Читать книгу The Flying Fifty-Five - Edgar Wallace - Страница 15

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"Do you know what I think?" said Bill Lord.

"I have often wondered," said the girl drily. "You spend all your time thinking, William."

They were riding across the Downs in the cool of the evening. There was no particular reason why a trainer, even a lady trainer, should be accompanied by her head lad in a purely recreative ride, and it puzzled Stella to recall the exact circumstances which brought her escort to her side.

This new man did things so naturally, took so many things for granted, that he worried her at times, but unfortunately it did not worry her until it was too late to protest.

Bill and his deeds had the habit of dawning on her after they had been committed. It was not until she had reached the Downs with her companion that she began to wonder why on earth he was there at all. She had not invited him. She had merely told him to have her horse ready, and then in the most natural way in the world, he had ridden round to the front of the farm leading her mount and, before she could realise what had happened, was galloping with her along the road.

"I think Patience would have won the Hunt Cup if we had kept him for that."

"Patience hadn't a chance," said the girl," and couldn't have beaten Cordova. And, Mr. Lord, there is something I want to say to you. I had a cheque this morning from your friend, Reginald Cambray."

"Call him Reggie," murmured Bill.

"It was an enormous cheque," she said, fixing her reproachful eyes on him. "You took a very, very great risk, and I don't think you should have done it. If Fifty-Five had not been disqualified, I should have been liable for an immense sum of money."

"Oh no, you wouldn't," he said cheerfully. "Reggie and I had an arrangement with the bookmaker that made it impossible for you to lose."

"He must have been a most remarkable bookmaker," said the girl drily.

"He was," replied the other. "He belongs to the philanthropic branch of the bookmaker family."

They went on without speaking for some time, and then the girl said:

"How is it that you have such rich friends and yet you were reduced to the condition in which I found you? Surely if they were willing to take the risk of losing their money by betting for you, they would have helped you."

"That doesn't follow," said Bill calmly; "besides, I'm not so sure that you haven't got your values mixed up. There's nothing discreditable about being a tramp."

She was staggered.

"It isn't as though I were a gaol-bird; tramping is an honourable profession, followed by some of the brightest minds in Europe. It is true I only had a shilling in my pocket when you so kindly took me into your service, but a shilling is a lot of money to a tramp."

She looked at him in amazement. "Then—then you were happy?"

"Fairly," he admitted, and she flushed.

"I am afraid I was a little premature in my pity," she said stiffly. "I had an idea I was helping you, when perhaps I was simply spoiling a perfect existence. At least you did not have to work so hard, or get up so early."

He looked at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Or have to bear with such a bad-tempered employer," he said. "Really, Miss Barrington, you are very trying at times."

"I? Trying?" she said incredulously.

He nodded," You are trying," he repeated firmly, "and that is much more than old man Gregory's horse was doing in the Ascot Stakes. I tell you I am perfectly happy here, happier than I have been for a very long time. I have a comfortable room, I have beautiful horses to look after, I have you and Aunt Eliza——"

"Aunt Eliza's name is Mrs. Batten," she said icily.

It was unusual for Stella to be in this mood, and analysing her feelings, she could not understand just why she was so irritable.

He must have been a thought-reader, for he supplied the solution.

"You're annoyed with me because you feel that you're under some obligation to a black-eyed tramp, when by all the rules of the game he should be under an obligation to you. Well, I am. You don't know how grateful I am to you, Miss Barrington, for giving me this opportunity. I admit I have some rich friends, but I am too much of a gentleman to despise them because they're wealthy. It wouldn't be fair on them. They are no more responsible for their wealth than you or I. It is snobbish to despise the rich and whatever I am, I am not a snob."

She stared at him bewildered. "I really can't understand you, Lord," she began, and stopped, for he was laughing, silently at first, and then with outrageous loudness.

"I am so sorry," he said penitently.

"Is there anything in your name which is particularly amusing?" she asked, almost angrily.

"Nothing," he said, "nothing whatever," and then laughed again.

But now her sense of humour took charge and she joined him.

"Lord, I think you're silly," she said.

"I think so too," said Bill solemnly," but it is nice to be silly sometimes. Aunt Eliza was telling me this morning——"

"If you call her Aunt Eliza I shall be very angry," said Stella, deeming it a moment to put her foot down. "I hate to seem offensive, but really, William, you must remember——"

"My position, I suppose? I do," said Bill agreeably, "but I am a democrat, one of those fellows you read about in the election addresses. To me all people are equal. I even regard you as my equal."

"I am truly grateful," she said.

"Sarcasm ill becomes you," said William. "It is as much out of place in you as levity in old age. And now I'll talk business with you if you don't mind, Miss Barrington. I hate introducing so mundane a subject——"

"You mean about your wages?" she said quickly.

"I am not worrying about the wages overmuch," said the other, with an attempt to keep his face straight. "I want to talk to you about Seven Hills. I had the colt out this morning and he is a real smasher. I see you have him entered in a race at Goodwood, and I dare say he'll win all right, but if I were you, I should not hurry his preparation—in fact, I should not run him at all as a two-year-old. He has got the make, shape and pedigree of a Derby winner, and unless I am mistaken, he is the kind that comes to hand very slowly. And if I were you, I shouldn't hurry him at all."

The remarkable thing was that this was Stella's own view. Remarkable in the light of her comment.

"I shall run him at Goodwood," she said. "My father believed in giving a two-year-old at least three public outings to get him used to racing."

"Very good," said Bill, and said no more. Stella hated herself for her perversity and was all the more irritated because she could not assign a reason for her contrariness. It was so unlike her, she told herself, for the weaknesses which are peculiar to the women of fiction and fact, were not characteristics of hers. Perhaps she resented the assurance of her assistant; perhaps she was fighting against the domination of her establishment by this chance-found tramp. But if that were the case, the difficulty was easily disposed of. She could dismiss him from her service, or she could tell him very plainly her objections to his attitude.

When she came to think the matter out she was chagrined to realise that the only objection she had to the man was the circumstances of their first acquaintance.

That night after dinner, when her aunt was darning stockings, and she was poring over the Racing Calendar, she looked up suddenly and asked:

"Do you like Lord, Aunt Eliza?"

Aunt Eliza glared over her spectacles. "I don't like tramps," she said firmly.

"Don't be ridiculous, auntie; he isn't a tramp, and if he was, it was no fault of his."

Aunt Eliza went back to the contemplation of the stocking on her hand.

"I like him and I don't like him," she admitted; "I can't help thinking that he is something different from what he pretends. I read all the newspapers very carefully to see what he is running away from."

"Good heavens! auntie," said the girl aghast. "Do you suggest he's a criminal?"

"I know he's a criminal," said the elderly woman complacently. "A man like that doesn't tramp unless there's a good reason for it. He's educated, he has been a gentleman. There is no reason why he should stay in this out-of-the-way place working from sun-up to sun-down for a few shillings a week. Besides," she put her darning on her knees and looked across at the girl," why does he wear his beard? Who ever saw a head lad wearing a beard? I ask you that, Stella. He wears it to disguise himself, and a man doesn't disguise himself without reason."

Stella had never thought of her head lad in that way before, but for once her aunt was logical.

"I don't say he's a murderer," said Aunt Eliza, resuming her work. "Perhaps he has forged somebody's name. I read in the Sunday paper a case very similar to his. Or maybe he's got mixed up in some divorce scandal."

Up went that determined little chin of Stella Barrington.

"I think that is an absurd suggestion," she said.