Chapter Twelve.
The Floating Cloud.
“Oh, there you are, Simpkins! You must make room for my carriage. Order them to give my coachman a separate stable. Lock up. Ah, Dr Granton, I thought you’d come and see my mare win.”
“I came down on purpose to see you, Lady Tilborough,” was the reply, given with a warm pressure of the hand. “But, of course, I am longing to see your mare carry all before her.”
“Thanks, doctor, thanks,” said the lady, with a meaning smile which made the doctor thrill. “Yes, I mean to win. There are some nice people staying at the Court. I’ll introduce you on the stand, if I have time. But you’ll come over afterwards and dine?”
“Oh, thank you, yes,” cried the doctor, flushing with pleasure. “So good of you. Can I do anything? Let me see that your horses are properly put up.”
“Oh, no, no, no, the coachman will see to that, I could not think of troubling you.”
“Trouble?” said the doctor, with what was intended for an intense gaze full of meaning. “Don’t talk of trouble, Lady Tilborough, when you know.”
“Yes, I know that I am full of anxiety about my mare, and in no humour for listening to nonsense, so hold your tongue. Oh, here’s that dreadful man again.”
For the visitor to the Denes of that morning, minus his little white mongrel, but flourishing his pack of race-cards, suddenly appeared at the window with: “Success to your ladyship, and may yer win every race! You’ll buy a few c’rect cards of Dandy Dinny, the only original purveyor of—”
“Get out, you scoundrel!” cried the doctor, fiercely.
“Cert’ny, my noble doctor; but you’ll buy a c’rect card of—”
He did not finish, for the doctor threw a coin quickly out of the window, and the wretched-looking lout rushed to field it, before he was outpaced.
“Poor wretch!” said Lady Tilborough. “But that was very nice of you. But there, don’t follow me—now.”
She walked off quickly, and the doctor drew a quick breath.
“Bless her! She never spoke to me like that before.”
He turned, full of elation, to find the landlord, with his pencil between his lips, watching him keenly.
“I shan’t dine here, Simpkins,” he said.
“Very good, sir. So I heered.”
“Splendid day for the race.”
“Yes, sir, and the ground’s lovely. Made good book, sir?”
“Oh, yes, capital.”
“Glad to see her ladyship bears it so well.”
“Bears it? Oh, she never gives way to excitement. She’d be cool, even if she felt she would lose.”
“Oh, yes, sir; I know well enough what spirit she has.”
“Rather a big field, though, Sam.”
“Yes, sir; but there’s only one as can stay.”
“Exactly. La Sylphide, of course. By George! I’ll take the liberty of making her namesake a present.”
“Very good of you, sir, but she’s out of it.”
“What?”
“Jim Crow’s the horse, sir. First favourite now.”
“Bah!” cried the doctor.
“What! Ain’t you heard, sir?”
“Heard! Heard what?”
“Lady Tilborough’s mare won’t run.”
“You don’t mean it?” cried the doctor, turning pale.
“Fact, sir. I never plays tricks with gents I knows. Honesty’s the best policy, sir; and you know as you can trust Sam Simpkins.”
“But—but—Good heavens! What does it mean? Lady Tilborough never said a word. Then that’s why I couldn’t see any sign of her people down by the paddock.”
“That’s it, sir.”
“But why? What’s the reason?”
“No jock, sir. Ladyship’s man’s down—acciden’, killed, or ill, or some’at. Anyhow, he can’t ride the mare, and as you well know, nobody else can.”
“Oh!” groaned the doctor.
“Why, you hain’t put anything on her, have you, sir?”
“I have, Sam, heavily, and for a friend as well.”
“Then you’re in the wrong box, sir, and no mistake. That comes o’ gents going on their own hook instead o’ taking a honest agent’s advice.”
“Give me yours now, then, Sam, and I shall be for ever grateful.”
“Anything to oblige an old patron, sir.—All right, I’m a-coming,” cried the trainer, in answer to a call from one of the servants, who came out of a side door. “What is it?”
“Wanted by one of the men from the stables.”
“All right. Here, you look out and hedge all you can, sir. Jim Crow’s your game.”
“The dark horse,” groaned the doctor, wildly; “he must be black. Ah, poor darling, there she is!”
For Lady Tilborough came back, in her quick, eager way. “Ah, doctor, still here?” she cried. “Where’s that scoundrel Simpkins? Hallo! What’s the matter? Bad news?”
“Yes, horrible, I didn’t know. It’s ruin for me; but I don’t care; I’m in agony about you and the losses it means to you.”
“What!” cried the lady, turning pale. “Is there another crux?”
“Yes,” cried the doctor, catching her hands, and the genuine tears stood in his eyes.
“Don’t shilly-shally, man,” she cried angrily. “Out with it, and get it over.”
“La Sylphide!”
“What about her? Some accident?”
“Yes. I’d have given anything not to be the bearer of such hideous news.”
“Let me have it at once, and I’ll bear it like a woman, doctor. I’m not one of your hysterical sort.”
“No; the bravest lady I ever met.”
“Then let me have it. What has the mare done?”
“Thrown your jockey or something. He’s half-killed, I believe.”
“Oh, bosh! Stale news. You mean Josh Rowle?”
“Yes. How can you bear it like that?”
“Bear it?” cried the lady. “You should have seen me a couple of hours ago. Mad, doctor, mad.”
“While now—”
“Merry as a lark, man; I’ve got another rider.”
“You have? Oh, thank goodness! Thank goodness! Don’t take any notice of me, Lady Tilborough. I was quite knocked over.”
“On account of my losing?”
“Well, yes. I was heavily on too, for myself and poor Hilt Lisle.”
“Oh, you did the business for him then? I knew he was in to the tune of four thou’.”
“But your man, Lady Tilborough? Can you trust him to ride the mare?”
“Trust him! Why, it’s Hilt himself.”
“What! Hilt going to ride the mare?”
“Yes, my dear boy; and he’ll save the race.”
“Lady Tilborough, you’ve made me a happy man,” cried the doctor.
“Have I?” she said drily, and with a merry look in her eye. “Well, be happy, for I don’t think you’ll lose, Granton,” she said softly. “I can read men pretty well. Long experience. That was real. You were cut up at the thought of my losing.”
“Cut up?” he cried earnestly and naturally. “It made me forget poor Hilt and myself.”
“Thank you, dear boy,” she said quietly. “I never thought you so true a friend before.”
She glanced at her watch.
“Time’s on the wing,” she said. “Hilt Lisle ought to be here by now; he was to meet me at the hotel, but I must have a look at the mare.”
“May I go with you?”
“If you wish to,” was the reply, and joy began a triumphant dance in the young doctor’s brain, for there was a something in the way in which those words were uttered. None of the light badinage, laughter and repartee, for Lady Tilborough seemed to have suddenly turned thoughtful and subdued, as she passed out, unconscious of the fact that the trainer had entered the hall and was watching her keenly.
“Beg pardon, sir,” he said, following up Granton.
“Oh, bother! Well, what is it?”
“Sorry to see her ladyship so down in the mouth now. You should put her up to a bit of hedging on Jim Crow.”
Granton gave him a peculiar look, full of perfect content, and laughed aloud.
“Moonshine!” he cried, and dashed after the sporting countess.