CHAPTER V.
When Aunt Deborah is laid up with one of her colds she always has a wonderful accession of "propriety" accompanying the disorder; and that which would appear to her at the worst a harmless escapade when in her usual health and spirits becomes a crime of the blackest dye when seen through the medium of barley-broth and water-gruel—these being Aunt Deborah's infallible remedies for a catarrh. Now, the cold in question had lasted its victim over the Ascot meeting, over our picnic to Richmond, and bade fair to give her employment during the greater part of the summer, so obstinate was the enemy when he had once possessed himself of the citadel; and under these circumstances I confess it appeared to me quite hopeless to ask her permission to accompany Cousin John on a long-promised expedition to Hampton Races. I did not dare make the request myself; and I own I had great misgivings, even when I overheard from my boudoir the all-powerful John preferring his petition, which he did with a sort of abrupt good humour peculiarly his own.
"Going to take Kate out for another lark, aunt, if you have no objection," says John, plumping down into an armchair, and forthwith proceeding to entangle Aunt Deborah's knitting into the most hopeless confusion. "Only some quiet races near town; all amongst ourselves, you know—gentlemen riders, and that sort of thing."
Aunt Deborah, who is a good deal behindhand in all matters connected with the turf, and who has set her face into a determined refusal when she hears the word "racing," rather relaxes at the mention of "gentlemen riders," and replies gravely, "John, I want to talk to you about Kate. The girl's wild after horses and hounds and all such unfeminine pursuits. I wonder you like to see it yourself, my dear. Now, don't you think it would be far better to encourage her in domestic tastes and amusements? I give you my word, she hasn't done a bit of worsted-work for a fortnight."
John's face must have been good at this piece of intelligence; if there is one thing he hates more than another it is "cross-stitch." But he replied with exemplary gravity that "Cousin Kate never was strong, you know, aunt, and she is ordered to be a good deal in the open air, with plenty of horse exercise; and this is delightful weather for riding."
"Well, John," says Aunt Deborah, "of course, if you don't mind it, I needn't; you'll be the sufferer, my dear, not I" (I wonder what she meant by that?); "and I must let her go if you choose to take her, John. How like your father you're growing, my handsome boy!" and Aunt Deborah kissed Cousin John on the forehead, with tears in her eyes; and they called to me to get ready, and the horses came round, and in less than ten minutes we were up and away.
It was very gratifying to overhear the complimentary remarks made upon the general appearance of White Stockings, whom I had ridden down to save Brilliant, and who, despite his ugliness, is a very hunting-looking horse.
"Looks a game 'un, don't he, squire?" remarked a jolly-looking Surrey farmer in top-boots to a dilapidated friend in a white neckcloth. "Shouldn't wonder if he couldn't kick the dirt in some of their faces, with that tight lass to keep his head straight." The friend was a melancholy man, and nodded his silent affirmative with a sigh. I think, early as it was, they had both been drinking.
"Look at that chestnut horse!" exclaimed a good-looking boy of some twenty summers, who had coached his own drag down, like a second Phaethon, only as yet with better luck, and was now smoking a huge cigar on its roof. "Isn't he the image of old Paleface? Who's the woman, eh? Does nobody know her? I'll ask her to come and sit up here. She looks like a lady, too," he added, checking himself. "Never mind, here goes!" And he was jumping off the coach, to tender me, I presume, his polite invitation in person, when his arm was caught by the man next him, who was no other than John's friend, Captain Lovell.
"Charley, stop!" exclaimed Frank, flushing all over his handsome face and temples. "I know her, I tell you. Have a care; it's Miss Coventry." And in another instant he had bounded to the earth, accosted my chaperon with a hearty "Jack, how goes it?" and was deep in conversation with my humble self, with his hand on my horse's neck—Frank always wears such good gloves—and his pleasant countenance beaming with delight at our chance interview. I liked the races better after this, and should have spent a happier day, perhaps, without the society of Mrs. Lumley, who appeared likewise on horseback, quite unexpectedly, and was riding the most beautiful brown mare I ever saw in my life. I quite wished I had brought down Brilliant, if only to have met her on more equal terms. As we were the only two ladies on horseback, of course we were obliged to fraternize (if the weaker sex may use such an expression), as, indeed, we must have done had we been the bitterest foes on earth, instead of merely hating each other with common civility. Mrs. Lumley seemed on particularly good terms with Frank Lovell—I do not know that I liked her any the better for that—and expressed her sentiments and opinions to the world in general with a vivacity and freedom peculiarly her own.