THE REAL MAN
That Sunday of their visit to the Burchester Stables was a marked day
with Maud for the rest of her life.
The Stables were situated on the side of a splendid down about a mile
from the sea. Lord Saltash's estate stretched for miles around, and he
practically owned the whole of Fairharbour. Burchester Castle was the
name of the seat, an ancient pile dating from Saxon times that had
belonged to the Burchester family since the days of the Tudors. Charlie
Burchester had inherited it from his uncle five years before; but he did
not live in it. He had occasional wild house-parties there, especially
for the event of the Graydown Races. And he sometimes spent a night or
two when the mood took him to visit the stud. But for the most part the
house stood in empty grandeur, its rooms shuttered and shrouded, its
stately gardens deserted save for the gardeners who tended them.
Exquisite gardens they were. Maud had a glimpse of them from the height
of the down--terraced gardens with marble steps and glistening
fountains, yew-walks, darkly mysterious, quaintly fashioned, pines that
rustled and whispered together. The house was securely hidden from view
among its trees.
"It used to be a nunnery," said Jake. "Its inhabitants had a chaste
objection to publicity. It's an interesting old place, about a mile
from the Stables. I'd like to show it to you some time. You'd enjoy
it."
"Not to-day," said Bunny quickly.
Jake smiled at his tone. "No, not to-day, lad. We'll go and see the
animals to-day."
He had brought them up the long, winding private road which, though
smooth enough, was a continual ascent. Maud had wanted to help with the
invalid-chair, but he had steadily refused any assistance. She
marvelled at the evident ease with which he had accomplished the
journey, never hurrying, never halting, not even needing to pause for
breath, untiring as a wild animal in its native haunts. She remembered
the nickname he bore on the Turf, and reflected that it fitted him in
more than one respect. He was so supple, so tough, so sure.
Suddenly those bright eyes flashed round on her. "Say, you're tired,"
he said, in his queer, lilting voice. "We'll have tea first."
"No!" cried Bunny on the instant. "We'll do the Stables first, Jake.
It's not time for tea. Besides, tea can wait."
Jake's brown hand came over the back of the chair and filliped the boy's
cheek. "Shut up, my son!" said Jake.
Maud stared at the action. Bunny turned scarlet.
Jake unconcernedly continued his easy progress. "Reckon the animals
won't die if we don't inspect 'em till after tea," he said. "What's
your idea, Miss Brian?"
"If Bunny wishes to go straight to the Stables--" she began.
He interrupted. "Bunny has changed his mind. Ain't that so, Bunny?"
"I don't care," said Bunny rather sullenly.
"All right then," said Jake. "Tea first!"
He wheeled the chair into a great gateway that led into a wide stone
courtyard. White-washed stables were on each side of them and at
regular intervals large green tubs containing miniature fir-trees. At
the further end of the courtyard stood a square, white-washed house.
"That's my shanty," said Jake.
It was a very plain building; in former days it had been a farm. There
was a white railing in front and a small white gate flanked by another
pair of toy firs. The whole effect was one of prim cleanliness.
"There's a bit of garden at the back," said Jake. "And a
summer-house--quite a decent little summer-house--that looks right away
to the sea. Now, Bunny lad, there's a comfortable sofa inside for you.
Think I can carry you in?"
"Can't you take in the chair?" Maud asked nervously.
Jake looked at her. "Oh yes, I can. But the passage is a bit narrow.
It's not very easy to turn."
"Of course he can carry me, Maud. Let him carry me!" broke in Bunny, in
an aggrieved tone. "You make such a stupid fuss always."
Jake had thrown open the door of his home. "You go in, Miss Brian!" he
said. "Turn to the right at the end of the passage, and it's the door
facing you."
She went in reluctantly. The passage was small and dark, oak-panelled,
low-ceiled.
"Go right in!" said Jake.
She did not want to turn her back on Bunny, but she knew that the boy
would resent any lingering on her part. She passed down the passage and
turned as Jake had directed.
The door that faced her stood open, and she entered a long, low room,
oak-panelled like the passage, with a deep, old-fashioned fireplace in
which burned a cheery wood fire. Two windows, diamond-paned, and a door
with the upper panels of glass occupied the whole of the further side of
the room, and the western sunshine slanting in threw great bars of gold
across the low window-seats.
Tea had been set on a table in the middle of the room, to the corner of
which a sofa had been drawn. There were bed-pillows as well as cushions
on the sofa. Evidently Jake had ransacked the house to provide comfort
for Bunny.
Maud stood just within the doorway listening, dreading to hear the
indignant outcry that generally attended any movement of the poor little
crippled body. But she heard nothing beyond Jake's voice murmuring
unintelligibly, and in a few seconds the steady tread of his feet as he
entered the house.
Then, while she stood listening, the feet drew near and there came a
pleased chuckle from Bunny. Jake came squarely in, carrying him like an
infant, and deposited him with infinite care among the cushions that
Maud hastily adjusted for his reception.
"There you are, my son," he said. "Make yourself as much at home as you
can!"
Bunny looked about him with keen interest. "Oh, I say, what a jolly
room! What a ripping room! You're beastly lucky to live here, Jake."
"Oh, yes, it's a decent little crib," said Jake. "Those doorsteps were
just made for an evening pipe."
He indicated the closed glass-panelled door. Maud went to it and found
that the ground sloped sharply away from this side of the house,
necessitating a flight of several steps. They led down into a sunny
space that was more orchard than garden,--fruit-trees and grass
spreading down the side of the hill towards the magic, pine-screened
grounds of Burchester Castle.
Jake came and stood beside her for a moment. He was being studiously
impersonal that day, an attitude which curiously caused her more of
uneasiness than relief.
"The arbour is at the end by those apple-trees," he said. "You can just
see the roof from here. It looks over the field where we train. It's
sport to watch the youngsters learning to run. Lord Saltash calls it
the grand stand."
"Do you know Lord Saltash?" broke in Bunny. "He used to be a great pal
of ours once."
"Oh, that was years ago--in London," said Maud quickly. "No doubt he
has quite forgotten our existence by this time."
She spoke with unwitting sharpness, hotly aware that the lynx-like eyes
of her host were upon her.
Bunny took instant offence. "I'm sure it wasn't years ago, Maud; and
you know it wasn't. It isn't more than two since we saw him last--if
that. As to forgetting all about us, that isn't very likely,
considering the mother was one of his bad debts."
"Bunny!" Maud began in rare anger.
But in the same moment Jake swung calmly round. "Say, Bunny, do you like
shrimps?" he asked. He moved to Bunny's side and stood looking down at
him. "I got some in case. Miss Brian, I hope shrimps are good for him,
are they?"
"She doesn't know," said Bunny irritably. "What's the good of asking
her? Of course I like shrimps! Aren't we going to begin soon? I want
to go and see the horses."
"You seem to be in an all-fired hurry," observed Jake. "Left your
manners behind, haven't you?" He took out his watch. "Half-past three!
All right, my son. We'll go at four, Miss Brian, do you mind pouring
out?"
He set a chair for her facing the window, and sat down himself next to
Bunny.
It seemed to Maud that, seated there in his own house, she saw him under
a new aspect. He played the host with ability and no small amount of
tact.
He talked mainly about the stud, interesting her in a subject which she
had never before viewed at close quarters. He described various events
in which some of his charges had won distinction, and presently, to
Bunny's keen delight; he began a brief but stirring description of an
attempt to tamp with one of the animals two summers before on the eve of
one of the Graydown Races. Some inkling of the intended attempt had
reached him, and he himself had lain in wait to frustrate it.
"But how?" cried Bunny breathlessly.
"I decided to spend the night in the loose-box," said Jake. "There's no
hardship in sleeping alongside a good horse. I've done it many a time.
I wasn't so intimate with Lord Saltash then as I am now, but I knew
enough not to be altogether surprised when he came sliding into the
stable-yard a little after midnight in a two-seated car and made
straight for the loose-box where I was. The top half of the door was
ajar, and there was a dim lamp burning in the yard, but his head-lights
showed up everything like day. He pushed the top half right back and
leaned his arms on the lower and said, 'That you, Bolton?' I got up and
went to him. There was no one else about. 'I've put myself in charge
this trip,' I told him. 'You needn't be nervous.' He grinned in a
sickly sort of fashion and said, 'I am nervous--deuced nervous, and I'll
tell you why. If that brute runs to-morrow I'm a ruined man.' And then
he started jawing about some fool wager he'd made, said he was under the
thumb of some rascally booky, and actually began to try and talk me into
spoiling the animal's chances."
Jake paused. He was looking at Maud as if he expected something.
She looked back at him, her head very high, her eyes shining defiantly
bright. "Lord Saltash has a double apparently?" she said.
"Now, that's real clever of you!" said Jake, with a smile. "Yes, that is
the key to the mystery, and I soon grasped it. He offered me a large sum
of money to prevent Pedro running. Pedro was listening to the
transaction with his head on my shoulder. I said yes to everything, and
then I suggested that we should settle the details outside where there
was no chance of witnesses. He agreed to that, and I picked up my whip
and got into his car after him, and we slipped out and ran about
half-a-mile into the Park where I stopped him."
Jake paused again, still looking expectantly at the girl facing him.
She was flushed but evidently not greatly moved.
"What a thrilling recital!" she said.
And, "Go on!" urged Bunny impatiently.
Jake laughed a little. "I felt rather a skunk myself. He was so sweetly
unsuspicious, till I used the cowboy clutch on him and tied up his arms
in his own coat. That opened his eyes, but it was a bit too late. He
was in for a cowhiding, and he realized it, scarcely showed fight, in
fact. I didn't let him off on that account, and I don't suppose he has
forgotten it to this day. I didn't quite flay him, but I made him feel
some."
"And you let him go afterwards?" questioned Bunny.
"Yes, I let him go." Jake took up his cup and drank in a contemplative
fashion. "After that," he said, in his slow way, "I went back to Pedro,
and we finished the night together. But--I don't know whether having
his rest disturbed upset his nerves any--he only managed to come in
second after all."
"And Lord Saltash?" said Maud abruptly. "Did you ever tell him what had
happened?"
"Oh yes," said Jake. "I told him the following evening, and he laughed
in his jolly way and said, 'Well, I'm glad you weren't taken in, but I'm
glad too that you let the poor devil go. A leathering from you couldn't
have been any such joke.' It wasn't," added Jake grimly. "It was as
unlike a joke as a blue pill is unlike raspberry jam."
"But what became of the real man?" questioned Bunny. "Did he get clean
away?"
"Clean away," said Jake. "And now--if you're ready--we'll go and see
the hero of that episode."
"Who was the hero?" asked Maud, with a hint of sarcasm as she rose.
He looked at her with a faint smile. "Why, Dom Pedro, of course," he
said. "Come along and make his acquaintance!"