CHAPTER II
Epsom racecourse on the Oaks Day. The great event of the day has not yetbeen run, but the course has been cleared and two or three of thefillies have just come out from the paddock and are making their way ata walk along the broad green track, while their jockeys are chattingtogether. Luncheons have been hastily finished, and the occupants of thecarriages and drags are standing up and beginning for the first time tomanifest an interest in the proceedings they have nominally come down towitness. The general mass of spectators cluster thickly by the ropes,while a few take advantage of the clearance of the ground beyond tostroll leisurely along the line of carriages. The shouts of the men withcocoanuts, pincushions, and dolls on sticks, and of those with AuntSallys, rifle galleries, and other attractions, are hushed now; theirtime will not come again until the race is over.
Two men, one perhaps thirty, the other some three or four years younger,are among those who pay more attention to the carriages and theiroccupants than to the approaching race. The younger has a face deeplybronzed by a sun far hotter than that of England.
'How fast they change, Danvers. Six years ago I knew almost every facein the carriages, now I scarcely know one. Who is that very pretty girlstanding up on the seat of that barouche?'
'Don't you know? Look at the man she is talking to on the box. That isher father.'
'By Jove! it is Mr. Hawtrey. You don't mean to say that is littleDorothy?'
'Not particularly little, but it is certainly Dorothy Hawtrey.'
'I must go and speak to them, Danvers. You know them too, don't you?'
'Well, considering I meet them out pretty well every night somewhere Iought to do,' the other said, as with slower steps he followed hiscompanion to the carriage.
'How are you, Mr. Hawtrey?' the latter exclaimed, looking up at the manon the box.
The gentleman looked down a little puzzled at the warmth with which thewords were spoken by one whose face he did not recall.
'Don't you remember me, sir? I am Edward Hampton.'
'Why, Ned, is it you? You are changed out of all knowledge. You havecome back almost as dark as a Malay. When did you arrive?'
'I only reached town yesterday evening; looked up Danvers, and was luckyenough to find him at home. He said he was coming down here to-day, andas it was of no use calling on people in town on the Oaks day I camewith him.'
'Are you not going to speak to me, Captain Hampton?'
'I am, indeed, Miss Hawtrey, though I confess I did not know you untilDanvers told me who you were; and I do not feel quite sure now, for theMiss Hawtrey I used to know never called me anything but Ned.'
'The Miss Hawtrey of those days was a little tomboy in short frocks,'the girl laughed, 'but I do not say that if I find that you are not sochanged in reality as you are in appearance, I may not, perhaps, someday forget that you are Captain Hampton, V.C.' She had stepped down fromher lofty seat, and was now shaking hands with him heartily. 'It doesnot seem six years since we said good-bye,' she went on. 'Of course youare all that older, but you don't seem so old to me. I used to think youso big and so tall when I was nine, and you were double that age, andduring the next three years, when you had joined your regiment and onlycame down occasionally to us, you had become quite an imposingpersonage. That was my last impression of you. Now, you see, you don'tlook so old, or so big, or so imposing, as I have been picturing you tomyself.'
'I dare say not,' he laughed. 'You see you have grown so much bigger andmore imposing yourself.'
Suddenly Dorothy Hawtrey leapt to her seat again and touched her fatheron the arm.
'Father,' she said in a whisper, 'that man who has just turned from thecrowd and is coming towards us is the one I was speaking to you about afew minutes ago, who had been staring at you with such an evil look.'
The man, who had the appearance of a shabby bookmaker, and who carried asatchel slung round his neck, and had the name of 'Marvel' on a broadribbon round his hat, was now close to the carriage.
'Will you take the odds, Mr. Hawtrey,' he said in a loud voice, 'againstany of the horses? I can give you six to one, bar one, against thefield.'
'I do not bet,' Mr. Hawtrey said coldly, 'and by your looks it wouldhave been better for you if you had never done so either.'
'I have had a bad run lately,' the man said, 'but I fancy it is going toturn. Will you lay a few pounds for the sake of old times?'
Mr. Hawtrey shook his head decidedly.
'I have come down rather in the world,' the man went on insolently, 'butI could pay the bet if I lost it as well as other debts. I have neverforgotten how much I owe you.'
Hampton took a step forward towards the man, when a policeman steppedout from between their carriage and the next.
'Now, move on,' he said, 'or I will make you, sharp; you are not goingto annoy people here, and if you don't go at once I will walk you off tothe police tent.'
The man hesitated a moment, and then, muttering angrily, moved slowlyaway to the spot where he had left the dense line of spectators by theropes.
'Who is he, father?' Dorothy Hawtrey asked; 'does he really know you?'
'Yes, my dear, he is the son of an old steward; he was a wild, recklessyoung scamp, and when his father died, shortly after I came into theproperty, I naturally refused to appoint him to the position. He usedsome very strong language at the time, and threatened me with all sortsof evils. I have met him once or twice since, and he never loses anopportunity of showing that he has not forgiven me; but never mind himnow, here come the horses for their preliminary canter.'
Captain Hampton and his friend remained by the carriage until the racewas over. The former had been introduced by Dorothy to the other threeoccupants of the carriage--Lady Linkstone, her daughter Mary, and MissNora Cranfield.
As soon as it was over the crowd broke up, the shouts of the men withthe cocoanuts and Aunt Sallys rose loudly, and grooms began to lead upthe horses to many of the carriages.
'We are going to make a start at once, Ned,' Mr. Hawtrey said; 'I cannotoffer you a seat back to town, but if you have no engagement I hope thatyou will dine with us. Will you come too, Mr. Danvers?'
Danvers was disengaged, and he and Edward Hampton accepted theinvitation at once. Ned's father had owned an estate adjoining that ofthe Hawtreys' in Lincolnshire, and the families had been neighbours formany years. Ned, who was the youngest of three sons had been almost asmuch at the Hawtreys' as at his own home, as Mr. Hawtrey had a nephewliving with him who was just about the lad's age, and during theholidays the two boys were always together. They had entered the armyjust at the same time, but James Hawtrey had, a few months after he wentout to India, died of fever.
'Who was the man who came up and spoke to them five minutes before therace started?' he asked Danvers as they strolled away together.
'There were two or three of them.'
'I mean the man who said it was too bad, Dorothy not coming down on hisdrag.'
'That is Lord Halliburn; he is very attentive there, and the generalopinion is that it will be a match.'
'He didn't look as if he had much in him,' Hampton said, after a pause.
'He has a title and a very big rent roll, and has, therefore, no greatoccasion for brains; but in point of fact he is really clever. He isUnder-Secretary for the Colonies, and is regarded as a rising youngpeer. He is not a bad fellow at all, I believe; keeps a few racers butdoes not bet, and has no vices as far as I have ever heard. That is hisdrag; he drives a first-rate team.'
'Well, I hope he is a good fellow,' Captain Hampton said shortly. 'Yousee I never had a sister of my own. That little one and I were quitechums, and I used to look upon her almost in the light of a smallsister, and I should not like to think of her marrying anyone who wouldnot make her happy.'
'I should think she has as fair a chance with Halliburn as with mostmen,' Danvers said. 'I know a man who was at Christ Church with him. Hesaid that he was rather a prig--but that a fellow could hardly helpbeing, brought up as he had bee
n--but that, as a whole, he was one ofthe most popular men of his set. Now we may as well be walking for thestation--that is, if you have had enough of it.'
'I am quite ready to go. After all, an English racecourse makes but adull show by the side of an Indian one. The horses are better, and, ofcourse, there is no comparison between the turnouts and the dresses ofthe women, though they manage to make a brave show at the principalstations; but as far as the general appearance of the crowd goes, youare not in it here. The natives in their gay dresses and turbans give awonderfully light and gay appearance to the course, and though,possibly, among quite the lower class they may not all be estimablecharacters, at least they do not look such a pack of unmitigatedruffians as the hangers-on of an English racecourse. That was a nicespecimen who attacked Hawtrey.'
'Yes, the fellow had a thoroughly bad face, and would be capable, Ishould say, of any roguery. It is not the sort of face I should expectto see in the dock on a charge of murder or robbery with violence, but Ishould put him down as an astute rogue, a crafty scoundrel, who wouldswindle an old woman out of her savings, rob servant girls or lads fromthe country by means of specious advertisements, or who in his own linewould nobble a horse or act as the agent for wealthier rogues in gettingat jockeys and concocting any villainous plan to prevent a favouritefrom winning. Of course, I know nothing of the circumstances under whichhe lost his place with Hawtrey, but there is no doubt that he hascherished a bitter hatred against him, and would spare no pains to takehis revenge. If Hawtrey owned racehorses I should be very shy of layinga penny upon them after seeing that fellow's face.'
'Well, as he does not own racehorses the fellow has no chance of doinghim a bad turn; he might forge a cheque and put Hawtrey's name to it,but I should say he would have some difficulty in getting any one tocash it.'
There were at dinner that evening only the party who had been in thebarouche, Danvers, Hampton, and Sir Edward Linkstone.
'I wish there had been no one else here this evening,' Dorothy Hawtreysaid to Captain Hampton before dinner, 'there is so much to talk about.First, I want to hear all you have been doing in India, and next, wemust have a long chat over old times; in fact, we want a cozy talktogether. Of course you will be tremendously engaged just at present,but you must spare me a long morning as soon as you possibly can.'
'I suppose I am not going to take you into dinner?'
'No, Sir Edward Linkstone does that. We cannot ask him to take in hisdaughter or Nora Cranfield, who is staying at his house, and besides, itwould not be nice. I should not like to be sitting by you, talking theusual dinner talk, when I am so wanting to have a real chat with you.You will take in Mary Linkstone, she is a very nice girl.'
The dinner was a pleasant one, and the party being so small theconversation was general. It turned, however, a good deal on India, forSir Edward Linkstone had been Judge of the Supreme Court at Calcutta,and had retired just about the time that Hampton had gone out there.After the ladies had left the room, Danvers remarked to their host:
'That was an unpleasant-looking character who accosted you just beforethe race started for the Oaks, Mr. Hawtrey.'
'Yes; I don't know that I have many enemies, beyond perhaps somefellows, poachers and others, whom I have had to commit for trial, but Ido consider that fellow to be a man who would injure me if he could. Hisfather, John Truscott was my father's steward, or agent as it is thefashion to call them now, on his estate in Lincolnshire. He had beenthere for over thirty years, and was a thoroughly trustworthy andhonourable man, a good agent, and greatly liked by the tenants as wellas by my father. As you may know, I came into the estates when I came ofage. My father had died two years before. Well, I knew that Truscott hadhad a good deal of trouble with his son, who was three or four yearsolder than myself.
'Truscott kept a small farm in his own hands, and he made a hobby ofbreeding blood stock. Not to any great extent; I think he had only somefive or six brood mares, but they were all good ones. I think he didvery well by them; certainly some of the foals turned out uncommonlywell. Of course he did not race them himself, but sold them asyearlings. As it turned out it was unfortunate, for it gave his son afancy for the turf. I suppose it began by his laying bets on the horsesthey had bred, then it went on and he used to attend racecourses and getinto bad company, and I know that his father had more than once to paywhat were to him heavy sums to enable him to clear up on settlement day.I don't know, though, that it would have made much difference, thefellow might have gone to the bad anyhow. He had always a shifty, slysort of look. About four years after I came into the estates I was downin Lincolnshire at our place, when Truscott was taken ill, and Inaturally went to see him.
'"I don't think I shall be long here, Mr. Hawtrey," he said, "and youwill have to look out for another steward. I used to hope that when mytime came for giving up work my son would step into my shoes. He hasplenty of brains, and as far as shrewdness goes he would make a bettersteward than I have ever done. For the last year, since I began to fail,he has been more at home and has done a good deal of my work, and Iexpect he reckons on getting my place, but, Mr. Hawtrey, you must notgive it to him. It is a hard thing for a father to say, but you couldnot trust him."
'I felt that myself, but I did not like to admit it to the old man, andI said:
'"I know he has been a bit wild, Truscott, but he may have seen that hewas behaving like a fool, and as you say he has been helping you morefor the last year, he may have made up his mind to break altogether fromthe life he has been leading."
'"It is not in him, sir," he said. "I could forgive his being a bitwild, but he is not honest. Don't ask me what he has done, but take myword for it. A man who will rob his own father will rob his employer. Ihave done my best for your father and you; no man can say that JohnTruscott has robbed him, and I should turn in my grave if our name weredishonoured down here. You must not think of it, sir; you would neverkeep him if you tried him; it would be a pain to me to think that one ofmy blood should wrong you, as I know, surely, Robert would do, and Iimplore you to make a complete change, and get some man who will do theestate justice."
'Of course I assented; indeed, I had heard so much of the fellow'sdoings that I had quite made up my mind that when his father retired Iwould look for a steward elsewhere. At the same time I know that if theold man had asked me to try him for a time, I should have done so. Aweek later John Truscott died, and the day after his funeral, which I,of course, attended, his son came up to the house. Well, it was a veryunpleasant business; he seemed to assume that, as a matter of course, hewould succeed his father, and pointed out that for the last year he had,in fact, carried on the estate for him. I said that I did not doubt hisability, but that I had no idea of making a man who was a frequenter ofracecourses, and who, I knew, bet so heavily that his father had had toaid him several times, manager of the estate.
'He answered that he had had his fling, and would now settle downsteadily. Of course, after what his father had said I was obliged to befirm. When he saw that there was no chance of altering my decision hecame out in his true colours; broke out in the most violent language,and had I not been a good deal more powerful man than he was I believehe would have struck me. At last I had to ring the bell and order thefootman to turn him out. He cooled down suddenly, and deliberatelycursed me, swearing that he would some day be revenged upon me for myingratitude to his father, and the insult I had passed upon him in thusrefusing to appoint him after the thirty years' services the old man hadrendered me. I have no doubt he thoroughly meant what he said, butnaturally, I never troubled myself about the matter.
'The threats of a disappointed man seldom come to anything, and as therewas no conceivable way in which he could injure me his menaces reallymeant nothing. I have come across him four or five times since. I daresay that I should have met him oftener were I a regular attendant onracecourses, but it is years since I have been to one, and only did itto-day because Dorothy had set her heart on seeing the Oaks for thefirst time. However, wheneve
r I have met him he has never failed tothrust himself upon me, and to show that his animosity is as bitter asit was on the day that I refused to appoint him steward. He left myneighbourhood at once, turned the stock into money, and as I know thathe came into three or four thousand pounds at his father's death he hadevery chance of doing well. I believe that he did do well on the turffor a time, but the usual end came to that. When I met him last, someseven or eight years ago, I happened to be with a member of the JockeyClub who knew something of the fellow. He told me that he had been for atime a professional betting man, but had become involved in someextremely shady transactions, and had been warned off the turf, and wasnow only to be seen at open meetings, and had more than once had anarrow escape of being lynched by the crowd for welshing. From hisappearance to-day it is evident that he is still a hanger-on ofracecourses. I saw he had the name of Marvel on his hat. I should saythat probably he appears with a fresh name each time. I think the chanceof meeting him has had something to do with my giving up going to racesaltogether. It is not pleasant being insulted by a disreputable-lookingscoundrel, in the midst of a crowd of people.'
'He has never done you any harm, Mr. Hawtrey?' Captain Hamilton asked,'because certainly it seemed to me there was a ring of triumphant malicein his voice.'
'Certainly not, to my knowledge,' Mr. Hawtrey replied. 'Once or twicethere have been stacks burnt down on the estate, probably the work ofsome malicious fellow, but I have had no reason for suspecting Truscott,and indeed, as the damage fell on the tenant and not on me, it wouldhave been at best a very small gratification of spite, and I can hardlyfancy he would have gone to the trouble and expense of travelling downto Lincolnshire for so small a gratification of his ill-will to me.Besides, had he had a hand in it, it would have been the stables and thehouse itself that would have been endangered.'
'The same idea struck me that occurred to Hampton,' Danvers said, 'but Isuppose it was fancy. It sounded to me as if he had already paid, tosome extent, the debt he spoke of, or as if he had no doubt whateverthat he should do so in the future.'
The subject dropped, but when, after leaving, Hampton went into the Clubto which Danvers belonged, to smoke a cigar, he returned to it.
'I can't help thinking about that fellow Truscott. It is evident, fromwhat Hawtrey says, that he has never done him any serious harm, and Idon't see how the rascal can possibly do so; but I am positive that theman himself believes that he either has done or shall be able to do so.'
'That was the impression I had too, but there is never any telling withfellows of that class. The rogue, when he is found out, either cringesor threatens. He generally cringes so long as there is a chance of itsdoing him any good, then, when he sees that the game is altogether up,he threatens; it is only in one case in ten thousand that the threatsever come to anything, and as twenty years have gone by without anyresult in this case we may safely assume that it is not one of theexceptions.
'Do you remember Mrs. Hawtrey?'
'Yes, I remember her well. The first year or two after their marriage,Hawtrey had a place near town. I think she had a fancy that Lincolnshirewas too cold for her. They came down when I was about eight years old.Dorothy was about a year old, I fancy. Mrs. Hawtrey and my mother becamegreat friends. We could go from one house to the other without goingoutside the grounds, and as I was the youngest of a large family I usedto walk across with her, and if Dorothy was in the garden she would cometoddling to me and insist upon my carrying her upon my shoulder, ordigging in her garden, or playing with her in some way or other. I don'tknow that I was fonder of children in general than most boys were, but Icertainly took to her, and, as I said, we became great chums. She cameto us two or three months after her mother died; her father went away onthe Continent, and the poor little girl was heart-broken, as well shemight be, having no brothers or sisters. She was a very desolate littlemaiden, so of course I did what I could to comfort her, and when myfather and mother died, within three days of each other, three yearslater, I think that child's sympathy did me more good than anything.That is the only time I have seen her since I entered the army, and thenI was only at home a few days, for the regiment was at Edinburgh, and itwas a busy season. I suppose I could have got longer leave had I tried,but there was no object in staying at home. I had never got onparticularly well with John, who was now master of the house; he wasmarried, and had children, and after they arrived I thought the sooner Iwas off the better.'
'What became of Tom? We were in the sixth together, you know; when youwere my fag. You told me, didn't you, that he had gone out to China orsomething of that sort?'
'Yes; there had been an idea that he would go into the Church, but hedid not take to it; he tried one or two things here and would not stickto them, and my father got him into a tea firm, and he went out for themtwo years afterwards to Hong Kong; but that did not suit him either, sohe threw it up and went to Australia, and knocked about there until hecame into ten thousand at my father's death. He went in forsheep-farming then, and I have only heard once of him since, but he saidthat he was doing very well. I shall perhaps hear more about him when Isee John. I must go down to Lincolnshire to-morrow, and I suppose Ishall have to stay a week or so there; it is the proper thing to do, ofcourse, but I wish that it was over. I have never been in the old placesince that bad time. I don't at all care for my brother's wife. I haveno doubt that she is a very good woman, but there is nothing sympatheticabout her; she is one of those women with a metallic sort of voice thatseems to jar upon one as if she were out of tune.'
'And afterwards--have you any plans?'
'None at all. I shall look out for a couple of rooms, somewhere aboutJermyn Street, and stay in town to the end of the season. Then I shallhire a yacht for a couple of months, and knock about the coast or goacross to Norway. I wish you would go with me; I did Switzerland andItaly the last year before I went away, and I don't care about goingthere when every place is filled with a crowd. I have only got a year,and I should like to have as pleasant remembrances to take back with meas possible. Do you think you will be able to come with me? Of course Ishall not be able to afford a floating palace. I should say about athirty-tonner that would carry four comfortably would be the sort ofthing. I will try to get two fellows to go to make up the party; some ofmy old chums if I can come across them. Of course I can get any numberof men home on leave like myself, but I don't want anyone from India,for in that case we should talk nothing but shop. You saw how we driftedinto it at dinner. I should like not to hear India mentioned until I amon board a ship on my way out again.'
'When would you think of going?'
'Oh, I should say after Ascot--say the second week in July.'
'I can hardly go with you as soon as that; I cannot get away as long asthe courts are sitting, or until they have, at any rate, nearly finishedwork; but I might join you by the end of the month, unless I have theluck to get retained in some important case that would make my fortune,and I need scarcely say that is not likely.
'But you are doing well, ain't you, Danvers? I see your name in thepapers occasionally.'
'I am doing quite as well as I have any right to expect; better, a gooddeal, than many men of my own standing, for I have only been calledseven years, and ten is about the minimum most solicitors considernecessary before they can feel the slightest confidence in a man. Still,it does not do very much more than pay for one's chambers and clerk.'
A week later Ned Hampton was established in lodgings in Jermyn Street.He had been down for three days into Lincolnshire, but had not caredmuch for the visit. He had never got on very well with his elderbrother, and they had no tastes or opinions in common. Mrs. Hampton wasa woman with but little to say on any subject, while her husband was atthis time of year absorbed in his duties as a magistrate and landlord,although in the winter these occupied a secondary position to huntingand shooting. The only son was away at school, the two girls were allday with their governess; and, after three as dull days as he had everspent in his life, Ned plead
ed business that required his presence inLondon, and came back suddenly. He had been a good deal in societyduring his visits to London in the three years that intervened betweenhis obtaining his commission and sailing for India. He had, therefore,many calls to make upon old acquaintances, and as at his military clubhe met numbers of men he knew, he soon had his hands full ofengagements. He still managed, however, to spend a good deal of time atthe Hawtreys', where he was always welcome. One morning, when he droppedin, Dorothy, after the first greeting, said, 'I have a piece of news totell you. I should not like you to hear it from anyone else but me.'There was a heightened colour in her cheek, and he at once guessed thetruth.
'You have accepted Lord Halliburn? I guessed it would be so. I suppose Iought to congratulate you, Dorothy. At any rate, I hope you will be veryhappy with him.'
'Why should you not congratulate me?'
'Only because I do not know Lord Halliburn sufficiently well to be ableto do so. Of course, I understand that he is a good match; but that, inmy mind, is quite a secondary consideration. The real question is, is hethe sort of man who will make you happy?'
'I should not have accepted him unless I thought so,' she said gravely.'Mind,' she added with a laugh, 'I don't mean to say that I aminsensible to the advantages of being a peeress, but in itself thatwould not have decided me. He is pleasant, and has the advantage ofbeing very fond of me, and everyone speaks well of him.'
'All very good reasons, Dorothy, if added to the best of all--that youlove him.'
The girl nodded.
'Of course, Ned. I don't think that I have the sort of love one imaginesas a young girl; not a wild, unreasoning sort of love; but you don'tfind that much in our days except in books. I like him very much, and,as I said before, he likes me. That does make such a wonderfuldifference, you see. When a man begins to show that he likes you, ofcourse one thinks of him a good deal and in quite a different way fromwhat you would otherwise do, and so one comes in time to like him in thesame way he likes you. That seems to me the way with most girls I haveknown married. You don't see any harm in that?'
'Oh no; I suppose it is the regular way in society; and, indeed, I don'tsee how people could get to care more than that for each other when theyonly meet at balls and flower shows and so on. Well, I think I maycongratulate you. There is no doubt whatever about its being a goodmatch, and I don't see why you should not be very happy, and no doubtyour liking, as you call it, will grow into something more like the loveyou used to dream about by-and-by.'
The girl pouted.
'You are not half as glad as I expected you to be--and please don'tthink that I am marrying without love. I only admit that it is not thesort of love one reads of in novels, but I expect it is just as real.'
'If it is good enough to wear well that is all that is necessary,'Captain Hampton said, more lightly than he had before spoken. 'You know,Dorothy, you have my very best wishes. You were my little sister foryears, you know, and there is no one whose happiness would give me somuch pleasure.'