CHAPTER XX

BREAK-NECK LEAP

The August sun was in mid-sky, when a troop of ladies and cavaliers

issued from the gates of Beckley Court, and winding through the

hopgardens, emerged on the cultivated slopes bordering the downs.

Foremost, on her grey cob, was Rose, having on her right her uncle

Seymour, and on her left Ferdinand Laxley. Behind came Mrs. Evremonde,

flanked by Drummond and Evan. Then followed Jenny Graine, supported by

Harry and William Harvey. In the rear came an open carriage, in which

Miss Carrington and the Countess de Saldar were borne, attended by Lady

Jocelyn and Andrew Cogglesby on horseback. The expedition had for its

object the selection of a run of ground for an amateur steeple-chase: the

idea of which had sprung from Laxley's boasts of his horsemanship: and

Rose, quick as fire, had backed herself, and Drummond and Evan, to beat

him. The mention of the latter was quite enough for Laxley.

'If he follows me, let him take care of his neck,' said that youth.

'Why, Ferdinand, he can beat you in anything!' exclaimed Rose,

imprudently.

But the truth was, she was now more restless than ever. She was not

distant with Evan, but she had a feverish manner, and seemed to thirst to

make him show his qualities, and excel, and shine. Billiards, or jumping,

or classical acquirements, it mattered not--Evan must come first. He had

crossed the foils with Laxley, and disarmed him; for Mel his father had

seen him trained for a military career. Rose made a noise about the

encounter, and Laxley was eager for his opportunity, which he saw in the

proposed mad gallop.

Now Mr. George Uplift, who usually rode in buckskins whether he was after

the fox or fresh air, was out on this particular morning; and it happened

that, as the cavalcade wound beneath the down, Mr. George trotted along

the ridge. He was a fat-faced, rotund young squire--a bully where he

might be, and an obedient creature enough where he must be--good-humoured

when not interfered with; fond of the table, and brimful of all the jokes

of the county, the accent of which just seasoned his speech. He had

somehow plunged into a sort of half-engagement with Miss Carrington. At

his age, and to ladies of Miss Carrington's age, men unhappily do not

plunge head-foremost, or Miss Carrington would have had him long before.

But he was at least in for it half a leg; and a desperate maiden, on the

criminal side of thirty, may make much of that. Previous to the visit of

the Countess de Saldar, Mr. George had been in the habit of trotting over

to Beckley three or four times a week. Miss Carrington had a little

money: Mr. George was heir to his uncle. Miss Carrington was lean and

blue-eyed.

Mr. George was black-eyed and obese. By everybody, except Mr. George, the

match was made: but that exception goes for little in the country, where

half the population are talked into marriage, and gossips entirely devote

themselves to continuing the species. Mr. George was certain that he had

not been fighting shy of the fair Carrington of late, nor had he been

unfaithful. He had only been in an extraordinary state of occupation.

Messages for Lady Racial had to be delivered, and he had become her

cavalier and escort suddenly. The young squire was bewildered; but as he

was only one leg in love--if the sentiment may be thus spoken of

figuratively--his vanity in his present office kept him from remorse or

uneasiness.

He rode at an easy pace within sight of the home of his treasure, and his

back turned to it. Presently there rose a cry from below. Mr. George

looked about. The party of horsemen hallooed: Mr. George yoicked. Rose

set her horse to gallop up; Seymour Jocelyn cried 'fox,' and gave the

view; hearing which Mr. George shouted, and seemed inclined to surrender;

but the fun seized him, and, standing up in his stirrups, he gathered his

coat-tails in a bunch, and waggled them with a jolly laugh, which was

taken up below, and the clamp of hoofs resounded on the turf as Mr.

George led off, after once more, with a jocose twist in his seat, showing

them the brush mockingly. Away went fox, and a mad chase began. Seymour

acted as master of the hunt. Rose, Evan, Drummond, and Mrs. Evremonde and

Dorothy, skirted to the right, all laughing, and full of excitement.

Harry bellowed the direction from above. The ladies in the carriage, with

Lady Jocelyn and Andrew, watched them till they flowed one and all over

the shoulder of the down.

'And who may the poor hunted animal be?' inquired the Countess.

'George Uplift,' said Lady Jocelyn, pulling out her watch. 'I give him

twenty minutes.'

'Providence speed him!' breathed the Countess, with secret fervour.

'Oh, he hasn't a chance,' said Lady Jocelyn. 'The squire keeps wretched

beasts.'

'Is there not an attraction that will account for his hasty capture?'

said the Countess, looking tenderly at Miss Carrington, who sat a little

straighter, and the Countess, hating manifestations of stiff-backedness,

could not forbear adding: 'I am at war with my sympathies, which should

be with the poor brute flying from his persecutors.'

She was in a bitter state of trepidation, or she would have thought twice

before she touched a nerve of the enamoured lady, as she knew she did in

calling her swain a poor brute, and did again by pertinaciously pursuing:

'Does he then shun his captivity?'

'Touching a nerve' is one of those unforgivable small offences which, in

our civilized state, produce the social vendettas and dramas that, with

savage nations, spring from the spilling of blood. Instead of an eye for

an eye, a tooth for a tooth, we demand a nerve for a nerve. 'Thou hast

touched me where I am tender thee, too, will I touch.'

Miss Carrington had been alarmed and hurt at the strange evasion of Mr.

George; nor could she see the fun of his mimicry of the fox and his

flight away from instead of into her neighbourhood. She had also, or she

now thought it, remarked that when Mr. George had been spoken of

casually, the Countess had not looked a natural look. Perhaps it was her

present inflamed fancy. At any rate the Countess was offensive now. She

was positively vulgar, in consequence, to the mind of Miss Carrington,

and Miss Carrington was drawn to think of a certain thing Ferdinand

Laxley had said he had heard from the mouth of this lady's brother when

ale was in him. Alas! how one seed of a piece of folly will lurk and

sprout to confound us; though, like the cock in the eastern tale, we peck

up zealously all but that one!

The carriage rolled over the turf, attended by Andrew, and Lady Jocelyn,

and the hunt was seen; Mr. George some forty paces a-head; Seymour

gaining on him, Rose next.

'Who's that breasting Rose?' said Lady Jocelyn, lifting her glass.

'My brother-in-law, Harrington,' returned Andrew.

'He doesn't ride badly,' said Lady Jocelyn. 'A little too military. He

must have been set up in England.'

'Oh, Evan can do anything,' said Andrew enthusiastically. 'His father was

a capital horseman, and taught him fencing, riding, and every

accomplishment. You won't find such a young fellow, my lady--'

'The brother like him at all?' asked Lady Jocelyn, still eyeing the

chase.

'Brother? He hasn't got a brother,' said Andrew.

Lady Jocelyn continued: 'I mean the present baronet.'

She was occupied with her glass, and did not observe the flush that took

hold of Andrew's ingenuous cheeks, and his hurried glance at and off the

quiet eye of the Countess. Miss Carrington did observe it.

Mr. Andrew dashed his face under the palm of his hand, and murmured:

'Oh-yes! His brother-in-law isn't much like him--ha! ha!'

And then the poor little man rubbed his hands, unconscious of the

indignant pity for his wretched abilities in the gaze of the Countess;

and he must have been exposed--there was a fear that the ghost of Sir

Abraham would have darkened this day, for Miss Carrington was about to

speak, when Lady Jocelyn cried: 'There's a purl! Somebody's down.'

The Countess was unaware of the nature of a purl, but she could have

sworn it to be a piece of Providence.

'Just by old Nat Hodges' farm, on Squire Copping's ground,' cried Andrew,

much relieved by the particular individual's misfortune. 'Dear me, my

lady! how old Tom and I used to jump the brook there, to be sure! and

when you were no bigger than little Miss Loring--do you remember old Tom?

We're all fools one time in our lives!'

'Who can it be?' said Lady Jocelyn, spying at the discomfited horseman.

'I'm afraid it's poor Ferdinand.'

They drove on to an eminence from which the plain was entirely laid open.

'I hope my brother will enjoy his ride this day,' sighed the Countess.

'It will be his limit of enjoyment for a lengthened period!'

She perceived that Mr. George's capture was inevitable, and her heart

sank; for she was sure he would recognize her, and at the moment she

misdoubted her powers. She dreamed of flight.

'You're not going to leave us?' said Lady Jocelyn. 'My dear Countess,

what will the future member do without you? We have your promise to stay

till the election is over.'

'Thanks for your extreme kind courtesy, Lady Jocelyn,' murmured the

Countess: 'but my husband--the Count.'

'The favour is yours,' returned her ladyship. 'And if the Count cannot

come, you at least are at liberty?'

'You are most kind,' said the Countess.

'Andrew and his wife I should not dare to separate for more than a week,'

said Lady Jocelyn. 'He is the great British husband. The proprietor! "My

wife" is his unanswerable excuse.'

'Yes,' Andrew replied cheerily. 'I don't like division between man and

wife, I must say.'

The Countess dared no longer instance the Count, her husband. She was

heard to murmur that citizen feelings were not hers:

'You suggested Fallow field to Melville, did you not?' asked Lady

Jocelyn.

'It was the merest suggestion,' said the Countess, smiling.

'Then you must really stay to see us through it,' said her ladyship.

'Where are they now? They must be making straight for break-neck fence.

They'll have him there. George hasn't pluck for that.'

'Hasn't what?'

It was the Countess who requested to know the name of this other piece of

Providence Mr. George Uplift was deficient in.

'Pluck-go,' said her ladyship hastily, and telling the coachman to drive

to a certain spot, trotted on with Andrew, saying to him: 'I'm afraid we

are thought vulgar by the Countess.'

Andrew considered it best to reassure her gravely.

'The young man, her brother, is well-bred,' said Lady Jocelyn, and Andrew

was very ready to praise Evan.

Lady Jocelyn, herself in slimmer days a spirited horsewoman, had

correctly estimated Mr. George's pluck. He was captured by Harry and Evan

close on the leap, in the act of shaking his head at it; and many who

inspected the leap would have deemed it a sign that wisdom weighted the

head that would shake long at it; for it consisted of a post and rails,

with a double ditch.

Seymour Jocelyn, Mrs. Evremonde, Drummond, Jenny Graine, and William

Harvey, rode with Mr. George in quest of the carriage, and the captive

was duly delivered over.

'But where's the brush?' said Lady Jocelyn, laughing, and introducing him

to the Countess, who dropped her head, and with it her veil.

'Oh! they leave that on for my next run,' said Mr. George, bowing

civilly.

'You are going to run again?'

Miss Carrington severely asked this question; and Mr. George protested.

'Secure him, Louisa,' said Lady Jocelyn. 'See here: what's the matter

with poor Dorothy?'

Dorothy came slowly trotting up to them along the green lane, and thus

expressed her grief, between sobs:

'Isn't it a shame? Rose is such a tyrant. They're going to ride a race

and a jump down in the field, and it's break-neck leap, and Rose won't

allow me to stop and see it, though she knows I'm just as fond of Evan as

she is; and if he's killed I declare it will be her fault; and it's all

for her stupid, dirty old pocket handkerchief!'

'Break-neck fence!' said Lady Jocelyn; 'that's rather mad.'

'Do let's go and see it, darling Aunty Joey,' pleaded the little maid.

Lady Jocelyn rode on, saying to herself: 'That girl has a great deal of

devil in her.' The lady's thoughts were of Rose.

'Black Lymport'd take the leap,' said Mr. George, following her with the

rest of the troop. 'Who's that fellow on him?'

'His name's Harrington,' quoth Drummond.

'Oh, Harrington!' Mr. George responded; but immediately

laughed--'Harrington? 'Gad, if he takes the leap it'll be odd--another of

the name. That's where old Mel had his spill.'

'Who?' Drummond inquired.

'Old Mel Harrington--the Lymport wonder. Old Marquis Mel,' said Mr.

George. 'Haven't ye heard of him?'

'What! the gorgeous tailor!' exclaimed Lady Jocelyn. 'How I regret never

meeting that magnificent snob! that efflorescence of sublime imposture!

I've seen the Regent; but one's life doesn't seem complete without having

seen his twin-brother. You must give us warning when you have him down at

Croftlands again, Mr. George.'

'Gad, he'll have to come a long distance--poor old Mel!' said Mr. George;

and was going on, when Seymour Jocelyn stroked his moustache to cry,

'Look! Rosey 's starting 'em, by Jove!'

The leap, which did not appear formidable from where they stood, was four

fields distant from the point where Rose, with a handkerchief in her

hand, was at that moment giving the signal to Laxley and Evan.

Miss Carrington and the Countess begged Lady Jocelyn to order a shout to

be raised to arrest them, but her ladyship marked her good sense by

saying: 'Let them go, now they're about it'; for she saw that to make a

fuss now matters had proceeded so far, was to be uncivil to the

inevitable.

The start was given, and off they flew. Harry Jocelyn, behind them, was

evidently caught by the demon, and clapped spurs to his horse to have his

fling as well, for the fun of the thing; but Rose, farther down the

field, rode from her post straight across him, to the imminent peril of a

mutual overset; and the party on the height could see Harry fuming, and

Rose coolly looking him down, and letting him understand what her will

was; and her mother, and Drummond, and Seymour who beheld this, had a

common sentiment of admiration for the gallant girl. But away went the

rivals. Black Lymport was the favourite, though none of the men thought

he would be put at the fence. The excitement became contagious. The

Countess threw up her veil. Lady Jocelyn, and Seymour, and Drummond,

galloped down the lane, and Mr. George was for accompanying them, till

the line of Miss Carrington's back gave him her unmistakeable opinion of

such a course of conduct, and he had to dally and fret by her side.

Andrew's arm was tightly grasped by the Countess. The rivals were

crossing the second field, Laxley a little a-head.

'He 's holding in the black mare--that fellow!' said Mr. George. 'Gad, it

looks like going at the fence. Fancy Harrington!'

They were now in the fourth field, a smooth shorn meadow. Laxley was two

clear lengths in advance, but seemed riding, as Mr. George remarked, more

for pace than to take the jump. The ladies kept plying random queries and

suggestions: the Countess wishing to know whether they could not be

stopped by a countryman before they encountered any danger. In the midst

of their chatter, Mr. George rose in his stirrups, crying:

'Bravo, the black mare!'

'Has he done it?' said Andrew, wiping his poll.

'He? No, the mare!' shouted Mr. George, and bolted off, no longer to be

restrained.

The Countess, doubly relieved, threw herself back in the carriage, and

Andrew drew a breath, saying: 'Evan has beat him--I saw that! The other's

horse swerved right round.'

'I fear,' said Mrs. Evremonde, 'Mr. Harrington has had a fall. Don't be

alarmed--it may not be much.'

'A fall!' exclaimed the Countess, equally divided between alarms of

sisterly affection and a keen sense of the romance of the thing.

Miss Carrington ordered the carriage to be driven round. They had not

gone far when they were met by Harry Jocelyn riding in hot haste, and he

bellowed to the coachman to drive as hard as he could, and stop opposite

Brook's farm.

The scene on the other side of the fence would have been a sweet one to

the central figure in it had his eyes then been open. Surrounded by Lady

Jocelyn, Drummond, Seymour, and the rest, Evan's dust-stained body was

stretched along the road, and his head was lying in the lap of Rose, who,

pale, heedless of anything spoken by those around her, and with her lips

set and her eyes turning wildly from one to the other, held a gory

handkerchief to his temple with one hand, and with the other felt for the

motion of his heart.

But heroes don't die, you know.