning obliged Germain, even after what had just passed between him and Lady Jane, to leave her, to attend to his own immediate interests. Upon entering the paddock where the horses were parading, it was easy for him to distinguish Lord Latimer’s, from the crowd which surrounded him, and moved across to meet him again, as he walked round. He was indeed a noble animal; but from the enthusiastic encomiums passed upon him, one would have imagined that his like had never been foaled. “Capital legs!” cried one; “how well he steps!”—and another, “What thighs and houghs?”—“Depth in the girth!”—“Never saw such a shoulder!”—“And such a pretty blood-like head too!” All these agreeably greeted Germain’s ear, as he mingled with the crowd.
“And what’s that washy looking animal with a white tail?” asked Lord Latimer.
“Mr. Snooks’s chestnut colt, by Woeful.”
“What will any body take about Snooks?” said Germain.
“I’ll take forty to one,” said Snooks himself, who was watching his horse.
“I’ll bet you twenty thousand to five hundred,” said Germain. “I can’t hear of Snooks’s winning the Derby:” he added, aside to Lord Latimer.
The bell now rung for saddling, and Germain prepared to return to Lady Jane; but in the anxious confusion of the moment, and amid the labyrinth of carriages which had collected since he left her, this was no easy task. As he was endeavouring to guess his way through, he was suddenly brought to by a whole carriage-full of the Misses Luton. “Oh, Mr. Germain, do just stop and tell us all about it; we were never here before. Does Lord Latimer ride himself?—and who do you think will win?”—“I hope pink will; it will be so pretty to see it before the rest.”—“I wish you would make us a lottery; but you mus’n’t win it yourself.”
Whilst Germain, suffering under this untimely infliction, was good-humouredly complying, Lord Latimer came galloping up, his face as white as a sheet, and seizing hold of Germain’s arm, so as to make him drop all the Misses Luton’s lottery-tickets, whispered in his ear, “He canters quite short; he is dead lame!”
Germain, muttering an unintelligible apology to the young ladies, spurred his horse after him, and was soon in the centre of the betting ring, endeavouring to hedge some of his money; but it was too late. If there had previously been any doubt, the anxious face with which he offered to bet against the horse, would have prevented any odds being taken about him, and from first favourite, he was soon at a hundred to one.
Germain was obliged to submit to his fate, and patiently await the result. He attempted to console himself with thinking that the horse upon inspection did not seem so lame, and hoping that he might not run much the worse. He waited near the top of the hill to see them pass. Lord Latimer’s was well in front; and the jockey seemed comfortable about him. As Germain scampered across in a fearful crowd of stumbling horses and tumbling riders, he could not keep his eye constantly fixed upon the race, but at the last corner, Lord Latimer’s yellow jacket was decidedly leading, and the space between him and the others appeared increasing. Still, as he looked again, that gap between him and the rest was occupied by a single horse, rode in pink. He could not recollect whose colour that was. At this time a man without hat or wig, and holding tight by the mane, crossed Germain’s path, just grazed against him in passing, and dropped off his horse. This interrupted his view for an instant; when he looked again, the pink jacket had decidedly gained upon the yellow.
He had now reached the brow of the middle hill, and pulling up his horse, could see more distinctly: they were neck and neck. The struggle was tremendous, from the distance to the winning post. He fancied he could sometimes see a line of pink behind the yellow jacket which was nearest to him; sometimes he feared that a pink stripe appeared in front. Undistinguishably linked together, they both vanished behind the crowd, and he was left in uncertainty.
He hastened down the hill, to learn the result: and his ready ear caught the name of Lord Latimer rising above the other murmurs of the multitude. He passed close to Lady Jane; she actually trembled with anxiety, but her countenance lighted up brilliantly, as a gentleman passing at the time said, “Lord Latimer, I should think.”
Germain got nearer: “Lord Latimer, I believe,” cried a second.
He advanced, and met Fitzalbert returning. He just gasped out, “Who’s won?”
“Snooks, by a head.”
“Who told you so?”
“The judge.”
And all doubt was at an end!
Fitzalbert having cantered on, Germain was again left to his own thoughts. He was at first quite bewildered at the extent of the unlooked-for disappointment. With his usual sanguine turn, he had always looked upon Lord Latimer’s winning the Derby as next to a certainty; and had actually calculated upon the money he was thus to win, as part of his available resources. For some time, therefore, he did not call to mind the extent of his misfortune; but of this he was soon to be reminded in no agreeable manner. He slowly turned his horse towards the hill, and with a parched mouth, aching head, burning cheek, and shivering back, prepared to look as if he did not care at all about it.
When he had just magnanimously made up his mind to the effort, his resolution was called into play, by hearing “Mr. Germain! Mr. Germain!” repeated by a voice which, such was the present confusion in his head, he did not at first recollect, till looking up, he beheld Mrs. Wilcox and some others in a gorgeous carriage, which had been built upon her marriage.
Though the lady was actively engaged in tearing asunder the leg of a cold turkey, she found leisure to address Germain: “What a delightful jaunt it is! You were quite right, Mr. Germain, when you used to tell me of the pleasure of a trip to Epsom; but you don’t know you must wish me joy about the race. Mr. Snooks is my Wilcox’s first cousin, and he has let me win twenty pounds with him. Would you believe it, Mr. Germain, some foolish person betted him twenty thousand to—I don’t know how little—just before the race?”
This painfully recalled to Germain’s recollection who that foolish person had been, and added not a little to his difficulties; but Fanny heeded not the effect of what she said.
“Only think—we were just as near losing poor Mr. Snooks as he was near losing the race. Some awkward fellow ran plump up against him, and knocked him off his horse. I hope you don’t feel much shook, sir?” she added, turning to a figure who was leaning back in the carriage, his head wrapped in a pocket-handkerchief, whom Germain had no difficulty in recognising at the same time for the clumsy cavalier whom he had unhorsed, as well as for the individual with whom he had made the unlucky bet.
This was too much for endurance, and wishing the party as much joy as he could spare, he rode in quest of his own friends. Lady Flamborough he found also engaged in the interesting occupation of luncheon, though in somewhat less ravenous a scramble than Wilcox and Co. Lady Jane he could easily perceive looked uneasy and distressed; and she took the first opportunity of saying to him, in an under-tone: “You have lost—much I’m afraid.”
“Dreadfully,” he muttered in reply.
“Well, never mind,” said she. “I care not, but—” she added in an earnest manner, “pray make light of it to mamma, if she mentions the subject. You have no idea of the mischief it may do.”
“I ought not to deceive her, nor indeed you. I cannot yet recollect the extent of my ruin.”
“You will not be obliged, I trust, to sell your estates; and for temporary embarrassment, however great, those who have known you best have long been prepared.”
“Indeed, ’tis very true! But how should you have known it?—not from Lady Flamborough?”
“No; she would not have believed it even if she had heard it. No matter how I learned it: but it is as well,” added she, faintly smiling, “that it should not now have come upon me by surprise, and that you should know it was not in ignorance of this that I allowed you this morning to put your own construction upon my silence.”
“You are too good, too considerate, to recollect at such a moment how much I stood in need of such a consolation;” and he was proceeding with more vehemence than the opportunity permitted, though not than the occasion warranted, to protest the warmth of his attachment, when interrupted by Fitzalbert, who, having sought out the carriage in pursuit of some wine and water, cried out: “Is that Germain? By the by, Germain, how came you and Latimer to make such a mistake as to back such a beast as that colt of his? I never saw such a rip in my life. He has no fore-legs, and his action is dead slow—any one might have seen that.”
At any other moment Germain would have been rather amused at the different opinion given of the same animal before and after the race; but being now completely jaded and dispirited, he had not a repartee left in him, and instantly attended to Lady Flamborough’s desire to find the horses and prepare for their return to London.