A LIVING FORTUNE
Harry Fielden would have shirked the visit if he could, but there was
nobody whom he could trust to go down to the old home and procure the
papers he required. He was glad to see Herons Dyke again, but, at the
same time, he was half ashamed to meet the old faces. Many would have
welcomed him gladly, but he had made an utter failure of his life, and
pride stood in the way of meeting these acquaintances.
There was nothing left but the house. Long ago the estate had passed
into the hands of strangers. The stables had fallen into decay. The tan
track round the park was overgrown with weeds and grass. He was
surprised to find himself unrecognized. A dozen people passed him with
no more than a casual glance. He had forgotten that two years' "roughing
it" had changed him from a handsome boy into a stern, resolute man, with
an expression far beyond his age. Even his moustache had altered him. It
was true that May Haredale had recognized him readily enough, but that,
surely, was different.
He would go as far as Haredale Park Farm and look at the horses. He was
all the more ready to do this, because he felt assured he would pass for
a total stranger. It was possible Joe Raffle might identify him, but,
then, the old head groom had known him ever since he could walk. And now
Joe was Sir George Haredale's trusted right-hand man and had been so for
the last eighteen months, since the death of his predecessor. It had
always been a consolation to Fielden to know that Raffle had gone on to
Mallow's, with the stud which had once been his property. They had not
been a very brilliant lot and few of the horses had ever paid for their
keep; but Raffle believed in the Blenheim blood and had always
prophesied that some of the colts would do great things at the proper
time.
Fielden was amused to see the suspicious glances cast at him by more
than one of the lads. Presently Raffle came himself, a short, sturdy
man, bent with age, whitehaired, but with cheeks rosy as a winter apple.
He was about to ask Fielden's business sharply, when his face changed
and he led Fielden to one side. The old man was moved and with
difficulty held his voice steady, but his keen blue eyes gleamed with
pleasure.
"I never expected to see this day, Master Harry," he said. "And one of
those lads wanted to order you off the premises. Just think of it! And
they told me you were dead. I met a man in London who said he knew for
a fact that you were drowned in the Modder in South Africa."
Fielden's face grew stern for a moment.
"Your friend wasn't far wrong, Joe," he said grimly. "It was a near
thing. But that is too long a story to tell now. I came down on
business, and I don't know whether I was glad or sorry to find that no
one recognized me."
"Miss May would have been glad to see you," Raffle said.
"Oh, we have already met. That was an accident, too. I told her I was
coming to-day, and she gave me a cordial invitation to look at the
horses. I couldn't resist a chance like that. Well, Joe, I hope that Sir
George has done better with the Blenheim stock than I did. I understand
he didn't give much for them. I am told he bought the whole lot, lock,
stock and barrel, for a bagatelle. And now they say there is a Derby
winner amongst them. Is that a fact, Joe? Or is it one of the fairy
tales one is always hearing in regard to turf matters?"
Raffle lowered his voice impressively.
"It is no fairy tale, Mr. Harry," he said. "Barring accidents, we are
going to win the Derby this year with a colt locally bred and locally
trained. It is a Blenheim colt, too, and if you hadn't been unfortunate
he would have been yours. He's only once been seen in public yet, and
nobody but ourselves knows what he can do. Still, people will get
talking and our horse stands at a short price in the betting."
"I am glad to hear it," Fielden said heartily. "I am especially glad to
hear it for Sir George's sake. You know almost as much about the family
as I do. You know what Sir George could do with the money. We don't want
to gossip, but I know Sir George is a good master to you and that his
interests are yours."
"That's true, Mr. Harry. I'd do anything for Sir George, who has been a
rare good master to me. But he ain't you, sir, and he ain't the old
squire, either. You see, I served under a Fielden from the time I was
ten years old till I was close on seventy, and it was a bit of a wrench
leaving Herons Dyke. And when I heard you were dead, it seemed to me,
sir, that I had nothing else left to live for. I ain't one to show my
feelings much, sir, but when I saw you in the yard just now I could have
burst out crying like a kid. You ought never to have gone away, sir. You
ought to have stayed here and faced it out. But, perhaps, you did well
in South Africa. Maybe you have come back with a fortune. I'd like to
hear you say so."
"I think I am rather worse off than when I went out," Fielden smiled. "I
had a fortune in my grasp, but was robbed by a pair of murderous
scoundrels, who will have something to answer for later. And now, take
me round and show me the horses. Let me see this Blenheim colt of which
such great things are expected."
Raffle led the way across the fields to the neat yard along the range of
stables where Mallow trained for a small owner or two. Whatever the
condition of the house and grounds, there was nothing lacking in the
stables. They came at length to a loose box a little apart from the
rest, and Raffle stripped the clothing off a great raking chestnut
horse, showing a skin like satin gleaming in the sunlight. The
expression on Raffle's face was almost motherly. His eyes shone as he
laid his hand upon the horse's glossy neck.
"There," he said proudly, "look at that! You are most as good a judge of
a horse as I am, tell me if he doesn't look all the way a Derby winner.
Just cast your eye over those shoulders, look at those quarters. And a
real tryer he is, too, and as good-tempered as a lamb. I always knew we
should do great things some day with one of the Blenheim colts, but I
never expected anything quite as good as this."
A quarter of an hour later the two left the box. So far as Fielden could
see, Raffle had not overestimated the chances of the Blenheim colt. If
everything went well for the next three months, Sir George's fortunes
would be restored and there would be no more poverty at Harefield Park.
Fielden was extravagant in his praise, but there was no answering
enthusiasm upon Raffle's part. He was moody and thoughtful. There was
something almost guilty in the glance that he turned upon Fielden.
"What's the matter?" the latter asked.
"No man ever yet did a foolish thing without being found out," Raffle
muttered. "Let's walk across the park where we can be alone, because
there is something I must say to you. If you hadn't turned up yet, Mr.
Harry, it would have been all right, but seeing you have turned up, why,
it's all wrong and I am bound to tell you. When you went away, you left
your affairs in a muddle. There was money coming to you from
Weatherby's, though perhaps you didn't know it, and up to this year they
have kept up your subscriptions to one or two races, the Derby amongst
others. Oh, I knew it, and I am going to tell you now why I kept the
knowledge to myself. The year you went away so sudden you nominated more
than one colt for the Derby and, of course, the money was all right.
Well, after you disappeared and they said you was dead, nothing seemed
to matter and I thought no more about things. Sir George took over your
'osses, and it was only when this Blenheim colt began to shape so well
that I began to ask myself a few questions. It was easy to bamboozle Sir
George, because he is the worst man of business in the world. And I can
prove every bit of it, sir; I can prove every word I am saying. And
therefore it comes about that this Blenheim colt--this one that's going
to win the Derby--belongs to you, or at any rate he was nominated in
your name, which comes to the same thing. I daresay you will ask me why
I have done this, and why I kept the secret, and I'll tell you. I really
did it for the sake of Miss May. I would do anything for her, anything
to put Sir George on his legs again. You see, I thought you was dead and
out of the way and, after all said and done, I was doing nobody any harm
by keeping my mouth shut. And yet now you have come back home again I
feel a bit of a scoundrel."
"It seems incredible," Fielden exclaimed; "it is a strange discovery for
a pauper to make."
"Well, sir," Raffle said doggedly, "there it is, and this wonderful
chance is entirely in your own hands, pauper or no pauper."