Down by the stable lot Elizabeth saw a commotion. Alabaster had been fed, and the hostler was bringing him out of his stall for his morning exercise. He came rather more amiably than usual. Blair and Hilary were both there. Elizabeth could see Blair’s tall figure outlined distinctly; he was standing meditatively with his hands in his pockets. Hilary watched the hostler put the saddle on Alabaster, then mounted, and rode off, the creature going along quietly enough.
When Blair came in to breakfast he wore a look of peace that Elizabeth had not seen for a long time on his face. Elizabeth, on the contrary, for once had lost some of her self-control. She was pale and silent, and could scarcely force a smile to her lips when her husband gave her his good-morning kiss.
“You look unhappy, Bess,� he said, “but I am more at ease than I have been for a long time. Come what may, this day I am a free man. Never since I grew hair on my face have I not been in slavery to horses and stablemen and jockeys and the whole gang. Of course, it is no easy thing to give this up; it has had its recompenses. I haven’t had many happier moments in my life than when Black Bess romped in ahead of Skelton’s Monarch that day so many years ago. In fact, the pleasure of beating Skelton has been one of the greatest seductions of the whole thing. But when he put his mind to it he could beat me. Now, however, I don’t propose to give him the chance again. That will be pretty hard on him, considering that he has poured out money like water to do it. From this day, my dear, I am no longer a racing man.�
Elizabeth brightened at this. No matter what might come, there was no longer this terrible apprehension all the time of “debts of honour� hanging over them.
Mrs. Blair, being naturally rather vain and very proud, would have liked a splendid costume to wear on this momentous occasion, and a coach and four to drive up to the grand stand in. But her very best gown was shabby, and her carriage was on its last legs. However she looked remarkably well on horseback, and there was Black Bess, retired from the turf, but yet made a very fine appearance under the saddle. She concluded that she would go on horseback, and Blair would ride with her.
At one o’clock in the day the Campdown course was full, the grand stand crowded with all the gentry in the county, and everybody was on the tiptoe of expectation. It was no mere question of winning a race—it was whether Skelton would succeed in ruining Blair, or would Blair escape from Skelton. Skelton was on hand, having ridden over with Lewis. He was as cool, as distinguished looking, as immaculately correct as ever. People thought he had little at stake compared with Blair. But Skelton thought he had a great deal, for he had to have his vengeance then, or be robbed of it. He knew well enough that it was his last chance.
Tom Shapleigh was there, and Mrs. Shapleigh and Sylvia, who looked remarkably pretty, and everybody in the county, even Bulstrode, who dreaded the catastrophe, but who could not forbear witnessing it. Skelton, with Lewis close by him, walked about the quarter stretch and infield. Everybody received him courteously, even obsequiously, for Skelton was their local great man. But nobody took the slightest notice of Lewis beyond a nod. The boy, with a bursting heart, realised this when he saw Hilary Blair surrounded by half a dozen boys of his own age, and being petted by the women and slapped on the back and chaffed by the older men.
Presently they came to the Shapleigh carriage. Sylvia had been acutely conscious of Skelton’s presence ever since he drove into the enclosure; and she also had seen the contempt visited upon the boy, and her tender heart rebelled against it. As Skelton and Lewis came up she turned a beautiful rosy red, and, after having had her hand tenderly pressed by Skelton, she opened the carriage door and invited Lewis to take a seat and watch the first events. Skelton declined an invitation of the same kind for himself, and chose to stand on the ground and have Lewis monopolise the front seat in the great open barouche. Mrs. Shapleigh had joined in Sylvia’s cordial invitation, and so profoundly grateful was Skelton for it that he almost persuaded himself that Mrs. Shapleigh was not half such a fool after all. As for Sylvia, he thought her at that moment adorable; and there was certainly some distinction in her notice, because she was commonly counted to be the most spirited girl in the county, and one of the most admired, and Miss Sylvia had a quick wit of her own that could make her respected anywhere. Besides, old Tom was a man of consequence, so that the backing of the Shapleighs was about as good as anybody’s.
Sylvia felt intensely sorry for Lewis, and sorry that she had ever sold Alabaster to Blair. The boy was very silent, and was wondering, painfully, for the hundredth time, why nobody ever noticed him scarcely. Sylvia tried to cheer him up. She pinned a rose from a bouquet she carried to his jacket. She even got out of the carriage and took a little stroll about the infield, with Lewis for an escort, leaving Skelton to the tender mercies of Mrs. Shapleigh. Sylvia knew well enough how to command civility for herself as well as for Lewis, and when people spoke to her she brought the boy in the conversation with a pointedness that could not be ignored. She returned after a while to the barouche with a light of triumph in her eyes. She had managed much better than Skelton, with all of his distinction and prestige, women being naturally much cleverer at social fence than men. Skelton could have kissed her hands in the excess of his gratitude. He smiled to himself as he thought: “How much more power have women than men sometimes! Here is this girl, that can circumvent the whole county, while I only fail in trying to bully it.�
Everybody watched for the appearance of Jack Blair and Mrs. Blair, as the crowd waits for the condemned at an execution. At last they were seen entering the enclosure. Both of them were well mounted, and Mrs. Blair’s black habit fell against the satin coat of Black Bess. She wore a hat and feathers and sat her horse like a Di Vernon. A delicate pink was in her cheeks, and her eyes, which were usually soft, were sparkling. If Skelton or anybody else expected her to show any signs of weakness, they were much mistaken. Blair was at his best on horseback, and he had become infected by his wife’s courage. As they rode into the infield they were greeted cordially, Skelton coming up, hat in hand, to make his compliments to Mrs. Blair, who stopped her horse quite close to the Shapleigh carriage. The women spoke to each other affably. Lewis was still in the carriage as Skelton moved off. Mrs. Blair at that moment regretted as keenly as Sylvia that Alabaster had ever been heard of.