Run to Earth, Mary Elizabeth Braddon [epub ebook reader .TXT] 📗
- Author: Mary Elizabeth Braddon
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the devil on my side. It is yet on the cards for you to become owner of
ten thousand a-year; and it shall be my business to make you owner of
that income.”
“Stay, Carrington, do you think I would permit—?”
“I ask your permission for nothing: I know you to be a weak and
wavering coward, who of your own volition would never rise from the
level of a ruined spendthrift and penniless vagabond. You forget,
perhaps, that I hold a bond which gives me an interest in your
fortunes. I do not forget. When my own wisdom counsels action, I shall
act, without asking your advice. If I am successful, you will thank me.
If I fail, you will reproach me for my folly. That is the way of the
world. And now let us change the subject. When do you go down to
Dorsetshire with your cousin, Douglas Dale?”
“Why do you ask me that question?”
“My curiosity is only prompted by a friendly interest in your welfare,
and that of your relations. You are going to hunt with Lionel Dale, are
you not?”
“Yes; he has invited me to spend the remainder of the hunting season
with him?”
“At his brother’s request, I believe?”
“Precisely. I have not met Lionel since—since my uncle’s funeral—as
you know.” Sir Reginald pronounced these last words with considerable
hesitation. “Douglas spends Christmas with his brother, and Douglas
wishes me to join the party. In order to gratify this wish, Lionel has
written me a very friendly letter, inviting me down to Hallgrove
Rectory, and I have accepted the invitation.”
“Nothing could be more natural. There is some talk of your buying a
hunter for Lionel, is there not, by-the-bye?”
“Yes. They know I am a tolerable judge of horseflesh, and Douglas
wishes me to get his brother a good mount for the winter.”
“When is the animal to be chosen?” asked Victor, carelessly.
“Immediately. We go down to Hallgrove next week, I shall select the
horse whenever I can get Douglas to go with me to the dealer’s, and
send him down to get used to his new quarters before his hard work
begins.”
“Good. Let me know when you are going to the horse-dealer’s: but if you
see me there, take no notice of me beyond a nod, and be careful not to
attract Douglas Dale’s attention to me or introduce me to him.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Reginald, looking suspiciously at his
companion.
“What should I mean except what I say? I do not see how even your
imagination can fancy any dark meaning lurking beneath the common-place
desire to waste an afternoon in a visit to a horse-dealer’s yard.”
“My dear Carrington, forgive me,” exclaimed Reginald. “I am irritable
and impatient. I cannot forget the misery of those last days at
Raynham.”
“Yes,” answered Victor Carrington: “the misery of failure.”
No more was said between the two men. The sway which the powerful
intellect of the surgeon exercised over the weaker nature of his friend
was omnipotent. Reginald Eversleigh feared Victor Carrington. And there
was something more than this ever-present fear in his mind; there was
the lurking hope that, by means of Carrington’s scheming, he should yet
obtain the wealth he had forfeited.
The conversation above recorded took place on the day after Mr.
Larkspur’s interview with Honoria.
Three days afterwards, Reginald Eversleigh and his cousin met at the
club, for the purpose of going together to inspect the hunters on sale
at Mr. Spavin’s repository, in the Brompton Road.
Dale’s mail-phaeton was waiting before the door of the club, and he
drove his cousin down to the repository.
Mr. Spavin was one of the most fashionable horse-dealers of that day. A
man who could not afford to give a handsome price had but a small
chance of finding himself suited at Mr. Spavin’s repository. For a poor
customer the horse-dealer felt nothing but contempt.
Half a dozen horsey-looking men came out of stables, loose boxes, and
harness-rooms to attend upon the gentlemen, whose dashing mail-phaeton
and stylish groom commanded the respect of the whole yard. The great
Mr. Spavin himself emerged from his counting-house to ask the pleasure
of his customers.
“Carriage-horses, sir, or ‘acks?” he asked. “That’s a very fine pair in
the break yonder, if you want anything showy for a mail-phaeton.
They’ve been exercising in the park. All blood, sir, and not an ounce
too much bone. A pair of hosses that would do credit to a dook.”
Reginald asked to see Mr. Spavin’s hunters, and the grooms and keepers
were soon busy trotting out noble-looking creatures for the inspection
of the three gentlemen. There was a tan-gallop at the bottom of the
yard, and up and down this the animals were paraded.
Douglas Dale was much interested in the choice of the horse which he
intended to present to his brother; and he discussed the merits of the
different hunters with Sir Reginald Eversleigh, whose eye had lighted,
within a minute of their entrance, upon Victor Carrington. The surgeon
stood at a little distance from them, absorbed by the scene before him;
but it was to be observed that his attention was given less to the
horses than the men who brought them out of their boxes.
At one of these men he looked with peculiar intensity; and this man was
certainly not calculated to attract the observation of a stranger by
any personal advantages of his own. He was a wizened little man, with
red hair, a bullet-shaped head, and small, rat-like eyes.
This man had very little to do with the display of the horses; but
once, when there was a pause in the business, he opened the door of a
loose-box, went in, and presently emerged, leading a handsome bay,
whose splendid head was reared in a defiant attitude, as the fiery
eyeballs surveyed the yard.
“Isn’t that ‘Wild Buffalo?’” asked Mr. Spavin.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you ought to know better than to bring him out,” exclaimed the
horse-dealer, angrily. “These gentlemen want a horse that a Christian
can ride, and the ‘Buffalo’ isn’t fit to be ridden by a Christian; not
yet awhile at any rate. I mean to take the devil out of him before I’ve
done with him, though,” added Mr. Spavin, casting a vindictive glance
at the horse.
“He is rather a handsome animal,” said Sir Reginald Eversleigh.
“Oh, yes, he’s handsome enough,” answered the dealer. “His looks are no
discredit to him; but handsome is as handsome does—that’s my motter;
and if I’d known the temper of that beast when Captain Chesterly
offered him to me, I’d have seen the captain farther before I consented
to buy him. However, there he is; I’ve got him, and I must make the
best of him. But Jack Spavin is not the man to sell such a beast to a
customer until the wickedness is taken out of him. When the wickedness
is taken out of him, he’ll be at your service, gentlemen, with Jack
Spavin’s best wishes.”
The horse was taken back to his box. Victor watched the animal and the
groom with an intensely earnest gaze as they disappeared from his
sight.
“That’s a curious-looking fellow, that groom of yours,” Sir Reginald
said to the horse-dealer.
“What, Hawkins—Jim Hawkins? Yes; his looks won’t make his fortune.
He’s a hard-working fellow enough in his way; but he’s something like
the horse in the matter of temper. But I think I’ve taken the devil out
of him,” said Mr. Spavin, with an ominous crack of his heavy riding-whip.
More horses were brought out, examined, discussed, and taken back to
their boxes. Mr. Spavin knew he had to deal with a good customer, and
he wished to show off the resources of his stable.
“Bring out ‘Niagara,’” he said, presently, and in a few minutes a groom
emerged from one of the stables, leading a magnificent bay. “Now,
gentlemen,” said Mr. Spavin, “that animal is own brother to ‘Wild
Buffalo,’ and if it had not been for my knowledge of that animal’s
merits I should never have bought the ‘Buffalo.’ Now, there’s apt to be
a good deal of difference between human beings of the same family; but
perhaps you’d hardly believe the difference there can be between horses
of the same blood. That animal is as sweet a temper as you’d wish to
have in a horse—and ‘Buffalo’ is a devil; yet, if you were to see the
two horses side by side, you’d scarcely know which was which.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Sir Reginald; “I should like, for the curiosity of
the thing, to see the two animals together.”
Mr. Spavin gave his orders, and presently Jim Hawkins, the queer-looking groom, brought out “Wild Buffalo.”
The two horses were indeed exactly alike in all physical attributes,
and the man who could have distinguished one from the other must have
had a very keen eye.
“There they are, gents, as like as two peas, and if it weren’t for a
small splash of white on the inner side of ‘Buffalo’s’ left hock,
there’s very few men in my stable could tell one from the other.”
Victor Carrington, observing that Dale was talking to the horse-dealer,
drew near the animal, with the air of an interested stranger, and
stooped to examine the white mark. It was a patch about as large as a
crown-piece.
“‘Niagara’ seems a fine creature,” he said.
“Yes,” replied a groom; “I don’t think there’s many better horses in
the place than ‘Niagara.’”
When Douglas Dale returned to the examination of the two horses, Victor
Carrington drew Sir Reginald aside, unperceived by Dale.
“I want you to choose the horse ‘Niagara’ for Lionel Dale,” he said,
when they were beyond the hearing of Douglas.
“Why that horse in particular?”
“Never mind why,” returned Carrington, impatiently. “You can surely do
as much as that to oblige me.”
“Be it so,” answered Sir Reginald, with assumed carelessness; “the
horse seems a good one.”
There was a little more talk and consultation, and then Douglas Dale
asked his cousin which horse he liked best among those they had seen.
“Well, upon my word, if you ask my opinion, I think there is no better
horse than that bay they call ‘Niagara;’ and if you and Spavin can
agree as to price, you may settle the business without further
hesitation.”
Douglas Dale acted immediately upon the baronet’s advice. He went into
Mr. Spavin’s little counting-house, and wrote a cheque for the price of
the horse on the spot, much to that gentleman’s satisfaction. While
Douglas Dale was writing this cheque, Victor Carrington waited in the
yard outside the counting-house.
He took this opportunity of addressing Hawkins, the groom.
“I want a job done in your line,” he said, “and I think you’d be just
the man to manage it for me. Have you any spare time?”
“I’ve an hour or two, now and then, of a night, after my work’s over,”
answered the man.
“At what time, and where, are you to be met with after your work?”
“Well, sir, my own home is too poor a place for a gentleman like you to
come to; but if you don’t object to a public—and a very respectable
public, too, in its way—there’s the ‘Goat and Compasses,’ three doors
down the little street as you’ll see on your left, as you leave this
here yard, walking towards London.”
“Yes, yes,” interrupted Victor, impatiently; “you
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