THE ROCKCLIFFE GAMES.
When Lady Mary came to think over the events of the night she found
considerable cause for dissatisfaction, but it was as nothing to the
further discomfiture awaiting her at the breakfast-table the next
morning. Her scheme of seclusion--of a quiet party which, contenting
themselves with their own society, should seek for no other amusement
than was comprised within the resources of the Grange--had been already
rudely broken in upon. And now she was confronted by an arrangement
which her son had entered into without consulting her. On entering the
breakfast-room she found Jim explaining the programme of the day,--how
they were all to lunch at the mess of the --th regiment and witness the
athletic sports of Rockcliffe camp.
"Cold collation all over the camp, five o'clock tea, fresh air, fun and
flirtation, society and sunshine; if all that does not realize 'a dream
of fair women,' well, then, I know nothing about them," were the first
words that greeted Lady Mary's ear. Lady Mary Bloxam was no weak
vacillating woman--a woman, on the contrary, wont to carry her point,
and who contrived to have her own way, perhaps, rather more than most
people; but she saw at once that it would be hopeless to stem the tide
upon this occasion. With all her guests on a lovely spring day anxious
to attend an entertainment not three miles off, what was there to be
said? No possible pretext could be devised for preventing them. Why,
oh, why had she persuaded that graceless dragoon to leave Aldershot and
share the peace and tranquillity of home? She might have remembered
how foreign peace and tranquillity were to Jim's mercurial disposition;
and then, Lady Mary reflected ruefully, that flirting Suffolk girl was
certain to be present at the sports. In her dismay, she for a second
thought of taking counsel with Pansey Cottrell as to what it were best
to do under the circumstances; but after such festivities as that of
the previous night Mr. Cottrell was always invisible to every one save
his valet till past midday.
The hierarchy of Olympus had apparently taken the Rockcliffe games
under their special protection. A more glorious April day never dawned
than the Tuesday appointed for its athletic sports. Here and there a
few fleecy clouds flecked the sky, as here and there a snowy patch of
canvas dotted the sea. The sun shone forth in all his majesty, and the
soft south-west wind just rippled the waters of the treacherous Channel
and fluttered the flags with which the huts were decorated. Over every
mess-room flew the regimental burgee as a signal that therein was lunch
for all comers; while in front of those near the course, flanked on
either side by rows of chairs and benches, were pitched marquees for
the convenience of those who might desire lighter refreshment. As the
Todborough carriages drove up, Captain Conyers and one or two of his
brother officers stepped forward to welcome the party, and, as Lady
Mary had anticipated, almost the next people to greet them were the
Reverend Austin Chipchase, his daughters, and niece.
"Good morning, Mr. Cottrell," said Sylla, with an arch glance at her
fellow-conspirator of last night. "May I hope that the sweet sleep
that waits on virtuous actions was vouchsafed to you?"
"Thanks, yes," replied that gentleman. "I slept as a good man should.
I am afraid some of us were a little over-tired. I regret to say there
was a little irritability manifest in my carriage on the way home;" and
the twinkle in Cottrell's eyes told Sylla Chipchase that Lady Mary had
made due note of her offending.
"You have heard of course that Captain Bloxam means trying for the 'All
Army Cup.' Great excitement it will be for us, will it not? We are
all bound to bet recklessly upon the Todborough champion. I should
like to see this Mr. Montague. I must get Captain Conyers to point him
out to me. But, ah, look! here they come!" and as she spoke the girl
pointed to some half-score figures who, clad in gaily-coloured jerseys,
came racing down over six flights of hurdles. The leading three or
four were well together till they cleared the last hurdle save one; but
immediately they were over that, a pink jersey shot to the front, left
his antagonists apparently without an effort, and, clearing the last
hurdle in excellent style, ran in an easy winner by some half-score
yards, amid tumultous cheering.
"Oh, do find out what this is all about; who won that? what was it?
Ah, Captain Braybrooke, please come here and explain all this to me.
Why are they cheering?"
"That was the two hundred yard race over hurdles, Miss Chipchase. They
are cheering the winner, Mr. Montague, our opponent, you know. It
seems ever since Jim's name appeared in the 'All Army Cup' this
morning, excitement has run high; you see, of course they know that Jim
won the quarter of a mile race at Aldershot last year. It becomes a
case of Rockcliffe _versus_ Aldershot, and of course all the sympathies
of Rockcliffe are with their own champion. I don't think, Miss
Chipchase, they will throw things at us; but you mustn't expect Jim's
victory to be received with enthusiasm. It's great fun to see the
excitement his appearance in the lists has occasioned. It was looked
upon as a foregone conclusion for Montague before; and though he is
still favourite, they know now that he has not got it all his own way."
"Thank you so much," said Sylla, in her most dulcet tones. "And now,
Captain Braybrooke, I want you to do me a great favour. It's of no use
denying it, but I am an arrant gambler at heart; I must and will have a
gamble on this. Will you please put five pounds for me on Captain
Bloxam?" and as she spoke Sylla saw with infinite satisfaction that she
had Lady Mary for an auditor.
"Certainly, Miss Chipchase," replied Braybrooke. "There can be no
manner of difficulty about that. I have backed Jim myself, and you can
stand in that much with my bets."
"Once more, thank you," replied Sylla; "and pray let Captain Bloxam
know that the fortunes of all Todborough depend upon his exertions."
But Sylla made a great mistake if she thought that her making a bet on
the result of this race would shock Lady Mary. The Ladies Ditchin had
known what it was as girls to lose their quarter's allowance over one
of their father's unlucky favourites for a big race; and Lady Mary all
her life had been far too accustomed to regard backing an opinion as
the strongest proof of sincere belief in it to feel in the least
shocked at anybody holding similar views. She had indeed told her
husband, as soon as the fact of her son being entered for this race
came to her knowledge, that she must have her usual wager of ten pounds
on the result. All the sporting instinct of her nature had been
aroused, and Jim's entering the lists against the Rockcliffe champion
had gone far to reconcile her to such an infringement of her programme
as was involved in their attending the Rockcliffe games.
"Your brother is a good runner, I presume, Miss Bloxam?" inquired
Lionel Beauchamp, who was sitting with Blanche on the other side of the
marquee.
"Yes, Jim is fast and has won several 'gentlemen's' races. I don't
want to brag, Mr. Beauchamp, but we Bloxams are all pretty good at
those sort of things, and of course that's all as it should be with my
brothers; but with us girls I don't know that it works quite so well.
We can all dance, but we can none of us draw. We all play lawn tennis
pretty well, but we can't play the piano; can all ride an awkward
horse, but can neither sing a note in Italian nor any other language.
And you--are you fond of any of these things? It is so difficult to
tell what a man likes in London."
"Yes," rejoined Beauchamp, "in the London world we are wont to rave
about matters we really don't care a rush about, to affect aesthetic
tastes which we have not got, and the pretension to which entraps us
into much foolish speaking. We go to all sorts of entertainments we
don't care about, simply because other people go. You must not betray
me, Miss Bloxam, but I declare I think one passes no pleasanter
afternoon in London than when witnessing a good match at Lord's with a
pleasant party on a warm day."
"Ah, we are all cricketers down here in Fernshire, boys and girls, men
and women; we believe we invented the game, and in the old days stood
pre-eminent in it. However, we now number so many disciples, and they
have profited so much by our teaching that we are like the old man who,
"'To teach his grandson draughts then his leisure did employ,
Until at last the old man was beaten by the boy.'"
"Well, we must hope the old county is not going to be beaten this
afternoon; for I take it your brother represents Fernshire, and
Montague England, and the race by all accounts is reduced pretty well
to a match between them. But see, there go the competitors!" and
Beauchamp pointed to five men who, with overcoats thrown loosely over
their flannels, were making their way down to the quarter-mile
starting-post.
In spite of their reputation of being swift-footed, Montague and Bloxam
found three other competitors bent on testing whether they really were
as fast over a quarter of a mile as rumour credited them: men of the
stamp always to be found in the army, who do not believe they are to be
beaten till they have had actual experience of it, and who are wont to
be a little incredulous even then about their conqueror's ability to
repeat his victory. As one of these philosophers remarked, "Montague
means running in the hurdle race; there is always a possibility of his
breaking or straining something in that, and so being _hors de combat_
for the Cup." However, Mr. Montague had won that race without damage
to himself, and was evidently perfectly fit to take part in the fray.
There is some slight delay at the start, owing to the praiseworthy but
mistaken attempts of a gentleman in a dark blue jersey to get off
somewhat in advance of his companions--an undue eagerness which, having
resulted in his twice jumping off before the word, terminates in his
getting two or three yards the worst of the start when the word "go" is
finally given. A green and white jersey dashes to the front, and
assuming a longish lead, brings them along at a great pace. Next come
the all white of Jim Bloxam and the pink of Montague running side by
side and eyeing each other closely. They take but little heed of their
leader, as they know very well that he can never last the quarter of a
mile at the pace that he is going. As they anticipated, the green and
white champion is in difficulties before they have travelled half-way,
and the two favourites come on side by side. They are as nearly level
as possible, but, if anything, the pink jersey has a slight advantage.
The conviction is gradually stealing over Jim that his opponent has a
little the speed of him; his only chance, he thinks, is that his
adversary may not quite "stay" home. The marquee of the --th regiment,
of which the Todborough party are the guests, is close to the
winning-post, and as the competitors near it the excitement becomes
intense. Just opposite it, and not thirty yards from the winning-post,
Montague makes his effort, and for a second shows a good yard in
advance; but Jim instantly replies to the challenge and partially
closes the gap. But it is all of no use:--though he struggles with
unflinching pluck he can never quite get up, and the judge's fiat is in
favour of the pink jersey by half a yard.
"A terrible result that, Mrs. Sartoris," said Conyers, when the judge's
decision was made known: "not only have we lost our money, but there
will be no holding Montague at all now he has lowered the colours of
the Aldershot champion."
"Well," replied the lady, "I don't think Mr. Montague can crow much
over his victory."
"No, indeed!" chimed in Sylla Chipchase; "Captain Bloxam struggled
splendidly, and Mr. Montague had nothing in hand if I know anything
about it."
"Ah, you don't know the man," replied Conyers. "The closeness of the
contest will not prevent his talking very big about his victory."
"Now that reminds me of a serious omission on your part, Captain
Conyers; remember we have not yet been introduced to the hero of the
hour, and you know what hero-worshippers our sex are."
"That's an omission easily rectified, Miss Chipchase, for here come the
two antagonists. And as he spoke Jim and his conqueror came up to the
marquee.
"Ah, Miss Sylla," exclaimed the dragoon gaily, "I am afraid I have
disappointed all Todborough; I did my level best, but it was of no use.
Montague here is just a little too good for me. Allow me to introduce
him to you."
"You must not expect very warm congratulations from us Todborough
people, Mr. Montague. As you may easily suppose, both our money and
our sympathies were with Captain Bloxam."
"That would naturally be the case," replied the young officer; "and I
am myself indebted to Bloxam's putting in an appearance for a victory
worth winning. I should have beaten my other opponents without much
difficulty."
"Yes, indeed," replied Sylla, "we fell into what you military men call
the weakness of underrating our opponent. We did not half believe in
your prowess, Mr. Montague."
"I can only hope that I have convinced you now," he rejoined, smiling;
"and that another time you will range yourself amongst my supporters."
"Oh, I don't know," replied the young lady, with a slight shrug of her
shoulders. "We are obstinate in our convictions at Todborough, are we
not, Lady Mary? We still think we can beat Rockcliffe Camp over a
quarter of a mile."
Those around her were listening with no little interest to Sylla
Chipchase's _badinage_. Pansey Cottrell, who knew the girl better than
the others, felt pretty sure, from the mischief dancing in her eyes,
that this was not mere idle talk, and awaited the disclosure of her
design with considerable curiosity; while Lady Mary, although putting
Sylla down as the most audacious little piece of sauciness she had ever
come across, showed no little admiration for the stanchness with which
the girl stood to her guns in thus upholding their defeated champion.
"No doubt, Miss Chipchase," replied Montague, "a race is sometimes
reversed when run over again, but you must excuse my clinging to the
conviction that what I have once done I can also do again."
"Ah, well," replied the young lady, with an air of mock resignation; "I
told you Todborough fell into the error of underrating the enemy, and
Todborough has paid the penalty of defeat. Had we deemed you so swift
of foot, Mr. Montague, we should certainly have entered the best runner
we had against you."
Sylla's auditors were now thoroughly nonplussed. What could the girl
be driving at? Mr. Cottrell's curiosity was raised to the highest
pitch, whilst Jim Bloxam stared at the fair speaker with undisguised
astonishment. He most certainly deemed that he was fleeter of foot
than any one in Todborough, and, having lived there all his life, Jim
was not likely to fall into any mistake on that point.
"With the greatest deference for your opinion," rejoined Montague, "I
think, perhaps, we men are better judges on that point than you can be,
Miss Chipchase. I think, if you ask Bloxam, he will tell you that he
not only can beat everybody at Todborough, but, with the exception of
professionals, can dispose of most men that he comes across."
"That is so like you lords of the creation," replied Sylla, with a
wicked little laugh; "you never will allow that we know anything about
sporting affairs; and yet I have heard my father say that the best
judge of racing he ever knew was a woman, and I am sure some of us take
the best of you to keep with us in the hunting-field. I have no doubt
that Captain Bloxam thinks, as you do, that there is nobody that can
beat him at Todborough."
"I most undoubtedly don't know it if there is," interposed Jim.
"And yet, Mr. Montague," continued Sylla, "if you had not run such a
severe race to-day, I would challenge you to beat my champion over the
same course."
"Oh, pray don't let that be any consideration," replied Montague, now
somewhat nettled. He had felt no little elated at defeating Bloxam,
and did not relish any disparagement of his victory. "Running a
quarter-mile race," he continued, "does not place one _hors de combat_
for the afternoon."
"Ah, well," cried Sylla gaily, "I told you Todborough was stubborn to
believe itself beaten. If you dare, I'll wager my bracelet"--and she
touched a very handsome bangle on her wrist--"against the cup you have
just won that my champion beats you this afternoon."
"It shall be a match if you wish it. I can merely say I have beaten
the only man I considered dangerous, and am afraid of none other.
Don't blame me if I rob you of your bracelet; but remember, Miss
Chipchase, this match was none of my seeking. However, your champion
is on the ground, I presume; perhaps, now, you don't mind naming him."
"Not at all," she replied. "Will somebody please tell Lionel Beauchamp
I want him?"
"Lionel Beauchamp!" ejaculated Jim, and then he shook his head; for he
regarded Sylla's proceedings now as mere temper.
To the bystanders, of course, the name of Lionel Beauchamp told
nothing. He was a stranger to all except the Todborough party. His
name had never been heard of in connection with athletic sports in any
way. Lionel Beauchamp, in fact, was a young man who, what between
taking a degree at Oxford and foreign travel, had scarcely is yet been
either seen or heard of in the London world. He was known only in his
own country as one of those quiet reserved dispositions little given to
vaunt their accomplishments. Both Braybrooke and Jim Bloxam, having
been appealed to by Captain Conyers, said they could form no idea
whatever of his capabilities. They had never heard him say a word
about running; and if he ever had done anything in that way, it was odd
that he had never mentioned it in the smoking-room last night, when, in
consequence of Jim's entry for the "All Army Cup," discussion had run
high concerning such things. Lady Mary, on her part, was lost in
conjecture--not so much as to whether Mr. Beauchamp could run, but as
to where Sylla Chipchase could have attained such intimate knowledge of
his accomplishments; while Mr. Cottrell alone showed faith in this
unknown champion, observing cynically to Mrs. Sartoris, that when women
went the length of wagering their bracelets, he thought it most
advisable to be upon their side.
"They really must know they have an immense deal the best of it when
they do that, depend upon it." Further speculation on the match was
here interrupted by the appearance of Lionel Beauchamp, whom Mr.
Sartoris had duly fetched from the other side of the marquee, where he
had discovered him--what Lady Mary would have called--profitably
employing himself by the side of Miss Bloxam.
"Oh, Lionel!" exclaimed Sylla, and to Mr. Cottrell's intense amusement
she stole a glance at Lady Mary to see how she liked this familiar
address, "I have sent for you to preserve me from the fruits of my
rashness. If you don't beat Mr. Montague for me over a quarter of a
mile, I shall have to go home without my bracelet."
"But I am sure," interrupted Beauchamp, "that Mr. Montague has no wish
to hold you to so foolish a wager."
"Certainly not," interposed Montague; "I have no wish whatever to press
it. The match, I assure you, is of Miss Chipchase's making, not mine."
"Ah, well, then," exclaimed Sylla, "perhaps it is my obstinacy, not my
rashness. I can be obstinate, you know, Lionel; but you will run for
me all the same, won't you?"
"I think it a very foolish wager," he replied, "and that you will
probably lose your bracelet; but I cannot say no if you insist upon it,
and must only do my best."
"You must run," she replied, quickly. "I could not be so cowardly as
to 'cry off' now. You _must_ run, and you _will_ win, I feel. Nobody
here believes it but me; but I know it." Then, leaning towards him,
she said, with a light laugh, and in tones so low that the others could
not overhear her words, "Lose if you dare, sir!"
Blanche Bloxam, who had come up with Mr. Sartoris and Beauchamp, was no
better pleased than her mother at hearing her late cavalier so
familiarly addressed by such an extremely pretty girl as Sylla
Chipchase. As for Lionel, he turned away in a quiet matter-of-fact
manner, and said,
"I suppose somebody here can lend me a pair of shoes; and as soon as I
have fitted myself out with those, I am at your disposal, Mr. Montague,
whenever you like."
Any amount of cricket and racket-shoes were speedily placed at
Beauchamp's disposal; and Montague having said that he should be
prepared to try conclusions with the new-comer in half an hour, the
match at once became the subject of animated discussion. But if the
Engineer had been favourite before, he was still more so now. With all
the _prestige_ of having beaten the Aldershot champion, it was but
natural that the camp should proffer liberal odds on their "crack"
against an unknown man, and the stanchest adherents of Todborough stood
aloof, with the exception of Mr. Cottrel, and his faith, to speak
correctly, was the result of his belief in Sylla Chipchase.
"Won't you wish me luck, Miss Bloxam?" said Lionel, quietly, as the
bugle summoned the competitors in the match to the starting-post.
"Certainly, with all my heart," rejoined Blanche. "All our sympathies
are of course with you. But do you think you can win?"
"I really don't know. If it was only a mile, Montague would find me
troublesome to get rid of; but this is hardly far enough for me."
The "novice," as the camp with much promptitude christened him, was
keenly scanned when, having divested himself of his coat, he appeared
at the post. A slight, dark, wiry young fellow, with a terrible
wear-and-tear look about him that should make an antagonist judge him
difficult to dispose of in a struggle of any duration. There was no
delay this time about the start; for the two jumped off at the first
attempt, Montague having decidedly somewhat the best of it. By the
time they had gone a hundred yards the Engineer felt sure that he had
the speed of his opponent, and then, sad to say for his supporters, he
fell into the very error which Sylla Chipchase had so deprecated, viz.,
holding his antagonist too cheap. Mr. Montague's vanity had been
considerably wounded by that young lady's disbelief in his prowess.
She had contrived, as she had most assuredly intended, to irritate him
by her persistent scepticism as to his being the swift-footed Achilles
he so loved to pose as. He determined to show her and all other
unbelievers what he could really do. He would make a veritable
exhibition of his antagonist. He would cut him down and run clean away
from him. Fired with this idea, he shot well to the front, and came
along the next hundred yards at a great pace, and a shout went up from
the marquees near the winning-post of "Montague wins anyhow!" But we
all know what comes of the attempt to astonish the gallery. Although
the Engineer had undoubtedly established a strong lead, yet his wiry
foe, running well within himself, hung persistently on his track, and
was a long way from beaten off. During the next hundred yards it was
palpable that Beauchamp was slowly but steadily diminishing the gap
between them, and thence up to the marquees he closed rapidly on his
leader. Thirty yards from the winning-post Lionel made his effort,
fairly collared his antagonist about ten yards from home, and, leaving
him without an effort, won a good race by a couple of yards. Whether
the result would have been different had Mr. Montague held his opponent
in higher esteem, as in all such cases, it is impossible to determine;
but there can be no doubt that the ostentatious victory he aspired to
made Lionel Beauchamp's task considerably more easy.
Gratulations and condolences welcomed the victor and vanquished as they
walked slowly back to the marquees; but it was with somewhat of a
crestfallen air that Montague advanced to present Sylla with the cup
that she had won. He feared that she would be merciless in this her
hour of triumph, and dreaded the banter to which he might be subjected.
But Sylla knew well the virtue of moderation, and was, besides, far too
pleased with her success to be hard upon any one.
"No, no, Mr. Montague!" she exclaimed, with the sunniest of smiles; "I
cannot take it; I cannot, indeed. I am not entitled to it, for my
champion is not even a soldier. I know without Lionel telling me that
I have been very lucky to save my bracelet. I am well content to leave
my cup in your hands, for I feel quite sure that you will keep it for
me against all comers."
But if Sylla Chipchase was content, Lady Mary Bloxam was very much the
reverse. Mr. Beauchamp's victory had gratified her, it was true; but
then how came this sparkling brunette not only to call him "Lionel,"
but apparently to know all his habits and capabilities? She felt, too,
exceedingly wroth at the manner in which Sylla had unexpectedly usurped
the position of queen of the revels, and again determined that she
would see as little as possible of the Chipchase girls as long as their
cousin was with them.