CHAPTER X.
Theraces had always been a great event in the county, but Skelton’s presence and personal interest in them, and his large outlay upon his stable, gave an increased zest to the sport. On Sundays the gentlemen of the county scarcely went in church until sermon-time at all now, but sat around on the tombstones and talked horse unflaggingly. When it rained they gathered in the low porch of the church, and the murmur of their voices penetrated the great doors and accompanied Mr. Conyers’s voice during the liturgy. Mr. Conyers had conscientious scruples about racing, as he had about everything else, and, seeing how much his congregation was given over to it, and hearing of the large sums of money that would change hands at the spring meeting, he took it upon himself to preach a sermon against the cult of the horse. Skelton, for a wonder, happened to be at church that Sunday with Lewis. As the clergyman preached earnestly and plainly, inveighing against the state of affairs, people had very little trouble in fitting his remarks to certain individuals. He spoke of the wrong of men of great wealth and personal influence throwing both in the scales of demoralising sports; and every eye was turned on Skelton, who bore it unflinchingly and even smilingly.His dark, well-cut face, with its high nose and firm chin, was clearly outlined against the ridiculous purple-silk curtains of his pew. But he did not move an eyelash under the scrutiny of the whole congregation. When Conyers branched off, denouncing the greater folly and wickedness of men who could ill afford it risking their all upon a matter so full of uncertainties, chances, and cheats as racing, that brought Blair upright in his pew. He folded his arms and glared angrily at the preacher. No cool composure was there, but red-hot wrath, scarcely restrained. Then it was old Tom Shapleigh’s turn. Tom was a vestryman, and that was the handle that Conyers had against him when he spoke of the evil example of older men who should be the pillars of decorum, and who were connected with the church, giving themselves over to these pernicious amusements. Old Tom was the most enthusiastic turfite going, and, having become one of the managers of the Campdown course, had not been to a single meeting of the vestry since that event. But he could not have been kept away from the managers’ meeting except by tying him. Mr. Shapleigh was in a rage within half a minute, bustling about in his pew, and slapping his prayer-book together angrily. But nothing could exceed Mrs. Shapleigh’s air of profound satisfaction. “I told you so!� was written all over her face. Sylvia, like Skelton, managed to maintain her composure. When the congregation was dismissed and the clergyman came out among the gossiping people in the churchyard, he was avoided more resolutely than ever, except by a few persons. Skelton walked up promptly, and said:
“Good-morning, Conyers. You scalped me this morning, but I know it comes from your being so unnecessarily honest. As I’ve doubled my subscription to the club, I think it’s only fair to double it to the church, so you may call on me.�
“Thank you,� said Conyers with real feeling, more touched by Skelton’s magnanimity than by his money; “I see you appreciate that what I said was from a motive of conscience.�
“Of course. It won’t damp my enthusiasm for the races, but it certainly shall not turn me from a man as upright as yourself. Good-morning.�
Next came old Tom Shapleigh, fuming:
“Well, hello, Conyers. You made a devil of a mess of it this morning.�
“Mr. Shapleigh, you shouldn’t speak of the devil before Mr. Conyers,� remonstrated Mrs. Shapleigh.
“I’m sure he speaks of the devil often enough before me, and of hell, too, Mrs. Shapleigh!� roared Mr. Shapleigh. “Now, Conyers, I tell you what: if I can’t be a vestryman and on the board of managers too, why, begad! I’ll resign from the vestry.—See if I don’t, Mrs. Shapleigh!�
“And the bishop coming too!� groaned Mrs. Shapleigh—for the long-expected visitation had not yet been made, but was expected shortly.
“And if a man will go to the dogs,� shouted old Tom, growing more angry every moment, “why, horse racing is a deuced gentlemanly road to ruin.�
“You are at liberty to think as you please, Mr. Shapleigh,� said poor Conyers, his sallow faceflushing. “I have done my duty, and I fear no man.�
Sylvia Shapleigh at that moment put her hand in his and gave him one of the kindest looks in the world out of her soft, expressive, grey eyes.
“You always do your duty, and you never fear any man,� she said, and Conyers felt as if he had heard a consoling angel.
The Blairs came along on the heels of the Shapleighs. Mrs. Blair, although usually she bitterly resented any reflection cast on Blair, was yet secretly pleased at the clergyman’s wigging, in the vain hope that it might do some good; so she, too, spoke to Conyers cordially and kindly. Blair passed him with a curt nod. The Blairs proceeded to their rickety carriage—which, however, was drawn by a pair of first-class nags, for Blair could always afford a good horse—and went home. For all their billing and cooing they occasionally differed, and on this occasion they did not bill and coo at all.
Mr. and Mrs. Shapleigh not only did not bill and coo on their way home, but had a very spirited matrimonial skirmish.
“Mr. Shapleigh,� said Mrs. Shapleigh, as soon as she was settled in the coach, “I know what I shall do, after your threat to resign from the vestry. I shall have Mr. Conyers pray for you in church!�
Now, this was the one threat which never failed to infuriate old Tom, because he knew Mrs. Shapleigh was fully capable of asking it, and Conyers was fully capable of doing it. So his reply was a shout of wrath:
“The hell you will! Very well, madam, verywell. The day that Conyers has the effrontery to pray for me, that day my subscription to his salary stops. I’ll not be prayed for, madam—I’ll be damned if I will! And I am a very good Churchman, but if I am prayed for in Abingdon church, I’ll turn Baptist, and be baptized in Hunting Creek just as soon as we have a freeze, so I can risk my life and say my wife drove me to it. And I’ll die impenitent—see if I don’t, Mrs. Shapleigh. No, I’ll do worse: I’ll join the Methodists and pray foryou, madam, in prayer meeting—damn me, that’s what I’ll do!�
This last terrible threat prevailed; for once, Mrs. Shapleigh was beaten, and she knew it.
Blair had continued to feel an almost wild solicitude about Alabaster, and to regard him more and more as a horse of destiny. Nothing could shake this belief, not even when Alabaster suddenly developed in training the most diabolical temper that could be imagined. This, Blair professed to believe, was another guarantee of Alabaster’s speed and endurance; he declared he had never known one of those devilish horses that was not invincible on the race track. But here a serious difficulty occurred. The horse, being so watched and tended by Blair and Hilary, took the most vicious dislike towards the negro stablemen generally, and especially the boy that was to ride him—for most of the jockeys in that part of the world were negro boys. Hilary was the only person that could ride him, and even then he would sometimes kick and bite and plunge furiously; but there was no getting Hilary off a horse’s back, as Alabaster found out. In those days in Virginia the boys rode almost before they walked, and amusedtheir adolescence by riding unbroken colts barebacked.
They rode like Comanche Indians or Don Cossacks. Occasionally an accident happened, but it was regarded in the light of falling downstairs, or slipping upon the ice, or any other unlooked-for dispensation.
Although Skelton and Blair hated each other and made no disguise about it, yet it was not the fashion for gentlemen to quarrel, and so they kept on terms scrupulously. Blair had called upon Skelton a second time, and Skelton was waiting until after the spring race meeting was over and Jaybird had distanced Alabaster before returning the visit. On the occasional Sundays when they met at church, both men talked together civilly enough in a group. Skelton had heard of Alabaster’s sudden demoralisation, and Blair knew it; but Blair had a trump left to play before the final game. One Sunday, soon after this, Mrs. Blair having wheedled Blair into going to church, and Skelton happening along, a number of gentlemen were standing about the churchyard, and some talk about the coming match between Jaybird and Alabaster was indulged in. The deepest interest was felt in this match, and nearly every man in the county had something on it. Blair had so much on it, that sometimes the thought of it drove the ruddy colour out of his face when he was alone and in a reflective mood. And then came in that sudden change in the horse’s temper, and Blair made up his mind that Hilary should ride the horse. The boy was, of course, much more intelligent than the negro jockey, and was, in fact, one of the best riders in acounty where everybody rode well. Mrs. Blair made no objection—she saw too plainly the necessity for not throwing away a single chance—but she was unhappy at the idea that her fresh-faced stripling should be drawn into the vortex.
Blair mentioned this, talking with Skelton and half a dozen men listening.
“Alabaster has got a devil of a temper,� he said frankly, “but my boy Hilary can manage him—that is, as far as anybody can. I think Hilary could keep him in a straight course. Of course, I don’t say he can hold the horse—the chap’s not yet fifteen—but nobody can, for that matter. Alabaster has a mouth of iron, and he knows what other horses don’t know—that nobody can really hold a horse who hasn’t got a mind to be held. But with Hilary it is simply a question of sticking on him and heading him right, and the youngster can do that.�
“Do you apprehend any danger?� asked Skelton.
Blair laughed pleasantly, showing his white teeth.
“Well, I’d apprehend some danger for myself. I weigh a hundred and two-and-sixty, and if the creature landed me unexpectedly in the road it would be a pretty heavy fall; but as for the boy, why, Alabaster could no more get rid of him than he could throw a grasshopper. I would be perfectly willing to back Alabaster with Hilary up against Jaybird with your young friend Lewis Pryor—that is, if you do not apprehend any danger.�
“Done!� said Skelton calmly. He had been caught in a trap, and he knew it; but as Blair had never hesitated to accept a challenge from him, so he wouldnot under any circumstances refuse a challenge from Blair. Of course, he at once saw the drift of Blair’s remark—it was malicious, to bring Lewis forward, and, besides, it was extremely unlikely that he should be so good a rider as Hilary Blair. Nevertheless Skelton said:
“Lewis Pryor has not ridden barebacked ever since he was born, like your boy, but he has been well taught in the riding schools, and he is naturally as fine a rider as I ever saw. Jaybird isn’t vicious; it is more intelligence than anything else in riding him. I think I can trust Lewis farther than the negro boys that do duty here for jockeys. They can ride very much as you say your boy can, but as for any intelligent management of a race, why they are simply incapable of it.�
Blair did not like the comparison between Hilary and the negro jockeys, but he, too, said:
“Done!� And Skelton added:
“Come to my house to-morrow, and we’ll arrange it.�
“No,� answered Blair stoutly. “Come to my house.�
“Certainly, if you wish,� replied Skelton courteously.
As Blair drove home with his wife through the odorous woods, already awaking to the touch of spring although it was only February, exultation possessed him. As for Jaybird, he had long been of the opinion that he was a leggy, overbred beast, all looks and no bottom; and then to be ridden by that black-eyed Pryor boy, that had learned to ride in a riding-school—why it would simply be beer andskittles for Hilary and Alabaster. Even if Jaybird could win the race, Lewis Pryor couldn’t. Mrs. Blair did not wholly share these glorious expectations, and hated the idea of Hilary having anything to do with it.
Skelton’s silent anger grew more and more, as he thought over the pit into which Blair had dropped him. He cared nothing for the money involved, but he cared tremendously for the issue between Blair and himself. And then, to put Lewis up against Hilary! Skelton would cheerfully at any moment have given half his fortune rather than Hilary should have any triumph over Lewis. Then, like Mrs. Blair, he did not think a precocious acquaintance with the race course a good thing for a boy, and so he counted this stroke of Blair’s as another grudge owed to him and assuredly to be paid off.
Bulstrode became every day more disgusted. Work on the great book had come to a standstill. Skelton still got piles of books every month from Europe, and stacks of letters from literary and scientific men, but his heart and soul apparently were in the Campdown course. The whole neighbourhood was arrayed in hostile camps on the question. Some of the women, like Mrs. Shapleigh, openly, and Elizabeth Blair, secretly, opposed it; but among the men, only Mr. Conyers and Bulstrode were not enthusiastically in favour of it. Skelton persistently described Blair’s horses as “the Newington stable,� although Blair himself continued to allude to them deprecatingly as his “horse or two.� And Skelton was always making inquiries into the pedigree ofBlair’s horses, which rather staggered Blair, who knew that they were not above reproach, and that an occasional strain of good blood did not entitle him to call them thoroughbreds. Nevertheless, this could not cure him of his delusion that his “horse or two� would one day beat Skelton’s very best blood and brawn.