Marion Fay: A Novel

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  POOR WALKER.

  That famous run took place towards the end of February, at which timeHampstead was counting all the hours till he should again be allowedto show himself in Paradise Row. He had in the mean time written onelittle letter to the Quaker's daughter;--

  DEAREST MARION,--I only write because I cannot keep myself quiet without telling you how well I love you. Pray do not believe that because I am away I think of you less. I am to see you, I hope, on Monday, the 2nd of March. If you would write me but one word to say that you will be glad to see me!

  Always your own,

  H.

  She showed this to her father, and the sly old Quaker told her thatit would not be courteous in her not to send some word of reply. Asthe young lord, he said, had been permitted by him, her father, topay his addresses to her, so much was due to him. Why should his girllose this grand match? Why should his daughter not become a happy anda glorious wife, seeing that her beauty and her grace had entirelywon this young lord's heart? "MY LORD," she wrote back to him,--"Ishall be happy to see you when you come, whatever day may suit you.But, alas! I can only say what I have said.--Yet I am thine, MARION."She had intended not to be tender, and yet she had thought herselfbound to tell him that all that she had said before was true.

  It was after this that Lord Llwddythlw distinguished himself, so muchso that Walker and Watson did nothing but talk about him all the nextday. "It's those quiet fellows that make the best finish after all!"said Walker, who had managed to get altogether to the bottom of hishorse during the run, and had hardly seen the end of it quite as aman wishes to see it.

  The day but one after this, the last Friday in February, was to bethe last of Hampstead's hunting, at any rate until after his proposedvisit to Holloway. He, and Lady Frances with him, intended to returnto London on the next day, and then, as far as he was concerned,the future loomed before him as a great doubt. Had Marion been thehighest lady in the land, and had he from his position and rank beenhardly entitled to ask for her love, he could not have been moreanxious, more thoughtful, or occasionally more down-hearted. But thislatter feeling would give way to joy when he remembered the wordswith which she had declared her love. No assurance could have beenmore perfect, or more devoted. She had coyed him nothing as far aswords are concerned, and he never for a moment doubted but that herfull words had come from a full heart. "But alas! I can only say whatI have said." That of course had been intended to remove all hope.But if she loved him as she said she did, would he not be able toteach her that everything should be made to give way to love? It wasthus that his mind was filled, as day after day he prepared himselffor his hunting, and day after day did his best in keeping to thehounds.

  Then came that last day in February as to which all those aroundhim expressed themselves to be full of hope. Gimberley Green wascertainly the most popular meet in the country, and at GimberleyGreen the hounds were to meet on this occasion. It was known that menwere coming from the Pytchley and the Cottesmore, so that everybodywas supposed to be anxious to do his best. Hautboy was very muchon the alert, and had succeeded in borrowing for the occasionHampstead's best horse. Even Vivian, who was not given to muchoutward enthusiasm, had had consultations with his groom as to whichof two he had better ride first. Sometimes there does come a day onwhich rivalry seems to be especially keen, when a sense of strivingto excel and going ahead of others seems to instigate minds which arenot always ambitious. Watson and Walker were on this occasion verymuch exercised, and had in the sweet confidences of close friendshipagreed with themselves that certain heroes who were coming from oneof the neighbouring hunts should not be allowed to carry off thehonours of the day.

  On this occasion they both breakfasted at Gorse Hall, which was notuncommon with them, as the hotel,--or pot-house, as Hautboy calledit,--was hardly more than a hundred yards distant. Walker waspeculiarly exuberant, and had not been long in the house before heconfided to Hautboy in a whisper their joint intention that "thosefellows" were not to be allowed to have it all their own way."Suppose you don't find after all, Mr. Walker," said Lady Amaldina,as the gentlemen got up from breakfast, and loaded themselves withsandwiches, cigar-cases, and sherry-flasks.

  "I won't believe anything so horrible," said Walker.

  "I should cut the concern," said Watson, "and take to stagging inSurrey." This was supposed to be the bitterest piece of satire thatcould be uttered in regard to the halcyon country in which theiroperations were carried on.

  "Tolleyboy will see to that," said Walker. "We haven't had a blankyet, and I don't think he'll disgrace himself on such a day as this."Then they all started, in great glee, on their hacks, their huntershaving been already sent on to Gimberley Green.

  The main part of the story of that day's sport, as far as we'reconcerned with it, got itself told so early in the day that readersneed not be kept long waiting for the details. Tolleyboy soonrelieved these imperious riders from all dangers as to a blank. Atthe first covert drawn a fox was found immediately, and without anyof those delays, so perplexing to some and so comforting to others,made away for some distant home of his own. It is, perhaps, on suchoccasions as these that riders are subjected to the worst perilsof the hunting field. There comes a sudden rush, when men have notcooled themselves down by the process of riding here and there andgoing through the usual preliminary prefaces to a run. They arecollected in crowds, and the horses are more impatient even thantheir riders. No one on that occasion could have been more impatientthan Walker,--unless it was the steed upon which Walker was mounted.There was a crowd of men standing in a lane at the corner of thecovert,--of men who had only that moment reached the spot,--when atabout thirty yards from them a fox crossed the lane, and two or threeleading hounds close at his brush. One or two of the strangers fromthe enemy's country occupied a position close to, or rather in thevery entrance of, a little hunting gate which led out of the laneinto the field opposite. Between the lane and the field there wasa fence which was not "rideable!" As is the custom with lanes,the roadway had been so cut down that there was a bank altogetherprecipitous about three feet high, and on that a hedge of trees andstakes and roots which had also been cut almost into the consistencyof a wall. The gate was the only place,--into which these enemieshad thrust themselves, and in the possession of which they did notchoose to hurry themselves, asserting as they kept their places thatit would be well to give the fox a minute. The assertion in theinterests of hunting might have been true. A sportsman who couldat such a moment have kept his blood perfectly cool, might haveremembered his duties well enough to have abstained from pressinginto the field in order that the fox might have his fair chance.Hampstead, however, who was next to the enemies, was not that coolhero, and bade the strangers move on, not failing to thrust his horseagainst their horses. Next to him, and a little to the left, was theunfortunate Walker. To his patriotic spirit it was intolerable thatany stranger should be in that field before one of their own hunt.What he himself attempted, what he wished to do, or whether anyclear intention was formed in his mind, no one ever knew. But to theastonishment of all who saw it the horse got himself half-turnedround towards the fence, and attempted to take it in a stand. Theeager animal did get himself up amidst the thick wood on the top ofthe bank, and then fell headlong over, having entangled his feetamong the boughs. Had his rider sat loosely he would probably havegot clear of his horse. But as it was they came down together, andunfortunately the horse was uppermost. Just as it happened LordHampstead made his way through the gate, and was the first whodismounted to give assistance to his friend. In two or three minutesthere was a crowd round, with a doctor in the midst of it, and arumour was going about that the man had been killed. In the mean timethe enemies were riding well to the hounds, with Tolleyboy but a fewyards behind them, Tolleyboy having judiciously remembered a spotat which he could make his way out of the covert into field withouteither passing through the gate or over the fence.

  The reader may as well
know at once that Walker was not killed. Hewas not killed, though he was so crushed and mauled with broken ribsand collar-bone, so knocked out of breath and stunned and mangled andsqueezed, so pummelled and pounded and generally misused, that he didnot come to himself for many hours, and could never after rememberanything of that day's performances after eating his breakfast atGorse Hall. It was a week before tidings went through the Shires thathe was likely to live at all, and even then it was asserted that hehad been so altogether smashed that he would never again use any ofhis limbs. On the morning after the hunt his widowed mother and onlysister were down with him at the hotel, and there they remained tillthey were able to carry him away to his own house. "Won't I?" wasalmost the first intelligible word he said when his mother suggestedto him, her only son, that now at least he would promise to abandonthat desperate amusement, and would never go hunting any more. It maybe said in praise of British surgery generally that Walker was outagain on the first of the following November.

  But Walker with his misfortunes and his heroism and his recoverywould have been nothing to us had it been known from the first toall the field that Walker had been the victim. The accident happenedbetween eleven and twelve,--probably not much before twelve. Butthe tidings of it were sent up by telegraph from some neighbouringstation to London in time to be inserted in one of the afternoonnewspapers of that day; and the tidings as sent informed the publicthat Lord Hampstead while hunting that morning had fallen with hishorse at the corner of Gimberly Green, that the animal had fallenon him,--and that he had been crushed to death. Had the falseinformation been given in regard to Walker it might probably haveexcited so little attention that the world would have known nothingabout it till it learned that the poor fellow had not been killed.But, having been given as to a young nobleman, everybody had heardof it before dinner-time that evening. Lord Persiflage knew it inthe House of Lords, and Lord Llwddythlw had heard it in the House ofCommons. There was not a club which had not declared poor Hampsteadto be an excellent fellow, although he was a little mad. TheMontressors had already congratulated themselves on the good fortuneof little Lord Frederic; and the speedy death of the Marquis wasprophesied, as men and women were quite sure that he would notbe able in his present condition to bear the loss of his eldestson. The news was telegraphed down to Trafford Park by the familylawyer,--with an intimation, however, that, as the accident had beenso recent, no absolute credence should yet be given as to its fatalresult. "Bad fall probably," said the lawyer in his telegram, "but Idon't believe the rest. Will send again when I hear the truth." Atnine o'clock that evening the truth was known in London, and beforemidnight the poor Marquis had been relieved from his terribleaffliction. But for three hours it had been supposed at Trafford Parkthat Lord Frederic had become the heir to his father's title and hisfather's property.

  Close inquiry was afterwards made as to the person by whom this falseintelligence had been sent to the newspaper, but nothing certain wasever asserted respecting it. That a general rumour had prevailedfor a time among many who were out that Lord Hampstead had been thevictim, was found to have been the case. He had been congratulated byscores of men who had heard that he had fallen. When Tolleyboy wasbreaking up the fox, and wondering why so few men had ridden throughthe hunt with him, he was told that Lord Hampstead had been killed,and had dropped his bloody knife out of his hands. But no one wouldown as to having sent the telegram. Suspicion attached itself toan attorney from Kettering who had been seen in the early part ofthe day, but it could not be traced home to him. Official inquirywas made; but as it was not known who sent the message, or to whataddress, or from what post town, or even the wording of the message,official information was not forthcoming. It is probable that SirBoreas at the Post Office did not think it proper to tell everybodyall that he knew. It was admitted that a great injury had been doneto the poor Marquis, but it was argued on the other side that theinjury had been quickly removed.

  There had, however, been three or four hours at Trafford Park, duringwhich feelings had been excited which afterwards gave rise to bitterdisappointment. The message had come to Mr. Greenwood, of whoseestrangement from the family the London solicitor had not been asyet made aware. He had been forced to send the tidings into the sickman's room by Harris, the butler, but he had himself carried itup to the Marchioness. "I am obliged to come," he said, as thoughapologizing when she looked at him with angry eyes because of hisintrusion. "There has been an accident." He was standing, as healways stood, with his hands hanging down by his side. But there wasa painful look in his eyes more than she had usually read there.

  "What accident--what accident, Mr. Greenwood? Why do you not tellme?" Her heart ran away at once to the little beds in which herdarlings were already lying in the next room.

  "It is a telegram from London."

  From London--a telegram! Then her boys were safe. "Why do you nottell me instead of standing there?"

  "Lord Hampstead--"

  "Lord Hampstead! What has he done? Is he married?"

  "He will never be married." Then she shook in every limb, andclenched her hands, and stood with open mouth, not daring to questionhim. "He has had a fall, Lady Kingsbury."

  "A fall!"

  "The horse has crushed him."

  "Crushed him!"

  "I used to say it would be so, you know. And now it has come topass."

  "Is he--?"

  "Dead? Yes, Lady Kingsbury, he is--dead." Then he gave her thetelegram to read. She struggled to read it, but the words were toovague; or her eyes too dim. "Harris has gone in with the tidings. Ihad better read the telegram, I suppose, but I thought you'd like tosee it. I told you how it would be, Lady Kingsbury; and now it hascome to pass." He stood standing a minute or two longer, but as shesat hiding her face, and unable to speak, he left the room withoutabsolutely asking her to thank him for his news.

  As soon as he was gone she crept slowly into the room in which herthree boys were sleeping. A door from her own chamber opened intoit, and then another into that in which one of the nurses slept. Sheleaned over them and kissed them all; but she knelt at that on whichLord Frederic lay, and woke him with her warm embraces. "Oh, mamma,don't," said the boy. Then he shook himself, and sat up in his bed."Mamma, when is Jack coming?" he said. Let her train them as shewould, they would always ask for Jack. "Go to sleep, my darling,my darling, my darling!" she said, kissing him again and again."Trafford," she said, whispering to herself, as she went back to herown room, trying the sound of the title he would have to use. It hadbeen all arranged in her own mind how it was to be, if such a thingshould happen.

  "Go down," she said to her maid soon afterwards, "and ask Mrs.Crawley whether his Lordship would wish to see me." Mrs. Crawley wasthe nurse. But the maid brought back word that "My Lord" did not wishto see "My Lady." For three hours he lay stupefied in his sorrow;and for three hours she sat alone, almost in the dark. We may doubtwhether it was all triumph. Her darling had got what she believed tobe his due; but the memory that she had longed for it,--almost prayedfor it,--must have dulled her joy.

  There was no such regret with Mr. Greenwood. It seemed to him thatFortune, Fate, Providence, or what not, had only done its duty. Hebelieved that he had in truth foreseen and foretold the death of thepernicious young man. But would the young man's death be now of anyservice to him? Was it not too late? Had they not all quarrelled withhim? Nevertheless he had been avenged.

  So it was at Trafford Park for three hours. Then there came a postboygalloping on horseback, and the truth was known. Lady Kingsbury wentagain to her children, but this time she did not kiss them. A gleamof glory had come there and had passed away;--but yet there wassomething of relief.

  Why had he allowed himself to be so cowed on that morning? That wasMr. Greenwood's thought.

  The poor Marquis fell into a slumber almost immediately, and on thenext morning had almost forgotten that the first telegram had come.