AN EASY FALL
"One moment," Copley put in. "If Sir George has explained matters, then,
perhaps I can speak freely. Your father is indebted to me--I will not
say anything about the amount, for that would all be wiped out and we
could start on a much better footing if you would only take another view
of the case. If you persist----"
"You can take that for granted," May said.
"Would you like to think it over?" Copley suggested.
"Oh, I have thought it over. I have had all day to think it over. I see
you mean to force me to speak more plainly still. You have a hold over
my father. He is deeply in your debt. You have lent him a large sum of
money, not out of any feeling of friendship or generosity, but simply
because you thought you could force me to marry you. Did any one ever
hear of such a situation except on the stage? I know that if I do not
change my mind you will visit your displeasure upon my father, you will
make it impossible for us to remain at Haredale Park any longer. It
seems a strange thing that a man should be so lost to all sense of
decency as to use weapons like these to compel a girl to marry him. But
it hasn't stopped there. My father has told me quite plainly, even
brutally, that unless I make this sacrifice I am no longer to consider
myself as his daughter. I must go out as if I were a mere underling to
earn my own living. Very well; I am ready to do so. No, I don't want
words from either of you. My mind is made up, and there is no more to be
said."
May turned away, and left the library with her head held high and a
bright colour burning her cheeks. She was very near to tears, but was
grateful for the pride which had carried her through this trying
interview without the semblance of a breakdown. When they were alone Sir
George turned to his companion.
"I wouldn't have believed it," he said apologetically. "I never expected
that May would be so disobedient. But you must make allowance for her. I
daresay in time----"
"Never," Copley said emphatically. "She means every word she says. If
you had half the pluck and grit she has you would never have found
yourself in your present position. We have made a mistake, Haredale; we
have gone the wrong way to work. I don't blame you any more than myself,
but you may depend upon it that your daughter will never be my wife.
She will keep her word; she will go out into the world, if necessary, to
earn her own living, and I shouldn't wonder if she made a very good one.
I must put up with my disappointment, I suppose. I would give half I
possess to be able to say that your daughter was my wife. But there must
be none of these harsh measures, Haredale. Just think what people would
say! We should both be boycotted. The thing would get into the papers
and your life wouldn't be worth living. We must find some other way out.
Now let us change the subject."
Sir George was perfectly willing. Despite his selfish obstinacy the
interview had been a trial to him, and he was exceedingly glad to get it
over.
"What else have you in your mind?" he asked.
"Oh, business, of course. About the Blenheim colt? I am taking it for
granted that you will scratch him. I don't see very well how you can
back out. I have made the arrangements with Absalom & Co., and as they
have withdrawn their action they will expect you to do your part. Now
what do you say to letting the colt have a run in the Champion Stakes
next week at Mirst Park? I thought it would be a very good way of
getting out. To begin with, the public will be glad to see whether or
not their fears are justified, and if the horse cuts up badly, why,
then, you can scratch him at once. It would appear absolutely fair and
above board; in fact, it will be. Or, if you like, you can let it be
understood that the horse is not quite fit and that you still have hopes
of getting him in fettle for the Derby. Either seems a good scheme."
"I see," Sir George said thoughtfully. "Yes, on the whole, that isn't a
bad idea of yours. I shall be glad to get it over, too. I hadn't the
slightest intention of sending the colt to Mirst Park, but Raffle
reports that he is much fitter to-day, so that there is no reason why I
should not adopt your suggestion. There is the chance that people will
blame me for taking the risk, but, at the outside, that will be the
worst of it. I will talk it over with Raffle in the morning, and let you
know definitely."
Shortly after breakfast next morning Mallow came into the library to
hear what his employer had to say. The trainer would hardly believe his
ears when Sir George unfolded his plan. He had a score of practical
objections to make, but Haredale put them all impatiently aside.
"Does the colt belong to you or to me?" he asked. "I have the very best
of reasons for what I am going to do. It has always been my policy to
take the public into my confidence. I want them to see at Mirst Park
exactly what the horse can do. If they like to go on backing him after
that it will be their own look-out."
"But that isn't the point, Sir George," Mallow insisted. "The colt is
coming on splendidly again. It would be madness to extend him just now,
and if he breaks down badly, don't blame me. I'll do my best between now
and the day of the race, not because I want to, but because you are my
employer and I must obey orders."
Mallow refused to say more. He closed his mouth obstinately and went
back to the stables in a peculiar frame of mind. He had had twenty years
of turf experience. There was no cunning wile or deep-laid plot that was
not familiar to him and he was wondering what dodge Sir George was up
to. Hitherto he had found Sir George Haredale the soul of honour and
integrity, but it was one of Mallow's theories that every man had his
limits. Besides, no one knew better how critical Sir George's financial
affairs were. Of late, too, Sir George had been hand in glove with
Raymond Copley, and Mallow hated Copley from the bottom of his heart. In
his own phraseology, Copley was a wrong 'un.
Raffle was past all words when, in the fullness of his heart. Mallow
confided in him. Raffle was a keen judge of such matters. He sought an
opportunity later in the afternoon of seeing Fielden and telling him
what had happened.
"Is Sir George mad?" Fielden asked.
"I don't think so, sir," Raffle replied. "I don't like it at all. Depend
upon it, Sir George has got into a mess over his money matters and has
thought out some scheme for putting himself right. Call me a fool if
that there Copley isn't at the bottom of the whole thing. He and Sir
George have been as thick as thieves lately. They say you can't touch
pitch without being defiled. And since those two have been so friendly,
Sir George is quite another man. However, unless you like to interfere,
I must act upon instructions. I am bound to do as I am told."
"How could I interfere?" Fielden asked.
"Well, sir, the colt rightfully belongs to you. He is as much yours as
the coat on your back. I can't see why you should stand quietly by and
watch the ruin of one of the finest horses that ever trod the turf."
"I had forgotten that," Fielden said. "Perhaps, later, I may have
something to say, but for the present that must be our secret, Joe.
Mallow must carry out his instructions. By the way, what are they?"
Something like a grin crossed Raffle's face.
"Oh, we've got to run him, sir," he said. "We've got to run him and do
our best. That there is the faintest chance of his winning Sir George
does not believe for a moment. Still, if you refuse to take a hand, I
must do as I am told, that's all. Perhaps you will be at Mirst Park
yourself on the first day."
"Of course. I am taking one or two of our crocks there. But I must be
off, Joe."
The conversation haunted Fielden. It was with him night and day till the
first day of the Mirst Park meeting arrived. He had seen little or
nothing of Phillips for some time, but that morning he had received a
telegram asking him to meet Phillips in London early in the afternoon.
He gathered from the message that Phillips had something important to
say and so he decided to go to town. It would be easy to get back in
time to see the end of the afternoon's sport. None of the Haredale Park
party was over. Nor had Copley put in an appearance, and Fielden had his
time almost to himself. He ran against Raffle in the paddock half an
hour or so before the race for the Champion Stakes. There was a queer
grin on the old man's face as he suggested that Fielden should go and
have a look at the horse. They found the Blenheim colt in his stable
looking in much better condition than Fielden had expected.
"He looks splendid," he said.
"Ah, he is a bonny colt," Raffle exclaimed with a look of affection in
his eyes. "I never saw a better-tempered horse or a more genuine trier.
He'll go every inch of the way, and I shouldn't be surprised if--but we
won't talk about that."
Raffle refused to say more. Moreover, he had the colt to look to, for
the race was close at hand; so Fielden made his way into the stand,
where he could command a good view. Not that he had any interest in the
race. It was a foregone conclusion that the Blenheim colt would be
beaten and in only one or two instances did he carry any public money. A
moment or two later Raffle took up a position by Fielden's side.
"The colt moves well," said Fielden, looking through his glasses, "and I
don't see much signs of staleness, either. Upon my word, if I had any
money to spare I'd back him for a trifle myself."
"You might do worse," Raffle chuckled.