CARDIGAN.
The next morning all was bustle and confusion at Monkswood; the Mayhews
and Miss Ferrars had decided to go to the races, and the high-stepping,
supercilious-looking carriage-horses were to do a good day’s work for
once.
Nothing would induce Alice to join the party, but she busied herself
all the morning looking after the cold luncheon which was to be taken
to the course, and helping Helen and Mary to make gorgeous race
toilettes. By mutual consent, she and her husband had carefully
avoided each other, but just as the latter was about to start, he
discovered that a button was coming off his light overcoat. The
dog-cart, in which Captain Campell was already seated, was waiting at
the door, and there was not a moment to be lost.
“Call Alice,” cried the ever-officious Geoffrey; “she has just mended
me. There she is in the hall.”
“Alice, come here with your needle.”
Alice, entering the library, found that she had to operate on her
husband this time, which was more than either of them had bargained
for; but there was no help for it, with Captain Vaughan and Geoffrey
standing by. She had scarcely commenced her task ere they left the
room and went out to the dog-cart, leaving her alone with Reginald.
She ventured to steal a glance at him, he stood still as a statue,
without so much as the flickering of an eyelash, whilst her fingers
trembled a good deal, and her heart beat so loudly she was afraid he
could hear it. As he had not removed his coat they were brought into
uncommonly close contact, and the top of her head was dangerously near
to his moustache. Very quickly and silently she stitched, without again
raising her eyes. Through his open coat she perceived his scarlet silk
racing-jacket and faultless breeches and boots.
“What are you looking so serious about?” he suddenly asked. “Why are
you so pale? There is no occasion to keep up appearances; we are alone.
Pray don’t feign anxiety about me--that you really don’t feel; you know
very well you don’t care a straw whether I break my neck or not.”
He was in a merciless humour; many sleepless hours had he brooded on
his wrongs, and wrath and contempt were uppermost.
Alice made no reply, but having sewn on the button, twisted the thread
off with a sharp snap.
“Well, good-bye,” he said, holding out a dogskin-covered hand and
looking at her keenly. “Don’t overact the part. At present you are
superb. Any bystander now would be fool enough to think----that you
cared for me. You and I know better than _that_, don’t we?” he added,
with a curious smile, as he opened his cigar-case and carefully
selected a cheroot.
“Rex, are you coming?” shouted Geoffrey. In another moment he had taken
his seat in the dog-cart, the pawing, fiery chestnut had “got his
head,” and the trio were bowling down the avenue at a liberal ten miles
an hour.
Alice stood in the window for fully twenty minutes; her lips trembled,
her bosom heaved.
“How dared he! How dared he!” she whispered, as the blood mounted to
her pale face, and her whole frame quivered with anger at his taunts.
But her indignation, as was usually the case, quickly died away--it
gave place to “apprehension’s sudden glow.” “Supposing he was brought
home badly hurt--or dead? Supposing that those dark eyes, that had just
now looked at her so scornfully, were closed for ever ere nightfall?”
The very idea was more than she could bear. She would busy herself all
day, and not give herself time to think.
Drying her eyes, she ran upstairs, and helped Helen and Mary to put the
finishing touches to their toilettes; and pressed on Mary a perfect
parasol, arranged Helen’s bonnet and veil satisfactorily, and saw them
off from the hall-door steps with many smiles and good wishes.
Although Alice wore a smiling face in public, and her gaiety and
buoyant spirits were the amazement of Helen and her aunt, yet her heart
was heavy enough, and when alone, escorted by the dogs, strolling
through the woods with idle aimless footsteps, her face was very
downcast and sad. The task of regaining her husband’s affection seemed
to be altogether beyond her; all her advances were coldly repulsed; she
would venture no farther. Perhaps were she to emulate his own studied
indifference, he might think more of her.
Men never cared for what was easily gained; probably he despised her
for her humility. Well, she would assert herself, and meet him on his
own ground as a last resource. “He pleases himself; I shall please
myself, and I shall ride Cardigan this very afternoon,” she said aloud,
as she entered the hall and flung her hat on a chair.
* * * * *
Sundown races were very popular, and the present meeting augured a
great success. The stand was crowded, and the course at either side was
lined three deep with carriages, gay with bonnets and parasols. Every
small eminence and every box-seat was seized as a coign of vantage.
As the big race of the day was about to be run, five starters emerged
from the paddock, slender and sleek-coated, mounted by jockeys gorgeous
in every colour of the rainbow.
Tornado’s appearance excited considerable sensation as he took his
preliminary canter. He was a remarkably handsome animal, and was
handled to admiration by his jockey.
“Who is the fellow riding him?” asked one of the Steepshire magnates.
“Seems to know what he is about. That brute takes a lot of riding.”
“It’s ten to one if he does not bolt,” replied a supremely horsey
little man. “If he could be kept on the course he’d run away with the
race, but he has a nasty awkward temper and a gentleman jock riding
him. Precious little good his four pounds will do him in this case.
They are making Dado a hot favourite.”
“Who is the gentleman jock?” reiterated his companion.
On reference to the correct card, they saw “Captain Campell’s Tornado;
scarlet jacket, black cap, Sir Reginald Fairfax.”
“By Jove!” exclaimed a pompous D.L., “who would expect to see
him here? Good-looking fellow--wonder he likes to come into the
neighbourhood, considering all things. Wonder where he is stopping?”
The flag dropped to a capital start, and they were off, Tornado making
a determined but useless attempt to bolt. Those wrists that were
guiding him were of steel, and kept him on the course willy-nilly. He
had his master on his back, he soon discovered; his runaway tendency
was turned to good account, for his rider, knowing him to be a stayer,
forced him through the other horses, and cut out the work at a terrific
pace, which he kept up throughout, having a clear lead halfway up the
straight, and winning easily by six lengths.
Sir Reginald, who was now recognised by many of the neighbouring gentry
and farmers, who remembered him a lad on his pony, was cheered loudly
as he piloted his horse through the crowd to the weighing-stand. Some
of the neighbouring _élite_ came up and claimed his acquaintance, and
overpowered him with congratulations. He received them with a distant
politeness none knew how to assume better than himself, and declining
various offers of luncheon, arm-in-arm with the radiant Captain
Campell, made his way to the Fairfax landau, where he was received as
a hero indeed. _This_ victory was something palpable, and Helen felt
a pleasing consciousness that their carriage was the cynosure of many
eyes and many opera-glasses, as her cousin shared the box-seat with
Mary Ferrars.
“Where is she?” was whispered behind more than one fan among the
ladies on the stand. “How odd it is that he should have come into the
neighbourhood! How handsome he is, and how much he is to be pitied,
poor fellow!”
The “poor fellow” made a capital luncheon, lost several pairs of gloves
to the two ladies, and suddenly announced his intention of going home.
“Going home?” echoed Geoffrey; “why there are two more races on the
card. You are not serious?” he said, gazing at him with might and main.
“I am, indeed; the best of the day is over, and I want to get off
before the crowd begins to make a rush. You can all stay if you like.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Captain Vaughan; “I’m sick of races, and we
will jog home quietly and escape the dust.”
Well he guessed his friend’s intention--he was going home to set his
wife’s mind at rest, and he _was_. Her pale face and trembling fingers
had risen up more than once reproachfully before his mind’s eye,
and he felt both remorseful and penitent for his undoubted rudeness.
Cautiously steering through the crowd, they were soon on their road
home, smoking and discussing the events of the day as they trotted
through the cool country lanes; both had the pleasing inward conviction
that they were doing the “right thing.”
Within a mile of Monkswood the sound of a horse galloping close by in
a field arrested their attention. Soon he came in sight--a powerful
raking chestnut, ridden by a lady. Pulling him up gradually to a
canter, she trotted him up to a hog-backed stile, over which she landed
him in the most workmanlike manner into the road, a hundred yards ahead
of the dog-cart, which evidently was a vehicle not to his taste, for
the instant he caught sight of it he turned sharp round and bolted in
the opposite direction.
The lady was Alice, the horse Cardigan. In two minutes she had reduced
him to obedience, and, returning at a trot, ranged up alongside of
the dog-cart. Her light hand seemed to have a wonderfully soothing
effect on the fiery fretting chestnut. She had evidently given him a
good gallop, if one was to judge by the state of heat he was in and
the lather on his sides, and so subdued his exuberant impulses, but
his wild eye and nervous ears spoke volumes: “Only for the lady on
my back,” they said, “I would think very little of jumping into that
dog-cart.”
“So you have come back?” exclaimed Alice cheerfully, “and not on a
shutter,” with a glance at her husband.
“So you see,” he replied shortly.
“After all, it was only a flat race! I need not have been so
frightened. Did you win?”
“He did, splendidly! by six lengths, hands down,” replied Captain
Vaughan enthusiastically. “You ought to have been there to see for
yourself, Lady Fairfax. There has been capital racing.”
“What has brought you home so early?” she asked, not noticing his
suggestion.
“Oh, we had had enough of it; the best races had been run, and we
thought we would get away before the crowd.”
“Alice,” said her husband, suddenly tossing away his cigar, “I thought
I had forbidden you to ride Cardigan?”
“Did you!” she replied airily; “just in the same way that I _forbid_
you to ride races,” and she laughed as she leant over and patted
Cardigan’s neck. “‘Live and let live’ is our motto, is it not, Captain
Vaughan?”
“_You_ won’t live long, at any rate, if you persist in riding that
brute,” returned her husband angrily.
“He calls you a brute, Mr. C.; do you hear that? You and I understand
each other perfectly,” she said, stooping forward again and patting his
hard neck, thereby more fully displaying her perfect figure and her
perfectly-cut habit.
“You have torn your glove, Lady Fairfax. Why, the whole palm is gone!”
exclaimed Captain Vaughan.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she replied, looking at it hurriedly, but not
before a deep red weal across her delicate white palm was visible to
both gentlemen.
“He pulls a good bit, does he not?” asked Captain Vaughan dubiously.
“A little, when he is fresh; but he knows me. All the grooms are
afraid of him, and he knows that; but I’m not a bit afraid of you, am
I?” addressing herself once more to her steed, and emphasizing her
remark with a touch of her whip.
His reply was a plunge that would have unseated a less experienced
rider. Another touch of the whip--another plunge.
Captain Vaughan looked askance at his friend. For a man who had just
won a race, on an awkward horse, in a first-class manner, he looked
decidedly nervous. Never had Captain Vaughan seen fear written on
Reginald Fairfax’s face till now, and there it was plainly to be seen,
as Cardigan executed plunge after plunge before them down the road.
Subdued at last by his mistress’s voice, they again joined the dog-cart.
“Alice,” said her husband, administering a wicked but quiet cut to the
dog-cart horse, “you’ll never ride Cardigan again after to-day.”
“Oh, shan’t I? Who is to prevent me?” she asked, innocent wonder
depicted on her pretty face.
“I will,” he replied emphatically.
“Do not be too sure of that,” she returned, with a smile at Captain
Vaughan that exasperated her husband beyond description. “Farewell
for the present; here is a lovely piece of turf,” and with a careless
wave of her hand she turned off the avenue and was soon galloping away
across the park at the top of Cardigan’s speed.
The two young men watched her in dead silence till she disappeared
behind a clump of trees.
“By Jove, how she rides!” exclaimed Captain Vaughan in a tone of
enthusiastic admiration.
“Vaughan,” said his friend solemnly, as he withdrew his eyes from the
vanishing horsewoman, “let me give you a piece of advice; take it as
coming from one who speaks from experience. Whatever folly--whatever
madness you may be guilty of, be warned by me, and _never marry_!”