WHEN Derrick and the captain met at the breakfast-table upon that Derby morning, there was a note for the latter waiting by his plate. It had been brought over from the Turf Hotel with apologies, having been detained there by mistake, “through everybody being so busy,” for at least a week. As he turned it moodily over without opening it, Ralph saw that it had the Mirk postmark.
“You have a letter from home, I see, lad; lucky dog!”
“Yes, very lucky,” replied the young man cynically, as he ran his eye over the contents; “worse than my infernal luck of last night, and only less than the misfortune I am looking for to-day is the news in this letter.”
“How is that, lad?”
“Well, you will hear some day.”—Here he took the note, and slowly tore it lengthways into thin strips, and then across, so that it lay in a hundred fragments.—“But it's a secret, at least it was until a week ago, but being in a woman's hands, of course she let it slip;” and Master Walter looked as near to “ugly” as it was possible for his handsome face to go.
“I fancied your folks at home were unaware of your having intended to be at the Turf Hotel, and rather thought you were with your regiment, like a good boy.”
The captain returned no answer; but Derrick, who was in excellent spirits notwithstanding the anxieties of the coming day, continued to address him in that healthy and cheerful strain which is the most intolerable of all manners to one who is melancholy, and what is worse, in dread suspense. “Now, for my part, Walter, any letter in a woman's hand, as I think yours is—nay, you foolish lad, if you hadn't stuffed it into your breast-pocket so quickly, I protest I should have thought it had come from your mother or your sister. Why, you don't mean to say that that pretty little gate-keeper down at Mirk writes letters to handsome Master Walter?”
“And why not?” asked the captain defiantly. “If it had come from Mistress Forest, then, indeed, you might have taken upon yourself to object, although I understand that even there, you have not yet obtained the position of bridegroom-elect.”
“No,” returned Derrick drily. “I was about to say that I should have welcomed any letter in a woman's hand, especially if it began: 'My dearest '“——
“What the devil do you mean by looking over my letter?” exclaimed Master Walter, starting up in a fury.
“Nothing,” answered the other, purple with laughter and muffin; “I never dreamed of such a thing. But since you said it came from the gate-keeper's daughter, I thought I'd make a shot. The idea of my wanting to read all the pretty things the little fool writes to a wicked young dog like you; it's no fun to me to watch a moth at a candle. But what a spoiled lad it is! Why, here I have had no letter at all from Mirk, and yet I am content. Silence gives consent, they say; and particularly in this case, when I know nothing but your lady-mother prevents Mary writing 'My dearest Ralph' to me. Indeed, if she wrote 'Dear sir, I can have no more to do with you,' it would not have the smallest effect. What I have made up my mind to do, generally comes to pass. Where there's a will—that is, supposing it is strong enough—there is most times a way.”
“I know you're a devil of a fellow,” sneered Master Walter, rising and gazing out of window at the bustling street already astir with the Derby vehicles; “but I am afraid your will can't win me this race.”
“It's done a great deal towards it, Captain Lisgard. It brought about the trial-race with the 'crack,' although my Lord did give himself such cursed airs, and not only let you in for a good thing, but lent you the money to take advantage of it to the uttermost.”
“That's true,” said Walter frankly, and holding out his thin white hand. “I daresay you think me an ungrateful beast, but I'm worried by a matter that you know nothing of; besides”——
“Not another word, lad—not another word; I am a rude rough creature, and I said some unpleasant things myself.—Here is our Hansom, and with light-green curtains of gauze. I'm cursed if I go down to Epsom with the colours of The King on my cab. Why, the beggar must have done it to insult us.”
“Stuff and nonsense, Ralph; it's only to keep off the dust. If you have no curtains, you must wear a veil, that's all. Look there, in yonder barouche-and-four, every man has a green veil on. By Heaven! that Wobegon's one of 'em. He's got my I.O.U. for fifteen hundred pounds in his waistcoat-pocket; and there's that ugly devil Beamish, too.—Well,” muttered the captain to himself, “I'm glad I didn't go with that party, at all events.”
Master Walter, who was as popular in town as elsewhere, had been asked to take a seat for that day in half-a-dozen “drags” and barouches, but he had preferred to go alone with Derrick; not that he enjoyed his companionship, but because, as I have before said, he gathered some comfort from his society under the present cloud of anxiety and apprehension.
“I say, Walter, you are a pretty fellow; you forgot all about the provisions, but see here!” cried Derrick triumphantly, pulling a hamper from under the sofa; “a pigeon-pie, a fowl, two bottles of champagne, and one of brandy!”
“What confounded nonsense!” returned the young man peevishly. “There are dozens of parties who would have given us lunch. The idea of a hamper on the top of a Hansom!”
“Well, come, you are wrong anyway, there, lad, for I have seen a dozen going by this morning.”
“Very likely, and you have also seen plenty of vans, each with a barrel of ale. However, it's of no consequence. If the Frenchman wins, I could eat periwinkles out of a hand-barrow with a hair-pin; and if he loses—why, then, I shall not have much appetite.”
“Look here, lad,” replied Derrick gravely, “this sort of thing won't do. Never be down on your luck, until, at all events, your luck is down upon you. You are not cut out for this work, I can see. A man ought to be sanguine, yet cool; hopeful of gain—yet quite prepared for loss, who goes in for such a stake as you have got upon to-day's race. A gambler should be all brain, and no heart: let me suggest, before we start, that you should just take a little brandy.”
“No, no!” ejaculated the captain impatiently. “If I am a funk, as you so delicately hint, I am not a fool. Come, let's be off. The next, time I see this room again, I shall be a made man—or a beggar.”
To any man, who risks by betting more than he can conveniently spare, the going to the Derby is by no means a cheerful expedition, whatever his coming home may chance to be; and further, it may be observed, that of all professional persons, those who take up the Turf as their line in life, are the most sombre and unlively.
Many of them are clever fellows enough, and one or two are honest men, but there is no such thing as fun among them. The Ring would never take to the snow-balling one another, as the stock-brokers have been known to do when 'Change was dull. They have only a certain grim and cruel humour, such as the Yankees use, the point of which lies always in overreaching one another.
Derrick was right when he said that Master Walter was not fit for such a calling, but the same thing might, almost with equal force, have been said of himself. He was not, indeed, of an anxious disposition, but his temper, when once roused, was almost demoniacal, and he could never stand being cheated. Now, Cheating, in some form or other, is the soul of the turf.
Whenever it is possible to trot in that vast procession down to Epsom, the appearance of which is so gay, and the pace so funereal, the large-wheeled Hansom does it. Many a pretentious four-in-hand did the captain and Derrick pass, and many a wicked-looking brougham with its high stepping-steeds; and the occupants of each had often a word to say about “the fellow with the beard that Lisgard had picked up, and was carrying about with him everywhere.” For the manly growth that fringed Ralph Derrick's chin was something portentous, even in these days of beards, and his appearance was rendered still more striking from the fact of his wearing an infinite number of wooden dolls in the band of his hat, where Louis XI. used to stick the images of his patron saints. In vain Walter had informed him that this was a weakness only indulged in by snobs. Ralph rejoined (but not without an extra tinge of red in his weatherbeaten cheek), that being a snob himself, it was therefore only natural that he (Ralph) should take pleasure in thus adorning himself. He had rather be a snob than a nob, by a precious sight; he knew that. As for making an exhibition of himself, if that was really the case, it was only right that the public should be advertised of the matter, so he purchased a penny trumpet, and executed thereon the most discordant flourishes. “Say another word, lad,” added he, with cheerful malice, “and blessed if I don't buy a false nose!”
Walter made no further remonstrance; he leaned back in the Hansom as far he could, and as much behind the green gauze curtain, until they reached the course, when his companion divested himself of the objectionable ornaments, and made a present of a live tortoise, which he had also acquired on the way, to an importunate gipsy woman, instead of crossing her palm as requested “with a piece of silver.” They could hear by this time the hum and the roar of the great human sea which surged about the railings in front of the Grand Stand, and in a few minutes more they were within them. They pushed their way through the babbling throng towards a certain corner that had been agreed upon, and there was Mr Tite Chifney waiting for them, with a very pale face indeed.
“Nothing wrong with the horse, is there?” cried Ralph in a loud and menacing voice, which caused not a few sharp eyes to glance cunningly towards them, and set not a few sharp ears to listen to what might come next.
“No, sir, nothing,” returned the trainer. “For Heaven's sake, speak low. I never saw him looking better in my life. We will see him now, if you like.”
“Where's Blanquette?” continued Ralph, a little reassured by this, as they moved away towards the Paddock.
“Mr Blanquette is not here, Mr Derrick.”
“Not here? Why, he was to join you the day before yesterday, otherwise I would have come myself.”
“He has been here, sir, but he's gone away again?”
“What! Is he not coming back to-day?”
“I hope so, sir; I most sincerity hope so; but the fact is—now take 'it quietly, for it's none of my fault—he's gone after Jack Withers.”
In an instant, while Walter ejaculated a smothered cry of agony and wrath, Derrick had seized the trainer by the throat. “You know me, sir,” cried he. “As I swore to treat that tout on the Downs at Mirk, so will I treat you, if that jockey”——
But two blue-coated men had thrust themselves between the strong man and his victim; a gentleman in a tight-buttoned frock-coat was coming up, too, in plain clothes, with that swift determined stride peculiar to members of “the force,” and the crowd grew very thick about them, and a thousand eyes were being concentrated upon Ralph's furious face, he knew. If his temper was lost now, he felt that all was lost. With an effort that almost cost him a fit of apoplexy—“I am sorry,” said he, “that I laid my hand upon you, Mr Chifney.”
“That will do,” returned the trainer quietly, arranging his neckcloth. “Mr Inspector, you know me, and there is no occasion for your services.”
“All right, Mr Chifney, but you have got a rummish customer to deal with there,” replied the guardian of the law, stroking his chin, and looking at Derrick, much as a vice-president of the Zoological Society might regard a novelty in wild beasts, that had been half-promised to the establishment, and then withdrawn.
“I have never been treated thus,” complained the trainer, as the three moved away, and the gaping crowd gathered round some other object of attraction, “and have never deserved such treatment from any employer of mine, although I have kept racing-stables these thirty years. I can make some allowance for one who has so much money on this horse, as I know you have, Mr Derrick, but I give you my honour and word that I was as astounded as Mr Blanquette himself, when I heard the news that Jack had skedaddled. He was your own jockey, remember, not mine: no boy in my stables has ever played such a scurvy trick as this.”
“Have you any boy that can take this scoundrel's place?” asked Captain Lisgard impatiently.
“I have got as good riders as can be got, Master Walter, upon so short a notice; and Menelaus shall have the pick of them. But you know what a devil of a temper the horse has; and this Withers was the only lad who understood him.”
“How comes it that Blanquette has gone to look for him?” asked Derrick thoughtfully. “Does he know where he is likely to be found?”
“Not as I know of, sir,” returned the trainer gravely, “He said he would bring him back Dead or Alive—those were his words.”
“Stop a moment, Chifney,” ejaculated Ralph. “I can scarcely find breath to utter even the suspicion of it; and the certainty would, I verily believe, choke me; but do you think it possible that all is not quite on the square with Blanquette himself?”
“Well, Mr Derrick, I'd rather not say. Mr Blanquette is as much the owner of the horse as yourself. He's my employer too—and nobody ever heard Tite Chifney breathe a word”——
“Thousand devils!” cried Derrick, stamping his foot so that the print of it was left in the yielding turf; “is this a time for your senseless scruples? I ask you, do you think it possible that this man—my pal for years, one that has oftentimes faced death in my company, and once shared the last scanty meal that stood between us and starvation—do you think it possible, I say, that this man has sold the race?”
“Well, sir,” replied Mr Chifney frankly, “about victuals eaten under the circumstances you describe, of course I'm no judge; but as to friendship and that, I've known a son play his own father false upon the turf before now; and what an Englishman will do in the way of smartness, you may take your oath a Frenchman will do—and a deuced sight worse too. Moreover, since you press this question, I may say that your partner has been seen talking with Wiley—Lord Stonart's agent—more than once.”
“And why, in the devil's name, was I not told?”
“That was not my business, Mr Derrick; you might not have thanked me for interfering with your affairs. I thought that you and Mr Blanquette were one. Besides, to confess the truth, I thought it was The King who was being nobbled. And since Lord Stonart has chosen to withdraw his horses from my keeping—chiefly, by the by, through his disgust at that trial-race in which his crack was beaten—I, of course, was no longer bound to look after his interests; no, indeed, quite the reverse,” added the trainer with an offended air.
“Did this Frenchman say he would be here to-day, if he did not find the boy?” inquired Captain Lisgard sharply, with an unpleasant look in his fine eyes.
“I can answer that question for him,” returned the gold-digger grimly. “If he has played me false, he will not only not be here; he will have put the sea—and not the narrow one either—between himself and Ralph Derrick; for he knows me very well. But now”—here he drew a long breath, and made a motion with his mighty arms as though he would dismiss that matter for the present, tempting as it was to dwell upon—“let us see the boy that is to take this rascal's place. We may pull through still with luck.”
HAVE you ever seen at the beginning of a Great Law Case a certain hush and stir among the gentlemen of the long robe, and then a young man rise—not much over forty, that is—and inform “my lud” that his unfortunate client was placed at a sad disadvantage, for that, through the unexpected but unavoidable absence of his leader, the whole case must needs devolve upon his own (the junior's) shoulders? The circumstance is of course most lamentable, but still the young counsel (if he is worth a guinea fee) has a certain confident radiance about him, for he feels that his opportunity has come at last, and that he has but “to grasp the skirts of happy chance,” to be borne from that moment woolsackwards. So was it with Mr Samuel Hicks, horse-jockey unattached, when suddenly called upon to fill the vacant seat of Brother Withers, absent without leave. To ride a Derby at a moment's notice was, to one in his position, almost what to take the command of the Mediterranean squadron would be to a young gentleman at the naval school. But not a trace of indecision was visible on the young centaur's countenance.
“I will do my best, gentlemen,” said he modestly; then added, with the irrepressible assurance of his class, “and I think I know how to ride.”
“You know nothing, and are an infernal young fool,” returned the trainer sharply. “You never were outside of such a horse as Menelaus in your life. If he is in a good temper, a child might steer him; but if he jibs—if he stands stock-still in that great race an hour hence, as he is as like to do as not—what will you do then?”
“Bless my soul, sir,” cried the boy, his golden Future—not without “mother in a comfortable cottage, and easy for life,” let us hope, in the foreground—all swept away by this relentless prediction—“Bless my soul, sir, I think I should cut his throat.”
“I like this fellow,” cried Derrick, slapping the lad upon the back. “Look you, here is twenty pounds, which you may keep in any case, and you had better take it now, for if you lose the race, there will be plenty of folks to want all my money. But if you win, boy, I will make it Two Hundred.”
“And I will make it Four,” added Master Walter fervently.
“So, you see, you will be a made man for life,” remarked the trainer kindly. “But listen to me, Sam, or else all this glitter will be the merest moonshine. Be sure never touch your horse with whip or spur; for Withers, I have noticed, never did. But if the beast jibs—I saw Jack do this at the trial-race, and once before—snatch at his ear. There may be some secret in the way of handling it, but there is no time for finding that out. Do you twist it hard.”
“O sir, I'll twist it off, but he shall win,” returned the jockey plaintively; and off he went to don his new owner's colours—black and red—as proudly as an ensign to his first battle-field.
It had got about that there was some hitch about Menelaus, and the odds were rising rapidly against him; and when the large and somewhat ungainly animal took his preparatory canter in front of the stand under the guidance of the uncelebrated Hicks, they rose still higher. If any of his ancient confidence had remained to Captain Lisgard, he could scarcely have resisted the tempting offers that were being roared out in harsh and nasal tones from every quarter of the Ring.
“I'll lay 7 to 1 against Many Laws” (for most of the racing fraternity favoured Mr Derrick's pronunciation of that name); “I'll lay 8 to 1.”
“I'll take 4 to 1. I name the Winner” (for the relation between The King and the French horse in the betting was that of buckets in a well).
“I take odds that Menelaus is not placed,” exclaimed a shrill and sneering voice close beside where the two men most interested in that depreciated animal were standing.
“What odds will you take, my Lord?” inquired Captain Lisgard, biting his lip in wrath, for it was Lord Stonart who was offering them, the man whose confidential agent had been talking with Blanquette, and to whose machinations it was almost certainly owing that Menelaus had lost his rider.
“Ah, Lisgard, how are you?” returned he coolly. “How came it that I missed you just now in the Paddock? Haven't seen you since that morning on Mirk Down. So we're going to try that race over again, eh?”
“I think you were asking for odds, my Lord, about the black horse being placed?” rejoined the captain, pale with passion at the sarcasm that lurked in the other's tone.
“Yes, so I was. There has something gone amiss, they say, with him. I'll take 4 to 1 in fifties—hundreds, if you like.”
“Don't do it,” whispered Derrick eagerly. “Don't you see what the scoundrel reckons upon? If the horse runs straight, he will win the race, but if he jibs, he will be nowhere. He is therefore taking odds where he ought to give them.”
“You don't take me, eh?” continued his Lordship. “Well, I think your friend advises you wisely. See, the horses are moving towards the hill Like myself, you have no stall, I conclude. Where are you going to place yourself? I think I shall remain below here on the green.”
“Then I shall see the race from the roof my Lord,” answered the captain savagely, and thither he and his companion betook themselves accordingly.
To look down from that elevation upon Epsom Downs just before the start for the Great Race, is to behold a wondrous spectacle. Men—a quarter of a million or so—as black and thick as bees, and emitting much such a hum and clangour as attends the swarming of those perilous insects; and the carriages, twelve deep—dwarfed to much the same proportions as those chariots which used to be dragged in public by the Industrious Fleas. But raise your race-glass, and with a single sweep you survey every social degree of human life; from the duchess to the poor drunken hag on the look-out for empty bottles; from the peer to the ragged thief who bides his moment to snatch his booty from his Lordship's carriage-seat. This rascal's opportunity is coming. If there are five minutes in an Englishman's life in which he is indifferent to the preservation of his property, it is those five which are now at hand when that little jockey rainbow yonder is gathering on the hill. Thirty of the fleetest horses in the world are about to contend for the greatest prize that horse can win: it is not that circumstance, however, which makes so many hearts go pit-a-pat, keeps all lips sealed, and rivets every eye, except that of the pickpocket and his natural enemy the policeman, upon that shifting speck of colour. All are aware of the enormous interests that hang upon the result impending, even if they have none themselves; vague hut gigantic shadows of loss and gain forecast themselves upon every mind. In a few seconds more, certain unknown scoundrels—fellow-creatures, however, with whom we have indissoluble sympathies—will be enriched beyond the dreams of avarice; and certain other poor devils will be ruined. A solemn hush pervades all Pandemonium. The very organ-grinders cease their hateful discord; the vendors of race-cards give their lungs brief respite; the proprietors of Aunt Sallies intermit their useless cry of “Three throws a penny,” and stand on tiptoe, with their fasces beneath their arms, as eager as my Lord who totters insecure erect upon the front seat of his drag. Nervous folks see all these things because they cannot keep their eyes fixed where they would. A sudden roar breaks forth, not in the least like human speech, but it means that They are Off!
“Are they off, Ralph?” inquires Master Walter of his companion, “or is it a lie?” His small and well-gloved hand is trembling so, that his race-glass gives him views like a kaleidoscope. Splendour or Penury—nay, worse, or Shame await him, and are at the threshold. He knows not yet the foot of which it is that draws so nigh; and he dares not look forth to see.
“They are not off yet, lad,” returned Ralph; and even he has to swallow something which appears to be in his throat, but is not, before he can give that assurance.
Master Walter draws a long breath, for this is a reprieve, and endeavours once more to fix his eyes upon the dancing horses; but it is the retina of the mind only which presents its image. He beholds his mother's face, paler and more careworn than ever, sharpened with pain, through something which she has learned since——
“They're off! they're off!” is again the cry; and this time the great plane of faces shifts and flashes as it follows the speck of colour now in rapid motion—at first, a double line, next a lengthening oval, and then a string of brilliants, knotted here and there. As they approach Tatten-ham Corner, Walter perceives, for the first time, that they are horses, and that three are leading all the rest—Green, Black, and Yellow. The chances are then but two to one against him. How they lag and crawl, these vaunted coursers of the air! How long is this frightful suspense to last? “The Yellow's beat—Mica is out of it—the Black wins—the favourite is beaten, blast him!—Menelaus wins”——There is a thunder of hoofs, a flash of Black and Green, then a cry such as, even on Epsom Downs, was never before heard. “By Heaven, he's off! The boy is killed! Was it short of the post? What number's up? The Green has won. The King, The King! Hurrah, hurrah!” And so the babblement breaks forth again, and the tumultuous crowd flows in like water upon the fair green course, save one small space of it kept clear by men with staves, where lies a poor whitefaced jockey, senseless and motionless, for whose misfortune everybody is sorry, but especially those who have backed the Black.
All had gone well with the French horse until within a few strides of the winning-post; he was leading by half a length, and his victory seemed certain to all eyes, when suddenly—whether through the devilish nature of the beast, or whether poor Sam had touched him with the heel in that overwhelming crisis, can never now be known—but he stopped stock-still, and shot his rider (snatching at his ear as he flew by) a dozen yards like cricket-ball from catapult. The uncelebrated Hicks had actually preceded the rival jockey at the post, but left his horse behind him; and there the beast was standing yet, with his fore-feet planted resolutely before him, and his untwisted ears laid level with his neck, as though he was giving “a hack” at leap-frog.
“Come down, and let us get away from this, lad,” broke forth Derrick impatiently: “it is no use waiting here.”
“It is no use waiting here,” echoed the young man mechanically, as he followed his friend through the fast-thinning crowd down to the basement story.
At the foot of the staircase they met Mr Chifney, looking very white and disconcerted. He, too, had put more trust than he was wont to place in horses in Menelaus, and had suffered in consequence; and the wily trainer was not used to losses.
“How is the boy?” inquired Derrick.
“Bad, sir, bad: it is a bad business altogether,” muttered the man of horseflesh, not perhaps wholly thinking of the boy.
“It was not his fault, however,” continued Ralph. “No man could have kept his seat during such a devil's trick. Look you, let him have all he requires; everything. I will be responsible.”
Mr Chifney had expected from this stormy client some terrible outbreak of wrath and disappointment; and lo, he was all benevolence and charity! His astonishment exhibited itself significantly enough in his face; but Ralph mistook the cause.
“Why do you stare so, sir? I suppose I am good for a few pounds yet. The horse is mine; and I apprehend will be security enough; though I wish I could afford to shoot him—cursed beast! Where is Lord Stonart?”
“A Great Personage has, I have heard, just sent for him, to offer his congratulations.”
Ralph Derrick uttered a harsh and bitter laugh. “I suppose we couldn't see this interesting interview, eh?”
“Certainly not, sir,” replied the trainer hurriedly, alarmed by Derrick's tone and air. “I hope you are not thinking of putting us all in the wrong by any act of violence?”
“Well, no; I thought of conferring the honour of knighthood upon his Lordship with a horsewhip—that's all.”
“Take him away,” whispered the trainer to Master Walter; “for Heaven's sake, take him home.”
“Yes, home. Come home, Ralph,” repeated the young man, like one in a dream.
“Ha, Lisgard, how goes it?” drawled Captain Wobegon, sauntering slowly up to where the three were standing. “I hope you recouped yourself for last night's misfortunes by The King just now. Devilish near thing, though. The Frenchman did win by a head, but luckily it was the boy's, and not his own.”
“I backed the wrong horse,” returned Master Walter gloomily. “And I owe you—how much is it?”
“A little over fourteen hundred. If it's any convenience to you, I can wait a fortnight or so; I would say longer—but Lurline—she was inquiring after you, only yesterday, by the by; I felt quite jealous—has a soul above economy. And after the Derby, you know, folks send in their bills; especially jewellers. They know if they are not paid then, it's a bad look-out. What a lot that fellow Stonart must have netted! I'm sorry to see you so down in the mouth; you used to be such a lucky fellow.”
“Used to be such a lucky fellow,” mused Master Walter, as he and his companion made their way to the outskirts of the heath, where a place had been appointed at which their Hansom was to wait for them. “Yes, so I was. I used to win in a small way, and yet people were always glad to see me. They won't be so pleasant, I reckon, when they find that I am a defaulter. I can't get at any money for a year, and who 'll wait a year without making a row? Even if they do, mine will be a fine coming of age. How could I have been such a frightful fool?”
“Tell your fortune, my pretty gentleman,” observed a gipsy girl, laying her walnut-coloured fingers upon the young man's coat-sleeve. “You are born under a lucky star.”
“I may have been born there; but I have wandered far away from its influence,” replied Master Walter, shaking her hand off somewhat roughly. “If you want a shilling, you shall have it; for I have nothing but other people's money about me, and that one always parts with very readily. But don't call me lucky, for that's a lie, you jade.”
“Bless your handsome face,” returned the gipsy humbly, “it's a shame that it ever should be crossed by the shadow of sorrow. You can't be unlucky, sir, with eyes like yours—especially,” added she, as the two strode hastily away, “especially among the ladies.”
“Do you hear that, lad?” laughed Derrick encouragingly; but the young man was too wrapt up in his own sombre thoughts to heed such things.
“I must sell out,” muttered he to himself; “that's the first thing. And I must run down to Mirk; there is no knowing what that spitfire there may do else.”
“Here's our Hansom, and the fellow not drunk for a wonder!” exclaimed Derrick. “Where's the horse, man?”
“In this next booth, sir,” returned the driver. “I will put him to in no time.—I am afraid your honours have not won.”
“See, Walter, lad,” cried Derrick in remonstrance; “that's your fault. Don't hang out such signals of distress that everybody who meets us offers their confounded pity. Be a man, lad; be a man. Besides, what did that gipsy girl say just now? Many a wise word is spoken in jest. She said, with your good looks, that you must needs he lucky with the women. I should like to see the heiress who would say 'No' to Captain Walter Lisgard. A good marriage would mend all this, and”——
“Go to the devil!” exclaimed the young man passionately.
“You are out of temper, lad,” returned the other gravely; “but don't say those sort of things to me, for I have not deserved them.”
“Not deserved them! you have been my ruin, curse you!” continued the other with vehemence. “But for you, you drunken”——
“Take you care, Walter Lisgard!” roared the bearded man in a voice of thunder. “Do not make me strike you, for I would as soon strike my son. How can all this be my fault? Do you suppose that I have not lost also—almost all I have in the world save a few hundreds?”
“Ay, mine, I suppose,” exclaimed Walter bitterly. “I know I owe you a thousand pounds.”
“Yes,” returned the other, producing his pocket-book, “here are three I.O.U.s bearing your signature, for two, three, and five hundred pounds.”
“You shall be paid, sir, never fear,” rejoined the young man insolently. “No man but you, however, would have produced them at such a time. But it serves me right for herding with such people.”
“Thank you, young man. At the same time, few of your fine gentlemen would treat them this way.” Thus saying, he tore them into little strips, and scattered them to the wind.—“All I ask, by way of repayment, now is, that you will listen to a few words I have to say. I have loved you, Walter Lisgard, in spite of yourself, and would have laid down my life for yours. I have concealed from my own heart as well as I could the selfish baseness that underlies your every act—but that is over now. Look you, on the coasts where I have come from, there is many a bay which, if you saw it at high tide, you would say: 'What a beautiful harbour! what smooth and smiling water! This is a place for all men to cast anchor.' But when the tide is going out, you see how you have been deceived. Here is a reef that would wreck a navy; here is a jagged and cruel rock, and there another and another. With every one, you say to yourself, surely this is the last. But for this and for that, there was never a better anchorage; and how beautiful the place is! What luxuriant foliage—what exquisite verdure fringes the shore—just the shores, you know. But when the tide is quite out, it is impossible to like the place any longer. There are nothing but reefs and rocks to be seen then, and a few loathsome reptiles among the slime. Now, Walter Lisgard, I have come upon you at dead low-water, and I don't wish to meet you any more. You will deceive others, of course, who may see you at the flow, but you will never deceive me. I shall go down to Mirk, after a little, to bring away my wife. Take my advice, and don't be there. Above all things, see that your mother does not cross me in that matter, or it will be worse for all concerned. I have nobody now in the world who cares for me save Mary Forest, and they shall not rob me of her. Here is the Hansom in which we can no longer sit together. You are not used to walking, being what is called a gentleman, so you had better take it. All I ask you is, to leave our lodgings before I reach them, since you will arrive there first; or if not—I will take myself off elsewhere; I should be sorry to be under the same roof, with you again, young man.”
Then pulling his hat forward upon his brow, in place of farewell, Ralph Derrick turned his back upon Walter Lisgard, and took his way to town on foot. As the captain, sitting alone in no very enviable frame of mind, passed him afterwards upon the road, he could not help remarking to himself how old and bowed the insolent fellow looked.
I SUPPOSE, Mary, that I shall be sure of getting a letter from Mr Arthur today?” observed my Lady to her maid, as that confidential domestic was proceeding with the duties—which were by no means mysteries—of her toilet, upon the morning after the picnic at Belcomb. He is certain to reply concerning a matter which was important enough to cause the use of the telegraph.”
“I suppose so, my Lady: very like.”
Nothing could be more in contrast than the tones in which these two persons had spoken; the question had been earnest, almost fervent, and one which evidently was put in order to evoke an affirmative answer; the reply was given carelessly enough, or rather as though the thoughts of her who uttered it were absent from the matter altogether.
“'Very likely,' Mary! Why, how can it be otherwise? Just run down and open the letter-bag; you know where to find the key.”
“Yes, my Lady.”
As Mary Forest left the room, she cast at her beloved mistress, whose eyes were fixed thoughtfully upon the pattern of the carpet, and observed her not, a look of unspeakable love and pity; and when the door was shut between them, she burst into a passion of silent tears.
“It will kill her,” murmured she; “she can never survive this second trouble. Sorrow and shame, sorrow and shame, are all that fall to my dear mistress now. How shall I tell her? May Heaven give her strength to bear it; but I wish, for her sake, that she was dead, and already the angel she deserves to be——Ah, you minx!” ejaculated Mary, interrupting herself as she passed Miss Aynton's room, and shaking her plump fist at its unconscious tenant; “you'll go to quite another place, and serve you right too.” And seemingly comforted by this reflection, she wiped her eyes with the hem of her apron, and hurried down the back-stairs upon her errand.
“What will Arthur think?” mused my Lady, as she awaited her maid's return with a beating heart. “He will certainly connect the request to destroy that letter with what I said to him at the Watersmeet a while ago, about”—she did not utter the concluding words at all, but only formed them with her lips—“poor Ralph. If Arthur suspects, it will be with him the first step to knowledge; and yet he would never use it to my hurt. If there were anything amiss in the concealment of this matter, then I should fear him, for he is the soul of honour. But my bastard son—God help him, if he ever comes to know it—robs nobody even of this barren title, and my children's money is due to no one else. They might have been paupers as well as bastards; let their mother comfort herself with that thought all she can.” My Lady's lips were crooked into a bitter smile: hers was not a cynical face—far from it—and such an expression misbecame it sadly; it looked more like a contortion of the mouth induced by bodily pain.—“Well, Mary, is there no letter from Mr Arthur?”
“No, ma'am; none.”
“Then there is one more cause for anxiety added to the rest of my troubles, that is all. Ah me, how foolishly I used to fret myself in days when there was no cause! Perhaps he never got the telegraph, and not understanding why the letter came to him, has transmitted it back to—to the person to whom it was addressed.—Mary, you had better presently run over to the Lisgard Arms, and see to that. Steve will give it up, if you explain to him that it is your handwriting. Tell him, if necessary, that I promise him he shall not lose the inn. I must have that letter. Mr Arthur could not possibly know the London address of—of that person, could he?”
“Very likely, my Lady, yes—at least, I don't know.”
“Mary!”
“I beg your pardon, madam,” replied the waiting-maid, starting like one aroused from a dream. “I was not thinking what I said; I was thinking of something else.”
“I think you might give me your attention, Mary,” returned my Lady sighing: “you cannot be thinking of anything so momentous as this matter, which involves sorrow, shame, and perchance utter ruin.”
“Alas! but I can, my Lady,” answered the other gravely; “and I am doing it. There has something happened worse than anything you can guess at. Master Walter”——
“Great Heaven! has any accident happened to my boy? I saw him hut an hour ago; he came into my room, dear fellow, to bid me good-bye before he started for the station. The young horse was in the dog-cart——”
“Mary, Mary, do not—do not tell me that my Walter is killed!”
“He is quite well, my Lady, so far as I know—quite well in health.”
“Thank Heaven for that! Bless you for that, Mary! Why did you frighten me so, if there is nothing the matter?”
“There is something the matter, my Lady. Pray, command yourself; you will have need of all your fortitude. I would never tell it you—burdened as you are already—only you must know it; you, above all, and no one else, if we can help it.”
“More secrets! more deception, Mary! Spare me, if you can, dear friend; I am sorely tried already.”
“I cannot spare you, my Lady, or I would do so, Heaven knows; nay, I would almost take the shame upon my own shoulders, if that might shield you from the sorrow it must needs bring with it. Miss Letty”——
“It is not fit that Shame and my daughter should be mentioned in the same breath,” replied my Lady, rising, and speaking with dignity. “Do not continue; I forbid you to speak. What you were going to say is false, and I will not listen.”
“It is true, my Lady—true as that the sun is shining now. Of course, Miss Letty has nothing to do with it; but it was through her I learned it.”
“Does she know it, then?” asked my Lady sternly.
“Certainly not, madam; and Heaven grant she never may. She's as pure-minded as any seraph, and, like Charity, thinketh no evil. But she told me this afternoon—seeing that you were troubled, and not liking to pain you, perhaps without reason, and speaking to me as her old nurse and friend, who loves all the Lisgards, good and bad (for they are not all good, alas, alas!), and who will love them to the end—she told me that something which she had overheard between Miss Rose and Master Walter”——
“You mean Sir Richard,” interposed my Lady.
“No, madam—his brother. It was Master Walter that I was speaking of the other day in the carriage, and whom I understood your Ladyship to say that Miss Aynton had refused. I knew very well that they were love-making, flirting and such like upon the sly; but I did not know—I could not suspect——- O mistress dear, a terrible disgrace has befallen you, through that infamous young hussy, Miss Rose Aynton—though what Master Walter could have seen in the Jade, I am sure passes my comprehension altogether.”
“Disgrace! Walter! Rose Aynton! What do you mean, woman?” asked my Lady angrily. “You must be mad, to say such things. I heard Sir Richard ask the girl to be his wife with my own ears, and she refused him.”
“Did she, my Lady? Well, I'm surprised at that, for I should have thought she would have stuck at nothing.—But let me tell the whole story. What Miss Letty heard at the picnic was this: she heard Master Walter cursing Miss Rose. That was an odd thing for a young gentleman to do to a young lady—although, for that matter, I have no doubt she deserved it—was it not? Well, that was what Miss Letty thought. She had never heard such words before, and could scarcely force her innocent lips to repeat them; but I made her do it. And certainly Master Walter expressed himself pretty strong. It seems he was angered about the young woman's behaviour to his brother yesterday”——
“Ay,” interrupted my Lady quietly, and still thinking that the prejudice of her waiting-maid had much exaggerated matters, “that was partly my fault; I begged Miss Aynton to be more complaisant in her manner to Sir Richard.”
“Well, Master Walter might have been annoyed, madam, but what right had he to be jealous! and especially what relation could exist between him and Miss Rose, which justified him in using such dreadful words? Fancy swearing at her, my Lady!”
“Yes, that is shocking indeed, Mary. Miss Letty, however, must certainly have misunderstood him.”
“That's what I told her, my Lady, in hopes to quiet her a bit; but I did not believe it myself, no more than you do. We don't suppose that Miss Letty invented the oaths, do we?”
“That is true,” sighed Lady Lisgard. “It makes me very wretched to think that my boy Walter should have so far forgotten himself as to use such language to a young girl—a guest, too, in his mother's house. I shall certainly demand an explanation of it from his own lips.”
“Alas, there is no need, madam,” returned the waiting-maid. “I can tell you all—if you can bear to listen to it.”
“I am listening,” said my Lady wearily; but she sat with her back towards Mistress Forest, and once, in the course of her recital, she uttered a piteous moan, and covered her face with her hands.
“When Miss Letty told me what I have just said, my Lady, and had parted from me a little comforted, trying to persuade herself that she really might have been mistaken in what she had overheard, I instantly sought out Anne Rees, and bade her come with me to my room. You wouldn't have believed it in a girl as you yourself chose out of the village school, and who has been at the Abbey under my own eye for four years; but she refused point-blank: very respectful, I must say, but also very firm. 'I durstn't do it,' said she, all of a twitter—'not till Miss Rose is abed and asleep; or if I do, you may be certain sure as she will come to know it, and get out of me every word that may pass between us two.'
“The girl looked as scared as though she had seen a ghost, and yet my request did not seem to come on her at all unexpected; and, in point of fact, she knew what she was wanted for well enough. However, I thought it best to let her have her way; and so it was arranged that she was to come to my room as soon as she had done with the young ladies—although 'tis little enough, indeed, she has done for Miss Letty of late weeks, but all for that spiteful little hussy, Miss Rose.
“'Now,' said I when I got her alone, 'Anne Rees, there is nobody to listen to what we say, and you may speak to me as to your own mother.'
“'Ah, Mistress Forest,' answered she, beginning to whimper,' I only wish I dared.'
“'This young lady has got you under her thumb, I see, Annie. Now, if you'll tell me the whole truth of what is going on between her and Master Walter, I promise you that I'll turn her thumb back. It will hurt her a little—and that you won't be sorry for, perhaps—and it will set you free.'
“'Oh, Mistress Forest, if you could only do that, I would be a good girl all my life, and never try on other people's clothes again, nor be a spy upon my Lady, and'—— Here she stopped quite short, and looked as though she would have bitten her tongue off.
“'Now, Anne,' said I, 'you must tell me, whether you will or not: for you have gone too far to turn back. How did Miss Rose Aynton make a slave of a well-conducted girl like you—with nothing but vanity, that I know of, to be said against you—and compel you to do all this dirty work for her?'
“Well, Mistress Forest, as you truly say, I was always a vain child; and Heaven has punished me pretty sharp for it. One day, when the young ladies were out, and I was in Miss Aynton's room a-setting it to rights, what should I come upon—where, perhaps, I had no right to look for it, for it was evidently-meant to be hidden—but a queer-shaped leather box with trinkets in it.'
“'A jewel-case, I suppose you mean, Anne.'
“'Yes, ma'am; but they were none of those as Miss Aynton was in the habit of wearing—nor had she that box when she first came: she must have brought it down with her after she went back to London for a week in the early part of the year. However, all as struck me then was the beauty of the jewels; and I thought there was no harm in my just trying them on in the front of the swing mirror. My ears not being pierced, I couldn't fix the earrings, although I wouldn't a-minded a little pain, and they sparkled like morning-dew; but I clasped on the pearl necklace and the bracelets, and stood admiring myself in the looking-glass a good long time. Then all of a sudden I saw an angry face looking over my shoulder, and heard a cruel voice whisper: “Thief, thief!” just like the hiss of a wood-snake. I scarcely recognised Miss Rose, who had always looked so pleasant, and been such a smooth-spoken young lady.
“I could send you to prison, Anne Eees for this,” continued she, very grave and slow; “and I will, too, if you don't do everything I tell you. I hate a thief.”
“Lor, miss,” cried I, “have mercy, for Heaven's sake! I never meant to thieve nothing.”
“And I hate a liar,” added she, looking so cold and cruel that she made me shudder. “You break open my drawer—not a word, you had girl, or I'll send to Dalwynch for a policeman—and I actually find my property on your very person! You ought to go to jail for this; and perhaps I am wrong not to send you there. However, remember; from this moment, you are my servant—only mine; and whatever I tell you to do, whether it is against your late mistress or not, see that you do it; and dare not to breathe one word of anything that I do, or speak, or possess—such as these jewels, for instance—or you will rue it bitterly, Amie Rees.”
“'Of course I promised, Mistress Forest, for I was in such a state of terror that I would have promised anything; but you cannot imagine to what a slavery I bound myself!'
“'I know all about that, Anne.' said I: 'everybody knows you're become a spy and a sneak. But there is no occasion for you to follow such vocations any longer. My Lady would never believe a word of your intending to steal those things: I can promise you her protection; so make your mind quite easy upon that point.—But now, what about Master Walter?'
“'Well, Mistress Forest, the jewels were his present, to begin with. There have been very wicked goings on. It was quite dreadful to see her kiss dear good Miss Letty at night, and return her “God bless you!” so pious like, when she was not blessing her—I mean Miss Rose—at all. Oh, Mistress Forest, I have known all this for weeks and weeks, and dared not speak one word; and now the truth is almost too terrible to tell.'
“And then, my Lady,” pursued Mistress Forest, “she told me things which it is not necessary to repeat to you. 'I knew she was telling truth; but in order to assure myself that it was so, I crept out with naked feet, and listened at Miss Aynton's door, and I heard two voices”——
“Did you recognise them, woman; are you sure of that?” asked my Lady sternly.
“Ah, yes, madam—there is no doubt.”
“Heaven help us, and forgive us!” murmured my Lady, with bowed head. “Ah, Walter, Walter, I had expected Shame, but not from deed of yours! Where is this—Miss Aynton, Mary?”
“At her breakfast, my Lady; and doubtless making an exceedingly good one. She is not one to let her conscience interfere with her appetite, bless you! Like the murderer under sentence in Dalwynch jail, as I read of in the paper yesterday, she 'takes her meals with regularity,' I warrant; and does not in any way physically deteriorate under the distressing circumstances of her situation.”
“Send her to me, Mary—in the boudoir yonder,” said my Lady gravely. “Tell her I desire to speak with her very particularly. Breakfast? No, alas! I feel as though a morsel of food would choke me. Send her hither at once.”