Part 2 (1/2)
But I never saw a finer thing done, Miss Coventry; if I live to a hundred I shall never forget it;” and he looked as if he would have added, ”or you either.”
Many were the exclamations, and much the conversation created by our adventure. The ladies who had run away so gallantly were of course too much agitated for the proposed boating excursion; so after sundry restoratives at the hotel we ordered the carriages to return to town.
Cousin John gave ”Frank” (as he calls him) a place in the back seat of his phaeton, and he leaned over and talked to me the whole way home.
What a pleasant drive it was in the moonlight, and how happy I felt! I was really sorry when we got back to London. Frank seemed quite anxious to make Aunt Deborah's acquaintance; and I thought I shouldn't wonder if he was to call in Lowndes Street very soon.
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 circ.u.mstances 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 pet.i.tion, 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 amus.e.m.e.nts? 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-st.i.tch.”
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 la.s.s 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 n.o.body 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, flus.h.i.+ng 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 s.e.x 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.
”I am out on 'the sly,' you know,” she observed with an arch smile. ”I have a good, quiet aunt who lives down at Richmond, and I do penance there for a time, whenever I have been more than usually wicked; but to-day I could not resist the fine weather and the crowd and the fun, and above all the bad company, which amuses me more than all the rest put together, though I do not include you, Miss Coventry, nor yet Mr.
Jones, but I am afraid I must Captain Lovell. Come, let's ride amongst the carriages and see the ninnies.”
So Mrs. Lumley and I plunged into the crowd, leaving Frank to return to his drag and his betting-book, and Cousin John somewhat discontentedly to bring up the rear.
”After all, I don't see much harm in Hampton,” said my lively guide as we threaded our way between the carriages, ”though, to be sure, there are some very queer-looking people on the course. I could tell you strange stories of most of them, Miss Coventry, only you wouldn't believe me. Do you see that old, plainish woman, with such black hair and eyebrows--something like Lady Scapegrace, only not so handsome as my favourite enemy? Would you believe it, she might marry three coronets at this moment if she chose, and she won't have any one of them. She is not good-looking, you can see; she can scarcely write her own name. She has no conversation, I happen to know, for I met her once at dinner, and she cannot by any chance put an 'H' into its right place. Yet men see something in her that is totally inexplicable to us, and she seems to have a mysterious influence over all ages and all sorts. One of these infatuated n.o.blemen is decrepit and twaddling; the other a stern, reserved man that up to forty years of age was supposed to be the very impersonation of common sense; and the third, young, clever, and handsome, a man that might marry half the nicest women in England if he liked. And why, do you think, she won't pick and choose from such a trio? Why, forsooth, because she has set her stupid heart on a drunken stockbroker, who won't have a word to say to her, and would have been here to-day, I have no doubt, if he hadn't been afraid of meeting _her_. Well, there's a stranger story than _that_ about the girl with long fair hair in the next carriage. You can see her now, in a pink bonnet, drinking sherry and soda water. It is supposed that she is old Goldfinch's daughter, and that he won't give her a farthing; but I know somebody who knows his lawyer, and that girl _will_ have half a million, if she don't drink herself to death before old Goldfinch takes his departure from this wicked world. She is beautiful and clever and accomplished, and all the young men are in love with her; but she cannot keep sober, and in three years' time she will have lost her youth and her health and her faculties, and in all probability will finish in a madhouse. There's Frank Lovell making fierce love to her now.”
And as Mrs. Lumley concluded with this amiable remark, I looked round for Cousin John, and rode away from her in disgust at her flippancy, and sick at heart to think of such a man as Captain Lovell wasting his smiles on such a creature. To be sure, he only said three words to her, for when I looked round again at the carriage he was gone. There is something very amusing to me in the bustle of a racecourse; and yet, after talking to Mrs. Lumley, the gloss seemed to be only on the surface. She had told me enough of the company to make me fancy there must be some strange history belonging to each. Like the man that saw through the roofs of the houses in Madrid, thanks to the agency of his familiar, I thought that my demon on a side-saddle had taught me to see into the very hearts and secrets of the motley a.s.semblage.
There was a handsome girl, with beautiful teeth and neatly-braided hair and such a brilliant smile, attracting a crowd round her as she sang piquant songs in a sweet, deep-toned voice that ought to have made her fortune on the stage if it had been properly cultivated--sang them, too, with a look and manner that I have seen seldom rivalled by the cleverest actresses; and I thought what a face and form were wasted here to make profit for one knave and sport for some fifty fools. As she accompanied herself on the harp, and touched its strings with a grace and expression which made amends for a certain want of tuition, I could not help fancying her in a drawing-room, surrounded by admirers, making many a heart ache with her arch smile and winning ways. Without being _positively_ beautiful, she had the knack so few women possess of looking charming in every att.i.tude and with every expression of countenance; and although her songs were of a somewhat florid school, yet I could not help thinking that, with those natural gifts and a plaintive old ballad, English or Scotch, such as ”Annie Laurie” or ”The Nut-brown Maid” to bring them out, in a pretty drawing-room, with the a.s.sistance of a good dressmaker--dear! she might marry a duke if she liked.
And yet all this belonged to a dark, close-shaved ruffian, with silver rings and a yellow handkerchief, who scowled and prowled about her, and looked as if he was likely enough to beat her when they got home.
But she hands up an ivory bowl for contributions amongst the young dandies on the roof of a neighbouring coach, who have been listening open-mouthed to the siren, and s.h.i.+llings and half-crowns, and a bit of gold from the one last out of the Bench, pour into it; and she moves off, to make way for three French glee-maidens with a monkey and a tambourine, and the swells return to their cigars and their betting, and we are all attention for the next event on the card, because it is a gentlemen-riders' race; and the performances will consequently be as different as possible from what we have just seen.
”We'll secure a good place for this, Kate,” says Cousin John, edging his horse in as near the judges' stand as he can get. ”Frank Lovell has a mare to run, and I have backed her for a sovereign.”