Part 10 (2/2)
”Yes, I am,” the man growled. ”I am the gardener. And there's no one at home, if you want to know.”
Phillips' a.s.sumption of annoyance was artistic. He turned away impatiently.
”Then Mr. Ronaldson is not here now?” he asked.
”Never heard the name,” the gardener responded.
”But he used to live here. I knew him well in South Africa. He gave me his address two years ago and asked me to look him up if ever I came to England. I suppose he has gone somewhere else then. Do you happen to know the name?”
”No, I don't,” the gardener said sulkily. ”We've only been here a few months, and my master hasn't come into the house yet. He's a stranger, too. You had better make inquiries in the village.”
Phillips expressed his thanks. He had found out pretty well all he wanted to know, and felt that if this repellent person had entertained any suspicions they were lulled to sleep by this time. He stood examining the repulsive-looking bull-terrier. He alluded to the animal's points approvingly. He spoke, too, as a man who knew what he was talking about. One or two remarks elicited the a.s.sent of the gruff gardener, who smiled slightly.
”Yes, he's a good dog,” he said. ”And capital in the house.”
”Keeps the burglars away,” Phillips laughed.
”Oh, I daresay he would if I left him here. But I don't live on the premises. I only look round to see that things are all right. I believe the servants are coming in next week.”
”But why not have a caretaker?” Phillips asked.
”Oh, there's no occasion for that. They're more trouble than they're worth.”
Phillips nodded and walked leisurely away.
CHAPTER XVII
A FAIR DAY'S SPORT
At Mirst Park there was not very much for Fielden to do. The horses he had brought with him were a moderate lot, and, in the words of the stud-groom, there was not a racer amongst them. With his intimate knowledge of horse-flesh Fielden wondered why Copley kept such an indifferent stable, and where he got his animals. They were even worse than the ordinary run of equine rubbish usually foisted on the millionaire whose ambition it is to figure as a patron of the turf.
Perhaps the whole thing was a blind. Perhaps the stud at Seton Manor was merely intended to cover Copley's rascality in another direction. At any rate, Fielden watched the first two races with mingled feelings of contempt and amus.e.m.e.nt. He had seen his employer's horses figure in both in the sorriest fas.h.i.+on, and till the four o'clock race was free to do as he pleased.
It was strange to move about the paddock, by the weighing-room and on the stand, rubbing shoulders with a score of men whom he knew well. The course was familiar to him, too. Were the past two years but a dream, and had he never left the scene of his former recreations? But no one recognized him. He strolled about listening to the roar of the betting-ring and the cries of the mult.i.tude, or threaded his way in and out among the horses. He even spoke to one or two jockeys whom he had once known, but none seemed to identify him.
Despite the crowd and the horses, the ladies on the stand and the members in the enclosure, however, it was a lonely business, and his face lightened as he caught sight of May Haredale seated by herself on one of the stands. He made his way eagerly to her side. She turned and smiled upon him. There was a healthy flush on her face. Her eyes were sparkling, and yet there was a suspicion of anxiety about her which Fielden had noticed more than once lately.
”Why are you alone?” he asked.
”Oh, it has only been the last few minutes,” May explained. ”We have a colt running in this race, and my father has gone to give instructions to his jockey. By the way, how badly your horses have cut up to-day. No, I am not particularly interested in this race, and I haven't so much as a pair of gloves on it.”
”Then what do you say to a stroll?” Fielden suggested. ”It is cold, and we look like having another fall of snow. I couldn't see the three o'clock race for the snow. Positively I hadn't the faintest notion what had won till I saw the numbers go up. Let us walk across the course to the starting-point and back. We shall have plenty of time.”
May consented, and soon they were beyond the enclosure and past the white posts and rails towards the patch of gorse across the Downs, where the starter was already fidgeting about on his cob. Away from the noise and excitement of the ring the flush faded from May's face, and her eyes seemed inexpressibly sad.
”What's the matter?” Fielden asked anxiously. ”We all change as we grow older. I suppose I am different from what I used to be. But I don't like to see you so quiet. It is so foreign to your nature, May. There was a time when you were all laughter and suns.h.i.+ne. Oh, dear, what a fool I have been, to be sure. How different things might have been if I had only had a little common sense. You don't know how I blame myself.”
”Were you altogether to blame?” May asked. ”I don't think so. You had no one to look after you from the time you were at school till you came into your property. You were merely a boy then, and you behaved like one.”
<script>