It had been arranged that William should don his betting toggery at the
"Spread Eagle Inn." It stood at the cross-roads, only a little way from
the station--a square house with a pillared porch. Even at this early hour
the London pilgrimage was filing by. Horses were drinking in the trough;
their drivers were drinking in the bar; girls in light dresses shared
glasses of beer with young men. But the greater number of vehicles passed
without stopping, anxious to get on the course. They went round the turn
in long procession, a policeman on a strong horse occupied the middle of
the road. The waggonettes and coaches had red-coated guards, and the air
was rent with the tooting of the long brass horns. Every kind of dingy
trap went by, sometimes drawn by two, sometimes by only one horse--shays
half a century old jingled along; there were even donkey-carts. Esther and
Sarah were astonished at the number of costers, but old John told them
that that was nothing to what it was fifty years ago. The year that
Andover won the block began seven or eight miles from Epsom. They were
often half-an-hour without moving. Such chaffing and laughing, the coster
cracked his joke with the duke, but all that was done away with now.
"Gracious!" said Esther, when William appeared in his betting toggery. "I
shouldn't have known you."
He did seem very wonderful in his checks, green necktie, yellow flowers,
and white hat with its gold inscription, "Mr. William Latch, London."
"It's all right," he said; "you never saw me before in these togs--fine,
ain't they? But we're very late. Mr. North has offered to run me up to the
course, but he's only two places. Teddy and me must be getting along--but
you needn't hurry. The races won't begin for hours yet. It's only about a
mile--a nice walk. These gentlemen will look after you. You know where to
find me," he said, turning to John and Walter. "You'll look after my wife
and Miss Tucker, won't you?" and forthwith he and Teddy jumped into a
waggonette and drove away.
"Well, that's what I calls cheek," said Sarah. "Going off by himself in a
waggonette and leaving us to foot it."
"He must look after his place on the 'ill or else he'll do no betting,"
said Journeyman. "We've plenty of time; racing don't begin till after
one."
Recollections of what the road had once been had loosened John's tongue,
and he continued his reminiscences of the great days when Sir Thomas
Hayward had laid fifteen thousand to ten thousand three times over against
the favourite. The third bet had been laid at this very spot, but the Duke
would not accept the third bet, saying that the horse was then being
backed on the course at evens. So Sir Thomas had only lost thirty thousand
pounds on the race. Journeyman was deeply interested in the anecdote; but
Sarah looked at the old man with a look that said, "Well, if I'm to pass
the day with you two I never want to go to the Derby again.... Come on in
front," she whispered to Esther, "and let them talk about their racing by
themselves." The way led through a field ablaze with buttercups; it passed
by a fish-pond into which three drunkards were gazing. "Do you hear what
they're saying about the fish?" said Sarah.
"Don't pay no attention to them," said Esther. "If you knew as much about
drunkards as I do, you'd want no telling to give them a wide berth....
Isn't the country lovely? Isn't the air soft and warm?"
"Oh, I don't want no more country. I'm that glad to get back to town. I
wouldn't take another situation out of London if I was offered twenty a
year."
"But look," said Esther, "at the trees. I've hardly been in the country
since I left Woodview, unless you call Dulwich the country--that's where
Jackie was at nurse."
The Cockney pilgrimage passed into a pleasant lane overhung with chestnut
and laburnum trees. The spring had been late, and the white blossoms stood
up like candles--the yellow dropped like tassels, and the streaming
sunlight filled the leaves with tints of pale gold, and their light
shadows patterned the red earth of the pathway. But very soon this
pleasant pathway debouched on a thirsting roadway where tired horses
harnessed to heavy vehicles toiled up a long hill leading to the Downs.
The trees intercepted the view, and the blown dust whitened the foliage
and the wayside grass, now in possession of hawker and vagrant. The crowd
made way for the traps; and the young men in blue and grey trousers, and
their girls in white dresses, turned and watched the four horses bringing
along the tall drag crowned with London fashion. There the unwieldly
omnibus and the brake filled with fat girls in pink dresses and yellow
hats, and there the spring cart drawn up under a hedge. The cottage gates
were crowded with folk come to see London going to the Derby. Outhouses
had been converted into refreshment bars, and from these came a smell of
beer and oranges; further on there was a lamentable harmonium--a blind man
singing hymns to its accompaniment, and a one-legged man holding his hat
for alms; and not far away there stood an earnest-eyed woman offering
tracts, warning folk of their danger, beseeching them to retrace their
steps.
At last the trees ceased and they found themselves on the hilltop in a
glare of sunlight, on a space of worn ground where donkeys were tethered.
"Is this the Derby?" said Sarah.
"I hope you're not disappointed?"
"No, dear; but where's all the people--the drags, the carriages?"
"We'll see them presently," said old John, and he volunteered some
explanations. The white building was the Grand Stand. The winning-post was
a little further this way.
"Where do they start?" said Sarah.
"Over yonder, where you see that clump. They run through the furze right
up to Tattenham Corner."
A vast crowd swarmed over the opposite hill, and beyond the crowd the
women saw a piece of open downland dotted with bushes, and rising in
gentle incline to a belt of trees which closed the horizon. "Where them
trees are, that's _Tattenham Corner_." The words seemed to fill old John
with enthusiasm, and he described how the horses came round this side of
the trees. "They comes right down that 'ere 'ill--there's the dip--and
they finishes opposite to where we is standing. Yonder, by Barnard's
Ring."
"What, all among the people?" said Sarah.
"The police will get the people right back up the hill."
"That's where we shall find William," said Esther.
"I'm getting a bit peckish; ain't you, dear? He's got the
luncheon-basket.... but, lor', what a lot of people! Look at that."
What had attracted Sarah's attention was a boy walking through the crowd
on a pair of stilts fully eight feet high. He uttered short warning cries
from time to time, held out his wide trousers and caught pennies in his
conical cap. Drags and carriages continued to arrive. The sweating horses
were unyoked, and grooms and helpers rolled the vehicles into position
along the rails. Lackeys drew forth cases of wine and provisions, and the
flutter of table-cloths had begun to attract vagrants, itinerant
musicians, fortune-tellers, begging children. All these plied their trades
round the fashion of grey frock-coats and silk sun-shades. Along the rails
rough fellows lay asleep; the place looked like a vast dormitory; they lay
with their hats over their faces, clay pipes sticking from under the
brims, their brown-red hands upon the grey grass.
Suddenly old John pleaded an appointment; he was to meet a friend who
would give him the very latest news respecting a certain horse; and
Esther, Sarah, and Journeyman wandered along the course in search of
William. Along the rails strangely-dressed men stood on stools, satchels
and race-glasses slung over their shoulders, great bouquets in their
button-holes. Each stood between two poles on which was stretched a piece
of white-coloured linen, on which was inscribed their name in large gold
letters. Sarah read some of these names out: "Jack Hooper, Marylebone. All
bets paid." "Tom Wood's famous boxing rooms, Epsom." "James Webster,
Commission Agent, London." And these betting men bawled the prices from
the top of their high stools and shook their satchels, which were filled
with money, to attract custom. "What can I do for you to-day, sir?" they
shouted when they caught the eye of any respectably-dressed man. "On the
Der-by, on the Der-by, I'll bet the Der-by.... To win or a place, to win
or a place, to win or a place--seven to one bar two or three, seven to one
bar two or three.... the old firm, the old firm,"--like so many
challenging cocks, each trying to outshrill the other.
Under the hill-side in a quiet hollow had been pitched a large and
commodious tent. Journeyman mentioned that it was the West London
Gospel-tent. He thought the parson would have it pretty well all to
himself, and they stopped before a van filled with barrels of Watford
ales. A barrel had been taken from the van and placed on a small table;
glasses of beer were being served to a thirsty crowd; and all around were
little canvas shelters, whence men shouted, "'Commodation, 'commodation."
The sun had risen high, and what clouds remained floated away like
filaments of white cotton. The Grand Stand, dotted like a ceiling with
flies, stood out distinct and harsh upon a burning plain of blue. The
light beat fiercely upon the booths, the carriages, the vehicles, the
"rings," the various stands. The country around was lost in the haze and
dazzle of the sunlight; but a square mile of downland fluttered with flags
and canvas, and the great mob swelled, and smoked, and drank, shied sticks
at Aunt Sally, and rode wooden horses. And through this crush of
perspiring, shrieking humanity Journeyman, Esther, and Sarah sought vainly
for William. The form of the ground was lost in the multitude and they
could only tell by the strain in their limbs whether they were walking up
or down hill. Sarah declared herself to be done up, and it was with
difficulty that she was persuaded to persevere a little longer. At last
Journeyman caught sight of the bookmaker's square shoulders.
"Well, so here you are. What can I do for you, ladies? Ten to one bar
three or four. Will that suit you?"
"The luncheon-basket will suit us a deal better," said Sarah.
At that moment a chap came up jingling two half-crowns in his hand. "What
price the favourite?" "Two to one," cried William. The two half-crowns
were dropped into the satchel, and, thus encouraged, William called out
louder than ever, "The old firm, the old firm; don't forget the old firm."
There was a smile on his lips while he halloaed--a cheery, good-natured
smile, which made him popular and brought him many a customer.
"On the Der-by, on the Der-by, on the Der-by!" All kinds and conditions of
men came to make bets with him; custom was brisk; he could not join the
women, who were busy with the lunch-basket, but he and Teddy would be
thankful for the biggest drink they could get them. "Ginger beer with a
drop of whiskey in it, that's about it, Teddy?"
"Yes, guv'nor, that'll do for me.... We're getting pretty full on
Dewberry; might come down a point, I think."
"All right, Teddy.... And if you'd cut us a couple each of strong
sandwiches--you can manage a couple, Teddy?"
"I think I can, guv'nor."
There was a nice piece of beef in the basket, and Esther cut several large
sandwiches, buttering the bread thickly and adding plenty of mustard. When
she brought them over William bent down and whispered--
"My own duck of a wife, there's no one like her."
Esther blushed and laughed with pleasure, and every trace of the
resentment for the suffering he had occasioned her dropped out of her
heart. For the first time he was really her husband; for the first time
she felt that sense of unity in life which is marriage, and knew
henceforth he was the one thing that she had to live for.
After luncheon Journeyman, who was making no way with Sarah, took his
leave, pleading that he had some friends to meet in Barnard's Ring. They
were glad to be rid of him. Sarah had many a tale to tell; and while
listening to the matrimonial engagements that had been broken off, Esther
shifted her parasol from time to time to watch her tall, gaunt husband. He
shouted the odds, willing to bet against every horse, distributed tickets
to the various folk that crowded round him, each with his preference, his
prejudice, his belief in omens, in tips, or in the talent and luck of a
favourite jockey. Sarah continued her cursive chatter regarding the places
she had served in. She felt inclined for a snooze, but was afraid it would
not look well. While hesitating she ceased speaking, and both women fell
asleep under the shade of their parasols. It was the shallow, glassy sleep
of the open air, through which they divined easily the great blur that was
the race-course.
They could hear William's voice, and they heard a bell ring and shouts of
"Here they come!" Then a lull came, and their perceptions grew a little
denser, and when they awoke the sky was the same burning blue, and the
multitude moved to and fro like puppets.
Sarah was in no better temper after than before her sleep. "It's all very
well for you," she said. "You have your husband to look after.... I'll
never come to the Derby again without a young man... I'm tired of sitting
here, the grass is roasting. Come for a walk."
They were two nice-looking English women of the lower classes, prettily
dressed in light gowns with cheap sunshades in their cotton-gloved hands.
Sarah looked at every young man with regretful eyes. In such moods
acquaintanceships are made; and she did not allow Esther to shake off Bill
Evans, who, just as if he had never been turned out of the bar of the
"King's Head," came up with his familiar, "Good morning, ma'am--lovely
weather for the races." Sarah's sidelong glances at the blue Melton jacket
and the billycock hat defined her feelings with sufficient explicitness,
and it was not probable that any warning would have been heeded. Soon they
were engaged in animated conversation, and Esther was left to follow them
if she liked.
She walked by Sarah's side, quite ignored, until she was accosted by Fred
Parsons. They were passing by the mission tent, and Fred was calling upon
the folk to leave the ways of Satan for those of Christ. Bill Evans was
about to answer some brutal insult; but seeing that "the Christian" knew
Esther he checked himself in time. Esther stopped to speak to Fred, and
Bill seized the opportunity to slip away with Sarah.
"I didn't expect to meet you here, Esther."
"I'm here with my husband. He said a little pleasure----"
"This is not innocent pleasure, Esther; this is drunkenness and
debauchery. I hope you'll never come again, unless you come with us," he
said, pointing to some girls dressed as bookmakers, with Salvation and
Perdition written on the satchels hung round their shoulders. They sought
to persuade the passers-by to come into the tent. "We shall be very glad
to see you," they said, and they distributed mock racing cards on which
was inscribed news regarding certain imaginary racing. "The Paradise
Plate, for all comers," "The Salvation Stakes, an Eternity of Happiness
added."
Fred repeated his request. "I hope the next time you come here it will be
with us; you'll strive to collect some of Christ's lost sheep."
"And my husband making a book yonder?"