Then came the event of the day—the Open Mile, for which Tempest and Redwood were the only combatants. I felt myself growing as nervous as if I were running myself.
For my instinct told me that the welfare of Sharpe’s more or less hung on the issue. Could Tempest but win, there would be no doubt that he would return to the headship of the house with an éclat which even Crofter would have to yield to. If not, Crofter might still hang on to the reins and claim his doubtful rights.
A complication of an unexpected kind arose now. The Misses Redwood were quite sufficiently au fait with the etiquette of a race-course to know that if their brother ran he must win, and that everybody else must wish him to win. In an unguarded moment I joined in the cheer which greeted Tempest as he appeared stripped for action on his way to the starting-post. This was taken up as a grievous personal affront. The young ladies repudiated and flung me from them with an energy and disgust which quite astonished me. They loudly clamoured for my removal, and failing that, made a concerted retreat from my detested vicinity.
“Nasty horrid Sarah, go away!” they shouted.
Then spying Dicky Brown in the distance, they shrieked on him to deliver them.
“Want to go to Dicky—dear Dicky. Get away from Sarah.”
And suiting the action to the word they swarmed over the back of the bench, and started in full cry for the enviable Dicky.
Richard, however, was an old bird for his years, and did not, or pretended not to hear their siren voices, and sheered off into the open just in the nick of time. Whereupon the Misses Redwood redoubled their clamour, and could only be allured back to the shelter of my fatigued wing by my going to them and audibly bawling in their faces, “Bravo, Redwood! go it, Redwood!”
On these terms they surrendered, and the difficulty, at the cost indeed of my reputation as a loyal “Sharper” was temporarily tided over.
It was noticed that Tempest, though cool as ever, was pale, and carried his left hand, while he stood waiting, in the opening of his waistcoat. I saw Redwood go to him and say something, pointing as he did so to the hand. Tempest’s reply was a flush and a laugh as he removed his hand from its resting-place, and waved it about at his side.