THE DERBY.
Hornby was lying on his back on the sofa in the window and looking out.
He had sent for Charles, and Charles was standing beside him; but he had
not noticed him yet. In a minute Charles said, "You sent for me, sir."
Hornby turned sharply round. "By Jove, yes," he said, looking straight
at him; "Lord Welter is married."
Charles did not move a muscle, and Hornby looked disappointed. Charles
only said--
"May I ask who she is, sir?"
"She is a Miss Summers. Do you know anything of her?"
Charles knew Miss Summers quite well by sight--had attended her while
riding, in fact. A statement which, though strictly true, misled Hornby
more than fifty lies.
"Handsome?"
"Remarkably so. Probably the handsomest (he was going to say 'girl,' but
said 'lady') I ever saw in my life."
"H'm!" and he sat silent a moment, and gave Charles time to think. "I am
glad he has married her, and before to-morrow, too."
"Well," said Hornby again, "we shall go down in the drag to-morrow.
Ferrers will drive, he says. I suppose he had better; he drives better
than I. Make the other two lads come in livery, but come in black
trousers yourself. Wear your red waistcoat; you can button your coat
over it, if it is necessary."
"Shall I wear my cockade, sir?"
"Yes; that won't matter. Can you fight?"
Charles said to himself, "I suppose we shall be in Queer Street
to-morrow, then;" but he rather liked the idea. "I used to like it,"
said he aloud. "I don't think I care about it now. Last year, at Oxford,
I and three other University men, three Pauls and a Brazenose, had a
noble stramash on Folly-bridge. That is the last fighting I have seen."
"What College were you at?" said Hornby, looking out at the window;
"Brazenose?"
"Paul's," said Charles without thinking.
"Then you are the man Welter was telling me about--Charles Ravenshoe."
Charles saw it was no good to fence, and said, "Yes."
"By Jove," said Hornby, "yours is a sad story. You must have ridden out
with Lady Welter more than once, I take it."
"Are you going to say anything to Lord Welter, sir?"
"Not I. I like you too well to lose you. You will stick by me, won't
you?"
"I will," said Charles, "to the death. But oh, Hornby, for any sake mind
those d----d bones!"
"I will. But don't be an ass: I don't play half as much as you think."
"You are playing with Welter now, sir; are you not?"
"You are a pretty dutiful sort of a groom, I don't think," said Hornby,
looking round and laughing good-naturedly. "What the dickens do you mean
by cross-questioning me like that? Yes, I am. There--and for a noble
purpose too."
Charles said no more, but was well pleased enough. If Hornby had only
given him a little more of his confidence!
"I suppose," said Hornby, "if Haphazard don't win to-morrow, Lord Ascot
will be a beggar."
"They say," said Charles, "that he has backed his own horse through
thick and thin, sir. It is inconceivable folly; but things could not be
worse at Ranford, and he stands to win some sum on the horse, as they
say, which would put everything right; and the horse is a favourite."
"Favourites never win," said Hornby; "and I don't think that Lord Ascot
has so much on him as they say."
So the next day they went to the Derby. Sir Robert Ferrer, of the Guards
drove (this is Inkerman Bob, and he has got a patent cork leg now, and
a Victoria Cross, and goes a-shooting on a grey cob); and there was Red
Maclean, on furlough from India; and there was Lord Swansea, youngest of
existing Guardsmen, who blew a horn, and didn't blow it at all well; and
there were two of Lieutenant Hornby's brother-officers, besides the
Lieutenant: and behind, with Hornby's two grooms and our own Charles,
dressed in sober black, was little Dick Ferrers, of the Home Office, who
carried a peashooter, and pea-shot the noses of the leading horses of a
dragful of Plungers, which followed them--which thing, had he been in
the army, he wouldn't have dared to do. And the Plungers swore, and the
dust flew, and the wind blew, and Sir Robert drove, and Charles laughed,
and Lord Swansea gave them a little music, and away they went to the
Derby.
When they came on the course, Charles and his fellow-servants had enough
to do to get the horses out and see after them. After nearly an hour's
absence he got back to the drag, and began to look about him.
The Plungers had drawn up behind them, and were lolling about. Before
them was a family party--a fine elderly gentleman, a noble elderly lady,
and two uncommonly pretty girls; and they were enjoying themselves. They
were too well bred to make a noise; but there was a subdued babbling
sound of laughter in that carriage, which was better music than that of
a little impish German who, catching Charles's eye, played the accordion
and waltzed before him, as did Salome before Herod, but with a different
effect.
The carriage beyond that was a very handsome one, and in it sat a lady
most beautifully dressed, alone. By the step of the carriage were a
crowd of men--Hornby, Hornby's brother-officers, Sir Robert Ferrers, and
even little Dick Ferrers. Nay, there was a Plunger there; and they were
all talking and laughing at the top of their voices.
Charles, goose as he was, used to be very fond of Dickens's novels. He
used to say that almost everywhere in those novels you came across a
sketch, may be unconnected with the story, as bold and true and
beautiful as those chalk sketches of Raphael in the Taylor--scratches
which, when once seen, you could never forget any more. And, as he
looked at that lady in the carriage, he was reminded of one of Dickens's
master-pieces in that way, out of the "Old Curiosity Shop"--of a lady
sitting in a carriage all alone at the races, who bought Nell's poor
flowers, and bade her go home and stay there, for God's sake.
Her back was towards him, of course; yet he guessed she was beautiful.
"She is a fast woman, God help her!" said he; and he determined to go
and look at her.
He sauntered past the carriage, and turned to look at her. It was
Adelaide.
As faultlessly beautiful as ever, but ah--how changed! The winning
petulance, so charming in other days, was gone from that face for ever.
Hard, stern, proud, defiant, she sat there upright, alone. Fallen from
the society of all women of her own rank, she knew--who better?--that
not one of those men chattering around her would have borne to see her
in the company of his sister, viscountess though she were, countess and
mother of earls as she would be. They laughed, and lounged, and joked
before her; and she tolerated them, and cast her gibes hither and
thither among them, bitterly and contemptuously. It was her first
appearance in the world. She had been married three days.
Not a woman would speak to her: Lord Welter had coarsely told her so
that morning; and bitterness and hatred were in her heart. It was for
this she had bartered honour and good fame. She had got her title, flung
to her as a bone to a dog by Welter; but her social power, for which she
had sold herself, was lower, far lower, than when she was poor Adelaide
Summers.
It is right that it should be so, as a rule; in her case it was doubly
right.
Charles knew all this well enough. And at the first glance at her face
he knew that "the iron had entered into her soul" (I know no better
expression), and he was revenged. He had ceased to love her, but revenge
is sweet--to some.
Not to him. When he looked at her, he would have given his life that she
might smile again, though she was no more to him what she had been. He
turned, for fear of being seen, saying to himself,--
"Poor girl! Poor dear Adelaide! She must lie on the bed she has made.
God help her!"
Haphazard was the first favourite--_facile princeps_. He was at two and
a half to one. Bill Sykes, at three and a half, was a very dangerous
horse. Then came Carnarvon, Lablache, Lick-pitcher, Ivanhoe, Ben Caunt,
Bath-bun, Hamlet, Allfours, and Colonel Sibthorp. The last of these was
at twenty to one. Ben Caunt was to make the running for Haphazard, so
they said; and Colonel Sibthorp for Bill Sykes.
So he heard the men talking round Lady Welter's carriage. Hornby's voice
was as loud as any one's, and a pleasant voice it was; but they none of
them talked very low. Charles could hear every word.
"I am afraid Lady Welter will never forgive me," said Hornby, "but I
have bet against the favourite."
"I beg your pardon," said Adelaide.
"I have bet against your horse, Lady Welter."
"My horse?" said Adelaide, coolly and scornfully. "My horses are all
post-horses, hired for the day to bring me here. I hope none of them are
engaged in the races, as I shall have to go home with a pair only, and
then I shall be disgraced for ever."
"I mean Haphazard."
"Oh, that horse?" said Adelaide; "that is Lord Ascot's horse, not mine.
I hope you may win. You ought to win something, oughtn't you? Welter has
won a great deal from you, I believe."
The facts were the other way. But Hornby said no more to her. She was
glad of this, though she liked him well enough, for she hoped that she
had offended him by her insolent manner. But they were at
cross-purposes.
Presently Lord Welter came swinging in among them; he looked terribly
savage and wild, and Charles thought he had been drinking. Knowing what
he was in this mood, and knowing also the mood Adelaide was in, he
dreaded some scene. "But they cannot quarrel so soon," he thought.
"How d'ye do?" said Lord Welter to the knot of men round his wife's
carriage. "Lady Welter, have your people got any champagne, or anything
of that sort?"
"I suppose so; you had better ask them."
She had not forgotten what he had said to her that morning so brutally.
She saw he was madly angry, and would have liked to make him commit
himself before these men. She had fawned, and wheedled, and flattered
for a month; but now she was Lady Welter, and he should feel it.
Lord Welter looked still more savage, but said nothing. A man brought
him some wine; and, as he gave it to him, Adelaide said, as quietly as
though she were telling him that there was some dust on his coat--
"You had better not take too much of it; you seem to have had enough
already. Sir Robert Ferrers here is very taciturn in his cups, I am
told; but you make such a terrible to-do when you are drunk."
They should feel her tongue, these fellows! They might come and dangle
about her carriage-door, and joke to one another, and look on her beauty
as if she were a doll; but they should feel her tongue; Charles's heart
sank within him as he heard her. Only a month gone, and she desperate.
But of all the mischievous things done on that race-course that day--and
they were many--the most mischievous and uncalled-for was Adelaide's
attack upon Sir Robert Ferrers, who, though very young, was as sober,
clever, and discreet a young man as any in the Guards, or in England.
But Adelaide had heard a story about him. To wit, that, going to dinner
at Greenwich with a number of friends, and having taken two glasses or
so of wine at his dinner, he got it into his head that he was getting
tipsy; and refused to speak another word all the evening for fear of
committing himself.
The other men laughed at Ferrers. And Lord Welter chose to laugh too; he
was determined that his wife should not make a fool of him. But now
every one began to draw off and take their places for the race. Little
Dick Ferrers, whose whole life was one long effort of good nature,
stayed by Lady Welter, though horribly afraid of her, because he did not
like to see her left alone. Charles forced himself into a front position
against the rails, with his friend Mr. Sloane, and held on thereby,
intensely interested. He was passionately fond of horse-racing; and he
forgot everything, even his poor, kind old friend Lord Ascot, in
scrutinising every horse as it came by from the Warren, and guessing
which was to win.
Haphazard was the horse, there could be no doubt. A cheer ran all along
the line, as he came walking majestically down, as though he knew he was
the hero of the day. Bill Sykes and Carnarvon were as good as good could
be; but Haphazard was better. Charles remembered Lady Ascot's tearful
warning about his not being able to stay; but he laughed it to scorn.
The horse had furnished so since then! Here he came, flying past them
like a whirlwind, shaking the earth, and making men's ears tingle with
the glorious music of his feet on the turf. Haphazard, ridden by Wells,
must win! Hurrah for Wells!
As the horse came slowly past again, he looked up to see the calm stern
face; but it was not there. There were Lord Ascot's colours, dark blue
and white sash; but where was Wells? The jockey was a smooth-faced young
man, with very white teeth, who kept grinning and touching his cap at
every other word Lord Ascot said to him. Charles hurriedly borrowed
Sloane's card, and read,
"Lord Ascot's Haphazard----J. Brooks."
Who, in the name of confusion, was J. Brooks? All of a sudden he
remembered. It was one of Lord Ascot's own lads. It was the very lad
that rode Haphazard on the day that Adelaide and he rode out to the
Downs, at Ranford, to see the horse gallop. Lord Ascot must be mad.
"But Wells was to have ridden Haphazard, Mr. Sloane," said Charles.
"He wouldn't," said Sloane, and laughed sardonically. But there was no
time for Charles to ask why he laughed, for the horses were off.
Those who saw the race were rather surprised that Ben Caunt had not
showed more to the front at first to force the running; but there was
not much time to think of such things. As they came round the corner,
Haphazard, who was lying sixth, walked through his horses and laid
himself alongside of Bill Sykes. A hundred yards from the post, Bill
Sykes made a push, and drew a neck a-head; in a second or so more
Haphazard had passed him, winning the Derby by a clear length; and poor
Lord Ascot fell headlong down in a fit, like a dead man.
Little Dicky Ferrers, in the excitement of the race, had climbed into
the rumble of Adelaide's carriage, peashooter and all; and, having
cheered rather noisily as the favourite came in winner, he was beginning
to wonder whether he hadn't made a fool of himself, and what Lady Welter
would say when she found where he had got to, when Lord Welter broke
through the crowd, and came up to his wife, looking like death.
"Get home, Adelaide! You see what has happened, and know what to do.
Lady Welter, if I get hold of that boy Brooks, to-night, in a safe
place, I'll murder him, by----!"
"I believe you will, Welter. Keep away from him, unless you are a
madman. If you anger the boy it will all come out. Where is Lord Ascot?"
"Dead, they say, or dying. He is in a fit."
"I ought to go to him, Welter, in common decency."
"Go home, I tell you. Get the things you know of packed, and taken to
one of the hotels at London Bridge. Any name will do. Be at home
to-night, dressed, in a state of jubilation; and keep a couple of
hundred pounds in the house. Here, you fellows! her ladyship's
horses--look sharp!"
Poor little Dicky Ferrers had heard more than he intended; but Lord
Welter, in his madness, had not noticed him. He didn't use his
peashooter going home, and spoke very little. There was a party of all
of them in Hornby's rooms that night, and Dicky was so dull at first,
that his brother made some excuse to get him by himself, and say a few
eager, affectionate words to him.
"Dick, my child, you have lost some money. How much? You shall have it
to-morrow."
"Not half a halfpenny, Bob; but I was with Lady Welter just after the
race, and I heard more than I ought to have heard."
"You couldn't help it, I hope."
"I ought to have helped it; but it was so sudden, I couldn't help it.
And now I can't ease my mind by telling anybody."
"I suppose it was some rascality of Welter's," said Sir Robert,
laughing. "It don't much matter; only don't tell any one, you know." And
then they went in again, and Dicky never told any one till every one
knew.
For it came out soon that Lord Ascot had been madly betting, by
commission, against his own horse, and that forty years' rents of his
estates wouldn't set my lord on his legs again. With his usual
irresolution, he had changed his policy--partly owing, I fear, to our
dear old friend Lady Ascot's perpetual croaking about "Ramoneur blood,"
and its staying qualities. So, after betting such a sum on his own horse
as gave the betting world confidence, and excusing himself by pleading
his well-known poverty from going further, he had hedged, by commission;
and, could his horse have lost, he would have won enough to have set
matters right at Ranford. He dared not ask a great jockey to ride for
him under such circumstances, and so he puffed one of his own lads to
the world, and broke with Wells. The lad had sold him like a sheep.
Meanwhile, thinking himself a man of honour, poor fool, he had raised
every farthing possible on his estate to meet his engagements on the
turf in case of failure--in case of his horse winning by some mischance,
if such a thing could be. And so it came about that the men of the turf
were all honourably paid, and he and his tradesmen were ruined. The
estates were entailed; but for thirty years Ranford must be in the hands
of strangers. Lord Welter, too, had raised money, and lost fearfully by
the same speculation.
There are some men who are always in the right place when they are
wanted--always ready to do good and kind actions--and who are generally
found "to the fore" in times of trouble. Such a man was General
Mainwaring. When Lord Ascot fell down in a fit, he was beside him, and,
having seen him doing well, and having heard from him, as he recovered,
the fearful extent of the disaster, he had posted across country to
Ranford and told Lady Ascot.
She took it very quietly.
"Win or lose," she said, "it is all one to this unhappy house. Tell them
to get out my horses, dear general, and let me go to my poor darling
Ascot. You have heard nothing of Charles Ravenshoe, general?"
"Nothing, my dear lady."
Charles had brushed his sleeve in the crowd that day, and had longed to
take the dear old brown hand in his again, but dared not. Poor Charles!
If he had only done so!
So the general and Lady Ascot went off together, and nursed Lord Ascot;
and Adelaide, pale as death, but beautiful as ever, was driven home
through the dust and turmoil, clenching her hands impatiently together
at every stoppage on the road.