The Derby was run that year in the last week of May. The young Countess
of Ilfracombe had already been presented at Court under the auspices of
her mother-in-law. She had attended more than one Royal function since;
she had seen all that there was worth seeing in town, and she had
entertained largely at her own house in Grosvenor Square. She had been
fairly launched on Society in fact, and, unlike most heroines, it had
not disappointed her. Everything was new and fresh to her; everything
was delightful. This was what she had longed for and dreamed of in
far-off Malta, and her letters home were full of the pleasure she was
experiencing and the honours that were paid to her. Nora felt happier,
too, and more at her ease in the company of her mother-in-law and the
Ladies Devenish, and away from the close, every-day companionship
of Mr Portland, who had at last returned to his own chambers in the
Albany. She fluttered about from milliner to milliner, theatre to
theatre, like a huge butterfly; all fashion, delicate tints, smiles
and excitement. Ilfracombe, unlike his usual taste, seemed delighted
to be her cavalier on all occasions. The truth is, he was thankful
to get out of the house. Fond as he undoubtedly was of his wife, the
atmosphere of Grosvenor Square depressed him. He could not enter a
single room without being painfully reminded of Nell Llewellyn and her
devoted love for him. It had been a very real love between these two.
On her side the most unselfish, adoring, humble passion--on his, a
very appreciative acknowledgment of her single-eyed affection, mingled
with a great admiration of her beauty. _His_ love for her, however,
had always been mixed with a certain amount of shame and uncertainty,
because he knew it was impossible it could go on for ever, and he
dreaded the moment when it would become imperative to tell her so. Nell
had ended it all for herself, however, and but too abruptly, and now
he could not sit in the rooms where they had for so long sat together,
and which she had so confidently regarded as her own without finding
his thoughts very much drawn her way, even though his lawful wife was
by his side. He thought of the time when Nell first came to his house,
a tall, slender girl, with a complexion like a wild rose, and beautiful
startled hazel eyes, moist with the dews of youth. How frightened she
was when he first whispered his love into her ear--how passionately
remorseful when he had led her astray--how wonderfully grateful and
reverential when he told her she should thenceforth reign the mistress
of his heart. He looked back over the years she had managed his
household for him, and could not remember one instance of her losing
her temper with him--that passionate, indomitable temper, which was
so quickly roused by others. How often he had wished, almost decided
to make her his wife, if only for the devoted love she bore him, but
had been afraid on consideration of the sneers and disapproval of the
world, and so had dismissed the idea from his mind. And now--well, of
course, he would not change his Nora for any woman. She was a glory to
him, whilst poor Nell would only have been a disgrace. Still he wished
from the bottom of his heart that she had been more reasonable, and
gone home quietly to her friends, and, by-and-by, married some man in
her own station of life, who would have considered the settlement he
wished to make on her a little fortune. Lord Ilfracombe wondered, by
the way, who _were_ Nell’s friends, and where she came from. She had
never mentioned her old home to him. Did they know of her sad death,
he wondered; or of the circumstances that led to it? He thought not.
She was not the sort of woman to betray the man she loved even in
death. She would have carried her secret with her to the grave. It
was done, and it could not be undone, he would tell himself, but the
thought made the house very distasteful to him. He became nervous,
even timid. He did not care to enter his private rooms at dusk, and
would fancy he heard a sigh, or caught sight of a shadowy form flitting
by him in the gloaming. One day he called his wife ‘Nell.’ It was a
fearful mistake, and his face grew crimson as he discovered it; but
Nora was wonderfully calm under the little _désagrément_.
‘Was that Miss Llewellyn’s name, Ilfracombe?’ she asked archly.
‘Oh, my love, forgive me!’ cried the earl. ‘What can I have been
thinking of? It was the mere force of habit. You know she was here
with me, and it is the first time I have been in the house since.’
‘Did you think I should be angry?’ asked Nora, looking back at him over
her shoulder. ‘Surely it is the most natural thing in the world that
you should think of the poor girl. You would be a brute if you didn’t;
but don’t get melancholy over it, dear boy. Come into the Park with me,
or let us go down the river together. I won’t leave you moping here by
yourself.’
And it was such things that made Lord Ilfracombe say, and rightly, that
he had gained a wife in a thousand. He was anxious that she should
accompany him to the Derby, for two reasons--anxious that she should
see the biggest race of the year, which, of course, she had never yet
had an opportunity of doing; and anxious to let the racing world see
what a charming countess he had secured. The Dowager Lady Ilfracombe
was very much against the idea, and the Ladies Devenish said it was
decidedly vulgar and not at all _comme il faut_.
‘If Ilfracombe had taken you to Ascot, or Goodwood, it would have been
different, but the Derby! Why, hardly any ladies go there. There is
always such a vulgar crowd, and, coming back by the road, you are bound
to be insulted.’
‘Do you think so?’ said Nora. ‘I should like to see the man who would
dare to insult me in Ilfracombe’s presence.’
‘But you don’t know anything about it,’ replied Lady Blanche. ‘The
roughs who frequent the Derby course make no difference between an earl
and anybody else. They don’t know one when they see him, and the awful
people you will see on the race-course, gipsies--and nigger minstrels,
and low creatures of all sorts.’
‘Have you ever been there yourself?’ inquired Nora.
‘I should hope not, indeed. I would not think of such a thing. It is
no place for ladies. I can’t imagine what Ilfracombe can be thinking of
to let you go.’
‘Well, I suppose he knows better than either of us, Blanche, and it
was his own proposal. We are going down--a large party on our drag.
Lady Moberly and the Duchess of Downshire are going with us, so I shall
offend the proprieties in good company.’
‘Oh, if the duchess is going with you, it makes a difference of course.
No one has ever said a word against the duchess, and she is at least
fifty, so she will give a tone to the whole affair and be a sort of
chaperon for you; for you see, Nora, though you _are_ a countess, you
are rather young.’
‘I know that,’ retorted Nora; ‘but I’m getting the better of it every
day.’
‘Well, you needn’t be flippant, my dear,’ replied her sister-in-law
with a sniff. ‘Rank has its obligations, though you do not appear to
think so. There might have been some excuse for your not knowing it
before your marriage, but there is none now.’
‘No, I suppose not. All the same I’m going to the Derby this year, if I
never go again.’
And off ran Nora to join her husband. The Derby day was for her a
complete success. She was dressed becomingly--was in good health
and spirits, and in the humour to enjoy all she saw and heard. Lord
Ilfracombe’s drag, with its team of perfectly-matched chesnuts, was one
of the handsomest in the Four-in-hand Club, and had always attracted
particular attention when he turned out for the annual Park display.
Their party consisted of the Duchess of Downshire, Lord and Lady
Moberly, Miss Chetwynd, one of that season’s beauties, and several
bachelors, amongst whom was Mr Jack Portland--the only drawback to
Nora’s enjoyment. But she was seated behind her husband and the
duchess, who occupied the box seat, and he was at the back of the
coach, so that during the journey they did not exchange a word with one
another. As soon as they arrived on the race-course, and the horses had
been taken out of the shafts, the servants spread their luncheon, and
they began to have a merry time of it. Presently Jack Portland’s voice
was heard exclaiming, as he looked at someone through his field-glass,--
‘By George! if that isn’t Sir Archibald Bowmant, my Usk friend, and
his wife. I told you, Ilfracombe, didn’t I, that I’m going to spend a
few weeks with them next month. They’re the best fellows in the world.
Awful fun! and don’t the old boy know a card when he sees it.’
‘Friends of yours, Jack?’ said Ilfracombe in his hospitable way. ‘Ask
them to come here and lunch with us, old boy, if they’re not better
engaged.’
‘Shall I? Have I _your_ permission, Lady Ilfracombe?’ asked Mr
Portland, looking at Nora.
‘Need you ask the question, Mr Portland,’ she replied without glancing
his way. ‘If you have my husband’s leave, you have mine.’
‘Thanks,’ said Mr Portland as he descended from the coach. ‘They may be
with another party; but I’ll just ask. I’m sure you’ll like them. Lady
Bowmant is just your style.’
In a few minutes he returned with his friends, and introduced them
to Lord and Lady Ilfracombe. Sir Archibald was a stout, florid,
middle-aged man, with a jolly, good-tempered countenance, and
weak, watery, blue eyes. His wife, to whom he had not been married
a twelvemonth, was many years his junior, perhaps not more than
five-and-twenty, and was as good a specimen of a fast young woman
who just contrives not to step over the rubicon as could be found
anywhere. She had been a nobody, and her head was completely turned by
having become the wife of a baronet. She was decidedly pretty, with
a countrified style of beauty, and she was fashionably but not well
dressed. Her manner was effusive, and her voice loud, but she was
lively, sparkling and amusing. Lady Ilfracombe, though indisposed to
accord her a hearty welcome just because she had been introduced by
Jack Portland, could not help thawing under her lively manner, and
before long they were all on the most excellent terms.
‘How good of you to ask us to luncheon, Lady Ilfracombe!’ exclaimed the
new comer. ‘I am sure I shall never forget it. I do so admire anything
like cordiality. You meet with so little of it in this country. We
Englishwomen are horribly stiff as a rule, are we not? Sir Archibald
and I were admiring your drag so much. We were on the course when
you drove up, just making our way to the Grand Stand. It is quite a
wonder we are here. We never meant to come, but I have never seen the
Derby run, and Sir Archibald thought I should not go back to Wales
without doing so. We drove down but put up at the hotel. Are we not
ignoramuses? I was just despairing of pushing our way through this
crowd when Jack spied us out, and landed us, through your goodness, in
this haven of peace.’
‘You have known Mr Portland a long time then, I suppose?’ remarked Nora.
‘Why? Because I called him “Jack?” Oh, everyone calls him “Jack,” don’t
they? He’s a regular lady’s man, is Mr Portland, and a great favourite
with my husband. He is coming to stay with us in Usk next month.’
‘So he told us just now.’
‘Yes, I am quite looking forward to it. He is such a delightful
companion in the country. Do you like the country, Lady Ilfracombe? Are
you fond of horses?’
‘I am very fond of horses,’ replied Nora, smiling; ‘but if your
question means, Do you ride well? I must tell you that I never mounted
a horse till after my marriage, and so I am still a learner.’
‘Oh, you’ll be proficient in no time!’ exclaimed Lady Bowmant. ‘Isn’t
it delightful? I adore riding and driving, and everything connected
with horses. Don’t I, Sir Archibald?’
‘You do, my dear,’ said the jolly baronet. ‘That is, if adoring means
riding them to death, and driving over half my tenantry,’ and he roared
as if his wife’s feats of skill were the funniest things in the world.
‘Now, don’t tell tales out of school, Sir Archibald,’ cried the lady.
‘You know when I hunted last season that there wasn’t a woman in
the field who could keep anywhere near me. And didn’t I carry off
three brushes? And didn’t the master of the fox-hounds say I was the
pluckiest horsewoman he had ever seen?’
‘Oh, yes, Dolly; no one denies your pluck, my dear. Only I wish you
didn’t drive your tandem over the children so often. The pounds I had
to pay last year for mending babies and recouping the mothers passes
belief.’
‘Don’t you believe him, Lady Ilfracombe,’ said his wife with a saucy
nod. ‘The old man’s getting in his second dotage and doesn’t know half
he says.’
At this fresh sally Sir Archibald roared again until he nearly choked
himself over his lobster salad and champagne.
The races were now beginning in good earnest, but Nora did not take
half so much interest in them as she did in the lively conversation
of her new acquaintance, who out-talked the duchess and Lady Moberly
and all the other ladies put together. She was very keen on the racing
though, and explained a great deal to Nora which she could not have
understood without her. The gentlemen of the party had left the drag
as soon as the work of the day began, and found their way to the
betting-ring.
‘Now, I hope my old man won’t pop too much on Caliban!’ exclaimed Lady
Bowmant a little anxiously. ‘For it looks to me as if he had been a
bit overtrained. I heard Jack recommending him to put a monkey on him;
but though Jack knows a thing or two I don’t always take his advice in
racing matters. I expect its six for himself and half-a-dozen for his
friends like most of them, eh?’
‘I know so little of these things,’ replied Lady Ilfracombe. ‘Is the
Derby a great race for betting on?’
The other turned and looked at her with surprise.
‘Is the Derby a race for betting on?’ she repeated. ‘My dear Lady
Ilfracombe, men lose fortunes over it. They’re mad, I tell them,
perfectly mad. No one likes spending money more than I do; but to throw
it away by the thousand! Why, it spells ruin for the majority, that’s
all.’
‘I hope Ilfracombe will not be reckless,’ said Nora anxiously. ‘I
sometimes think he is a little disposed to be so over cards and those
sorts of games.’
‘If he’s with Jack Portland, he’s bound to “go the pace,”’ returned
Lady Bowmant, laughing. ‘Upon my word, I sometimes think that man’s
mad. Have you ever seen him at baccarat, Lady Ilfracombe?’
‘Who? What?’ said Nora, who was vainly trying to follow her husband’s
movements. ‘Mr Portland? No.’
‘It’s a caution,’ said her companion. ‘I’ve had to positively drag Sir
Archibald away from him sometimes, for fear he should get up from the
table without a halfpenny. But it’s a lovely game. So much excitement.
We are at it at Usk Hall sometimes till four in the morning. We are
terrible gamblers up there.’
‘See!’ cried the duchess, standing up in the drag; ‘they’re off!’
After which they spent a couple of very fatiguing hours watching the
various races, and jotting down the first, second and third winners
on their cards, during which time the men did not come near them,
so occupied were they by the business of the betting-ring and the
excitement provided for them there. When it was at last all over, and
their party returned to the drag, Nora observed that Ilfracombe was
looking very flushed, and talking very fast, a sufficiently unusual
circumstance with him to attract her notice. Mr Portland, on the
contrary, seemed to take things much more coolly; whilst the baronet
had lost some of his hilariousness, and Lord Moberly was congratulating
himself that he had not been persuaded to back the favourite.
‘Well, and how have you all fared?’ cried the duchess gaily, as they
came within hailing distance.
‘Sir Archibald, I feel certain you have been making a fool of
yourself!’ exclaimed his wife. ‘I can see it in the set of your tie.
Very well. Back you go to Usk to-morrow, and you’ll have to put up with
mutton and potatoes till we’ve recouped ourselves. Now, what have you
lost? Out with it!’
‘Nonsense, Dolly, nonsense,’ replied the baronet, as he tried to evade
her scrutiny. ‘A mere trifle, I assure you; not worth thinking about.
When did you ever know me make a fool of myself over races?’
‘Scores of times,’ replied her ladyship decidedly, as she whispered in
his ear.
Nora did not ask any questions, nor make any remarks, but she gazed at
her husband in a wistful way as if she would read from his features
whether he had been lucky or otherwise. Ilfracombe did not voluntarily
look her way; but after a while he felt the magnetism of her glance,
and raised his eyes to hers. The silent anxiety he read in them seemed
to annoy him. He frowned slightly, and affecting unusual hilarity,
climbed to his seat and seized the reins.
‘Now for a good scamper back to town!’ he exclaimed. ‘We must not let
the riff-raff get ahead of us, or we shall be smothered in dust. Are
you tired, darling?’ he continued over his shoulder to his wife; ‘or
would you like to go to the Oaks on Friday? What do you think of our
national race-course and our national game?’
‘I have been very much amused. I liked it very much,’ answered Nora
in a conventional manner; but the tone of her voice did not convey
much satisfaction. But as Ilfracombe and she were dressing for a big
dinner-party, to which they were engaged that evening, she crept to
his side and asked him shyly,--
‘Did you lose much to-day, Ilfracombe? I am sure you lost, or you would
have told me the amount of your winnings. But was it _very_ much?’
‘I was pretty hard hit over “The Cardinal,”’ he answered; ‘but nothing
to howl over.’
‘Why did you take Mr Portland’s advice?’ she said. ‘He always makes you
lose.’
‘Not at all,’ replied her husband; ‘Jack is the best adviser I have.
Everyone must lose at times. It’s absurd to suppose you can always win.’
‘Then why doesn’t he lose also?’ said Nora boldly. ‘Why doesn’t he give
you the same advice he follows himself?’
‘My darling child, you know nothing of such matters, and I don’t want
you to do so. They concern men only. And look here, Nora--I don’t want
to say anything unkind; but I would rather you did not interfere with
my winnings or my losings. They are essentially my own affair. Trust
me to take care of myself. And now, if you are ready, we had better go.’
After which Nora was sharp enough to see that she would only make a bad
matter worse by attempting to set Ilfracombe against Jack Portland, and
that her only plan was to watch and wait, until the time came when she
might be able to influence her husband openly.
He loved her, but he was too easily led by a stronger mind than his
own, and he was too loyal to believe that his intimate friend, who
shared all his good things at his pleasure, could plot to aggrandise
himself at his expense.
She had brought it on herself, Nora said inwardly, and she must bear
the penalty as best she might.
A few days after the Derby, Sir Archibald and Lady Bowmant called
upon her, and she returned their visit. She thought Lady Bowmant very
clever and amusing, but she little dreamt the acquaintanceship would
lead to a close and sudden intimacy. She was astonished, therefore,
one morning, by her husband telling her that he had met the baronet
at his club the night before, and that he had extended a most cordial
invitation for them to go down to Usk Hall during the time that Jack
Portland was to be there.
‘To Usk Hall?’ said Nora, with surprise. ‘But, Ilfracombe, we do not
know the Bowmants sufficiently well to go and stay with them. I have
only seen her three times in all.’
‘What does that signify?’ replied her husband. ‘They’re awfully jolly
people; you said so yourself, and Jack says they keep it up royally
at Usk Hall. The Prince of Huhm-Hessetal is to be there, and no end
of nice people. You’ll receive a proper invitation from Lady Bowmant
to-morrow or next day, and I see no reason why we should not accept it.’
‘I thought you had agreed to join your mother’s party at Wiesbaden,’
said the countess dubiously.
‘Oh, hang my mother’s party!’ exclaimed Ilfracombe irritably. ‘A lot of
old fogies together. What fun should we get out of that? I only said
something about seeing her there, just to quiet her. I never meant to
go. Besides, we can go abroad afterwards if you wish it. But neither of
us have ever seen Wales--a most beautiful country, and the Bowmants’ is
just the sort of house to suit us. Lots of horses for you to ride and
drive, and salmon fishing for me; and--well, all I can say is, that I
wish to go.’
‘Of course, then, we shall go,’ replied his wife quietly.
But, when the invitation actually arrived, she made one more appeal to
the earl to keep her out of the way of Jack Portland.
‘Ilfracombe,’ she said, going to seek him, with the letter from Lady
Bowmant in her hand, ‘have you quite made up your mind? Am I really to
tell these people that we will go to Usk Hall and stay with them?’
‘Of course. Why not? Haven’t we decided to accept the invitation?’ he
demanded.
‘_You_ have, I know, but I feel sure it will prove a disappointment
to both of us. You will call me silly, but I have such a presentiment
that this visit will end in some terrible trouble for us. Is it only
fancy, do you think,’ added Nora, with unusual softness in her voice
and manner, ‘or may it not be a warning for us not to go?’
‘A warning! Rubbish!’ exclaimed the earl, as he kissed her troubled
eyes. ‘Now, my darling, you _shall_ go if only to prove what a little
goose you are. _A warning!_ I know what you’re thinking of. You’re
afraid I shall succumb to the charms of the fascinating Lady Bowmant.
Well, she is a flirt, there is no doubt of that, and she is setting her
cap at me rather hard; but don’t be afraid, little woman. Your husband
is not such a fool as he looks, and he means you to go with him to Usk
Hall.’