CHAPTER XXV
THE BLOW
"Home for Christmas. Motoring from Graydown. Three cheers, Bunny."
The ecstatic message stood on the mantelpiece in the old parlour above aroaring fire, and Jake stood in front of it, grimly patient, while theold grandfather clock ticked monotonously in the corner.
It was Christmas Eve, still and frosty. The glass door into the gardenwas wide open so that he could hear the first hoot of a motor, and hewas listening for it with a lynx-like intensity, a concentration thathad in it something almost terrible. It was nearly a fortnight since hehad left her, and all his veins were on fire at the thought of havingher again. He yearned for her with a fierce hunger that tore at thevery soul of him, a hunger that he knew he must suppress, crush down outof sight, ere he met her.
Because in her desolation she had turned to him for comfort, he must nottake it for granted that she needed him still. She had had time torecover, time possibly to be amazed, to be shocked, at her own yielding.He dreaded to see that instinctive recoil from him which he had learnedto know so cruelly well in the summer that was dead. Those words ofhers--"I can't pretend to love you. You see--I don't,"--still hauntedhim. And he remembered how once in bitterness of soul she had told himthat she hated him.
He clenched his hands over the memory, cursing himself for the passionthat even now leaped so fiercely within him. She had changed towards himsince those days; that he knew. But even though she turned to him shewas half afraid of him still, and he dared not show her his heart. Hemust be calm and temperate, taking only what she offered, lest he shoulddrive her away again. It might be she would never offer very much.Possibly it did not lie in her power. She had given her whole love toanother man, and it had been crushed into the mud. It might be that itstill lived there in quivering shame, a thing to be hidden if it couldnot be utterly destroyed. He could not tell. But he did not feel thathis chance of winning to the heart of her was very great. It might bethat when she came to realize the practically boundless power with whichthis great fortune endowed her, it would vanish altogether. True, hemight put up a fight for his rights. He might insist upon hisownership. But--had he not already done that? And what had it broughthim? Nothing but emptiness. The desire of the flesh was nothing to theaching longing of the spirit, and that could never be satisfied by suchmeans. And she did not so much as know that it existed!
He had dreamed once that a child might draw them together. But now--butnow--a curiously wistful smile drew his mouth. Poor girl! She wanted achild to comfort her desolation. But if she had her wish, he knew thatshe would never turn to him again for comfort. His last chance would begone.
Someone knocked at the open door that led into the garden. He turnedsharply and saw Sam Vickers' good-humoured countenance looking up athim.
"Post just in, sir," he remarked. "I was comin' round so brought yourletter along."
"Oh, thanks! Come in!"
Jake remained before the fire, and after an instant's hesitation Sammounted the steps and entered. He was carrying a huge bunch ofmistletoe in one hand.
"Thought you'd like a bit, sir," he said, with a cheery smile. "Youhaven't got any decorations, I see."
"Thanks!" Jake said again. "I don't know where you'll fix it."
"Over the front door, sir, if you ask me," said Sam promptly.
"Oh, no, not there, Sam! It's a bit too public. Over this door if youlike." Jake smiled a little and began to open his letter.
"All right, sir. I'll get a nail," said Sam.
He departed, and Jake, with a face grown stern, proceeded to read hisletter.
When Sam returned, the letter had disappeared, and Jake was grinding atthe fire with the poker with his head down and a deep red flush on hisface. Sam noticed nothing. He was too much engrossed with the matterin hand.
Mounted on a wooden chair and whistling softly he applied himself to thetask of hanging the mistletoe at the most inviting angle.
"Like a bit for your cap, sir?" he enquired, with an impudent grin, whenhe had finished.
Jake made no reply.
Sam threw him a glance, and found that he had turned and was standingwith his back to the fire, gazing out before him with eyes that shonelike two pieces of red quartz.
Sam was momentarily disconcerted. "No offence meant, sir," he said,picking up his own cap, and hastening somewhat clumsily to conceal thedecoration it bore.
Jake's eyes came to him, regarded him for a moment fiercely withoutseeing him; then abruptly softened and took him in. "Sam," he said, "Itrust you, and I'm going to tell you something. Shut that door!"
Sam obeyed. He looked straight at Jake with sunny, honest eyes."Hadn't you better think it over first, sir?" he suggested.
"No." Jake held out his hand suddenly. "I trust you," he repeated, adogged note in his voice.
Sam's hand gripped his like a vice. "Right you are, sir," he saidcheerily.
Jake went on, as if impelled. "You remember what happened in the summerat the Graydown Meeting when I thrashed young Stevens?"
"Quite well, sir." Sam's reply came brisk and smart. He held himselflike a soldier on parade.
"You know why I thrashed him?" Jake proceeded.
"Yes, sir. Thrashed him and kicked him out, sir. I was never morepleased in my life," said Sam.
"He's been employed at the Castle stables ever since," Jake said verybitterly. "I was a fool! a damn' fool--not to expose him. But LordSaltash knew that he pulled the Albatross. I told him so. He now saysthat he has proof that I aided and abetted--proof enough to get mewarned off the Turf."
"Proof be damned, sir!" said Sam warmly. "That ain't a good enoughstory for anyone with a head on his shoulders to swallow."
"No, Sam. You're right. And Lord Saltash knows it. I can't go to himand demand to see his proof because he's on the other side of the world.But there's no scotching a lie of that sort. It'll have spread like theplague long before he gets back. And meantime he has decided thathorse-racing and breeding are no longer his fancy, and he is going tosell the Stud--and me along with it."
Jake's mouth took a bitter, downward curve with the last words.
Sam's jaw dropped. "Going to sell the Stud, sir?"
Jake nodded. "Yes, before the Spring meetings. You'll be all right,Sam. Anyone would be glad to get you. The Stewards know you allright."
"Oh, I wasn't thinking of that, sir. I was thinking of you." Sam'sblue eyes were gravely troubled. "You've got a wife, sir."
"My wife inherits her uncle's money. She is not dependent uponme--fortunately for her." Jake was speaking through set teeth. "I knewit was coming," he added. "I've known it for some weeks." His eyessuddenly glittered afresh. "It ain't a knock-out blow, Sam," he said."Don't you make any mistake as to that!"
Sam's eyes sparkled in response. "It's you that's the knock-out, sir,"he said, with eager partisanship. "He hits below the belt, but he won'tdown you that way. You're better known than I am. And no one willbelieve as you're not straight. If I was to hear any chap say a singleword against you, why, I'd crack his skull for him. I would that--if itwas Saltash himself!"
Jake uttered a brief laugh. "No. You steer clear of Saltash! He's onetoo many for honest men."
"He's a dirty swab!" said Sam, and spat into the fire with fervour. "Heain't fit to employ anyone except Dick Stevens and the likes of him. Ioften wondered who squared Dick that time, but it wouldn't surprise menow if--" He paused, looking at Jake interrogatively.
But the latter's face had changed, changed magically, as though sometransforming hand had touched it, wiping all the bitterness away.
He looked at Sam with a dawning smile in his eyes. "Good night, my lad!"he said. "I must go."
He went to the door with the words and opened it. There came the soundof a motor-horn without, the gay whoop of a boyish voice. Jake's spurswent jingling down the passage.
And Sam turned to leave by the garden-door by which he had entered. Hecrammed his cap down over his eyes as he did so. "Poor old boss!" hesaid. "Poor--old--boss!"