MRS. CHUDLEIGH'S DEFEAT
Challoner kept one or two good horses, though he no longer used them
much, and he and his nephew were well mounted when they rode to
Croxleigh gorse. As the place was difficult of access, the meet had
been arranged late, and it was after mid-day when they drew near a
broad stretch of furze on the crest of a grassy hill. Mounted men and
a few women were climbing the slope, the scarlet coats shining in a
gleam of light, carriages and motors were drawn up in the shelter of a
beech wood, and from the summit there fell a faint blast of a horn.
It was a raw day, with a nipping wind and blinks of sunshine that swept
across grass and ploughland and faded again. There were glistening
pools in the narrow road and drops of moisture hung on the briars and
withered fern along the hedgerows. Both Challoner and Blake were
dressed in sober tweed, for the Colonel said he only wore the pink when
he felt fit to follow the hounds and now he must be content to see them
find. Glancing at his watch, he pulled up his horse to a walk.
"We are in good time, and it's generally a lengthy matter getting a fox
out of the gorse," he said. "Though we haven't hurried, it's rather a
long way, and I feel I have done enough. Don't trouble about me when
the hounds get off. I expect to pick up some elderly crony, and, if
the fox does not run straight, may be able to see something of the hunt
after an easy ride; then I'll jog quietly home."
"I'll stay with you, if you'd prefer it, sir," Blake declared, though
this was far from his wish, but Challoner shook his head.
"Get a good run if you can, my boy. Old folks mustn't be selfish, and
I know what young blood is." He turned and regarded Blake
affectionately. "You have been a good nephew, Dick, and since you came
home I have felt that I ought to make some provision for you. That, of
course, was my intention when you were young, but when the break
occurred you cut yourself adrift and refused assistance."
Blake coloured, for there were, he thought, adequate reasons why he
should take no further favours from his uncle. If the truth about the
frontier affair ever came out, it would look as if he had valued his
honour less than the money he could extort and the Colonel would bear
the stigma of having bought his silence.
"I'm grateful, sir, but I must still refuse," he said.
"But why? The property would stand the cost of the arrangement I
thought of making, and Bertram wouldn't feel that I had been unfair to
him; besides, his wife has means."
"Bertram's as generous as you are; he pressed me to take some help from
him in Montreal, but I could not consent."
"I think you were wrong, and see I have made a mistake. I should have
stuck to my first intention of saying nothing about it and putting you
into my will, but it struck me that you would like to know how you
stood, in case you thought of marrying or going in for farming on a
remunerative scale in Canada."
"Thank you, but if my future is to be provided for, I'm the person who
ought to look after it. There's no reason why it should become a
charge on you."
"I think there is," Challoner rejoined. "In fact, I feel somewhat hurt
that you don't see it."
Blake was touched, but his determination held. "I'm glad you made me
the offer, sir, because it shows I haven't forfeited your regard. You
must, however, let me have my way, particularly as I see a chance of
making money."
"Then you have some plan?"
"My partner has," Blake answered, smiling. "I leave that kind of thing
to him. I told you about the oil."
"You did, and Clarke had something to say upon the subject. He,
however, gave me to understand that capital was needed."
"That is so," Blake replied unguardedly, for he did not see where his
uncle's remark led. "Boring plant is expensive, and transport costs
something. Then you have to spend a good deal beforehand if you wish
to float a company."
"But you believe this venture will pay you?"
"Harding is convinced of it, and he's shrewd. Personally, I don't know
enough about the business to judge, but if I had any money to risk I'd
take his word for it."
"Well," said Challoner, urging his horse to a trot, "perhaps we had
better get on."
They joined the company gathered round the edge of the gorse and when
Challoner greeted an acquaintance Blake found what he thought was a
good place for getting a start from. He could hear the cries of the
huntsman and an occasional blast of his horn among the furze; once or
twice a ranging dog broke cover and disappeared again. Outside,
red-coated men and some in grey jammed their hats tight and tried to
keep their fidgeting horses quiet. Close by a young girl, finely
habited, with a glowing face, gracefully controlled her plunging mount,
and a few older women seemed to have some trouble in holding their
thoroughbreds. Everybody wore a strained, eager look, but Blake was
disappointed, for although he looked round for Millicent and Foster he
did not see them.
By and by a deep baying broke out and swelled into a burst of thrilling
sound, the horn called sharply, somebody shouted, and there was a rush
of well-mounted riders towards a corner of the gorse. Then the hounds
streamed out, speeding across the grassy slope with a small, red-brown
object travelling very fast some distance in front. Blake, who let his
chestnut go, swept down the hill at a furious gallop, and felt the
horse rise and heard a thud of hoofs on sloppy ground as a fence was
cleared. Then he toiled across a strip of ploughing, with firm grip on
the bridle, for, exhilarating as the chase was, he could not enjoy it
long. In his younger days he had hunted the country he was now riding
over, he had been a crack polo player, and had covered wide stretches
of the Canadian prairie in the saddle. He could feel the power of the
good horse he bestrode, the speed fired his blood, and for the first
few minutes he had been in danger of forgetting that the keen pleasure
he was conscious of could not be enjoyed long.
There was a crash as they broke through the top of a bending hedge, he
heard a rail break beneath the hoofs, and they were flying across a
wide pasture, the chestnut pulling hard. It needed some strength of
will to hold him, but Blake did so, keeping his place behind the
foremost while the rest of the hunt tailed out. After another awkward
jump or two most of the rearguard were out of sight, scattering, no
doubt, in search of gates, and Blake was not pleased to find himself
level with two well-mounted, red-coated men. There was a brook with a
fringe of willows along its side not far ahead and, a short distance to
the right, a deep, tree-shrouded hollow. This was where he must break
off, but, sitting a good horse in the company of hard-riding men, it
was not pleasant to look as if he shirked the leap.
"'Ware rotten bank!" cried one, glancing round at him. "Head for the
pollard stump!"
"Give me a lead," Blake shouted. "You know the country."
With a strong effort, he held the chestnut back, and saw the first
red-coated figure rise above the willows and alight with the mire
flying among the rushes across the stream. Then he swung to the right,
where he remembered there was a broad, shallow place, and drove the
chestnut at its widest part. They came down with a great splash and
the horse floundered badly, for the bottom was soft, but Blake had done
what he meant to do, and as the second horseman leaped across a
narrower spot he caught a sympathetic, "Hard luck!"
Then he turned the chestnut and scrambling out upon the bank he had
left trotted to the hollow, where he was lost among the trees before
the tail of the hunt came up. He thought he had withdrawn himself
neatly and must now get home as soon as possible, because if his uncle
saw no opportunity of picking up the hounds again after an easy ride,
he might return before Mrs. Chudleigh could be dealt with.
Crossing a sunk lane by and by, Blake, who glanced at his watch, held
straight across the fields, and was glad to find that the hunt-club
subsidies had had some effect in determining the nature of the fences.
The most part could be jumped without much trouble, but the chestnut
was foul-coated and flecked with spume when at length he turned into a
road. There he pulled up to a steady trot and got home, rather wet and
splashed with mire, early in the afternoon, and after a bath and change
felt himself ready for the encounter. He had not much diplomacy, but
thought he could make up for that by stubbornly sticking to his point.
As he sat in the library with the door left open he heard Mrs. Foster
and her friends arrive and recognized the voices. Mrs. Keith had come
and Millicent, besides another lady whom he surmised was Mrs.
Chudleigh. He hardly thought his aunt, whom he had not taken into his
confidence, would mention him, and it might be better if he waited
until tea was served, after which the party would probably separate and
saunter about the hall and picture gallery. It was important that he
should have a few words with Mrs. Chudleigh alone. Fortune favoured
him, for when he entered the gallery she stood before a picture and the
nearest of her companions was some yards further on. She started when
he came up and joined her.
"You remember me, though I imagine my appearance is a surprise to you,"
he said with a bow.
"Yes," she answered calmly, though she had received something of a
shock. "Nobody told me you had returned from Canada."
"There was no obvious reason for thinking you would be interested. But
will you sit down? My uncle has some rather good miniatures which
might please you. They're in yonder drawer."
She looked at him sharply. "You may bring them. I suppose you have
something to say."
Blake placed the case of miniatures on a table and she took up one or
two. "They are worth seeing, and in good French style; beauties of
Marie Antoinette's court, perhaps, though this one in the high-waisted
dress may have been attached to Josephine's." Then she put them down
with a smile. "Now they have served their purpose. What have you to
say?"
"You must excuse the bluntness which I feel is needful. You came over
to see my uncle and I'm afraid you were disappointed in finding me
instead."
"Suppose I admit it? That wouldn't prevent my seeing Colonel Challoner
another time."
"Certainly not, provided that you still wished to do so, but I'm
inclined to think you won't consider it necessary when you know what my
attitude is. You must realize that a good deal depends on this."
"Yes," she said frankly, "in a sense, you're important. I see you
understand the situation."
"You believe you have the power to force my uncle into furthering a
plan of yours. You found him obstinate at your first attempt, but you
think his resolution may since have given way."
"Yes," she said; "if I insist, he cannot refuse me."
"That is where we differ. I'm in your way, and you'll excuse my saying
that you'll find me rather troublesome to remove. Then a secret loses
its value when people find it out, and it's perhaps news to you that a
man from Canada called upon my uncle not long since with a story very
like yours. He found the Colonel no more amenable than you did."
Mrs. Chudleigh looked surprised, but that was all. "It may save us
both trouble if you tell me candidly what you mean to do."
Blake glanced down the gallery. Mrs. Keith was sitting at a table with
some old prints spread out before her, but as the light was fading he
hardly supposed that she could see him well, though he imagined that
she was watching. In the background Mrs. Foster was talking to Miss
Challoner, with Millicent standing in the shadow. The Challoner
portraits were growing indistinct, though their heavy gold frames
glimmered faintly, and he could no longer distinguish the carving on
the ends of the dark oak beams. Though he thought he was safe from
interruption by any of the others, Blake realized that he had no time
to lose, because Challoner must arrive soon.
"Yes," he said, "I think it would be better. Well, I mean to relieve
my uncle from any further attacks of the kind you have made on him and
to defend my cousin's honour. You must see that you are powerless to
injure it unless I confirm your tale."
Mrs. Chudleigh clenched her hand and her eyes flashed. "You are
willing to bear undeserved disgrace, to wander about Canada, an outcast
from all society you could take pleasure in? It's incomprehensible,
unless you have something to gain."
Blake regarded her with a tolerant smile. "My dear lady, it's obvious
that I should not gain anything by supporting your ingenious theory of
what happened on the frontier, because if you were right, your only
power over the Colonel would lie in his supposed desire to keep it
quiet, which would, of course, prevent my clearing my character. If,
however, you wish to believe that I have been bought over by him or
Bertram, you must do so. I'll own that it seems the best explanation;
but I should then have a strong reason for opposing you."
"But you are opposing me."
"Yes," said Blake. "My object in doing so hasn't much bearing on the
matter so far as you are concerned, but it will simplify things if you
will realize that I mean to stand between my relatives and harm. I'm
not a clever player of this kind of game, but you must see I hold the
ace of trumps among my cards. Now you know I'm ready to play it, don't
you think it would be wiser to leave the Colonel alone?"
For a few moments she looked at him in silence, and though she burned
with anger and disappointment she kept her head. She was beaten; no
art that she could practise and no argument would prevail against the
man's resolution. The only thing left was to retire with as much
dignity as possible from the fight.
"Well," she answered, getting up, "I suppose there is no more to be
said, and after all you might have shown me less consideration. I must
do you the justice to admit that I believe you are acting out of
loyalty to your friends."
"Thank you," Blake said with a bow. "Now I notice Mrs. Foster coming
towards us and imagine that she doesn't mean to stay much longer."
Mrs. Chudleigh left him, and in another few minutes Mrs. Foster
declared that she must go, while as they walked towards the staircase
Mrs. Keith came up to Blake.
"Well?" she asked in an anxious tone.
Blake smiled at her. "I think we needn't fear any further trouble."
Admiration shone in Margaret Keith's eyes. "It's a great relief,
though I knew the worst danger was over when you came home. None of
the Challoners ever did so fine a thing, Dick."
She went by before he could answer and he turned back into the gallery
while the others descended to the hall. Standing near a window, he saw
Foster's car speed down the drive; then the hoot of the horn reached
him from the corner by the lodge, and there was silence again. It was
broken a few minutes later by a beat of hoofs, and Blake, looking out,
saw Challoner dismount.
"Where did you get to, Dick?" the Colonel asked when his nephew went
down to meet him. "I saw you close behind the hounds for a time, but
you disappeared and nobody seemed to know what had become of you."
"I had a good run," Blake said, smiling. "Then I dropped out and rode
home across country. I remembered that there was something I had to
do."
"It must have been something important to take you off the field when
the hounds were running as they were then."
"I thought the matter needed attention," Blake rejoined, lighting a
cigar.