Kitabı oku: «Hard Pressed», sayfa 13
CHAPTER XXXVII
BETWEEN TWO FIRES
SIR GEORGE HAREDALE pulled himself together.
"You will excuse me," he said, "but I don't follow you. I have had much trouble and worry lately and I am not myself this morning. Did you say that the Blenheim colt belonged to you? If this is a joke I cannot say I admire it."
"I assure you I was never more serious in my life, Sir George," Fielden protested. "I know what I say sounds extraordinary. The Blenheim colt belongs to me; it was never yours at all; in fact, it is not even entered in this year's Derby in your name. I have been making inquiries, and this is a literal fact. I have derived my information from headquarters. The conditions, monetary and otherwise, have been complied with – "
"I don't doubt it for a moment," Sir George exclaimed. "But what has all this to do with me? When you went abroad I bought every animal you possessed."
"I don't think so, Sir George. One or two were kept back; Raffle did so on his own responsibility. My solicitors have the papers and receipts, so that it is possible to earmark your exact purchases. I may tell you, however, that until I came here, I had no notion of this singular business. It appears that I forgot to advise my bankers before I left England and that, even up to the present moment, they are meeting my racing obligations out of the surplus moneys paid into my account. Now according to what Raffle says, your colt, I mean your entry for this year's Derby, was disposed of long ago. My colt Raffle kept for sentimental reasons and, for the last two years, he has been trained with your horses. Raffle has always declared that some day he would do something great with one of the Blenheim blood. When he found out how good a thing he had he was almost frightened. He was on the point of confessing to you several times, but when he heard that I was dead he decided to let matters slide. Raffle has a vein of sentiment in his nature and, I suppose, the romance of the thing appealed to him. Besides, he knew that you were a friend of mine and that May was more than a friend. He is very fond of your daughter, in which he shows his good taste. So the foolish old man resolved to keep the secret to himself. He had transferred his allegiance to you and yours and had set his heart upon restoring your family fortunes; in reality he was giving May a comfortable and settled future. He didn't want the money for himself. He was satisfied to feel that he was repaying the kindness he had had at your hands. From a lofty moral point of view the thing may be open to censure, but what I am able to prove I say through my lawyers, through my bankers, through Raffle himself, and through other witnesses whom we can produce. Of course I am in your debt for training expenses, but that, at the moment, is beside the point. The point is that the Blenheim colt which, bar accidents, is certain to win this year's Derby, as you are perfectly well aware – "
"I am not so sure of that," Sir George interrupted. "If I am to believe what Raffle says – "
"We will come to that," Fielden went on. "I think otherwise. The horse has been knocked about in the betting a good deal lately and I am told that he has gone to an outside price again. I have managed to scrape together about two thousand pounds, every penny of which I have put upon the colt. I had made up my mind never to make another bet, but this opportunity is too good to be lost. If this horse wins the Derby, then I shall be a rich man again. If that good fortune is in store for me, it will be the last bet I shall ever make. And now, you understand why, apart from the morality of the thing, I object to the horse being scratched. In fact, you are not in a position to do so."
Sir George rubbed his head bewilderingly.
"Please say it all over again," he asked. "I know you mean everything you say, I know you are not joking with me, but I can't understand it."
Fielden went over his points once more slowly and carefully, and then, at last, Sir George began to see. He did not fail to grasp his own position, either. He knew the peril in which he stood, unless he could persuade Fielden to fall in with his plans. But Fielden had told him he had backed the colt for all he was worth, and he was not likely to ruin himself merely to save an old man from the result of his folly. Besides, this would entail a shameful confession, for Sir George was not aware that Fielden had an intelligent view of the situation.
"This is very awkward," he remarked.
"I don't see why it should be," Fielden said coolly. "You can make a fortune, too. You have backed the horse heavily, and nothing in the race has any chance of beating him. I must consider myself. I have learnt the folly of sacrificing myself to my friends. In this affair I have some one to think about besides myself. May – "
"May! What has she to do with it?"
Fielden hesitated. He hated to give anybody pain, but the time had come to speak plainly.
"She has a great deal to do with it," he said. "Whatever disgrace falls upon you cannot affect her good name. But, at the same time, I strongly object to any one being able to say that my future wife's father had been warned off the turf for malpractices."
"Malpractices!" Sir George cried. "My dear Fielden, you are forgetting yourself. Explain, please."
"I had much rather not," Fielden said. "But since you force me to speak, I must go on. I happen to know a good deal about Mr. Raymond Copley. I know you are deeply in his debt. I know that he helped you, because he hoped thereby to compel you to coerce May into a marriage with him. I am given to understand that you have done your best. I beg of you, Sir George, not to interrupt me. You have challenged me and I have a right to state my case. Copley is a scoundrel. I knew something about him in South Africa, though we never met. But he was in constant contact with a sort of partner of mine named Aaron Phillips. Phillips and I contrived to get an option on a diamond mine and, but for unforeseen circumstances, we should have made a fortune out of it. But the locality was kept a secret. The only man who knew where it was died and we had nothing but some plans to go on. Copley and Foster heard of this and resolved to get hold of those plans. The plans have vanished and probably will never be seen again. Then these two ruffians tried to murder Phillips. Indirectly they nearly murdered me. Phillips came back to England and sought me out. If he thought it worth while he could put the police on the track of Copley and Foster and they would be certain of penal servitude. But Phillips has other views. He has been following up these two men like a sleuth-hound and you may take my word for it that within a few days both Copley and Foster will be arrested in connection with one of the biggest turf frauds of recent years. Oh, I know what I am talking about."
"Bless me!" Sir George cried, "is this true?"
"Absolutely. I know about the whole thing. I know how the scheme has been worked and could put my hand upon the confederates at the present moment. But you will see for yourself before the week is out. You must not say a word of this to a living soul, and if you meet Copley during the next day or two I will ask you to behave towards him as if he were still a friend. Now you see the kind of man who has you in his toils. Simply because Copley has a powerful hold on you, you have promised to draw the pen through the name of the Blenheim colt. I won't unduly blame you, Sir George; no man knows how weak he is till he is face to face with a great trouble and a great temptation. Was not that the situation? Copley is in a position to turn you out of Haredale Park. He offers to cancel the debt if you will scratch the colt. At that moment the colt falls providentially lame. You can oblige him without a soul being any the wiser, and even gain popular applause over it, and make a fortune out of it by working it the right way."
"Not a penny," Sir George said emphatically.
"Well, I am glad to hear you say that. At the same time, I can't forget what you were willing to do. At any rate, I am preventing you from something in the nature of a crime. You can't interfere with my property, but you can refuse to carry out what Copley desires and defy him to do his worst. You are safe from him, and in future your daughter will have no occasion to be ashamed of you."
CHAPTER XXXVIII
LOOSENING THE GRIP
FIELDEN'S last thrust went home. Sir George fairly winced and the red of shame flushed his face. Never in the course of his life had anybody ever spoken to him like this before. And never did he feel less able to resist the reproach.
"You are going too far," was all he could say.
"Indeed, I have no wish to," Fielden exclaimed. "I only want to save you from this crowning folly, and you need not be afraid of Copley. He is powerless to do you any mischief. Of course, you will still owe the money to somebody, but ere the law can make up its mind who is your creditor, if we have any luck at Epsom, you will be independent of all your creditors. Nobody need know of this. You may rest assured that not a word of it will ever pass my lips, and not even May shall be told."
"I am afraid she knows already," Sir George rejoined. "It is useless, my dear boy, for me to combat your statements farther. I thought I was an honest English gentleman, and now I find that at a turn of the screw I am only a pitiful scoundrel. I fear that May has found out all about it. I was anxious she should marry Copley, for salvation seemed to lie that way, and I was under great obligations to the man. I was so annoyed with May that I said more than I should have done; indeed, I lost my temper and, in the heat of the moment, told her that if she did not obey me in this matter she was no longer a daughter of mine. Of course, I did not mean it."
Fielden walked to the window and back before he ventured on a reply. Hot words hovered on his lips and anger filled his heart, but he tried to speak calmly.
"That, to say the least of it, was indiscreet," he said. "If I know May, and I think I do, she is the last girl in the world to put up with treatment like that."
"She didn't put up with it," Sir George confessed miserably. "She has gone, taking with her nothing but her mother's jewels which she intends to turn into money. In her letter to me she refuses to say where she is. She says she is going to get her own living and will never come back to Haredale. She must know what took place between Copley and me last night, for she alludes to something she overheard in the library. I wonder if you can help me?"
Fielden groaned aloud. He had not expected a bitter disappointment like this. He was anxious to avoid scandal. Of course, the public would have to hear the strange story which, like a romance, clothed the Blenheim colt. But there was nothing in that to be ashamed of, nothing which would reflect on the honour either of Sir George or himself. Nor would the vast army of race-goers suffer. But the disappearance of May had altered all that. People would ask questions and neighbours were sure to talk. For the moment it seemed as if Fielden's efforts had been wasted, then an inspiration shot into his mind and he took comfort from it.
"I think I know where to find her," he said. "But it may take me a few days and, meanwhile, you had better let it be known that May has gone away on a visit. We will assume that she is staying with Miss Carden for the present. I need not detain you longer. You will know what to do when Copley turns up to ascertain why the Blenheim colt has not been scratched. For obvious reasons we won't make the discovery public just yet; in fact, I see no reason why it should be made public at all. We can trust May, and I am sure we can trust Raffle, though you will have to tell Copley the truth. Still, as he will be in other hands before long, nothing he can say or do will matter much. I am going up to London and shall be greatly surprised if, when I come back, I don't bring you news of May."
Fielden took his departure, leaving Sir George to his own troubled thoughts. He was properly ashamed of himself. He knew what a humiliating figure he had cut. He knew how two people, whose opinions he valued highly, despised him. Yet, in spite of everything, himself included, he was glad to know that he would be compelled to keep faith with the public. He was glad to know that within a few days Copley would have no further power to harm him. He had known all along, juggle with his conscience as he might, that old Raffle had been perfectly correct in regard to the colt. Notwithstanding the folly of that appearance at Mirst Park, the colt was not so lame as he had made out and in a week or two would be all right again. At the present moment if he risked a thousand or two, there was almost absolute certainty he would get it back fifty-fold at the great Epsom meeting. As Sir George pondered the situation, his mind was equally divided between shame and exultation. He did not fail to see his conduct in its proper light, nor did he fail to see an honourable way out, with credit to himself and a good many thousands in his pocket. He sat thinking until it was time for his solitary dinner. He had proved everything to his satisfaction before he returned to the library for a cigar. He would have given anything to have had May back again, for once she was under his roof, the way looked perfectly clear. He was still weighing the pros and cons when Copley strode angrily into the library.
He had entered unannounced and looked at Sir George with the light of battle in his eye. He stood an imposing, bullying figure. But the master of the house was not afraid.
"What is the meaning of this?" Copley demanded. "I hope you are not trying to shirk your obligations, because if you do, by gad, I shall have to teach you a lesson."
"You mean about the colt?" Sir George asked.
"What else could I mean? You promised he should be scratched this afternoon. It hadn't been done when I left London at six o'clock. Why?"
"Sit down and have a cigar," Sir George said, "and I'll explain to you. But don't adopt that tone to me, because I don't like it. I am not accustomed to it."
Copley burst into an offensive laugh.
"Oh, aren't you?" he said. "We'll precious soon see about that. No, I don't want a cigar or anything to drink. I'll go home again and perhaps I can find another way – "
"I don't think it will make much difference," Sir George said mildly. "I didn't scratch the colt for the simple reason that I find I haven't the power."
"Haven't the power? What are you talking about?"
"I assure you I am speaking the truth. I wasn't in the least aware of it myself till this afternoon. It is quite a story in its way. Now do, please, sit down and listen. The man you know as Field is the son of an old friend of mine named Fielden, who at one time owned a considerable amount of property hereabouts. You may have heard some of the neighbours speak of him. The son preferred not to be known by his proper name, and that is why I introduced him to you as Field. Now Field, or Fielden, whichever you like to call him, is really the owner of the Blenheim colt. If you will be quiet I will tell you all about it. By the way, Fielden knows a good deal about you and also about your friend Foster. He ran against you in South Africa where he was in partnership with a man called Aaron Phillips. I don't know Mr. Phillips myself, but he tells a story which interested me very much. I have just had it from Mr. Fielden's lips. But sit down."
Copley sat down suddenly. His bullying air fell away from him like a garment. He seemed to have some difficulty in getting a light to his cigar. Sir George could almost have smiled as he saw the change in his one-time friend. There was a look of anxiety, almost of anxious misery, in Copley's eyes as he wriggled about in his chair whilst Sir George told his tale.
"There you have it in a nutshell," the latter concluded. "That is the whole romance for you to deal with as you like. It doesn't matter a bit whether I want to serve you or not, you can see for yourself the position I am in and how powerless I am to prevent the Blenheim colt from running in this year's Derby. Mr. Fielden would not consent, even if he hadn't backed the colt to his last penny. You may depend upon it that if the horse starts he is bound to win, for in this year's moderate lot there is nothing to beat him. This upsets all your plans, but you will find that everything I say is correct. You have still time to get out."
"How can I?" Copley asked. "Why, I have laid against the colt till I am tired of it, and if he runs he'll win. But it is no use my sitting here wasting time. I must go back at once and talk this thing over with Foster. I never heard such an extraordinary story in my life. I thought I was up to most of the moves, but a prophet couldn't have foreseen this. One thing is very certain, as matters have turned out I shall want every penny I can scrape together the next few days and I shall look to you to repay what you owe me. Of course, I don't want to be unpleasant, but necessity knows no law."
Sir George waved his cigar gracefully. He felt he could promise with an easy mind.
"Don't let that trouble you," he said. "I think I shall be able to manage. Circumstances alter cases. Must you really go?"
CHAPTER XXXIX
A DRAMATIC EXIT
MAY had taken her fortune in her own hands. She had, as she thought, shaken the dust of Haredale Park from her feet for ever. There was no reason, she thought, why she should not make her own way in the world. Her trinkets were more valuable than she had expected. She had disposed of one for a hundred pounds, and had no anxiety as to the immediate future. But she was miserable enough. Lodgings seemed to cramp and confine her. She missed the pure air of the Downs, and longed once more to feel the exhilarating stride of a good horse under her. At the end of three days she would have given her pride and all her possessions to be back at Haredale. Already she was trying to think of some excuse for returning home.
She did not know how near her wishes were to being gratified. She was not aware that Fielden was looking for her all over London. He had jumped to the correct conclusion that he would find her near to Alice Carden, but the trouble was to obtain Miss Carden's address. It was not till the Saturday morning that he ran against Phillips, who fortunately knew where Carden lived.
"You won't find him at home," he said.
"I don't want him," Fielden smiled. "Thank you very much. I'll see you later in the day, perhaps."
"I'm busy," Phillips said darkly. "I've a good many things to do this morning. I've to interview Selwyn and other big plungers. After that, I have an appointment with one of the leading men of Scotland Yard, which will take us down to Mirst Park with a view to going over a certain house we wot of."
Phillips bustled away and Fielden lost no time in seeking out the modest residence of Major Carden. He was disappointed to hear that Miss Carden was out, but it was gratifying to be told that Miss Carden's friend was in the house. Without waiting for further information, Fielden walked upstairs into the room where May was seated. She had pulled a chair up dejectedly in front of the fire and started at the sound of Fielden's voice. There were tears in her eyes.
"So you have found me out."
"Oh, yes, I have run you to earth," Fielden smiled. "I have been looking for you for three days. I had some difficulty in getting the Major's address, but felt quite sure that when I had that you would not be far off. Like me, May, you have not many friends. And now, don't you think you have been foolish?"
May smiled through her tears.
"But what else could I do?" she asked. "Oh, my dear boy, if you knew everything you would not blame me."
"I think I do know everything," Fielden said gravely. "At any rate, I know why you left home. I had a long interview with your father, and – well, I won't blame him. None of us know what we would do in a temptation like that. That scoundrel Copley had him entirely in his power. Now, tell me, do you know anything of the great conspiracy? Were you in the library the night before you left home, and did you hear Sir George and Copley – "
"I heard everything," May exclaimed. "I must tell you, Harry; I must tell somebody. I never felt so ashamed and humiliated in my life. It was bad enough to be turned out of the house because I refused to marry that man, but when I found that my father had entered into a plot with Mr. Copley to do a disgraceful thing, I felt I could not stay at home any longer. I suppose the mischief is done and the Blenheim colt has been struck out of the Derby. But though the public will never know how they have been swindled, I shall always feel that my father – "
The girl broke down.
"You need not worry about that," Fielden said. "I quite understand what your feelings are. But what you so greatly dread will never happen. Disgrace will be spared you and yours, because your father has not the power to interfere with the colt. Possibly before the day is out Copley will be as helpless as a child. You look surprised and I don't wonder. I am going to tell you something in the nature of a romance. To begin with, the Blenheim colt belongs to me."
May was too surprised to speak. She sat on the arm of Fielden's chair. She did not seem to notice that his arm was around her, and that her head was very near his shoulder. She did not seem to care about anything now that Fielden was with her, and there was a link between the past and the present. It was a fascinating story which Fielden had to tell, much more remarkable than anything May had ever read of between the covers of a sporting novel. When the recital was finished she wiped the tears from her eyes, and a happy smile broke over her face. On the spur of the moment she bent down and kissed her companion.
"Did any one ever hear the like of it?" she exclaimed. "It seems almost too good to be true. It is more like a fairy story than literal fact. But I am glad for your sake, for my sake, and for my father's sake. For he is my father, and it is possible that in his position I might have acted in a like heedless and foolish way. It would have been a terrible blow for him to leave Haredale Park. It is only since I have been in lodgings that I have come to realize what it means to have no home, what it was to turn out of such a dear old place as Haredale. But, Harry, we don't appear to be out of the wood yet. It will be a bitter disappointment to Mr. Copley and his colleague to be deprived of their chance of swindling the public. I am sure Mr. Copley will be none the less vindictive against my father, because this was no fault of his. I am afraid we shall have to leave Haredale in any case."
"I don't think so," Fielden said. "Before long Copley will be powerless. We shall be able to hang on till Derby Day; then the gallant colt will win fortunes for all of us, and I shall be a rich man again. I shall be able to restore the old house and buy back the land, and then I shall have a home fit to ask my wife to. After that we shall be happy, only there won't be any more betting and gambling, because I have learnt my lesson, and it will be all the more effectual and lasting because it has been bitter. Meanwhile nobody knows anything about your trouble with your father except myself and, I presume, Miss Carden. You are supposed to be on a visit to London for a few days. It is lucky you have no maid to make mischief. I must return to Haredale this evening. Let me tell your father that I have explained everything to you, that you are coming back on Monday or Tuesday, and that Miss Carden will accompany you. I know Sir George will be glad to see you. He told me he could not understand how he spoke to you as he did. And, you see, as there is no one to follow your father, as the title will die out with him, Haredale Park will be your own some day. I know you love the place."
"I couldn't tell you how much," May said unsteadily. "It is only during the last few days that I have realized the depth of my affection. I will come back. You may tell father I said so. I will return on Monday as early as possible and I hope you will be there to meet me. I thought I was going to be brave and strong and earn my own living; I thought that wanted no more than the pluck one has to exhibit in the hunting-field. But it is quite different. It must be a matter of custom and surroundings. It is all very well to run up to London to spend a few days with friends, but when you are alone, as I have been, the very size of the place frightens one. You don't know how glad I shall be to be home again. Why, twenty-four hours after I came here I began to cast about for reasons and excuses for going back."
An hour later Fielden left, at peace with all mankind and inclined to take a roseate view of the future. Everything depended on the Blenheim colt. The path was clear and those chiefly concerned were going to have a straight run for their money. The poisonous influence of Copley would be removed. There would be peace and happiness at Haredale Park once more and, above all, May was coming home.
Fielden flung himself down in the corner of his carriage and proceeded to open a late edition of an evening paper. He read the racing news of interest, then turned to the news items on the fifth page. Two headlines caught his attention at once and held him fascinated. They were sensational enough even to the ordinary person, but to Fielden they were pregnant with meaning.
"ALLEGED GREAT TURF FRAUDS
"ARREST OF MR. COPLEY AND MR. FOSTER
"Late this afternoon, the well-known financier, Mr. Raymond Copley, and his private secretary, Mr. Foster, were arrested in London on a warrant in connection with some alleged turf frauds which took place recently at the Post Club. We understand that the warrant was granted at the instance of Mr. Selwyn."
