Kitabı oku: «Sir Hilton's Sin», sayfa 3
“Of course. Why, you would be mad to miss the chance.”
“It does sound tempting.”
“Tempting? Of course. It isn’t as if there was any gambling in it.”
“Exactly. There would be no gambling in it?”
“Of course not. If it were some horse whose character you did not know, it would be different. But here you are – your own mare, whom you know down to the ground. Your own jockey, too. Look here, dear boy, La Sylphide can’t help winning. You’d be mad to miss this chance. I should say, go and see the run, but I give way to your scruples there; but when I see you chucking away a pile of money I begin to kick.”
Sir Hilton rose and walked up and down the room, as his old friend and companion continued talking, and ended by coming back to the table and bringing down his fist with a bang.
“Yes,” he cried, “it would be madness to miss the chance. By Jove! I’ll do it.”
“Bravo, old man!”
“I’ll put it in your hands, Jack. Get on for me all you can.”
“Up to what?”
“All I’ve got in the bank. Four thou’.”
“Do you mean it?”
“Of course.”
“Well done, old chap. That’s Hilt up to the hilt, like in the old times.”
“Pst! Someone coming,” said the baronet, dropping into a chair. “We didn’t hear the chaise. It’s my wife.”
Chapter Five.
A Lamentable Case
Lady Lisle swept into the room, fresh from the pony-carriage, looking rather stern and haughty, her brows knitting at the sight of the breakfast things, and then rising a little as she saw the gallant-looking gentleman who rose and advanced to meet her.
“Dr Granton!”
“At your service, Lady Lisle. I was in the neighbourhood, and rode over to see my dear old friend, but I am just off. I congratulate you. How well he looks!”
“I am glad you think so. But – you have only just come. Will you not stay? My husband must have a good deal to say to you.”
“We could talk for hours, my dear madam, but I must be going on.”
“You will stay to lunch?”
“Impossible. Most important business in the neighbourhood. Hilton has been most hospitable and refreshed me, and I really must be off – eh, Hilt?”
“Certainly.”
“The fact is, Lady Lisle, it is a question of money matters. Business connection with a bank.”
Lady Lisle bowed, and looked relieved.
“If you must go, then, Dr Granton – ”
“I really must, my dear madam. No, no, Hilton, dear boy, don’t ring for the horse; I’ll go round by the stables and pick up my hack. Don’t you come. Good-morning, Lady Lisle. I hope you will let me call if I am again this way?”
“Certainly, Dr Granton. I am always happy to extend the hospitality of the Denes to my husband’s friends.”
“Thank you; of course. Once more, good-morning. Morning, Hilton, dear boy. Au revoir!”
He passed out, and the frown on Lady Lisle’s brow deepened. “I’m afraid, Hilton,” she said, “that Dr Granton’s business may have something to do with the races.”
“Eh? Indeed! Well, now you say so, I suppose it is possible.”
“You have not allowed him to tempt you into going, Hilton?”
“No, my dear,” said the baronet; “certainly not.”
He spoke out quickly and firmly, the glow of the virtuous who had resisted temptation warming his breast.
“Thank you, dear,” she said, laying her hand almost caressingly upon her lord’s shoulder. “It could only have meant gambling, risking money to win that of others. Hilton, my love, it is so vile and despicable.”
“Think so, Laura?” he said, with the cold chill of his wife’s words completely extinguishing the virtuous glow.
“Think so? Oh, yes, Hilton. You cannot imagine how happy you make me by the way you are casting behind you your old weaknesses, and are devoting yourself to Parliamentary study.”
“For which I fear I am very unfit,” said Sir Hilton; and he turned cold directly after at a horrible thought which seemed to stun him.
Suppose she should say, “Well, give it up,” and want to withdraw that balance at the bank! “What an idiot I was to say that!” he thought. But relief – partial relief – came the next minute.
“That is your modesty, my dear,” said Lady Lisle. “I flatter myself that I know your capabilities better than you know them yourself. Hilton, I shall devote myself to the task of being your Parliamentary secretary, and I mean that you shall shine.”
“Thank you, my dear,” said the unhappy man, sadly, as he thought of the daring venture he had set in commission, and began to repent as he walked to the window and looked out.
“I ought not to have risked that money, though. Suppose the mare lost,” he mused. “Bah! I know her too well. There isn’t a horse can touch her in the straight, and it will regularly set me up. I shan’t have to go begging for a cheque, and then have ‘What for, darling?’ ringing in my ears. Hang it all! It makes a man feel so small. Why, the very servants pity me – I know they do. And as for that old scoundrel Trimmer – oh, if I could only give him something, even if it were only a wife to keep him short!”
“Suppose – ” he thought again, and could get no farther than that one word, which, like the nucleus of a comet, sent out behind or before it a tail of enormous proportions – a sort of gaseous mist of horrible probabilities concerning that four thousand pounds.
“If I could get a message to him and stop it all,” he muttered, as he watched Jane rapidly clear the table of the tardy breakfast things.
“Yes, my love, Parliament must be the goal of your ambition,” said Lady Lisle, with her eyes brightening, as soon as they were alone. “If I had been a man how I should have gloried in addressing the House!”
“Ah! there’s a deal of talk goes on there, my dear,” replied Sir Hilton.
“And what talk, Hilton! What a study! The proper study of mankind is man. How much better than devoting all your attention to dogs and horses!”
“‘How noble a beast is the horse,’ dear, it said in my first reading-book.”
“Absurd, my love. Pray don’t think of horses any more.”
Sir Hilton winced, and then watched his lady as she moved in a dignified way to the fireplace to rearrange her headgear.
“Going out again, my dear?” said Sir Hilton, for want of something better to say.
“Yes, love. I have ordered the carriage round, to drive over to Hanby.”
“To Hanby, dear?”
“Yes. Mr Browse drove by while I was at the vicarage,” said the lady, in a tone of disgust. “That man is in arrear with his rent for the farm. The vicar said he supposed the man was going to the races, and I am going over to see his wife.”
“For goodness’ sake, don’t go and interfere, my dear,” cried Sir Hilton, anxiously. “It would get talked about so at the Tilborough Market, and spread in all directions.”
“It would not matter, that I see,” said her ladyship, haughtily. “But I was not going to interfere. I might, perhaps, say a word or two of condolence to poor Mrs Browse, and point out how much happier she would be if her husband followed the example of mine.”
“But, hang it all, Laura, he can’t try to enter into Parliament!”
“No, my love, but he could give up horse-racing.”
“Surely you are not going over there – to drive all those miles – to say that?”
“No, my love, only to help carry on your election contest, and be in time. Mr Browse is in my – our debt, according to Mr Trimmer’s figures, for a whole year’s rental of the farm.”
“But you mustn’t go and dun people.”
“Dun, Hilton?”
“Well, collect rents. Leave that to Trimmer.”
“Of course I shall, my dear,” said her ladyship, with a condescending smile. “I am going over to name that circumstance of their indebtedness to me – us, and to tell her that I shall expect Mr Browse to vote for you. She will compel her husband to do so, and that will ensure one vote.”
“The grey mare’s the better horse,” said Sir Hilton to himself, and he was thinking of the train of circumstances in connection with the race, and planning to rush off and try to forestall the doctor’s risking money, as he sat back in his chair, when, slowly slouching along after passing through the swing gate, one of the regular hangers-on of a race-meeting approached the house. His aspect was battered, and the pink hunting-coat – one which had seen very much better days – was rubbed to whiteness here and greased to blackness there. It was frayed and patched, and wore the general aspect of having been used as a sleeping garment on occasion, being decorated with scraps of hay, prickly seed vessels, and the like, in addition to the chalky dust of the road, a good deal of which powdered the round-topped, peaked hunting cap, once of black velvet, now all fibre, with scarcely a trace of nap.
The coat was closely buttoned up to the throat, and a pair of much-worn cord trousers completed the man’s costume, all but his boots, which were ornamented with slashings, for the benefit, probably, of bunions, for if intended for effect, after the fashion of an old stuffed doublet, the effort was a mistake.
But there was no mistake about the man’s profession. He was hall-marked “tramp” by his blear eyes and horribly reddened, bulbous nose, and racing-tout by the packet of race-cards peering out of his breast-pocket. But evidently he was a man of much invention, inasmuch as from a desire to do a little trading on his way from racecourse to racecourse, or for an excuse to find his way to houses where he might pick up unconsidered trifles, cadging, filching, and the like, he carried in one hand a fat, white mongrel puppy, with a bit of blue ribbon tied about its neck. As a dog, it was about as bad a specimen as could be met with in a day’s march; but it had one advantage over its owner – it was scrupulously clean.
The squire of the Denes was not within the scope of the tramp’s view, as he loafed up with his blear eyes twinkling; and for the moment the shape of the room hid Lady Lisle, till the big Persian cat, the minute before apparently fast asleep, curled up on an ottoman upon which the sun shone warmly, suddenly smelt dog, and sprang to all fours, arching its back, bottle-brushing its tail, and baring its white teeth, as it began to swear loudly.
“Oh, Khan, Khan, what is the matter?” cried Lady Lisle, taking a step or two towards the cat, and then stopping short with “Oh, Hilton, my love, send this dreadful man away!”
“Buy a lovely little dawg, my lady,” cried the tramp, now close up to the window, and smiling, whining, and leering in. “Puss, puss, puss! Look at ’em! They’ll make friends in a minute.”
He reached in a hand and set the puppy down on the Turkey carpet, when the idiotic-looking little object, after the manner of its kind, began slowly to blunder towards the lordly Persian yclept Khan, to the imminent risk of having its eyes scratched out.
“Look at the pretty creetur, my lady,” whined the man. “Two guineas is the price, but seeing its you, my lady, and a good home for the little beauty, say one pun, and he’s yours.”
“Take your dirty whelp up and be off, you scoundrel!” cried Sir Hilton, in a passion, and deftly placing the toe of his boot under the puppy he lifted it and sent it flying through the window, to be fielded cleverly and without pain by its owner.
“What, my noble Capting! What, my noble barrowknight, you here? You are a sight for sore eyes. You ain’t forgot Dandy Dinny?”
“Forgotten you? No, you scoundrel!”
“Just your old self again, Sir Rilton. Why, bless me! this is like old times. Here, c’rect card, Sir Rilton; all the names colours, jocks, and starters. Take a dozen, your lordship; you’ll want ’em for your lady-friends on the course.”
“Be off, sir! How dare you trespass on my premises!”
“Trespass, Sir Rilton? I wouldn’t do such a thing. There, I knowed you’d never drop the Turf. Whats yer ’oss’s name?”
“Cut!” cried Sir Hilton, fiercely.
“Is it, now? A sharp ’un, then, as’ll show the field its four blessed racing plates. A dark ’un, your honour?”
“Will you be off, you scoundrel!”
“Off, your honour, in a jiffy, ready to look out for you on the course. But you’ll buy the little dawg for her lovely ladyship?”
“Take the miserable mongrel away.”
“But such a companion for the long-haired tom puss, Sir Rilton.”
“Did you hear me tell you to go, sir?”
“Yes, your honour,” whispered the man, shuffling his “c’rect cards” back into his pocket with one hand, and leaning forward into the room to whisper: “I’m ’orrid hard up, Sir Rilton. Give us a tip for the cup to help a pore fellow get a honest livin’. You’ll do that for your pore old friend as touted for you all these years?”
“Here, catch!” cried Sir Hilton, tossing the man a florin, which, as it went spinning out into the sunshine, was deftly caught, spat upon, and transferred to a pocket.
“Long life to Sir Rilton Lisle, and may his ’osses allus win! But you’ll buy the little dawg for her ladyship, your honour?”
Sir Hilton made an angry gesture, and the wretched-looking object slouched off, just as the noise of gravel-grinding was heard, and the Lisles’ handsome victoria was driven up to the front door.
“There, Hilton,” said the lady, reproachfully, “is it not horrible that you should have come to such a state of degradation as that!” – and she pointed in the direction taken by the tout.
“I – I?” cried her husband, firing up. “Hang it all, Laura, do you compare me to that wretched cad?”
“No, no, my dear. I mean the degradation of being recognised by such a miserable outcast.”
“Humph! Poor wretch!”
“And I do object, love, to your indulging in casual relief. Be charitable, of course, but give only to the deserving and good. There,” she continued, advancing towards him to lay her hands upon his shoulders and kiss him solemnly, “I’m not angry with you, darling, for you will take these lessons to heart, I’m sure. Good-bye, love. Go and study up your Blue Books, and think out your plan of campaign. I shall be back soon to tell you that you may be sure of Mr Browse’s vote.”
“Thank you, my dear,” said Sir Hilton, responding dreamily to the chilly caress he received, the lady’s lips being just on a level with his forehead. “Here, I’ll come to the carriage with you.”
“No, no, no, love. Get to your Blue Books, and practise your speeches. I’m going to work for and with you, not to be a hindrance. Get to work, I want you to be a modern Cicero or Demosthenes. Good-bye – Good-bye.”
Lady Lisle solemnly waved a kiss to her husband, and sailed out of the room, leaving the dapper little baronet deep in thought and biting his nails.
Chapter Six.
The Lady in the Case
“Blue Books! Blue Books! Confound the Blue Books!” cried Sir Hilton, as he marched up and down the breakfast-room long after he had heard the wheels of the departing victoria and the tramp of the handsome pair of horses die out. “Who’s to study Blue Books? Who’s to practise speeches with the weight of four thousand pounds on his mind?
“Speeches!” he cried angrily, after a few minutes, and he waved his hands wildly. “I want no practice, after making such a Speech as I did to Jack Granton. I must have been mad. I can’t go to the course without being found out, and if I could it’s too late – too late – too late!
“But is it?” he said, after a few minutes’ restless walk like that of the lone wolf up and down its cage at the Zoo.
“Oh, yes,” he groaned; “Jack was always like lightning at planking down. He’d ride straight away and get every penny on. There, I’m getting in a regular fever. Out of training. I never used to worry when I stood to lose five times as much, and I won’t worry now. I won’t think I stand to lose four thou’, but only that I stand to win forty, as I must, for with Josh Rowle up, the Sylphide must win in a canter. There’s nothing been foaled yet that can touch her in these little races. There, Laura’s out, and I’ll have a cigar and calm down. Forty thou’! Shell never know – at least, I hope not, and, it will make me independent for a bit. But I won’t do it any more. It would be tempting fortune; but with that extra in the bank I can stand my ground a little. Laura’s a dear good woman, but too straight-laced. There’s too much of this parish twaddle and charity-mongering. She’s quite insane upon such matters, and with the independence that money will give me I can afford to stand up for myself. She talks about weaning me, and I’ve given up the hunting and the racecourse to humour her, so now she must drop some of her fads to favour me. We shall be a deal happier then.”
He dropped into a chair, feeling easier in his mind, and went on musing.
“Yes,” he said, “there’s a lot a fellow ought to do, and the first thing after settling day I mean to attack this stewardship business. I’m about sick of that long, lean, lizardly humbug Trimmer. Hang his white choker and sanctified ways! He’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing, I’ll swear. A hypocritical rascal! I’ll swear I saw him leering at our pretty Jane, but if I told Laura she’d take his part. Ha, ha, ha! Capital!” he said half-aloud, as he indulged in a hearty fit of chuckling. “What a splendid idea. I can’t quite see my way, but Mark’s dead on the little lassie, and if I’m right and the lad can be enlightened, my word, I should like to see the fun! Judging by the way Mark can handle his fives, and the fire such a notion would give him, I shouldn’t like to be in Master Trimmer’s shoes, to wear the phiz he would have when the lad had done with him. Yes, that would settle Master Trimmer, if, of course, I am right, and he is the confounded mawworm I believe him to be.
“Well, that would be an improvement. Then there’s Master Syd. That young dog’s gammoning his aunt shamefully, I’m sure. But it’s all her own fault. She treats him as if he were a child instead of a lad of eighteen and it isn’t natural for a boy to be dragged into these parish meetings, and to be set to read reports of this society and that society, and checked in his natural desire for a bit of honest, manly sport. Why, if that boy could have had his way he’d have been at the races to-day. Going fishing, I suppose. Well, that’s not so bad, but I almost wonder he’s allowed to do that.
“Hang it all!” he muttered, springing up and going to the window, where he looked out, and carefully cut and lit a cigar, to begin smoking, so that the fumes should pass out into the air, “how that money does keep buzzing in my head. My pulses are going like fun. Ah! there, I won’t think about it. La Sylphide is safe to pull it off for us. Do Granton good, too. Make him more independent over his suit with the widow. Ha! There’s nothing like a good cigar to pull a man round. I’m better already; but it’s miserable work, this having to steal a smoke in one’s own house. I feel quite a coward over it, or like a boy learning. Like Syd did when I caught him having a weed in the stables. One of mine, too! He confessed to helping himself to one out of that box in the study cupboard.
“Well, I wasn’t very hard on him. Boys will be boys, and they pay pretty dearly for their first smoke.
“Yes, I feel ever so much calmer now. My word! How I should have liked to have the dogcart out and drive Laury tandem to the racecourse! She wouldn’t have enjoyed it? Well, the boy, then, to see the Sylph win, and dropped in afterwards at the Arms. Had a chat with old Sam’s pretty little lassie. Good idea that of his, to name the little thing after the mare. How proud he is of her, and how proud he was, too, of the mare. Well, no wonder; it was a splendid bit of training. But hang him for an old fox! As big an old scoundrel as ever had a horse pulled in a race. Shocking old ruffian! Wonder what he’s doing on the cup race; on heavily with La Sylphide, of course, and no wonder, for she is sure to win.”
As he said these words Sir Hilton was sitting on the window-sill sending out his smoke in good, steady, regular puffs, perfectly unconscious of all sounds without and of everything but his own thoughts, till the door was opened suddenly, with strange effect.
For Sir Hilton Lisle, Bart., as his name was written, made a sudden bound off the window-sill, sending his cigar flying, while the guilty blood flushed his face, as he felt that his wife had returned, and he had been caught smoking indoors.
But he turned pale with anger the next moment as he stood facing the little maid, Jane, who was fighting hard to hide a smile which would show, while her bright eyes twinkled with delight, as she said quickly: “Lady Tilborough, sir.”
And the next moment the widow of the late nobleman of that name, a round-faced, retroussé-nosed, red-lipped, grey-eyed little woman of exquisite complexion, and looking delightfully enticing in her tall hat and perfectly-fitting riding-habit, which she held up with a pair of prettily-gauntleted hands, hurried into the room.
“There, go away, little girl,” she cried, giving Jane a playful tap with her whip, “and tell your Mark to give my pony’s mouth a wash out. No corn, mind.”
“Yes, my lady,” cried Jane, beaming upon the natty little body, and taking in her dress with one glance.
“Here I am, Hilt, dear boy,” cried the visitor, as the door closed. “Caught you all alone, for I passed your wife, and she cut me dead. Here I am!”
“Yes, I see you are,” groaned Sir Hilton; and then to himself: “Temptation once again, and in its most tempting form.”
