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