THE SHADOW OF DOUBT
There were many things in the place which Fielden had forgotten. Here
were boxes of cigars and cigarettes, while cards still lay scattered
about and the glasses had not been removed. Fielden had learnt much in
the hard school of adversity, and he began to realize that he had about
him the means to secure a considerable sum of money. Despite the dust
and gloom and air of decay, the library was intact. Fielden was
surprised at this, for he had frequently heard his father say that the
books were valuable. Perhaps it had occurred to nobody to look for rare
books in the house of a man who gave himself over entirely to sport, but
here they were and possibly a little later they might appear to
advantage in a London auction-room. Fielden was not so sanguine as he
once had been, but at a modest computation he thought they would fetch
at least a thousand pounds.
He went up to his bedroom and began idly turning out the drawers. At any
rate he would be able to cut a presentable appearance at Haredale Park.
He might venture in the open, too, for it was nearly dark. The lights of
Haredale gleamed hospitably as he walked up the drive. He had had no
formal invitation, nothing save May Haredale's suggestion, but he knew
Sir George well enough to be sure of his reception.
It all looked strangely familiar as the butler opened the door and asked
his name. Fielden knew the butler's face well, but it was plain the
latter did not recognize him. Yes, Sir George and Miss Haredale were at
home. They had arrived from London late in the afternoon, but, so far as
the butler knew, did not expect any guest. Still, so many people came
and went to that hospitable house that the advent of a stranger caused
no surprise in the butler's mind.
"If you will give me your name, sir," he suggested.
"Oh, tell Miss Haredale that Mr. Field is here. She expects me,
because----"
Fielden broke off suddenly, for May Haredale came across the hall at
that moment. She smiled a welcome and held out her hand. She dismissed
the butler, after giving instructions to him to take the visitor's bag
upstairs.
"I was almost afraid you wouldn't come," she said. "I feared you would
be too proud or something equally absurd."
"I plead guilty," Harry Fielden smiled. "Really I don't think I should
have had courage to come, only I found that not a soul knew me with the
exception of Joe Raffle. I have passed a score of people to-day whom I
know intimately. But it is just as well, May. Why, even Mason, your
butler, looked at me as if I were a perfect stranger."
"But I recognized you," May said quietly.
"Ah, you recognized me, and I was glad of that. I don't think I can tell
you how happy that made me. When we met in London I felt for the first
time for more than two years that I was not alone in the world. It makes
one hard and bitter to be always amongst strangers who care nothing for
one, to feel that if one dropped dead in the street no one would feel
even a pang of regret. But I ought not to be talking like this. There is
one thing I am going to ask you and Sir George, and that is, to keep my
identity a secret. It is possible I may be here a good deal off and on,
and that is why I am going to drop the last two letters of my name and
call myself Field."
It was with mixed feelings that Fielden stood by his dressing-table
adjusting his black evening tie an hour later. His surroundings were
bringing back his boyhood's associations vividly, every object was
growing familiar. It was just the same when he came down to the
drawing-room and found Sir George waiting him.
Here was a change, at any rate. Those around him daily might not have
seen much difference, but to Fielden Sir George had grown old and bent.
There were lines of care about his eyes and his manner was painfully
nervous. In this old man there was no suggestion of one of the finest
sportsmen and most fearless riders in the county. Fielden had learnt
much in the light of bitter experience. He knew great mental anxiety
when he saw it, and he needed no one to tell him that he was face to
face with it now. But Sir George's welcome was hearty. The ring in his
voice and the pressure of his hand left nothing lacking in the way of
sincerity.
"Ah, my boy, this is an unexpected pleasure," he said. "I don't think
you really know how glad I am to see you. You are almost the only one of
the old stock left except ourselves. One by one they have passed away,
and of the score of houses where I used to go as a boy there isn't one
to-day which is not inhabited by new people. Most of them are sportsmen
of a sort, but they haven't the old feeling for it. Well, perhaps I am a
bit old-fashioned. And how you have changed! I give you my word for it,
I should not have known you from Adam. Yet it seems only the other day
that you came into one of the finest properties and proceeded to get rid
of it after the manner of your kind. How we missed you! But it is no use
crying over spilt milk. I hoped at one time that you and May--God bless
me, what am I talking about! May tells me that you don't want to be
known by your own name, and that we are to speak of you as Mr. Field.
Perhaps it is natural. Now you are here, you had better stay a few days,
and I'll see if I can find something for you to do. A friend of mine
lives close by, Mr. Raymond Copley. He is new since your time, is very
rich, has a fancy to keep a stable, and is looking for some one he can
rely upon to take the entire management. He has had one or two men who
have robbed him. I am sure I can recommend you; with all your folly and
extravagance you never forgot what is due to your name."
"You are very good, sir," Fielden answered. "The post you speak of would
be a perfect boon to me. Besides, it is about the only thing I am
capable of doing properly. But who is Mr. Copley and where did he make
his money?"
"South Africa, I believe. He is a millionaire with a taste for sport,
not exactly what you would call a gentleman, but I believe him to be a
thoroughly good fellow. I don't mind telling you, between ourselves,
that I am under obligations to him. Things haven't gone very well with
me, and I don't know how I should have pulled through if it hadn't been
for Copley. He has been very generous and I only wish May could be more
cordial towards him. I can't think why she doesn't like the man. It
would be a splendid thing for her---- But, there. I am rambling again."
Fielden turned his face aside. He was feeling a strange pain at his
heart which he could not account for. But he understood what Sir George
intended to convey. Beyond all doubt, Sir George Haredale was under
great obligations to this newcomer and was warning Fielden there must be
no more nonsense between May and himself. He was telling the latter
precisely what his hopes for his daughter were.
Of course there was nothing in it that Fielden could resent. He had had
his opportunity and deliberately lost it. It was only during the last
twenty-four hours that he realized what his feelings towards May were.
If he had not been a fool, he would be rich and prosperous at this
moment, with May for his wife.
The strange sensation was with him all through dinner. He tried in vain
to shake it off. It was not a cheerful meal, on the whole, for every now
and then Sir George lapsed into moody silence and May's gaiety was
fitful. The evening dragged on till ten o'clock before Sir George came
into the drawing-room with slightly flushed face and eyes that were too
bright. May looked anxiously at her father. So here, Fielden thought,
was another skeleton in the closet. The discovery was a fresh stab to
him. His own selfishness and folly were a reproach. It was a relief when
the door bell clanged and the butler announced that Mr. Copley would
like to speak to Sir George.
"Ask him in," Sir George said unsteadily.
Fielden glanced at May. He could see that her face had changed slightly
and her eyes grown hard and cold. Then the door opened and Copley came
in, big and self-important, with the air of a man entirely at home.
There was something in his appearance which jarred upon Fielden,
something that aroused a pang beyond mere jealousy. As Copley bent over
May Haredale's hand and murmured something which he intended for a
compliment, Fielden started back for a moment.
"This is my young friend, Mr. Harry Field," Sir George said. "Harry, let
me introduce you to Mr. Copley. I think I have found the very man you
want for your stables, Copley. He is the son of an old pal of mine and
has all the game at his finger-tips."
Copley threw a half-contemptuous glance at Fielden and did not hold out
his hand, for which discourtesy Harry felt grateful.
"Excuse me a moment," Fielden said. "I have forgotten something. I'll be
back presently."
With his head in a whirl Fielden walked into the library. He was
fighting hard for the mastery of himself.
"Good God!" he muttered, "so it's that blackguard! What a blessing he
doesn't know me by sight! Raymond Copley and May Haredale! Not if it
costs me my life!"