It was the evening of the Tuesday in Epsom week, the day before the
Derby. Lord Bellefield, though outwardly calm, was inwardly a prey
to the most painful mental excitement. His lordship had met with a
continued run of ill-fortune latterly--everything he had attempted had
turned out badly: if he betted on a race, the horse he backed invariably
lost; if he played, cards and dice equally declared against him; he had
lavished hundreds in presents to a new opera dancer, and at the moment
in which he deemed his suit successful she had eloped with a younger,
richer, and handsomer man; his tradesmen began to mistrust him and to
dun him unpleasantly; several of his intimates to whom he owed money
grew cool and eyed him suspiciously; his extravagance had reached his
father’s ears, and Lord Ashford had not only ventured to remonstrate
with him, but apparently bent on adding insult to injury, had cited the
example of his younger brother, Charles Leicester (whom from his heart
he despised), and held him up as a pattern for his imitation, while Lord
Bellefield was forced to bear this lecturing patiently; for although
the estates were entailed, his father had been a careful man, and was
possessed of a large personalty which he could leave to whom he pleased.
The only piece of good luck to set against all this “monstrous quantity”
of vexation was the admirable promise displayed by the Dodona Colt.
This exemplary quadruped, now individualised by the name of “Oracle,”
appeared to have been born with a metaphorical silver spoon in its
delicate mouth, for from the moment in which its four black legs
(suggestive of its future fleetness, for black-legs are invariably
_fast_) put their feet into this uncomfortable world everything had
prospered with it. The breeder was astonished at it, the groom who
watched over its infancy was delighted with it; Turnbull, the trainer,
was so impressed by its merits that he never could speak of it without a
volley of the strongest oaths in his vocabulary, by which expletives he
was accustomed (transposing a certain poetical dictum) to _strengthen_
his praise of anything which was so fortunate as to win his approval;
and by the united kind regards of all these worthies this favourite of
nature had grown in public opinion until it now held the proud position
of first favourite for the Derby. Lord Bellefield was by this time no
new hand upon the turf; on the contrary, by dint of having been cheated,
and associating with those who had cheated him, for several years, he
had acquired, besides a sort of prescriptive diploma to _do_ as he had
been _done_, a considerable insight into the mysteries of the training
stable as well as the betting ring. He was therefore habitually
cautious; but in the present instance all his acquired knowledge and
natural acuteness coincided with the opinions of his underlings, to
prove to him that in the Dodona Colt he had indeed drawn a rare prize;
and that if he could but ensure that which our sanguine country is
popularly supposed to expect--viz., that “every man should do his duty,”
his horse, and none other, must be winner of the Derby. Accordingly, all
the powers of his intellect (which, although not enlarged, was subtle
and acute) were now directed to two points--viz., first, to take all
precautions to ensure that his horse should be fairly dealt by; and
secondly, to make such a book on the event as might retrieve his
bankrupt fortunes. This last feat he had succeeded in accomplishing even
beyond his utmost wishes; and accustomed as he was to hazard large sums
upon the cast of a die, he began to grow alarmed at the magnitude of the
stake for which he was about to contend.
Having dined in town at his club, he returned to his luxurious bachelor
_ménage_ in ---------- Street, and desiring that he might not be
disturbed, drew out his betting-book, examined it carefully, went
through the calculations again and again, referred to the latest
odds--and then closing it with a sigh, muttered, “Yes, they are all safe
men, men who will pay to the hour, and if Oracle runs true, this cursed
load of debt will be wiped off, and--I shall be rich enough to begin
afresh and contract a new one!--if! ay, there’s the rub--if!” He strode
up and down the room. “I am wretchedly nervous to-night,” he exclaimed,
ringing the bell. “Bring brandy,” he continued as the servant
appeared; then filling a wine-glass, he drank it off as if it had been
water--“leave it,” he said; then resuming his walk, added, “It _must_
go right--there is not a horse that can come near him; Tartuffe was the
only one that had a chance, and Turnbull swears he is safe to lose;
he witnessed the private trial himself, and the colt won by a head,
carrying 5 lbs. extra weight. That amusement cost me £50 to bribe
Austerlitz’s trainer to allow the trial to take place. True, Turnbull
may have lied--and yet why should he? he owes everything to me--though
that has nothing to do with it--gratitude, if there be such a quality,
is simply prospective--men are grateful to those only from whom they
expect favours. Well, even thus, Turnbull is bound to me hand and
foot; besides, I know he has backed the colt heavily himself: barring
accidents, then, against which no foresight can provide, and of which
therefore it is useless to think, I stand safe to win. And yet it is
a frightful sum to hazard on the uncertainties of a horse-race. If I
should lose, I must either blow out my brains like poor Mellerton, or
quit the country, marry Annie Grant, and live abroad on her money till
my father dies--and he’s as likely to last twenty years longer as I am.
I scarcely know which alternative is preferable. What an infernal fool
I’ve been to bring myself into this scrape; but when a man has such
a run of ill-luck against him as I have been cursed with for the last
year, what is he to do?” He paused, stretched himself wearily, and
then glancing at a gilt clock on the chimney-piece, muttered, “Twelve
o’clock; I must be up early to-morrow and keep a clear head--I’ll smoke
a cigar and turn in.” At this moment the house-bell rang sharply, and
Lord Bellefield started like a guilty thing. With an oath at this fresh
proof of his nervousness, he filled and drank a second glass of brandy,
then stood listening with a degree of eager anxiety which, despite his
efforts, he could not restrain. Doors opened and shut, and at length a
servant appeared.
“What is it?” exclaimed Lord Bellefield before the man could speak.
“A person wishes particularly to see your lordship,” was the reply.
“Say I am engaged, and can see no one; I thought I told you I would not
be disturbed,” returned his master angrily; “stay,” he continued, as a
new idea struck him, “what kind of person is it?”
“He desired me to inform your lordship that his name was Turnbull,” was
the answer.
With an oath at the man’s stupidity, Lord Bellefield desired him to
admit the visitor instantly.
“Well, Turnbull,” he exclaimed eagerly as the trainer entered, “what is
it, man?”
Thus adjured, Turnbull, a tall, stout-built fellow, with a clever but
disagreeable expression of countenance glanced carefully round the
room to assure himself that they were alone, and then approaching Lord
Bellefield, began, “Why, you see, my lud, I thought I’d better lose no
time, for there ain’t too many hours between now and tomorrow’s race,
so I jumped on to my ’ack, cantered over to the rail, ’ailed a
’Ansom’s cab, and ’ere I am.”
“Nothing amiss, eh? nothing wrong with the colt?” asked Lord Bellefield
with an affectation of indifference, though any one who had watched him
closely might have seen that he turned very pale.
“No, bless his eyes, he’s as right as a trivet, and as playful and
impudent as--as a brick,” continued Mr. Turnbull, rather at a loss for
a sufficiently eulogistic simile; “it was only this morning he took up
little Bill the ’elper by the waistband of his indispentionables and
shuk him like a tarrier would a rat. It would have done your ludship’s
’art good to have seen him; he’ll come out to-morrow as fresh as
paint, bless his bones.”
“Well then, what is it, if Oracle is all right?” returned his employer,
greatly relieved.
“Why, unfortunately there’s somebody else as has got a ’orse as is
all right too, and I’m afraid we ain’t quite so sure of the race as we
fancied we was,” was the dispiriting reply.
“Why, I thought you had satisfied yourself that there was not a horse
that could run near him. You tell me he beat Tartuffe carrying 5 lbs.
extra weight.”
“Ay, so I believed; but the sharpest of us is done sometimes. It’s
a wicked cross-bred world to live in, and a man need be wide-awaker
than--than one o’clock, to be down to all their moves.” So saying, the
discomfited trainer rubbed his nose as if to brighten his wits, and
continued, “The truth is this, my lud--one of my grooms cum to me this
morning, and said if I would stand a soveraign between him and one of
his mates, he would tell me something as I ought to know. Well, seeing
as this race is rather a peculiar one, and as any little mistake might
turn out unpleasant----”
“What do you mean, sir?” interrupted Lord Bellefield, drawing himself up
with a haughty gesture.
“Nothing, my lud, nothing,” returned Turnbull obsequiously, “only as our
colt stands first favourite, and as we’ve made our calcilations to win,
I thought the Californian farthing would not be thrown away. According
he brought up his mate, as he called him, which was the hidentical boy
as first rode the colt, and he confessed that him and the boy that rode
Tartuffe had met one day when they was out a exercising, and just for
their own amusement they give ’em a three-mile gallop. They run very
near together, but Tartuffe beat our colt by above a length; that he’d
seen the trial afterwards, and that he knowed from the difference in
Tartufife’s running that he was not rode fair, or was overweighted, or
something. Well, my lud, this information bothered me, and made me feel
suspicious that some move had been tried on which we was not up to, and
while I was scheming how to cipher it out, the same boy cum again,
and told me that the lad that rode Tartuffe at the second trial was a
keeping company along with his sister, and that he thought she might
worm something out of him if she could be got to try. Accordingly I
sent for the gal, and between bribing, coaxing, and frightening her,
persuaded her to undertake the job. She had some trouble with the young
feller, but she is a sharp, clever gal, and she never left him till she
dragged it out of him.”
“Drew what out of him?” interrupted Lord Bellefield, unable to restrain
his impatience; “can’t you come to the point at once? you’ll distract me
with your prosing.”
“Well, the long and short of it is, as I see your ludship’s getting in a
hurry (and, indeed, there ain’t no time to be lost), the long and short
of it is, that they’ve bin and turned the tables upon us: while we put 5
lbs. extra weight on our horse, they shoved 8 lbs. on theirs.”
“Then Tartuffe ran within a head of the colt carrying 3 lbs. extra,”
exclaimed Lord Bellefield, “and of course without that disadvantage
would again have beaten him.”
“I think Oracle is a better horse now than he was at the time the trial
cum off,” was the reply, “but the race ain’t the safe thing I thought
it. It’s rather a ticklish chance to trust to, if your ludship’s got at
all a heavy book upon the ewent.”
As he made this uncomfortable acknowledgment the trainer leered
inquiringly with his cunning little eyes at his employer.
Lord Bellefield did not immediately answer; but leaning his elbow on the
chimney-piece, remained buried in thought, his pale cheeks and the eager
quivering of his under lip, which from time to time he unconsciously bit
till the marks of his teeth remained in blood upon it, alone testifying
the mental suffering he experienced. Ruin and disgrace were before him.
Nor was this all. The Duc d’Austerlitz, a young foreigner who, bitten
with Anglo-mania, had purchased a racing stud and was the owner of
Tartuffe, happened to be the individual before alluded to as Lord
Bellefield’s successful rival in the venial affections of the
fascinating _danseuse_. He hated him, accordingly, with an intensity
which would have secured him the approbation of the good-hater-loving
Dr. Johnson. If anything, therefore, were wanting to render the
intelligence he had just received doubly irritating to him, this fact
supplied the deficiency. His lordship, however, possessed one element of
greatness--his spirit invariably rose with difficulties, and the greater
the emergency the more cool and collected did he become. Having remained
silent for some minutes, he observed quietly, “I suppose, Turnbull, you,
being a shrewd, clever fellow in your way, scarcely came here merely
to tell me this. You are perfectly aware that, relying upon your
information and judgment, I have made a heavy book on this race, and
can imagine that, however long my purse may be, I shall find it more
agreeable to win than to lose. You have, therefore, I am sure, some
expedient to propose. In fact, I read in your face that it is so.”
The man smiled.
“Your ludship I always knew to have a sharp eye for a good horse or a
pretty gal,” he said, “but you _must_ be wide awake if you can read a
man’s thoughts in his face. It ain’t such an easy matter to say what is
best to do; if your ludship made rather too heavy a book on the race, I
should recommend a little careful hedging to-morrow morning.”
Lord Bellefield shook his head. “Too late to make anything of it,” he
replied, “that is, of course, I might save myself from any very heavy
loss, but I must have money--a--in fact, I stand so fair to win largely
by this race, that hedging will be quite a _dernier ressort_. But you
have some better scheme than that to propose.”
“If your ludship is at a loss how to act, it is not likely that any plan
of mine will do the trick,” was the reply.
Whether or not Turnbull wished to provoke his employer, certain it
is his speech produced that effect, for with an oath Lord Bellefield
exclaimed--
“What is it you are aiming at? if it be money you are standing out
for, you have only to prevent Tartuffe from starting, and name your own
price.”
“Why, you see, it might be as well to let him start; men have been
transported for interfering with a race ’orse to purwent his
starting--but he need not win the Derby for all that,” was the
enigmatical reply.
Lord Bellefield’s lip curled with a sardonic smile; his knowledge of
human nature had not then deceived him--Turnbull had some scheme _in
petto_, and was only waiting to secure the best market for it.
“I suppose £1000 will satisfy you?” he said; and as the trainer bowed
his gratitude, continued, “You are certain your plan cannot fail? What
is it you propose?”
“Why, you see, my lud, ’orses is like ’uman creeturs in many
respecs,” replied Turnbull sententiously; “there’s some things as agrees
with their stummicks, and some as disagrees with ’em; the things
that agrees with the hanimals makes ’em run faster, the things that
disagrees makes them run slower, or if you give it ’em too strong they
comes to a standstill all together. Now, if so be as Tartuffe was to
have a taste of a certain drug as I knows on--that ain’t very different
from hopium--give to him afore he goes to sleep to-night, he’ll come to
the starting post all right and run very respectible, but if he beats
our ’orse I’ll engage to eat him, saddle and all. I can’t speak fairer
than that, I expect.”
“And who have you fixed upon to execute this piece of delectable
rascality?” inquired Lord Bellefield, unable to repress a sneer at the
meanness of the villainy by which, however, he was only too glad to
profit.
“It was not a very easy matter to pitch upon the right man,” rejoined
the trainer, “but luckily I happened to remember a party that seemed as
if he’d been born a purpose for the job, and who has been so thoroughly
cleaned out lately that he was not likely to be particular about
trifles. I saw him before I left home, showed him which way his interest
lay, put him up to my ideas on the subject, and I hope when I sees your
ludship to-morrow morning I shall have some good news to tell you.”
“I’ll be with you early, before people are about,” returned Lord
Bellefield; “it is important that I should know the result of this
scheme as soon as possible. The greatest caution must be observed lest
the matter should transpire, and if anything comes out, you of course
must take it upon yourself. The man should go abroad for a time. And now
I must try and get a couple of hours’ sleep, or my head will not be fit
for to-morrow’s work. I breakfast at Epsom with a set of men, but I’ll
be with you first. You’ve acted with your usual zeal and cleverness,
Turnbull, and I’ll take care that you shall have no reason to repent
your honesty to your employer; only let us win to-morrow’s race and your
fortune is made. Good-night.”
As he spoke he rang the bell, and with many servile acknowledgments of
his master’s promised liberality the trainer departed.
While this interview was taking place a far different scene had
been enacting in the premises occupied by the racing stud of the Due
d’Austerlitz. As the clock over the stables chimed the hour after
midnight a light ladder was placed against the wall of one of the outer
buildings, and a slightly-framed, agile man ran up it, and drawing it
cautiously after him laid it in a place of security, where it would
remain unnoticed till his return. He then crept with noiseless, catlike
steps over roofs and along parapets, finding among rain-gutters and
coping-stones a dangerous and uncertain footing, until he reached a
building nearly in the centre of the yard; here he paused, and drawing
from his pocket a short iron instrument, shaped like a chisel at one
end, he cautiously chipped away the mortar round one of the tiles which
protected an angle of the roof, and by removing the tile, exposed the
ends of a row of slating. Quietly raising one of the slates, he,
by means of the instrument above alluded to, which is known to the
initiated by the euphonious title of a “jemmy,” snapped the nails which
retained it in its place and removed it. Having acted in a similar
manner by two others, he produced a small cabinetmaker’s saw, and
cutting through the battens, opened a space sufficiently wide to admit
the passage of a man’s body. Replacing his tools, he crept through the
aperture thus effected, and letting himself down by his hands into the
loft beneath, dropped noiselessly on to some trusses of hay placed there
for future consumption. Part of his task was now accomplished, for he
was in the loft over the loose-box in which Tartuffe was reposing his
graceful limbs before the coming struggle; but the most difficult and
hazardous portion of his enterprise remained yet to be accomplished.
Crawling on his hands and knees, he reached one of the openings by which
the hay was let down into the racks beneath, and cautiously peeping
over, gazed into the interior of the stable itself, and noted the
precautions taken to secure the safety of the racehorse and the
difficulties which lay before him. The box in which the animal was
placed was secured by a strong padlock, the key of which rested at that
moment under the pillow of Slangsby, the Due d’Austerlitz’s trainer,
while in the next box, half-lying, half-sitting on a truss of straw,
dozed “Yorkshire Joe,” a broad-shouldered, bowlegged lad some eighteen
years of age, who had been a kind of equestrian valet to Tartuffe during
the whole “educational course” of that promising quadruped.
These particulars the intelligent eye of the tenant of the hay-loft took
in at a glance, while his quick wit decided as rapidly the exact degree
in which they were calculated to tell for or against the object he
sought to accomplish. The padlock was in his favour; for as he did not
intend to enter the horse-box by the door, it would serve to keep
Joe out without interfering with his design; but the presence of the
stable-boy presented an insuperable obstacle to his further proceedings.
This difficulty had, however, been foreseen and provided against.
Stealing on tiptoe across the loft, he selected a long, stout straw, and
thrusting it through the key-hole of the door by which the fodder was
taken in, he suffered it to drop on the outside. Scarcely had he done
so, when a low cough announced the presence of some confederate, and
satisfied that everything was in a right train, he noiselessly returned
to his post of observation. In another moment his quick ear caught the
sound of a modest tap at the stable-door. Honest Joe’s senses not being
equally on the alert, the knock had to be repeated more than once ere he
became aware of it. As soon as he grew convinced that the sound was
not the creation of his sleeping fancy, he rubbed his eyes, stretched
himself, and drowsily inquired, “Who’s there?”
“It is I--Mary; and I want particularly to speak to you,” replied a
woman’s voice.
“Thy want must wait till morning, lass; for I’m not a-goaing to leave
this place to-night for nothink nor nobody; so gang thee whoam agin,”
was the uncourteous reply.
“No, but Joe, dear Joe, you must hear me to-night; it is something very
important indeed. You _must_ hear me,” pleaded the temptress.
“I woan’t, I tell thee; gangwhoam!” returned Joe gruffly.
“Well, if I’d thought you’d have been so unkind, I would not have
stayed out of my warm bed, trapesing through Hepsom streets at this time
o’night, which ain’t fit for a respecktible young woman to be out in,
and coming all this way to put you up to something as may lose you
your place, and worse, if you ain’t told of it. I didn’t expect sich
unkindness--and from you, too; that I didn’t;” and here a sound akin to
a sob, apparently indicating that the speaker was weeping, found its
way to Joe’s ears, and going thence straight to his honest, unsuspicious
heart, overcame his prudence and conquered his resolution. Rising from
his seat, he approached the door and listened; the sobs still continued.
“Mary, lass, what ails thee?” he said; “I didn’t mean to anger thee,
wench! but thee knoas I dare na leave t’horse; besoids t’stable-dour be
locked, and maister’s got t’key.”
“And can’t you come to the window in the further stable, where we’ve
talked many a time before?” suggested the siren. “It’s something about
the horse I want to tell you, a dodge they’re going to try to prevent
his winning to-morrow. You don’t think I’d have come out at this time
o’night for nothing, do you, stupey?” This intelligence chased away
Joe’s last lingering scruple, and muttering--
“About t’horse!--why did na thee say so afore?” he lit a hand-lantern at
the lamp which hung from the ceiling, and assuring himself by a glance
that his charge was in safety, quitted the stable by a side-door.
In the meantime, the occupant of the loft had not been idle. As soon as
Joe became engrossed by the foregoing conversation, the sound of a fine
saw at work might have been perceived by a more delicate organisation
than that of the sturdy groom; and at the moment in which he left the
stable two of the bars of the rack were silently removed, and through
the opening thus effected a man cautiously lowered himself, and resting
his feet for an instant on the manger, dropped lightly into the box
occupied by Tartuffe.
[Illustration: 0442]
This feat was accomplished so quietly, that the horse, which happened
not to be lying down, but was standing, trying, through its muzzle, to
nibble the straw of its bed, was scarcely startled, merely raising
its head and staring at its unexpected visitant. This individual now
produced from his mysterious pocket a handful of oats, and holding them
out, allowed Tartuffe to smell and nibble at them; while the animal was
thus engaged, he removed the muzzle, worn for the purpose of preventing
it from eating its litter, or otherwise gaining access to any food of
which the trainer might disapprove. His next proceeding was to draw out
that ingenious instrument of torture yclept a twitch, which, for the
benefit of those of our lady readers who do not happen to be gifted
with “a stable mind,” or to have encouraged sporting tendencies, we
may describe as a short, thick stick or handle, about two feet long,
terminated by a loop of stout whipcord or leather, into which the
upper-lip, or occasionally the ear of the horse, is inserted; then,
by twisting the stick, the loop can be tightened so as to produce any
amount of agony the inflicter may desire: the philosophy of the matter
being, that the animal finding his struggles exactly double his pain,
soon has sense enough to choose the lesser of two evils, and therefore
stands still while nasty things are being forced down his throat and
other liberties taken with him, which, but for the application of the
twitch, he would actively resent. In the present instance, while the
unfortunate Tartuffe was still chewing the oats by which his confidence
had been betrayed, the twitch was fixed on his nose, tightened, and
the nauseating ball which was to impair his strength and fleetness, and
secure the victory to the Dodona Colt, and fortune to Lord Bellefield,
was already in his mouth ere he was aware that any incivility was
intended him. To give a horse a ball, however, it is not only necessary
to put it into its mouth but to thrust it back as far as, if possible,
the entrance of the gullet, and this operation, even when performed
in the most skilful manner, is by no means easy to the operator or
agreeable to the patient. In this last particular the victimised
Tartuffe appeared to be entirely of our opinion; the blood of his noble
ancestors stirred within him, and tossing up his head indignantly, he
became practically aware of the full virtues of the twitch; the pain,
however, only served to increase his rage, and he attempted to rear; but
his struggles were vain; his tormentor pertinaciously clung to him, the
ball was thrust further back in the mouth, and in another moment the
desired object would have been attained, when suddenly the loop of the
twitch, unable to bear the strain upon it, snapped. The first use the
racehorse made of his freedom was to shake his head violently, and at
the same time opening his mouth, the stupefying ball dropped from it.
We must now return to our friend, Yorkshire Joe, who, suspecting no
evil, was engaged in interesting colloquy with the perfidious Mary; this
seductive young lady having contrived, with a degree of ingenuity worthy
a better cause, to prolong the interview by the following expedients.
First, she assailed her admirer with coquettish reproaches for his
unkindness and want of gallantry in refusing to speak to her; then she
entered into a long account of how and when and where she had discovered
the pretended design against Tartuffe, which she affirmed was to be put
into execution two hours from that time.
“Eh! What! tie my hands behoind me, shove a gag into my mouth, and then
and there lame t’horse afore my very eyes--dost thee say, lass? I’d only
like to see the man, or men either, that could do it!” exclaimed Joe,
doubling his fist indignantly; “and thee heard this in the tap-room of
the Chequers, dost thee say?--What was that noise?”
“Nothing. I dropped one of my pattens, that was all,” returned the girl,
stooping as if to pick it up, though she was not sorry for an excuse
to hide her agitation, for her quick ear had detected the sound of a
horse’s hoofs trampling on straw, and she knew that her accomplice was
at work. “Why, you are quite startlish to-night, Joe!” she resumed,
looking up at him with a forced smile; “did you think it was a
ghost?--but it’s no wonder you’re nervous; it’s hard lines for you, poor
fellow, sitting up at nights like this----”
“There it is agen!” interrupted Joe; “by ------ it’s in t’horsebox,” he
continued, listening attentively. “Them ---------- thieves can’t be come
a’ready, sure!” And heedless of Mary’s assurances that it was nothing,
and her entreaties to remain only one moment longer, the groom, now
thoroughly excited, leaped down from the window and rushed back into the
stable.
With the speed of thought the girl sprang to the door at which she
had previously tapped, and stooping her head to the key-hole, listened
eagerly. The first thing that met her ear was a volley of abuse from
Joe, accompanied by heavy blows struck against wood or iron; then a
noise as of a door being burst open; next, broken curses, dull, muffled
strokes, ejaculations of rage or pain, the sound of trampling feet, a
crushing, heavy fall, and then total silence!
What had happened? She placed her eye to the key-hole, but could see
nothing. She listened--but the throbbing of her own heart was the only
thing she could hear: for the first time the fearful idea occurred
to her, that by her treacherous dealing she might have occasioned her
lover’s death; and regardless of consequences, she was about to start up
and summon assistance, when a man’s hand was laid on her shoulder, and a
gruff voice exclaimed--
“So this is the way my grooms are tampered with! I was sure I heard
talking going on. Hold up your head, you jade, and let us see what
you’re like; nay, it’s no use to struggle, I’ve got you fast enough, and
see who it is I will.”
So saying, Mr. Slangsby the trainer drew the girl towards him, and
forcibly raising her head, threw the light of a bull’s-eye lantern full
on her features. “Ha! little Mary Williams,” he continued, “and what
brings you here at this time of night, you artful hussy?”
“Oh! Mr. Slangsby, pray open the door, sir; I--I’m afraid they’ve been
and murdered poor Joe,” was the reply, and overcome by fear and remorse,
the girl burst into tears--real ones, this time.
“They, and who are they, pray? There’s some rascality going on here, I
expect; it’s lucky I got up.” As he spoke, Slangsby drew a key from his
pocket, opened the door, and still retaining his grasp on the girl’s
wrist, entered. The first object which met their sight was Joe, by no
means murdered, although he bore evidences of a severe struggle in a
black eye and bleeding knuckles.
“T’horse is all right, meister, but I wor only jest in time, though!”
was his opening speech.
“In time for what?” inquired Slangsby eagerly.
“In time to stop yon villain from pizonin the blessed hanimal,” returned
Joe, pointing to something which at first sight appeared to be a
large bundle, but which proved on examination to be a human being most
ingeniously tied hand and foot with haybands.
“Who the deuce are you, fellow?” asked the trainer, addressing the
individual thus uncomfortably situated.
“It ain’t o’ no use talking to he, for a can’t answer with a wisp o’
straw stuffed atween his jaws,” observed Joe sententiously.
“Take it out then, and untie his legs so that he can stand up and answer
my questions.”
“Better shut the dour fust then, meister, for he’s a proper slippery
customer, I can tell you,” returned the groom. “He promised to gag me
and tie my hands behind me, I do hear said, but he’s found two can play
at that trick. Get up, ye warmint,” he continued, applying a by no means
gentle kick to the ribs of his prostrate captive, “and show your ugly
mug.”
The person thus upcomplimentarily apostrophised rose slowly and stood
sullenly awaiting the irainer’s scrutiny. The latter, holding the
lantern so that its light fell upon the stranger’s features, recognised
him immediately.
“Mr. Beverley,” he said in a tone more of contemptuous pity than of
anger, “is it you, sir? I knew times had been getting very bad with you,
but I did not think you had come to this.”
The man’s lip quivered--the reproach touched him more than the most
virulent abuse could have done. His had been, we fear, no very unusual
fate; at all events he had only fallen one step lower than many who had
followed the same career as he had done. Well-born, rich, and with above
average abilities, a taste for gambling and low company had caused
him to sink lower and lower in the scale of society, till the depth of
misery and degradation to which he had been reduced, and the extent of
the bribe offered by Turnbull, had overcome his last feeling of honour
or honesty, and he had consented to become the agent of another’s
villainy. Slangsby eyed him sternly for a moment, and then said--
“You know what you have laid yourself open to, I suppose?” The other
nodded in sign of assent.
“I don’t wish to be hard upon you, sir,” the trainer continued, “so if
you will speak out and tell me _all_, we may perhaps come to some better
understanding: what say you?”
The other reflected a moment and then replied in a low voice, “I will do
as you wish, but not here.”
“Joe, you have distinguished yourself,” observed his master, putting his
hand into his pocket, “here is a ten-pound note for you. Do not mention
this night’s work to anybody, and I will take care your wages are
raised. Now, sir,” he continued to Joe’s late adversary, “I am ready
to talk to you--by the way, about the girl; she was your accomplice, of
course?”
The stranger nodded.
“Your sweetheart has deceived you, Joe,” added Slangsby; “give her a
good lecturing, and then lock her up for the night in the saddle-room;
she must not be at liberty till the race is over, upon any account.”
Honest Joe scratched his head in deep perplexity--then a light dawned
upon him, and he perceived how Mary had beguiled him Seizing her roughly
by the wrist, he dragged her off, exclaiming, “Come along, thee cheating
jade, could’st thee foind nothing better to do than to go and deceive a
poor lad that loved thee, and try to get him into trouble? If thee was
but a man, I’d wollup thee till thou could’st not stand, and as it be, a
little starving will do thee good, so cum along.”
At the same moment Slangsby and his companion quitted the stable, and
adjourning to the trainer’s private apartments, held there a long
and solemn conference; the result may be gathered from the following
speeches--
“And you feel sure Lord Bellefield is aware of the whole thing?”
questioned Slangsby.
“I’ve not a doubt of it,” was the reply. “Turnbull was too ready with
the blunt to be acting on his own account, he has not got the money to
do it. I am to have £500 clear for this job, and my expenses paid to any
part of the continent I may select.”
“And we may trust you?”
“Why, of course you may, man; by doing as you propose I escape
transportation, receive £500 to start afresh with, and get sent over to
Paris out of harm’s way free of expense.”
“And your conscience?” inquired Slangsby with a sarcastic smile. “Curse
conscience,” was the angry reply; “I began life with as much honourable
feeling as any man, but the villainy of the world has crushed it out of
me. Life is a struggle, and each one must take care of himself; while I
had money I spent it liberally, and met my engagements honestly. Now I
have none, I get it as I can. I undertook to drug your horse because I
was deeply in debt, all but starving, and Bellefield’s bribe offered me
a chance. I failed through an accident, and fell into your power; your
proposal regains me the position, and I embrace it now as I did before.
True, I deceive him: fancying your horse is poisoned he will double his
bets, which are very heavy already, and be ruined, as better men have
been before him, but this only serves him right for his rascality,
and--puts £500 into my pocket. I have to thank you for your civility,
Mr. Slangsby, and to wish you good morning.” He turned to go, then
pausing, said--
“You have used me well in this affair, and to show you I am not all
bad, I will give you a hint. Do not rely too much on the result of that
trial: Bellefield’s colt was only recovering from the strangles then,
and has since improved in speed and bottom; still Tartuffe can beat
him _if he is made the most of_; everything therefore depends upon
your jockey; if he is careless or over-confident, Oracle may have it
yet--_verbum sat_.” So saying, he placed his hat on one side of his
head, coolly ran his fingers through his hair, and departed.