A GREAT TEMPTATION
As yet Fielden could not realize it. The thing was so unexpected he
found it hard to grasp Joe Raffle's meaning. He was too conventional to
have much imagination. He had not thought it possible that fortune could
have devised a method of restoring his old prosperity. But after the
first shock of discovery it seemed feasible. Similar things had happened
before, though, perhaps, not exactly on lines such as these.
And now the position of things as they were at the time he left was
coming back to him. He had a vivid recollection of the night when he
first stood face to face with ruin, when he knew that he had come to the
end of his tether. For Harry Fielden had not drifted into a mess with
his eyes shut. He had known that things were getting desperate and had
staked pretty well everything on a certain race and his horse had lost.
When things came to be settled up there was just enough to pay his
creditors in full. He recalled how he sat down one night with pencil and
paper and worked out the whole thing fairly and squarely. He had had
friends to dinner that evening. It was daybreak before the last hand had
been played and Fielden found himself alone to face the dreaded
disaster.
How clearly it all returned to him now! He had not felt disposed to
sleep, but had gone up to his room in the silent house and refreshed
himself with a bath and changed his clothes, after which he had come
down to the dining-room again. He had thrown back the curtains and
opened the windows to admit the sunshine of a perfect day--the day of
his ruin!
But he had done nothing to be ashamed of. He had not disgraced himself,
and no friend or tradesman was the poorer for his rashness. So leaving
his affairs to the family solicitors, he quietly vanished from the scene
of his folly.
He did not know then--indeed, he did not know fully now--that out of a
sum of money waiting at his banker's his various subscriptions and
racing liabilities were being paid, for it had never occurred to him to
withdraw the various orders he had given to his banker.
Obviously Joe Raffle was speaking the truth as to the Blenheim colt,
though the other part of the business still remained a mystery. But if
he could believe his ears aright, then at that moment he was not an
outcast and pauper, but one of the most envied men who had ever set foot
upon a racecourse. At the lowest estimate, he was worth five thousand
pounds. He could sell the Blenheim colt with all his engagements for
such a figure before the day was out. He might return to the old house
and restore some of its glories. He might have enough to keep him
comfortably, and, above all, acquire a position that would entitle him
to go to Sir George Haredale and ask for the hand of his daughter.
This was all very well from one point of view, but there was another
side. His prosperity would be Sir George's ruin. Still, the temptation
was dazzling, and for a few minutes Fielden was afraid to trust himself
to words.
"You have done very wrong, Raffle," he said presently.
Joe scratched his head contritely.
"I know it, sir," he admitted. "I didn't realize how wrong I had behaved
till I saw you come in the stable yard, and you could have knocked me
down with a feather. But what else could I do? You had gone away and I
heard you were dead. I had to believe it, because the man who told me
gave me chapter and verse for it, and I felt as if I had lost a child of
my own. By-and-by I was comfortably settled in Sir George's employ,
having as much money as I needed for my wants, and never, so far as I
knew, a single relation in the world. I said nothing about the colt,
because I hadn't much opinion of it at first. Then I began to get as
fond of Miss May as I used to be of you, sir. An idea came to me one
night when I was sitting over my pipe--and, bear in mind, nobody else
knew--and that was that, bar accidents, I had a Derby winner in the
stable. For Miss May's sake I was willing to do much. There was no
chance of anybody finding it out. And, after all, I was doing nothing
wrong. You see, in the first place, nobody will be a penny the worse. As
to Sir George and yourself, there is no reason why you shouldn't make a
large fortune. It makes no difference to me, of course; I am long past
troubling about that sort of thing. But now that I know you are alive it
is another matter. Still, the colt's keep hasn't been much, and it's
only a matter of luck that he don't happen to belong to Sir George.
Besides, Sir George is expecting to win a fortune, and he is not the man
to grudge you your share. You will have to tell him what I've told you,
sir, and if Sir George wants proofs I shall have them ready when the
time comes."
"Nobody knows anything of this?" Fielden asked.
"Not a soul, sir," Raffle said solemnly. "Nobody even guesses it, and if
you hadn't turned up I should have gone down to my grave with the secret
unspoken. Because, as I said before, sir, there's no harm done, and
nobody any the worse. But, seeing that you have come back, why, the
truth must be told."
"And what will Miss Haredale say?" Fielden asked.
Raffle's face paled perceptibly.
"Ah, well, sir," he said, "that won't be very pleasant. I'd do anything
in the world for Miss May, but she isn't you, and that makes a
difference. Of course, I know what you would do if you had your own way.
You would just say nothing about it and let Sir George put the money in
his pocket. You would rather starve than do anything you didn't consider
right. I can see it in your face now, I can tell by your eyes. But it
isn't going to be, sir. You'll excuse me for speaking so plainly, but I
couldn't rest comfortably in my grave if I thought you were in want,
when, by every right, you ought to have a fortune in your pocket. It's
no use you arguing, Mr. Harry, if you don't tell the truth, I shall."
The old man's voice shook strangely as he spoke. His lips were
quivering, but there was an air of determination about him which there
was no mistaking. Nobody knew better than Fielden how obstinate Joe
Raffle could be. There was nothing to gain by threats, and sternness
would be worse than useless.
"I am certain you have acted for the best," Fielden said soothingly.
"And, as you say, there is nothing wrong in this little scheme of
yours. Why, you might have kept the colt yourself and made a fortune
over him. But, to use a pet expression of your own, my dear Joe, what
you have told me has knocked me all of a heap. I must have time to think
it over. I should be sorry to spoil an interesting situation like this
by doing anything rash. Besides, there is plenty of time between now and
the Derby--pretty well three months, isn't it? Has the colt any other
engagements before Epsom?"
"Only two," Raffle explained. "And then he'll be an eye-opener to some
people. Now don't you do anything foolish, sir. If you go the right way
about it you've got a hundred thousand pounds in your pocket."
"Oh, I'll do nothing rash," Fielden laughed. "You needn't be afraid of
that. But I must have time to think this matter over. I shall stay down
here a day or two, though I had intended to go back to London to-morrow.
I don't mind so much now that I find nobody identifying me, and there
are several things at the house I want to gather together. I had no idea
the old furniture was left. I suppose they didn't sell it because they
had no instructions from me, and enough was saved from the wreck to pay
my creditors without it. I'll come round in the morning and see you
again, Joe. To-night I believe I am dining with Sir George. If anybody
asks you who I am, you had better say my name is Field; it sounds like
Fielden and is easy to remember. Seeing that I am so changed, nobody
will connect me with the old family. Now I must be off."
In a thoughtful mood Fielden turned towards the old house. He was glad
no one recognized him, for the knowledge was likely to make his task all
the easier. He had the key of the house in his pocket. The mansion
appeared to have been left exactly as he last saw it. There was not even
a caretaker on the premises. The estate around Herons Dyke had long
passed into the possession of strangers. It presented a striking
contrast to the neglected grounds and grass-covered paths which
surrounded the old mansion where, for the last three hundred years, the
Fieldens had kept open house and dispensed a lavish hospitality. But
those days were gone for ever, they would never come back again, unless,
perhaps----
"What a chance!" Fielden muttered to himself. "What a wonderful stroke
of fortune! And yet, I don't see how I can do it. There is no honourable
course but silence."