King of the Castle

He went up into the principal stand, securing a good place to see the race, and waited while two others were run, the horses flying by without exciting the slightest interest; the only satisfaction he gained was in having them pass, so as to be nearer to the great feature of the day.

At last, just as he had pictured it from old recollections of a minor race he had once seen, there was the shouting and bawling of the odds, the clearing of the course, and then the preliminary canter of the ten competitors, among which he now made out the colours of Simoom, a big ordinary-looking horse, with nothing to draw attention to it, while the three first favourites of the cognoscenti were the perfection of equine beauty, and their admirers shouted with excitement as they flashed by.

Then, after five false starts, each of which was maddening to Chris, who, while thinking the worst, could not help a gleam of hope piercing the dark cloud which overshadowed him, the cry arose that they were off, and amid a babel of sounds, as the parti-coloured throng of jockeys swept along the green course and disappeared, spasmodic cries arose, “Lady Ronald,” “Safflower – Safflower leads,” “Rotten race,” “The favourite shows ’em all her heels,” “Look! The favourite!”

The horses, after a period of silence, had swept round into sight again, and it was seen that three were together, then there was an interval, and there were four, another interval, and the rest behind.

The second group excited no notice, save from Chris, who made out that his horse was with them; and while every eye was fixed on the exciting race between the favourite and the two horses which strove hard to get abreast, there was suddenly a yell of excitement, for Simoom all at once shot out from among the second lot, and going well, with her jockey using neither whip nor spur, began rapidly to near the leaders.

The shouts increased, and a thrill ran through Chris as he saw the plain-looking mare glide on, but apparently too late to overtake the others.

Another roar as it was seen that the favourite’s jockey was beginning to use his whip, and the roar increased as Safflower was level with her shoulder, was head to head, was head in front, and the next moment, hopelessly beaten, the favourite was passed by Lady Ronald as well, who now challenged Safflower, and they were racing level for fifty yards.

The excitement grew frantic. “Safflower! Lady Ronald! Safflower! Safflower!”

“No, no, no!” shouted a man on Chris’s left. “Look!”

Chris heard all he said, and stood there bending forward, his lips apart, and eyes starting, as if turned to stone, living a very life in those seconds, as, amid a roar like the rushing of the tempest itself, the contemned mare came on.

“By George, sir, if the course had been a hundred yards more, she’d have won,” roared the man on Chris’s left. “Safflower’s done. It’s Lady Ronald; by – , no. Hurrah! Simoom! Simoom!” and in the midst of the frantic excitement, the mare upon which Chris’s hopes were fixed passed Safflower. There was a quick touch of the whip and she was alongside of Lady Ronald, and then Simoom’s nose showed in front, and in the next few bounds she was half-a-length ahead, and swept past the post – winner.

The man on Chris’s left suddenly seized his arm.

“Hurrah for the dark horse,” he cried. “Just for the fun of the thing, I put a sov on her, and I’ve won two hundred pounds. I beg your pardon, sir, I see you’re hit. Forgive my excitement. Don’t be down-hearted; come and have a glass of champagne.”

“Thank you,” said Chris quietly; but he did not move, for the place seemed to be spinning round him, and he held tightly by the rails till a hand was laid upon his arm.

“Can I help you? You look ill.”

“Help me? No; I’m all right now,” said Chris, making an effort. “It was so sudden.”

“Have you lost heavily?”

“Lost?” said Chris, looking at him wildly. “No; I’ve won.”

He felt his hand being shaken warmly, and then he sank back into a wild, confused dream, in the midst of which he knew that he was being borne back by one of the express trains, with the roar of the race in his ears, and the sight of the horses sweeping by before his eyes.

As he neared town he began to grow more calm, and he found himself repeating the words, —

“Forty thousand pounds! I’ve won; but shall I win her now?”

And then, like a dark cloud, came the recollection of how he had obtained the information upon which his success was based.

“I can never name it to a soul,” he muttered. “I must have been mad.”

Volume One – Chapter Sixteen.

Gartram Takes his Dose

“It’s all right, I tell you, my dear boy. You don’t understand women yet. A girl who says snap the moment you say snip, isn’t worth having. A good, true woman takes some wooing and winning; and no wonder, for it is a tremendous surrender for her to make.”

“Yes, sir, you are quite right, but – ”

“Yes; never mind the buts, Glyddyr. I could put my foot down, and say: ‘Claude, my dear, there’s your husband,’ but it would mean a scene, and a lot of excitement, and I should be ill – perhaps have one of my confounded fits.”

“But without going so far as that, sir, couldn’t you – just a little, you know – parental authority – you understand. I am kept back so terribly as yet.”

“No, my lad, I should not be serving your cause,” said Gartram firmly. “You see, she had always been so intimate with that fellow Lisle. Boy and girl together. It will take a little time to wean her from the fancy, and if I pull out the authoritative stop I shall be making him into a hero and her into a persecuted heroine. I may as well tell you that she is a bit firm, like I am, and any angry discussion on my part would perhaps make her stubborn.”

“Then, perhaps, you had better not speak, sir.”

“Decidedly not. There, you have the run of my place. Set to and win her like a man. Get along with you, you dog. Smart, handsome fellow like you don’t want any help. It’s only a matter of time. Don’t seem to push your suit too hard. Treat it all as a something settled; and all you have to do is to get her used to you and her position as your betrothed. Bah! it will all come right, so don’t let’s risk opposition. You will win.”

“You are right, sir,” said Glyddyr. “I’ll be patient.”

“Of course you will. That’s right. I say, though, that little upset?”

“Little upset, sir?” said Glyddyr starting.

“I mean about your friend, the visitor from town, whose wife came after him.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Glyddyr. “I didn’t know what you meant.”

“Rather an exciting affair, that. Strikes me that if it had had a tragic termination, your friend would not have broken his heart. I say, here you are in a hurry to get married, and you never know how the lady may turn out.”

“Ah, that was an exception, sir,” said Glyddyr hurriedly.

“Yes; but depend upon it, my dear boy, that was a hasty marriage. The gentleman said snip, and she said snap. Wasn’t it so?”

“Yes; I think you are right,” said Glyddyr.

“What a temper that woman must have. They tell me she deliberately stepped off the pier to follow him, or drown herself in a fit of passion.”

“Well, I’ll take your advice, sir,” said Glyddyr, hurriedly changing the conversation. “Of course, I can’t help feeling impatient.”

“No, of course, no,” said Gartram. “Come in,” he added, as there was a timid knock at the door.

“I beg pardon, sir, but Doctor Asher said I was to be particular as to time.”

Sarah Woodham entered the room with a small tray, bearing glass and bottle.

There was a peculiar, shrinking, furtive look about the woman, that would have impressed a stranger unfavourably; but Glyddyr was too intent upon his own business, and Gartram already disliked his old servant, and did not shrink about showing it.

“Oh!” he said roughly. “Well, pour it out. Won’t take a glass, I suppose, Glyddyr?”

“Oh, no, thanks. Not my favourite bin.”

“Thank your stars. Nice thing to be under the doctor’s hands. Hard, isn’t it? Regular piece of tyranny.”