On the 28th of January Lord William had another nasty fall, his horse Jack not rising properly at the first fence, throwing his rider on to his face. Friends who were near pulled him out of the way before he got trodden on. He was unconscious and badly cut about the head and nose, having to be carried back to Government House and put to bed, though the moment he regained consciousness he wanted to go back to the races.
Shortly after this accident Lord William went home on leave, and badly he wanted the change and rest, for he was showing signs of overwork, his many accidents had shaken him almost more than he was aware of; but before leaving India the Durbangah-Beresford Confederacy horses were put up for sale on the 28th of February at Messrs. Brown & Co.’s Mart in Calcutta. Very fair prices were realised as will be seen from the following list:
One or two of the best were bought by Mr. Hard for one or other of the partners of the Confederacy, Reputation and Little Charlie amongst them. Bassanio, the Australian, who fetched 5,700 rupees, was bought back in March by Lord William. The Government bought several for the Stud Department, and a little later purchased good old Jack from Dr. Hart and sent him as a present to the Amir of Kabul for stud purposes. Prospero was back again in the stable, and a week or two before Lord William started for home won the Grand Annual at Meerut, also the Hurdle Race, and Dynamite a handicap of sorts.
In April Lord Bill started for home. India felt lonely when he had gone, especially amongst some of his fair friends. With women absence often makes the heart grow fonder, but with men it is proximity that plays the mischief, and Lord William I am afraid forgot to be sad over the partings, for he found so many more fair friends in the Old Country anxious to greet him and be kind.
There was no doubt about it he was beginning to age, to realise how quickly we drop into middle age. It all comes about so imperceptibly, perhaps a few grey hairs first awaken us to the change, it suddenly dawns upon us, time is not standing still, that we have reached the top of the hill that looked so long and unending, and now behold we are slipping down the other side, and where are all the lovely views we expected to find on reaching the top of the hill? Surely they must have been mirage! It is a curious fact that you may look at yourself in the glass many times a day but until something happens to force the fact of a change on you the only image you behold in the mirror is yourself in youth. Even after elasticity has left us, it still does not dawn upon us we are—of the past. Perhaps nothing brings it home to us more quickly than meeting some friend of our youth and finding he has grown ponderous, lost the sparkle, hair grown grey, eyes dim, and possibly a corporation, this makes us turn an anxious eye on ourselves to see if similar changes have taken place.
Lord William never lost his sparkle or his pluck and he never sported a corporation, but the unceasing energy of his life was telling on him. It was quite useless begging him to take things more easily for it was not possible to him. How he did enjoy a joke! I think it was in 1885 when he was home on this leave that he went with me to Rose’s toyshop in Sloane Street to find some toy to amuse a small boy of mine that was delicate. While we were wandering round the shop a friend came and spoke to me, so Lord William continued his prowl, looking for likely things. When at liberty once more I found him with a neat parcel in one hand, and he exclaimed, “I have the very thing.” “What?” I asked. “Oh, come along, and I will explain it to you,” so we marched out. I was then told the parcel contained “Parlour Fireworks.” I suggested they were rather dangerous things, but the idea was pooh-poohed. They were only pretty coloured lights that threw up harmless sprays of blue, green and red powdery flame. One of them he lit in the drawing-room fender to show me how harmless they were. It seemed all right, so as soon as he had gone and it was growing dark the small boy, myself and nurses proceeded on to the flat roof of the house we were then renting in Park Lane, in the narrow end near Gloucester House, where we felt well protected by the Duke of Cambridge’s policeman always stationed at his door. The first few Roman candles we lit were a success and caused great delight, then I found a queer little box with rules where to light it. I faithfully followed all the instructions. At first nothing happened, then suddenly the air was alive with rifle-like reports in rapid succession, while live squibs, things I believe called crackers, were flying about cracking in every direction all over the tops of the houses. What a commotion there was! The policeman ran in every direction at once and blew his whistle, the jaded sleeping horse in the laundry van at our area railings suddenly awoke, curled its tail over its back pug-dog fashion, and set off for all it was worth, leaving the man in charge, still in the kitchen, probably enjoying good things. Everybody in the neighbourhood shouted, while we all scrambled helter-skelter down the narrow staircase leading from the roof, and on which housemaids had left various pails to dry and air. These in our haste to descend and hide our heads, we charged, hurtling them down the stairs in front of us, making a horrible clatter.
Arrived at last in our rooms again, we all pretended to be dead while the policeman came to enquire if we had heard anything, and did we know anything about it? Our old housekeeper, who had been with us many years and who was in the secret, faced the policeman, fearing we might be given away by some indiscreet statements from the other servants. She, of course, was very indignant that peaceable people should be liable to such disturbance and hoped the policeman would make a point of finding out about it, saying: “Really nobody is safe from bombs and Jack-the-Rippers nowadays.” The policeman promised to do his best. The following day the morning paper mentioned a mysterious affair that had occurred in Park Lane, and it was supposed an attempt had been made to blow up Gloucester House!
Thinking the matter over after all was calm again and the laundry man had gone in search of his horse and van I began to wonder how much of this had been design on the part of Lord William, for it was a Jack-in-the-Box that exploded making such a noise, harmless in itself but productive of rather an upheaval. When I told him what had happened I thought he would never stop laughing.