Lord Alfred Courtland and Horace D’Almayne were both members of the
Pandemonium, at which notable club the latter, when he had no rich
victim on whom to quarter himself, chiefly spent his days. The visit
which Lord Alfred had paid to Coverdale Park, and his subsequent mission
to Hazlehurst Grange, had impressed him deeply, and brought out all
his best qualities. On his return to town, he took himself to task more
seriously than he had yet done, for the careless and extravagant life he
had been leading; and, warned by experience how futile such repentance
might prove, unless followed by some practical efforts at self-reform,
he set to work with his accustomed impetuosity, to remedy the
evils resulting from his injudicious attempt to become a fast
“man-about-town.” The Honourable Billy Whipcord relieved him of one
difficulty, by purchasing Don Pasquale for the same amount which
Lord Alfred had given Tirrett for the animal, and with the money thus
obtained, together with his winnings on the steeple-chase, he, like an
honest fellow, paid all his creditors. Feeling much happier for this
step in the right direction, he determined to follow it up by another,
and accordingly wrote to his father, saying that, his health being now
re-established, it was his wish to return to Cambridge, and endeavour to
make up for lost time. Having dispatched this letter, and ridden for a
couple of hours in the Park, the necessity of dining occurred to him,
and he turned his horse’s head towards the Pandemonium. As he rode
thither, it struck him that he might possibly encounter Horace
D’Almayne, and he bethought him of his promise to Harry Coverdale, to
give up the acquaintance of the man whom he had so incautiously trusted,
and who had abused that trust by leading him into evil whenever an
opportunity presented itself for so doing.
Yes! disagreeable as it was, perhaps even dangerous (for D’Almayne was
not a man to insult with impunity), he would redeem his pledged word--he
would show his gratitude to Coverdale. If D’Almayne was at the club,
he would cut him in a marked and unmistakeable manner! As these thoughts
were passing through his brain, he became aware of a young man, flashily
dressed, and mounted on a magnificent horse, who, as he passed, took off
his hat to him. Confused for the moment by the idea that it must be some
acquaintance whom he ought to recognise, he bowed stiffly, whereupon the
horseman wheeled his steed, and rode up to Lord Alfred’s side--
“I beg your Lordship’s pardon,” he began, “but I wish to say a few words
to you. Does not your Lordship remember me?”
“Your behaviour towards me, Mr. Tirrett, was of a nature neither easily
to be forgotten, nor calculated to make me desirous of cultivating your
further acquaintance. I have the honour of wishing you good morning.”
Saying this with the hauteur and dignity of the whole House of Peers
combined, Lord Alfred turned his head away from his unwished-for
acquaintance and rode on; but Tirrett had an object in view, and was,
therefore, not to be so easily shaken off.
“I won’t deny,” he said coolly, “that your Lordship has good reason to be
angry with me, for I played you a trick that, if I’d been a gentleman,
and your Lordship’s equal, I should consider a very dirty one; but, if
your Lordship will consider a minute, you’ll perceive the difference
between us.”
Amused, in spite of his anger, at the fellow’s cool audacity, Lord
Alfred replied, with a sarcastic laugh--
“I should scarcely imagine that would require any very deep thinking to
discover!”
“Your Lordship is sharp upon me this afternoon,” observed Tirrett, in
no way disconcerted, “but I was going to remark that horse-dealing,
and horse-racing, which you gentlemen enter into for amusement, is the
regular business by which such men as myself gain our livelihood; it’s
a ticklish sort of trade at the best of times, for we’re liable to be
deceived and cheated on all sides as well as other people; so a fellow’s
obliged to look out, and never throw away a chance. Now your job was
just this,--the Don was recovering from a bad sprain in the off-foreleg
when I sold him to you.”
“Pleasant intelligence for the Honourable Billy!” murmured Lord Alfred.
“I thought he’d stand training, but expected he’d break down in the
race, and as I never like to ride a losing horse if I can help it, I
made my book to win on Black Eagle, but I was obliged to promise to ride
Don Pasquale for you, or else you wouldn’t have bought him. I don’t
say I acted right by you; but I mean to say that I didn’t act any worse
than others that call themselves gentlemen, and your friends too!”
“Do you allude to any one in particular, may I ask?--it is as well to
know one’s friends from one’s foes,” inquired Lord Alfred, his curiosity
beginning to awaken.
“I allude to Horace D’Almayne. Your Lordship best knows whether you
consider him your friend,” was the reply.
“I certainly did at one time, if I do not now; but what has he to do
with the affair?” asked Lord Alfred, his attention now fully aroused.
In answer to this question, Tirrett entered into a full account of the
plot connected with the white-bait dinner, his own acquaintance with
Captain O’Brien, and other particulars, with which the reader is already
acquainted, dwelling especially on D’Almayne’s advice to him, to throw
over Lord Alfred and ride for Captain Annesley, for which D’Almayne
bargained to receive a per-centage on his winnings.
“And now,” he continued, “if I can afford your Lordship proof of the
truth of my statement, in D’Almayne’s own handwriting, and let you
have that proof, so that you may, if you please, confront him with it;
perhaps your Lordship will set that off against my refusal to ride the
steeple-chase for you.”
“Let me see your proof, sir; I shall then be better able to judge of my
amount of obligation to you,” was the curt reply.
Thus urged, Tirrett drew from his pocket the identical epistle which
D’Almayne had written to him from Lord Alfred’s lodgings on the morning
(as the date testified) before he started for the continent. Lord Alfred
perfectly remembered his writing the note; but the authenticity of the
document was established beyond a doubt by the paper, which was stamped
with a coronet and the cypher A. C. As this proof of his Mentor’s
treachery was brought before him, Lord Alfred coloured with anger, and
drawing out his pocket-book, he said--
“You must permit me to keep this document, Mr. Tirrett but, as I
consider it of value, I shall give you an equivalent for it.” Then
handing him a ten-pound note, he continued, “Note for note is a fair
exchange.”
Tirrett glanced at the money as if he had half a mind to return it;
but a moment’s reflection served to dispel the romantic scruple, and
adhering to his rule of never throwing a chance away, he pocketed the
cash, and raising his hat, began--
“Really, your Lordship’s too liberal! I am off for Yorkshire to-morrow
morning; but I shall be up again before the hunting season, with a lot
of very first-rate horses; and as I hope I’ve now made all straight with
your Lordship, I shall be highly honoured if your Lordship will look
through the stable before I let the dealers see them.”
Then, with another low bow, he turned his horse’s head, and touching him
with the spur, cantered off, leaving Lord Alfred to his own reflections,
which ran somewhat after the following fashion--
“So much for there being honour amongst thieves! Tirrett coolly
sacrifices his accomplice, in order to retain my custom! What an
inconceivable scoundrel that Horace D’Almayne turns out! I’m about as
easy-tempered a fellow as can be; too much so, I’m afraid; for I often
say Yes, when I feel I ought to say No; but I’ll cut the swindler dead
at the club, or wherever I meet him, and if he does not like it, I’ll
show him his note to Tirrett, or better still, read it out at the club;
such perfidy ought to be exposed, and I’ll not flinch from doing so.
Coverdale shall see that his example of straightforward manliness is
not quite thrown away upon me. I’ve followed a bad mode with tolerable
success, and reaped the fruits of such folly, and now I’ll try whether
I cannot imitate a good one. I’d do a great deal to reinstate myself in
the good opinion of Harry and his wife; they’ve been very kind to me,
too kind, for it overpowers me; but of course they must have lost all
respect for me--Harry thinks me a soft, foolish boy, and Alice, a weak,
sentimental puppy. Well, I’ll do my best to gain their esteem, and if I
fail, I shall be none the worse for having tried. How pretty that little
Emily is! prettier than her sister, I think! and _she_ believes in me to
a great extent, that’s some comfort!”
By the time his Lordship’s meditations had reached this point, his
Lordship’s horse had reached the Pandemonium, which fact, forcing itself
on his Lordship’s attention, he dismounted, and, consigning the animal
to the care of his groom, entered the club-room, when, of course,
the first person he encountered, was Horace D’Almayne! Owing to Lord
Alfred’s absence from town, D’Almayne had not seen him since his
return from the continent, he, therefore, advanced to meet him with the
greatest _empressement_, greeting him with the usual “_Ah! mon cher,_”
which he reserved for those of his associates whom he particularly
delighted to honour. Great, therefore, was his astonishment and disgust,
when Lord Alfred walked past him with his head in the air, and his eyes
immovably fixed upon the cornice of the apartment.
For a moment D’Almayne could scarcely believe the evidence of his
senses, so much at variance was his late pupil’s conduct with Horace’s
pre-conceived ideas of his gentle, yielding character; but a covert
smile on the faces of Barrington and several of the usual club-loungers,
was sufficient to convince him of the irritating fact, that in the
presence of the very men, before whom he had often boasted of and
paraded his intimacy with and influence over Lord Alfred Courtland, that
young nobleman had most decidedly and unequivocally cut him. For some
days past D’Almayne had perceived a change to have “come o’er the
spirit” in which he had been received by society at large. Intimates
had suddenly become slight acquaintances; slight acquaintances had grown
strangely short-sighted; and when he forced himself upon their notice,
appeared afflicted with a painful degree of stiffness in the “upper
spine.” Still, until that moment, no one had ventured actually to cut
him. Now the matter had come to a climax, Horace felt himself brought
fairly to bay, and in such a frame of mind he was dangerous. After
Lord Alfred had passed D’Almayne, he touched the Honourable William
Barrington, _alias_ Billy Whipcord, on the arm, and drawing him aside,
said--
“I have just been let into a pleasant little secret; it seems that the
reason my _dis_-honourable young acquaintance, Mr. Tirrett, set his
face so determinately against riding Don Pasquale was that the notable
quadruped had a screw loose in the back sinew of one of its inestimable
fore-legs, and Tirrett was afraid he would break down in the race. Now
as I have become aware of this only within the last half hour, I daresay
I have asked, and you have given, too much for the brute. _Caveat
emptor_ may be a very good general maxim, but I never can see why a
gentleman should act about selling a horse in a manner undeserving that
title--so, if you find the creature unsound I shall be happy to hand
you back a fifty-pound note, or more, if you require it. I’ve passed my
‘little go,’ as a patron of the turf, and wish to come out of it with
clean hands ere I take my leave of that noble pastime.”
“Really, my dear Courtland, you’re too chivalrous,” was the reply; “but
I’m quite content with my bargain; the Don is sound enough to answer my
purpose” (he had sold him that morning, and pocketed a cool hundred by
the transfer), “and if he were not, I have purchased him, and must abide
the loss;--but, excuse me, are you aware that you have just cut Horace
D’Almayne?”
“As he deserves to be cut by every honourable man,” interrupted Lord
Alfred, “and, for reasons which I will explain here before every member
of this club now present, if he has the audacity to--to venture to
force himself upon me,” he continued angrily, as he perceived D’Almayne
sauntering up to him, with his accustomed listless gait indeed, but with
a sparkle in his eye, and a red spot on each cheek, which, to those who
were well acquainted with him, showed that he was unusually excited.
“Has foreign travel, and the lapse of a fortnight, really altered me so
much that your Lordship is unable to recognize an old friend; or to what
other circumstance am I to attribute your singular failure of memory
when I accosted you on your entrance?” he inquired in his most
superciliously polite tone and accent.
“Attribute it to its right cause,” was the spirited reply; “that I
desire to associate only with men of honour, an idiosyncracy which
precludes my longer availing myself of the privilege of Mr. D’Almayne’s
society.”
“In fact, that, having made use of me to convert a raw school-boy into
a very tame specimen of a fast man, you fancy now you are able to run
alone, and that it will add to your reputation for fastness to kick down
the ladder by which you have mounted the social mole-hill you stand
on,” was the sneering answer; “but you have mistaken your man, my Lord.
Horace D’Almayne is not a puppet of which you hold the wires, to dance,
or to be thrown aside, at your Lordship’s pleasure. Had you simply
chosen to deny me your further acquaintance, I should have set the gain
of valuable minutes against the loss of one of the social incubi
my good-nature has entailed upon me, and overlooked the boyish
impertinence; but as you have seen fit to insult me publicly, nothing
short of an equally public apology will satisfy me. Should you be
infatuated enough to refuse me this, I will for once flatter your
Lordship’s vanity by supposing you man enough to be aware of the
alternative.”
As D’Almayne spoke, he drew himself up with an expression of
contemptuous superiority, half-pitying, half-defiant, which he imagined
highly effective.
It certainly had one effect, that of rousing Lord Alfred’s temper to the
utmost extent; and, with flashing eyes and quivering lips, he replied--
“If I could believe that you had one thought or feeling of a gentleman
in your composition which my conduct could wound, I would accept one of
the alternatives you propose; but to a man who can abuse the confidence
of friendship by availing himself of it to swindle and betray the
friend who trusted him,--to such a low, sordid black-leg, I will neither
apologize, nor will I afford, him the satisfaction due to wounded
honour.”
For a moment, as D’Almayne’s glance met that of the man he had wronged,
his self-possession failed him; and, ignorant to what extent Lord Alfred
might have become cognizant of his nefarious practices, he hesitated how
far he dared provoke any disclosure. But it was too late to retract: his
social position, on which depended his very means of existence, was at
stake; and as the thought crossed his mind, the gambler spirit awoke
within him. He would carry the matter with a high hand; a bold course
was always the wisest; Fortune would favour those who trusted her. It
was his only article of faith, and he clung to it with the pertinacity
of a zealot.
“Highly melodramatic!” he said, with a sarcastic sneer. “Your Lordship
has a real _spécialité_ for juvenile tragedy. But may I be allowed
to inquire what particular perfidy of mine has elicited the burst
of virtuous indignation which you have selected for your histrionic
_début?_”
“I was willing to have spared you the disgrace of a public exposure,”
was Lord Alfred’s reply; “but since you choose thus to provoke your
fate, I can have no reason for longer concealing the cause which has led
me to consider you unfit for the society of honourable men.” Turning
to Barrington, who happened to be standing next him, he continued,
“You, sir, and other gentlemen present, may remember how, not many weeks
since, a certain steeple-chase rider, named Tirrett, suddenly left me
in the lurch, by refusing at the last minute to ride for me, by which
rascality I was on the point of losing the race, upon which I had made
an imprudently heavy book. Mr. D’Almayne was at that time abroad, and,
I presume, imagined, owing to that circumstance, he might transact a
little profitable black-leg business with impunity. He accordingly
wrote a note to Tirrett, suggesting to him the scheme which he
afterwards attempted to carry out; stipulating, in case of its success,
to be paid fifty pounds and a percentage on Tirrett’s winnings.”
As Lord Alfred concluded, a murmur of disapprobation ran round the room,
and all eyes were turned upon Horace D’Almayne.
“A cleverly devised tale!” he said, scornfully; “a mole-hill ingeniously
inflated until it appears a mountain. I certainly betted on the race;
I may have given the jockey Tirrett the benefit of my suggestions on the
subject, as any other man who has ever been on the turf would have done;
but that all this demonstrates anything, except Lord Alfred Courtland’s
deplorable ignorance of that said art ‘of life about town,’ in which he
appears to have striven in vain to become a proficient, I am at a loss
to conceive.”
“Perhaps the simplest answer to Mr. D’Almayne’s statement will be to
place the note, on which the foundations of my ‘molehill inflated into
a mountain’ rest, in Mr. Barrington’s hands, asking him, for his own
satisfaction, and for that of the other gentlemen present, to read it
aloud.”
As he spoke, Lord Alfred drew from his pocket the note given him by
Tirrett, and handed it to Barrington, who, after a moment’s hesitation,
read aloud the following notable epistle, which the reader may remember
was written by D’Almayne, with his usual cool audacity, in Lord Alfred
Courtland’s lodgings:--
_“Dear Tirrett,--Your game is clear: let A. C-------- and O’B------n
each believe that you will ride for him, and at the last minute throw
both over. In this case, Captain Annesley’s Black Eagle is safe to win,
as I daresay you know better than I do; thus you will perceive how to
make a paying book. If I prove a true prophet, I shall expect a fifty
pound note from you, as O’B------n will (before you quarrel with
him) tell you I got up the whole affair myself, introducing him to A.
C------, &c.
“I remain, yours faithfully,
“YOU’LL KNOW WHO WHEN I CLAIM THE TIN.”
“P.S.--If you make a heavy purse out of the business, I shall expect ten
per cent, on all beyond five hundred pounds.”_
As Barrington ceased reading, D’Almayne observed, coolly--
“Exactly as I expected--an anonymous letter, supposed to be mine on
the word of a blackguard horsedealer (who probably wrote it himself to
conceal his own rascality), and eagerly caught at by this fiery young
gentleman, who, anxious to prove that he is out of leading-strings,
gladly seeks any pretext for quarrelling with one to whom his Lordship
has a painful consciousness that he appears no more a hero than to his
_valet-de-chambre_. Tirrett declares that I wrote this letter, I say I
did no such thing; there is no proof about the matter, it is simply a
question of assertion--Tirrett’s word against mine. I leave it to the
gentlemen present to say which is most worthy of credit.”
“Allow me to mention one small circumstance which may assist them to
arrive at a just decision,” interposed Lord Alfred, quietly; “I have a
perfect recollection of Mr. D’Almayne’s writing a note, much resembling
the one in question, at my lodgings, on the morning before he left
England. If I am right in my conjecture, the date would be the 5th of
last month, and the postmark Pall Mall; may I trouble you to ascertain
the point, Mr. Barrington?”
“Right in both respects,” was the unhesitating reply. “Moreover, here is
a coronet and the initials A. C. stamped on the paper, a corroboration
which quite satisfies my mind on the subject.”
L’Almayne glanced round, and read his sentence on the faces which
surrounded him--faces of men, who, in the insolence of his false
position, he had made to feel the lash of his covert sarcasm. Amongst
the many there he could not discern one friend. But his self-possession
did not forsake him.
“Of course, all against me,” he said; then turning to Lord Alfred, he
continued--“Your Lordship once expressed a doubt as to the social value
of a title, you now, I should imagine, perceive your error: for the
rest, the letter is an impudent forgery, and the accusation false; but
until I can prove the whole story the clumsy fabrication I know it to
be, I shall leave the matter where it stands, unless”--and he glanced
round the circle with a savage light in his cold, grey eyes, which
no one cared to meet--“unless any gentleman feels inclined to make
a personal affair of it, in which case I shall have much pleasure in
affording him the satisfaction he requires.”
No one appearing desirous of improving the occasion as D’Almayne had
suggested, the baffled intriguer stalked out of the room, with a look
of scornful indifference on his features, and rage and hatred burning in
his breast.