Ulick was moved, for he knew what it cost his father to speak such words, and acknowledge himself in the wrong. It was an appeal that cut him to the heart to refuse.
"If you knew all, father, you would say I was acting right not to return home at present. To hear you say you are convinced of my innocence has lifted a heavy load from me, and I thank you for those words with all my heart. How I long to return to Hazelwell, you must know, and therefore will understand the weighty reasons I havefor not doing so. Trust me, father, believe in me, and I shall be the happiest man alive."
The Squire did not hesitate. He spoke steadily as he said, "I will trust you, my son. We have been separated too long. If you cannot return with me, I know there must be grave cause of which I know nothing. What it is I cannot imagine, but you will tell me some day, and I hope and pray that it will not be long. If you will not return with me to Hazelwell, you must come to the Walton with me and spend a few days."
"Willingly," said Ulick. "It will be like the good old times for us to be together again."
"I feel a new man," said the Squire, heartily, as he rose to his feet. "We will go and find those two schemers, Eli and Fred, and then have a look at the Saint."
Redmond Maynardopened the door, and, followed by his son, went in search of the culprits. He knew his way about Stanton House, having often stayed there when Fred May trained his horses.
"I know where we shall find them," he said, "in May's room." They entered without ceremony and surprised the worthy pair enjoying a glass of champagne. They looked ludicrously guilty, and the Squire burst out laughing.
"You think you are very clever, no doubt," he said. "As it happens, everything has turned out for the best, but you might have got into trouble had it been otherwise."
"We had not much doubt about succeeding, or we should not have risked it," said Eli. "I am sure you are not sorry we did so."
"No, we are perfectly satisfied," replied the Squire, "and you both deserve credit for all you have done."
The trainer sent for another bottle of champagne, and the Squire and Ulick joined them.
"There is no chance of buying the Saint, Mr. Lanark says," remarked the Squire, smiling; "but as the horse is in the family I do not see that it matters much. One thing you must promise me, when he has finished racing you will send him to the Hazelwell stud."
"With pleasure," replied his son. "But he will stand a lot of training."
"I shall be surprised if he is not running as an aged horse," said the trainer, "for I never saw one with better legs or a sounder constitution; he is built for work, and cannot have too much of it. I only wish he was in the Derby, he is the very horse for that race."
"Let us go and see him," said the Squire. And they went towards the stables.
"I wonder what my father will think of his colour?" said Ulick to the trainer.
"It will surprise him, and he will be disappointed as you were, until he looks him over," was the reply.
"Eli, I shall not forget what you have done for us," said the Squire, as they walked across the yard. "I know it was your plan that brought us together. What made you think of it?"
"I saw you were feeling the separation more every week, and I determined to put a stop to it if I could, so I took Fred May into my confidence, and he eagerly agreed to my scheme."
"I wonder why Ulick will not return to Hazelwell with me?" mused the Squire.
"Is he not going home with you?" asked Eli, surprised.
"No, he says he has good reasons for not doing so. He knows who ran away with Janet, but he cannot tell me. Do you know?" asked the Squire, quickly.
"No," stammered Eli, thinking to himself perhaps Ulick's suspicions rested upon the same man as his own.
The Squire looked at him keenly, and said, "I believe you do. Confound it, I cannot make it out at all; why am I kept in the dark?"
Eli was glad when the trainer called out, "You are going too far; this is the Saint's box."
The Squire's mind was diverted, and he turned sharply round and walked back.
The trainer threw open the door of the box, and the Saint was stripped for their inspection.
The Squire looked at him in astonishment, and said, "Is this a joke, that cannot be the Saint? What a horrible colour! I never saw such a dirty grey before."
They laughed, and Eli was as much taken aback as his master.
"That is the Saint," said Ulick, "and I am not surprised you do not like his colour. I thought asyou think when I first looked at him, and so did his owner, who parted with him solely because of his colour, and has regretted it ever since. I refused to purchase him for no other reason."
"Then who bought him?" asked the Squire.
"Fred May, and resold him to me at the price he gave for him. If it had not been for him I should not have had the colt at all."
"Upon my word I cannot help being disappointed," said the Squire. "He is not fit to look at."
The trainer laughed heartily, as he replied, "Come, Mr. Maynard, that is too bad, after all he has done. He has never been beaten yet, and do not forget he 'downed' the present Derby favourite as a two-year-old. Forget his colour, and examine him for his good qualities. I do not think you will find a fault with him."
The Squire went up to the Saint and carefully handled him. He was a considerable time making his inspection, and said at the conclusion—
"You are right; I cannot find fault with him, he is perfect, except for his colour. What a pity it is; it will never do to breed from him."
"I should chance it," said Ulick. "He may get them a much better colour than himself, and as far as make and shape and performances are concerned, he cannot very well be beaten."
"When does he run again?" asked the Squire.
"In the Coronation Cup in Derby week. It is run over the Derby course, and we want to show them what he can do. He'll meet last year's Derby winner, the Cesarewitch winner, and the Gold Cup winner of last season; if that is not a test of his quality, I do not know where it is to be found," said May.
"That will be a race," replied the Squire, "and I must be there to see it. I have a very good colt foal out of old Honeysuckle I am going to keep, and I shall send him to you at the back-end."
"I shall be very pleased to have him," replied May. "What a wonder Honeysuckle was on the turf, and at the stud she has been even a greater success."
"And that does not always follow," said the Squire.
"By no means," replied the trainer. "The contrary is often the case."
The other horses at Stanton House were looked over, and after luncheon the Squire and his son returned to London, Eli going back to Hazelwell by a different route.
On their way up to town Ulick gave his father a full account of his doings since he left home; and the Squire, in return, informed him of the course of events at Hazelwell.
"If it had not been for Irene I should have been still more lonely," he said. "She was with me last winter for some time, and cheered me up, although I am rather afraid she was not particularly happy herself. I wish you had fallen in love with her instead of Warren, it would have been a good thing for all of us."
"If he only knew how I loved her," thought Ulick. Aloud he said, "She ought to be happy. Anselm Manor is a fine place, and her husband has plenty of money."
"He had," remarked the Squire, "but I do not know whether it is the case now. He gambles and is seldom at home. He had to sell Holme Farm to pay his debts, it was the best part of the estate. He had not the sense to offer it to me; I would have given him half as much again as he sold it for."
Ulick was surprised to hear this; he knew Warren Courtly was very well off, and his gambling transactions must have been very heavy to force him to sell Holme Farm.
"Does Irene know of this?" he asked.
"Yes, she cannot be kept in the dark. They have not been married long, as you are aware, and yet I am very much afraid she has found out her mistake, and, what is worse, I encouraged her to accept him. It has all been a deplorable bungle, but I hope Warren will pull up in time."
They drove from Liverpool Street to the Walton Hotel, and Ulick sent round to his rooms for his clothes.
As he dressed for dinner he little thought that Warren Courtly and Irene were to be of the party; he was unaware of their presence in the hotel, his father purposely not having mentioned it in case it might drive him away.
It wanted half an hour to dinner-time, and he opened the window and looked out across the gardens, the Embankment, and the river. The scene attracted him, although he had seen it many times before; but the dull, dark beauty of the Thames, as it flows through the great city to the sea, possesses an irresistible fascination which seldom palls. London and the Thames are bound together by historical ties which can never be undone. The great watery highway glides heavily along under many vast bridges, past huge warehouses, docks, and shipping from all parts of the world, until it gradually empties itself into the Channel, and is lost in the vast sea. Ulick knew Paris well, and wondered why there were no steamers plying along the Thames as they did on the Seine. He thought it a shame this great river should be thus neglected, for no more imposing view of London can be obtained than from a boat.
He carelessly watched the traffic on the Embankment,and the people lounging on the seats in the gardens below. London is always busy, and yet it contains myriads of human beings whose sole occupation is to kill time.
At the dinner-hour he went downstairs. His father informed him he had engaged a table, and the waiter pointed it out to him. He crossed over and sat down. In a few minutes he saw his father enter the room, and almost fell off his chair in astonishment and dismay as he saw Warren Courtly and Irene with him.
"It is a little surprise I have not exactly prepared for you, but am giving you," said the Squire, smiling. "I have explained to them that we are quite reconciled, and that there are no differences between us."
Ulick shook hands mechanically with Warren Courtly, who felt very uneasy, and Irene, who did not conceal the pleasure it gave her to see him again.
"It is the best news I have heard since you left Hazelwell," she said. "I thought it too good to be true when your father told me of your meeting and reconciliation at Newmarket."
"And I am more than pleased to see you again," he said, earnestly. "You have not quite forgotten your old playmate and companion?"
"Oh, no; I never can forget those days; they were the happiest of my life."
She did not think what she was saying until Warren said abruptly—
"That is not very complimentary to me."
Irene coloured slightly as she replied—
"You understand what I mean."
"And heard what you said," he replied.
"I am very glad Irene was so happy at Hazelwell," said the Squire. "We always tried to make her so."
The conversation during dinner-time seemed to drag; there was a feeling of restraint between the three younger members of the party which the Squire, who was overflowing with good-humoured happiness, failed to notice. He talked freely and well, and Ulick was glad of it. From time to time he glanced at Warren and thought—
"If he knew I had met Janet, and seen him in Mrs. Hoffman's house at Feltham, I wonder what he would do? He knows he has done me an irreparable injury, and yet it does not seem to trouble him much."
After dinner Warren Courtly said he had letters to write, and asked to be excused for half an hour.
The Squire went into the reading-room, "Just for a quiet doze," he said, smiling, and Irene and Ulick were left alone. They went on to the balcony and sat down. It was a beautiful May evening, much warmer than usual, and the air was refreshing after the heat of the room.
"You cannot know how the Squire has suffered during your absence," she said, after a few remarks on various topics. "Do you not think he is older, I mean has aged very much?"
"Yes," replied Ulick, "and I am very sorry if I have been the cause. Still, I could not have acted otherwise. I would do it again if necessary."
She wished to ask him if his father believed in him, knew he had accused him unjustly, but it was a delicate matter. Still, they were old friends, and there could be no harm in it.
"Is the Squire satisfied he made a mistake, and he was in the wrong?" she asked.
"Yes, I have that satisfaction, although I cannot return to Hazelwell at present."
"Not return!" she exclaimed, in surprise. "What reason can there possibly be for that?"
"A grave reason which I cannot explain to you, but which my father accepts, although he fails to understand; may I ask you to do the same?"
"Indeed, yes; but I am very, very sorry you are not coming home," she said.
"I am glad to hear you say that," he replied, earnestly, "because I value your good opinion very much, almost as much, if not quite, as my father's."
"You have always had my good opinion," she said, softly.
"Then you never believed me guilty?" he asked, eagerly.
She hesitated; she had at one time thought he might have become entangled with Janet. She would not deny it now.
"You must forgive me, Ulick," she said. "Remember, I heard the story from the Squire, and I had no opportunity of hearing your side. What else could I do? I confess I thought as he thought, but I no longer do so now you are reconciled."
"You thought me capable of stealing Janet Todd from her father, from Eli, who would have willingly done anything for me?" he said, reproachfully.
"Not that; no, not that," she replied. "I never gave that a thought."
"You did not believe Janet went away with me?"
"No, I was sure she did not."
He looked surprised, she spoke so certainly.
"Why were you sure?"
"Because Eli told me you left the house alone, when Janet was in her room."
"How did he know, he left us alone together when he went out?"
"He was sure of it, and I believed what he told me," she said.
Ulick thought Eli must know more about Janet'sdisappearance than he cared to tell. He did not know where she was, but it was quite possible he knew with whom she ran away.
"He spoke the truth," said Ulick. "I did not injure Janet in any way, nor did she leave home with me."
"I wonder who she went with?" said Irene. "Have you any idea?"
"How can I possibly know?" he said, evasively.
"No, of course not," she replied. "But I cannot understand why you will not come back to Hazelwell."
Warren Courtly joined them. He heard his wife's last remark, and remarked—
"You can have no reason for remaining away now you and the Squire are reconciled."
"I have an excellent reason," said Ulick, looking him straight in the face in a manner that made him feel very uncomfortable.
Warren Courtlyremained in London, and his wife returned home with the Squire. Irene was accustomed to his frequent absences from the Manor, and became somewhat reconciled to being alone. The Squire, however, was exceedingly angry with him, and ventured to remonstrate, but received no satisfaction from the interview; on the contrary, it tended to widen the breach between them.
Ulick promised his father he would return to Hazelwell as soon as circumstances permitted, and the Squire stated his intention of coming at the end of the month to see the Saint run in the Coronation Cup at Epsom.
Warren Courtly had a serious quarrel with Felix Hoffman over the letter he wrote to Irene. Felix, however, was master of the situation, and told him so.
"I know who you are, and that you have a wife at Anselm Manor; I wonder how she would take it if I introduced her to Mrs. Warren?"
"You dare not, you scoundrel," said Warren."I have never lived with Mrs. Warren, you know it."
"I know she is no more Mrs. Warren than I am, unless you have committed bigamy, which is not at all likely," he replied.
"If you say one word to my wife about Mrs. Warren and myself, you will repent it," said Warren Courtly.
"Shall I? Then you will have to make it worth my while to hold my tongue," replied Felix.
"Turning blackmailer, are you?" said Warren. "What is your price?"
"Fifty pounds will carry me over this month, and I promise not to trouble you if I have good luck with it."
"And supposing you have bad luck?"
"Then I am afraid I must trespass upon your generosity again," replied Felix.
"And how long will this sort of thing go on?"
"It all depends upon circumstances. I may not require your assistance for some time."
"And if I refuse your request?"
"Then I shall feel it my duty to enlighten Mrs. Courtly."
There was no way out of the fix, so he paid Felix Hoffman fifty pounds, thankful to be able to keep him quiet for a time, until he could think over what was best to be done.
Why did he not make a clean breast of it to Irene? His folly was committed before he married her, and she could not blame him for attending to Janet's wants. It was shameful to leave Ulick under suspicion. Then he thought, "But he is not under suspicion now. I wonder why he does not go home. It is very curious. He cannot have discovered anything about me, that is almost impossible."
Ulick was half inclined to tax Warren with being the cause of all the trouble, and would have done so in all probability had a favourable opportunity occurred. Fortunately it did not, or angry words might have passed between them, which would have led to a serious quarrel.
Felix Hoffman had bad luck, and a few days after he received the fifty pounds he lost it all, and more with it. He had no hesitation in asking for assistance, which Warren point-blank refused.
"I see what you intend doing," he said, "and I do not mean to be bled. I will face the consequences, and you can do your worst."
Felix Hoffman was taken by surprise at the unexpectedly bold front shown, and said, angrily—
"Very well, you know what will happen."
"But you do not," replied Warren.
"I have a very good idea."
"I have told my wife everything, what do you think of that?"
"I don't believe it," said Felix, quaking lest it should be true.
"You may please yourself about that," Warren answered. "I have no desire to speak to you again."
"Then out of my house Mrs. Warren, or whoever she is, goes neck and crop."
Warren laughed provokingly, as he replied—
"It is not your house, and if anyone goes it will be yourself. I shall have great pleasure in assisting your mother to get rid of you, and I am sure it would be a relief to her."
Felix Hoffman went home in a towering rage. He owed a lot of money, and knew if he did not pay up that the bookmakers would show him scant courtesy. Some of them he had not treated well in his more prosperous days, and they would only be too glad to retaliate.
Mrs. Hoffman knew her son's temper was none of the best, and she saw he was in a bad humour. He did not, however, mean to let her into his secret as to the identity of Mr. Warren, nor had he any desire that Janet should leave the house; on the contrary, now he had calmed down, he was sorry he hinted at such a thing to Mr. Courtly.
He cudgelled his brains as to which was the best way to obtain money. He repaid the loan of five pounds to Mrs. Courtly in order to inspire her with confidence in him; he would write again and ask for a loan of five-and-twenty pounds; it was not much but it would be useful as a stop-gap.
He was careful over the composition of the letter, and anxiously awaited a reply. It came, and there was no money enclosed.
Mrs. Courtly wrote to the effect that her husband had warned her against him as an unprincipled cheat. She explained that she had shown his former letters to him, and that was his comment upon them. She had no desire to hold further communication with him.
This roused Felix Hoffman, and his anger for a time mastered him. He would make Warren Courtly pay dearly for this, and give his wife a shock she would not get over for a long time.
Janet little thought, as she sat reading a novel, what was going on in the next room.
Felix seized pen and paper, and commenced writing furiously. He read the letter when finished, and found it ridiculous. He must write in a calmer, more methodical and convincing strain, or she would take no notice of it.
At the end of an hour he had composed something that suited him. He could give her some information about her husband, and his goings on when in London, that would open her eyes, but he must be well paid for it, and have a hundred pounds down. He hinted that there was a lady in the case who went under the name of Mrs. Warren. "She resides with my mother, whose address I will send you if you forward me the amount I have named. I assure you what I write is true, and you can prove it for your own satisfaction. I have seen Mr. Courtly there many times with the lady named." There was more to the same purpose. "If that does not fetch her, I'll never write another letter," he said, with satisfaction at the thought that he was firing a mine that would explode in a manner Warren Courtly little dreamed of.
When Irene received the letter she was at first inclined to tear it up, but curiosity prevailed, and she read it. Her cheeks burned with anger. How dare this scoundrel make such a charge against Warren. Whatever he might do in the way of gambling and spending money foolishly, she was sure he would not deceive her as this man suggested.
She read the letter again, and became more uneasy. It was within her power to find outwhether he had told her a lie or otherwise. Was it a ruse to get a hundred pounds out of her? That could hardly be the case, because the writer gave his address and was known to Warren, who could bring him to book for slandering him. She thought over his constant absence from home, his frequent visits to London, even when no racing was going on, his increased expenditure. Might not a portion of the money go in the manner suggested? Irene had very little knowledge of such matters, yet she had sense enough to perceive that if Warren was entangled much money would be required. She became restless and excited. Something must be done, she could not exist in this state of suspense. If Warren had deceived her, she would never live with him again.
Eventually she wrote, enclosing the amount required, and requesting Mrs. Hoffman's address.
Felix was delighted at the success of his scheme, and sent the same address he had given before.
"My mother lives with me," he wrote, "and Mrs. Warren is in the house. She is nearly always at home; but if you call and she happens to be out, my mother will attend to you. Ask to see Mrs. Warren."
"Living in the same house," thought Irene, "then it must be true. Oh, how miserable I am."
She made arrangements to go to London, taking her maid with her, and requesting Mrs. Dixon to inform Mr. Maynard of her departure. "Tell him I shall stay at the Walton with Warren, and that we shall probably remain until after Epsom week."
She had no idea whether Warren was at the Walton, or otherwise, because he always wrote from his club. She thought of the scented paper on which he had once written, and her heart sank.
Mary Marley, her maid, was surprised, but delighted at the prospect of a visit to London, for it was some time since she had been there.
Irene was silent during the journey, and went to bed early after dinner. Her maid was surprised her master was not there, but she made no remark. She knew her place. Next day Irene went out alone. She drove to Waterloo and booked to Feltham. Arriving at the station, she asked for Mrs. Hoffman at the address given. The porter directed her, and looked at her admiringly as she left the station, as it was seldom he saw such a stylishly dressed lady, and wondered who she could be.
Irene's heart beat painfully fast as she walked slowly along the road. The house was not far from the station the porter told her, and she dreaded reaching it. She felt half inclined to turn back. Perhaps it was some cunning trap laid for her by this man. She had read of the mysterious disappearances of women, and the prospect was not pleasant. She did not lack courage, and as she had come so far she would not turn back.
She reached the house, opened the gate, and rang the bell. Mrs. Hoffman opened the door.
"Does Mrs. Warren live here?" asked Irene, dreading her answer.
"Yes. She is out doing a little shopping at present. Will you come in, my lady?" said Mrs. Hoffman, overwhelmed at the sight of such expensive raiment and at Irene's aristocratic features.
"Thank you, I am anxious to see her," she said, as she entered the house, feeling that her life was about to be shattered, and all her fears realised, before she left it again.
Mrs. Hoffman opened the door of the front room, and said—
"This is Mrs. Warren's sitting-room; I am sure she will not be long."
Irene thanked her and sat down. As she did not seem inclined to talk, Mrs. Hoffman discreetlywithdrew, although she would dearly have loved to linger and gossip.
Irene looked round the room curiously. It was neatly furnished, but there was nothing to give her a clue as to the identity of its occupier, nor did she see anything indicative of Warren's frequent presence in the house. She was relieved at this; after all, there might be some mistake, and she could apologise and leave. She would willingly have given another hundred pounds to find out she had been deceived by Felix Hoffman, and allowed him to go scot free into the bargain.
Irene moved about the room looking at sundry books and papers lying about on the table. She saw no signs of work-basket, or anything to indicate that Mrs. Warren was industrious, and again her hopes sank.
Time passed slowly, and she commenced to feel uneasy. She was inclined to leave the house. She rang the bell and Mrs. Hoffman appeared.
"Do you think Mrs. Warren will be much longer?" she asked. "Perhaps I had better call again, but as I came from London I am anxious to see her."
"I expected her in before this," said Mrs. Hoffman. "Perhaps you had better wait as you have come so far."
"Will Mr. Warren be with her?"
"Oh, dear no; he seldom comes now," said Mrs. Hoffman.
Irene was thankful for this; it was a grain of comfort, and she anxiously caught at any straw.
"They do not live together," said the gossiping woman, "but the separation is by mutual consent. They quarrel occasionally when he is here, and he always seems glad to get away. Mrs. Warren is a nice lady, I like her very much, but of course you know her?"
"Of course," echoed Irene.
"And her husband?"
"Yes."
"I wonder who she is?" thought Mrs. Hoffman. "She's not in the same circle as Mrs. Warren, that's certain. How did she find out the address?"
"Mrs. Warren sent you her address I suppose?" asked Mrs. Hoffman.
"I knew it," was Irene's answer, "or I should not have been here."
Mrs. Hoffman felt it would be indiscreet to put further questions on this matter. She heard the gate click and said—
"I expect this is Mrs. Warren. I will mention you are here. What name, please, my lady?"
"Do not tell her anyone has called to see her," replied Irene, hastily, "it will be a pleasant surprise for her, as she does not expect me."
"Youhave been a long time," said Mrs. Hoffman to Janet.
"I went for a walk through the Park; it is such a nice morning," she replied.
Irene heard her voice and started at the sound. It was familiar. Where had she heard it before? She felt she was on the verge of a startling discovery, and became agitated. She determined not to appear at a disadvantage, and therefore controlled her feelings.
Janet entered, unaware there was anyone in the room, and as Irene was hidden from view behind the opened door she did not see her. She walked to the table to put down a parcel and Irene saw her. At first she was too bewildered to speak; then she said sharply—
"Janet, what are you doing here?"
Janet Todd looked round, frightened and startled at the unexpected question. When she saw Irene she staggered back and sank into a chair, covered with shame and confusion. She made no answer, and Irene stood looking at her,still unable to grasp the full meaning of the situation.
"How is it you are living here?" she asked. "Are you a friend of Mrs. Hoffman or Mrs. Warren?"
Janet looked at her with tears in her eyes, and said, in a broken voice—
"Oh, why have you come here? Please go away and leave me; I am a miserable, wretched woman."
It was far from Irene's intention to leave her without learning the truth. The appearance of Janet was totally unexpected, and she could not account for it.
"I shall not leave you until you tell me why you are in this house, and who induced you to leave your home. I know it was not Mr. Maynard."
"It was not; he is a good, brave man, and would never wrong any woman," said Janet. "I cannot tell you why I am here—I dare not."
"I was told to ask for Mrs. Warren. Where is she?"
"Who told you to ask for her?"
"That does not matter." Then it suddenly occurred to her that Janet might be Mrs. Warren, and the thought seemed to freeze the blood in her veins. She came forward and, bending over her, said in a low voice—
"You are not Mrs. Warren, are you? Tell me you are not, Janet, for pity's sake."
She made no reply, but sobbed convulsively, her body shook, and she shivered painfully.
"Are you Mrs. Warren?" asked Irene again, in a tone which demanded an answer.
"Yes," faintly sobbed Janet.
"And Mr. Warren is my husband. Janet, how could you do me such a bitter wrong? I have always been your friend," said Irene.
Despite the trouble and confusion she was in, Janet saw there was a misunderstanding, and she must do all in her power to make the best of things.
"I did not wrong you," said Janet. "I ran away with Mr. Courtly before you were married to him. If there be any wrong, you did it to me by taking the place I ought to have occupied."
Irene started; Janet was putting a different complexion on the case.
"So it was my husband who induced you to leave your home?" she asked.
"Yes, and he promised to marry me."
"And you believed him?"
"Yes."
"Did you leave your father's house with him the night Mr. Maynard had the quarrel about you?"
"I did."
"You saw him that night?"
"Yes, and he told me everything, but forbid me to speak about it to the Squire. He was very angry, and said his father had no right to accuse him, and that he would not return to Hazelwell until he asked his forgiveness."
"Did you tell him you had arranged to leave home with Mr. Courtly?"
"No, I dare not; he would have told my father, and I should have been detained."
"And you have known all this time that suspicion rested upon Mr. Maynard, and that he was suspected of having gone away with you?" asked Irene.
"That is so, but he has forbidden me to speak about it."
"He knows you are here!" exclaimed Irene.
"Promise you will not mention it to anyone, and I will tell you all," said Janet.
Irene sat down and, as she did so, said—
"If I promise I will not mention what you tell me to anyone but my husband, will that satisfy you?"
"Why inform him?"
"Because I may find it necessary," said Irene.
"It will be better not to do so."
"I am the best judge of that," she replied.
Janet then gave Irene a full account of her life since leaving home with Warren Courtly, andhow Ulick had called to see her, after accidentally catching sight of her in Feltham, and of his presence in the house when Warren Courtly called.
"Mr. Maynard knows all?" exclaimed Irene, in consternation.
"Everything," replied Janet, "and he was most anxious you should not discover the truth. He will be very angry if he finds out I have told you."
Then it was to save her pain and shame Ulick had allowed the blame to rest upon his shoulders, knowing at the same time her husband was guilty. Why had he done this for her sake? Her heart answered her, and she knew he loved her and that she loved him. What a mistake it had all been. The Squire had blundered, and Ulick had thrown away his chance of happiness and her own by his hasty conduct. It was done, and could not be undone, and she must bear it as well as she was able. How she wished Janet had told him, the night he left Hazelwell, that she was about to leave her home with Warren Courtly. Ulick would have prevented it, and everything would have been so different.
It was some time before she spoke; then she asked—
"What is my husband to you now?"
"Nothing," said Janet, colouring. "Since he married you we have lived entirely apart. Youcan believe what I say. I have no love for him, he has none for me. He makes me an allowance, which he has a right to do. We are not even good friends, and I do not care if I never see him again. I was a vain, foolish girl when I ran away with him, and have bitterly repented it ever since. Mr. Maynard told me my father was anxious for me to return home, and he strongly advised me to do so, until he discovered who Mr. Warren was; then for your sake he bade me keep silent and remain where I am."
Irene was somewhat relieved at this. From Janet's statement she gathered her husband had been faithful to her since their marriage, and that, to a great extent, condoned his offence towards herself, but she could not forgive him for so cowardly allowing the blame to rest upon Ulick. The contrast between the two came vividly before her. Her husband hiding his wrongs by sacrificing a friend; Ulick Maynard knowingly bearing the blame to shield her from sorrow and shame. She felt sorely tempted to go to Ulick, fling herself into his arms, and ask him to take her away from it all. She knew he would resist this temptation for her sake, and after a moment's consideration she also knew it was impossible for her to act in such a manner.
"We must keep this interview to ourselves," said Irene. "No one must know of my visit, andyou must tell Mrs. Hoffman I am a friend, any name will suffice to satisfy her. I am very sorry for you, Janet, and advise you to return to your father."
"I cannot. Mr. Maynard made me promise not to do so until he gave me permission, and I could not face the people in Helton after what has happened."
"You will live that down," said Irene. "I will take care no one talks about you, as far as I am able, and I can do a good deal to help you."
"It is very kind of you," replied Janet, "and I hope some day to see my father and live with him again. I am not so bad, and I have kept myself respectable since I ran away."
"I quite believe that," replied Irene. "Do you think my husband will call here again?"
"I hardly know; he has posted me money lately. I have no desire to see him," replied Janet.
"You will oblige me by not seeing him," said Irene. "Forbid him the house. If you require money write to me, and I will send it."
"He might see the letter and recognise my handwriting."
"That is of no consequence. If he does he will soon learn I have seen you and know everything," said Irene.
"I will write and tell him I wish him to keepaway from the house, and I feel sure he will do as I desire," said Janet.
Irene remained some time longer, for they had much to talk about. When she was leaving Janet said she would write to her at once if there was anything of importance she thought she ought to know.
When Irene returned to the Walton, her maid told her Warren Courtly had called, and was very angry when he discovered his wife had come up to London without informing him.
"The manager told him you were here," said Mary. "I expect he thought he had come to see you."
"Did you see Mr. Courtly?"
"Yes, and he asked me where you had gone. I told him I did not know, but that I expected you back in the afternoon, and he said he would be here for dinner."
Irene went to her room, and after dismissing her maid thought over the best course to pursue. Should she tell him of her meeting with Janet, and that she had learned everything, or would it be better to leave him in the dark? What excuse could she give for her journey to London? State she had come to give him a pleasant surprise, and that the Squire would be there in a day or two for the Epsom week. Perhaps that would be the better plan. If he was unreasonablycross and irritable, she might possibly throw out a hint that would startle him and make him more careful.
It was four o'clock, and she did not expect him for dinner before seven, so there was ample time to review the eventful morning she had spent with Janet Todd. This she was doing when her maid knocked at the door and said Mr. Ulick Maynard had called to see her.
Irene did not expect him, his father must have written at once to inform him she had gone to town.
"Where is he?" asked Irene.
"In the reading-room."
"I will see him in my sitting-room," she said; and her maid went away to give the necessary instruction.
"I am glad to see you," said Ulick, as she entered the room. "It is an unexpected pleasure. I had no idea you were in town until my father wrote me a hurried note."
She shook hands with him, and as she did so the thought that he knew what her husband had done, and how he had acted, caused her some confusion, at which Ulick wondered.
"I came to town to give Warren a surprise," she said, hurriedly. "I have not seen him yet, but he has called, and my maid says he did not seem overwhelmed with joy at my presence."
"Then he ought to have been," said Ulick.
"He is joining me at dinner. Will you make one of the party?" she asked.
"If you wish it, and you think he will have no objection?"
"I am sure he will be pleased to see you."
"In that case I have no hesitation in accepting. I will run home and dress."
How lovely Irene looked; he felt he must go away, leave her presence, or he would be tempted to betray his feelings. He little knew how strongly she controlled herself, and how deeply she loved him. It was well for them that it should be so.
Warren Courtly's temper had not improved when he arrived again at the Walton. He went to Irene's room and waited impatiently for her, and she did not keep him long.
"What brings you to town in such a hurry?" he asked.
"I felt lonely and thought I would give you a surprise," she said, with a faint smile.
"You had no business to come without first writing me about it."
"I saw no harm in it."
"Harm, no; but it is a strange proceeding on your part," he replied.
"Are you not pleased to see me?" she asked.
"Of course I am," he answered, testily. "It'sthe manner of your coming I do not approve of."
"You will soon recover from the shock," she said, carelessly. "Shall we dine at seven. I have invited Ulick Maynard to join us. He called this afternoon, and I thought it only polite. He accepted on condition you had no objection, and I said you would be very pleased to see him."
Warren Courtly with difficulty suppressed an oath. Of late he had avoided Ulick, and he was the last man he cared to meet.
"I would rather have had you to myself," he said.
"Ulick is such an old friend, he will make no difference," she replied.
"You are precious fond of his society still," he said, showing his ill-temper; "I should have thought you would have preferred being alone with me, if you came down to give me a surprise. Perhaps you wrote and informed him you were coming here."
Irene was angry at this remark, and said—
"You know I did no such thing, and I am surprised at you insulting me by such a remark. His father wrote and gave him the information."
"At your suggestion," sneered Warren.
"You are in a bad temper, and forget yourself," she replied. "I will leave you to recover your manners. Remember one thing, if youmake any more suggestions of a similar kind at dinner I shall retaliate. I am quite capable of giving you a very unpleasant surprise if you fail to treat me with respect."
She went out of the room, and he stood looking at the closed door. Then he said to himself—
"What has come over her? I never found her in this mood before. I must get to the bottom of it. Retaliate, will she? Well, we shall see."
Itwas not a social meal, anything but that, and they were glad when it was over. Warren Courtly, irritable and ill at ease, spoke once or twice to his wife in such a manner that Ulick glared at him savagely; he noticed it, and enjoyed it.
Unfortunately, Warren was going from bad to worse. He realised the truth of the saying that evil communications corrupt good manners. At his club he played bridge and lost large sums. On the racecourse he tried to repair these losses, with the inevitable result. His fortune, at one time ample, gradually dwindled away, and he knew that if he did not pull up Anselm Manor would be in the market in a couple of years or so.
Irene had no idea things were as bad as this; her mind was occupied with other matters. The knowledge she possessed of her husband's conduct towards Janet Todd and Ulick she found burdensome. She was positively certain Ulick would not tell the Squire, and she felt he oughtto know, but she had promised Janet to tell no one but her husband. When she left them to retire for the night, Warren commenced to talk about racing. He had a substantial bet about Sandstone for the Derby at very fair odds, and was sanguine of winning. He discussed the race with Ulick, who was of the same opinion that Sandstone would win.
"If he does," Ulick remarked, "I should put part of the winnings on my horse for the Coronation Cup."
"Your horse!" exclaimed Warren. "I had no idea you owned one."
"More than one—several," replied Ulick; "but the Saint is the best."
"You own the Saint!" said Warren, more and more surprised. "I have heard it said he is the best three-year-old we have."
"He is not far short of it," he replied. "At least, that is the opinion of Fred May, and he is a very good judge."
"You are lucky to own such a colt. Where did you pick him up?"
Ulick explained how he came to possess him, and Warren said, grumbling, that some people had all the luck.
"I have been deuced unfortunate of late," he went on, "and a big win is the only way out of the difficulty that I can see. If Sandstone landsthe Derby I will have a plunge on your horse. I am much obliged to you for telling me."
"I shall be glad to hear of your winning a good round sum," replied Ulick. "I was sorry to hear you were compelled to part with Holme Farm."
Warren's face clouded. He had heard quite enough about that, and said—
"I don't see what there is to make such a fuss about. Something had to go; why not that part of the estate as well as another?"
"My father says he would have given you half as much again for it."
"I could not have accepted it; he would merely have done it out of kindness."
Ulick thought this probable, and knew his father would do that, and more, for Irene's sake.
The Squire arrived at the Walton, and was feverishly anxious for the Saint's race to be decided. Fred May had sent glowing accounts of the colt's progress, and considered he had a chance second to none.
"We will show them what he is capable of this time; it will be the race of his life. He has never been quite so fit as he is now, and I fear nothing, not even Vulture," he wrote.
"By Jove! that is good news," said the Squire. "The olive green will win, my boy."
On Derby Day they all went to Epsom, whereRedmond Maynard had a box, and the great scene was repeated as it has been for many years.
It was one of the sights of the world, most uncomfortable, but unique.
Sandstone won somewhat easily, and Warren was jubilant. He meant to invest the bulk of his winnings on the Saint.
He confided to Irene that if Ulick's colt won his difficulties would be well-nigh at an end.
"I had no idea you were in difficulties," she said.
"Not very serious," he replied, in an off-hand manner, which did not deceive her, "but still bad enough to be unpleasant."
Thursday, the day after the Derby, was fixed for the Coronation Cup, and the half-dozen horses that were likely to go to the post were all great performers.
It was a meeting of champions, a race to be remembered, and a thorough sporting affair. The crowd was much larger than usual on this day, and the race was looked forward to with as much eagerness as the Derby had been the previous day.
Warren Courtly was in a fever of excitement. He had backed the Saint to win him several thousands, and when he saw him in the paddock felt inclined to put more on.
The colt's peculiar colour rendered him easily distinguishable, and he was mobbed in the paddock, taking it as unconcernedly as usual.
Ben Sprig was to ride him again, and he felt a trifle anxious as to the result. He had never been beaten on the Saint, having scored five victories in succession; but he knew the five horses he was to meet in about a quarter of an hour were probably the best in the country.
Vulture had won the Derby the previous year, as easily as Sandstone, and followed it up by a St. Leger victory. Coralie, a handsome mare, had an Ascot Gold Cup to her credit. Avenger made hacks of the last Cesarewitch field. Decoy Duck was an Eclipse winner; and Mermaid landed the Oaks in Vulture's year. Well might men gasp and exclaim, "What a field. It beats the Derby into a cocked hat."
No wonder the betting was fast and furious, and backers were split up into half-a-dozen parties. It was the more venturesome speculators who stood by the Saint. The old hands preferred one of the other tried stayers.
"It is too much to expect of him," they said of the Saint. "It's more than Sandstone could do, and look how he won the Derby yesterday."
Vulture was favourite, then Coralie and Avenger, and the Saint figured at eight to one.
"It is a real good price," said the Squire. "I must have a hundred on," and when he had booked that he longed for more, hesitated a moment or two, and then doubled it.
Irene caught the fever and made Warren put a "pony" on for her.
Ulick had a small amount going, and Warren had plunged.
Cautious Fred May departed from his usual custom of having "a tenner on" and invested fifty, and had done the same for Ben Sprig, who was not supposed to indulge in such iniquitous practices, for fear of the far-reaching arm of the stewards of the Jockey Club. Ben was a cautious man, and could conscientiously say he had never made a wager in his life—it was always done for him.
Great was the excitement as the horses went on to the course. Vulture, wearing the stars and stripes of his American owner, was first out, his jockey sitting crouched on his withers—an ugly sight, but often effective. Then came the handsome Coralie, in purple and scarlet, followed by Avenger's yellow and red cap, with Decoy Duck and Mermaid close behind.
"There's only five of 'em," said one spectator. "Where's the other? What is it?"
"The Saint, of course; Ben Sprig's up, he's always last out."
The Saint cantered slowly down as the others galloped past, and Ben, whipping him round, followed in the rear before half the onlookers were aware the colt had come out of the paddock.
Away they went to the famous Derby starting-post. Here Vulture showed his scant respect for decorum by lashing out all round, and in a final flourish tried to dash through the tapes, but did not succeed.
After a quarter of an hour wasted by these vagaries on the part of the favourite, the half-dozen started on their journey.
Coralie dashed off with the lead, followed by Vulture and Avenger, with the other three close up. It was evident it was to be a race from start to finish between the lot. They disappeared from view, and as they came in sight again, the mare still led, and the horses ran wide. The half-dozen were all on terms with each other. Tattenham Corner was reached and the crowd on the new stand cheered wildly as they swept past. It was here that Ben Sprig always looked out for a chance of gaining a few lengths. He wanted them more than ever on this occasion, and meant getting them if possible. He hugged the rails, and kept the Saint well in hand. He lost no ground but he gained none, as they were all adopting similar tactics, and none of the horses ran wide.The half-dozen seemed dangerously heaped together as they rounded the bend, and the crowd on that part of the course anticipated a spill, but happily it did not occur. Coralie led down the hill, the purple and gold glittering and shining royally in the sunlight.
The party in the Squire's box were unusually excited, which was not to be wondered at. Fred May was invited to join them, and he was more anxious than he had ever been before over the result of a race.
He had said he "feared nothing," with the Saint, and meant it. If he had a dread of one, it was Vulture, for he knew him to be a great horse, despite his temper.
"They keep their places," said the Squire, "but I fancy the Saint is drawing up a trifle."
Warren Courtly was very pale, and his hand shook as he held his glasses. Irene glanced at him, and thought—
"Much depends on this race, or he would not be like that." She turned to Ulick, who stood at her side, and said, "You take it coolly, are you confident of winning?"
"Yes, I think he will win; I know Ben is riding a splendid race, and saving him for the finish up the rise. That is where it tells."
"I do hope he will win, Ulick," she said.
He looked into her eyes and read more than he dared hope for.
Coralie had run well, but now they were racing in deadly earnest.
Vulture wrested the lead from her, and his giant stride told its tale. He shot out like a greyhound, and a great shout greeted the favourite's move. Avenger was close on his heels, and Ben was gradually creeping up with the Saint.
They were in the hollow now, in full view of the crowded stands, and the battle was watched with the greatest interest.
Not more than five lengths between the six horses—a sight seldom seen in such a race. Decoy Duck and Mermaid were in the rear.
"I am afraid he will hardly do it," said the Squire, "but what a race it is; there will be no disgrace in being beaten."
Warren Courtly bit his lip and looked desperate. Would the Saint get up and win? It seemed impossible; and yet the trainer and Ulick looked confident, so there must be a chance. The victory of Ulick's horse meant much to him, of his defeat he dare not think.
Seething with excitement, the vast crowd surged wildly, and roar after roar proclaimed the desperate nature of the struggle.
Ben Sprig knew the time had come when he must ask the Saint to go one better than he hadever done before. He knew what a good colt he was, he never doubted his courage, but in front of him was Vulture, a more than ordinary Derby winner, Avenger, the Newmarket crack, and the handsome Coralie. He knew he had the Ascot Cup winner at his mercy, he fancied Avenger would have to play second fiddle to the Saint, but what about Vulture? Would he be able to catch him, and, if he did, beat him? For the first time since he had ridden the Saint he doubted. Vulture was three lengths ahead, and striding along without a falter. It seemed almost impossible to catch him, but Ben knew the impossible often became the possible with a good horse. Win he must; the Saint should not lower his colours; the olive green should never strike to the stars and stripes, and he, Ben Sprig, the exponent of the old school of riding, would not succumb to the efforts of that crouching little Yankee in front of him. Ben felt the blood tingle in his veins, and his heart beat fast.
The Saint felt his grip, and knew it meant mischief. The colt was full of fire, he never had flinched, and he never would.
Who that saw it will ever forget that memorable moment on a memorable day? Who that heard them will forget the ringing cheers, the shouts of victory? Who forget the sight of that flash of olive green, which seemed to shoot forwardwith lightning speed? Ben Sprig fancied he was being hurled through space; even he had never expected this of the Saint.
Ulick's colt passed Coralie like a flash, drew level with Avenger, beat him, and ran up to the Vulture's quarters before people had time to grasp the wonderful feat.
Fred May shouted for joy; he forgot he was a trainer, and therefore expected to regard everything as a matter of course. Ulick shouted, the Squire waved his hat, Warren Courtly sat down, the strain was too great, and Irene felt a peculiar swimming sensation in her head.
Vulture's jockey was not caught napping—Americans seldom are—and he rode his best, but he had met his match. The grim determination of the elder man was not to be denied. Ben Sprig felt his honour was at stake, he must "beat this kid." The two magnificent thoroughbreds struggled desperately, they fought for victory as only "blue bloods" can, and they knew what it all meant as well as the riders. There is no sight in the world so thrilling as the final struggle of two gallant racehorses; it is the highest form of sport, the most soul-stirring scene a man can behold; he becomes part and parcel of the battle going on before his eyes.
Vulture and the Saint were level, the stars and stripes and the olive green were locked together.Only for a second or two it lasted, and then Ulick's colt gained the vantage, and "Mr. Lanark's" champion won the Coronation Cup by a short head, after one of the grandest struggles ever witnessed on any course.