Sir Hilton's Sin
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“Yes, Sir Hilton. Brought round the pony-carriage.”
“Oh! Gone out?”
“Yes, Sir Hilton.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“Morning’s paper, Sir Hilton,” said the man, obsequiously, as he drew a sporting-print from his pocket and held it out meaningly turned down at a particular spot.
“What’s that?” said the baronet, glancing at one line, and then, turning angrily, “Take it away!” he cried.
“Beg pardon, Sir Hilton. Tilborough first Summer Meeting.”
“Take it away!”
“Yes, sir; but La Sylphide.”
“Look here, Mark, my lad, no more of this. I know, of course, but take it away. Do you want to drive me mad?”
“Beg pardon, Sir Hilton. Then you won’t drive over in the dogcart?”
“What?”
“Just to see her pull it off, Sir Hilton.”
“Confound it, man! Hold your tongue! Be off!”
At that moment there were steps on the gravel, and directly after a peal arose from the door-bell.
“Go and see who that is, sir, and never mention anything connected with the Turf again. It’s dead to me, and I’m dead to it,” he muttered, as the man left the room, giving place to Jane, who hurried in with covered dishes upon a tray.
“Did you see who that was, Jane?”
“No, Sir Hilton. Some gentleman on horseback. His horse is hooked on one side of the gate.”
“Who the deuce can it be?”
“Dr Granton, sir,” said the groom, coming to the door.
“Oh! Where is he?”
“Study, sir.”
“Bring him in here.”
Sir Hilton looked quite transformed. There was a bright, alert look in his erstwhile dull eyes, and he seemed to pull himself together as he started actively from his chair, and made as if to hurry after his groom.
But he was too late, for the door reopened, and Mark showed in a handsome, dark, military-looking man of about five-and-thirty, who marched in, hunting-crop in hand, spurs jingling faintly at his heels, and dressed in faultless taste as a horseman.
“My dear old Jack!”
“Hilt, old boy!”
“This is a surprise. Here, Jane, another cover; the doctor will breakfast with me.”
“My dear fellow, I breakfasted at eight.”
“Never mind; have an eleven’s. Mouthful of corn then never hurt anyone. A chair here, Mark. That will do, my man.”
Mark backed out, with the half-grin, which had sprung up on seeing his master’s animation, dying out, and shaking his head, while the visitor turned the chair placed for him back to the table and bestrode it as if it were a horse.
“Whatever brings you down into this dismal region?”
“Dismal, eh?” said the visitor, glancing round, and then out of the window. “Races.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the baronet. “Yes; I heard they were to-day.”
“You heard? Aren’t you coming?”
“No, no. I’ve dropped all that sort of thing now.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot; and my manners, too. How is her ladyship?”
“Oh, well – very well, Jack,” said Sir Hilton, in a mournful way.
“That’s right, old chap. Well, trot her out.”
Sir Hilton frowned.
“I beg your pardon, old man. Presuming on old brotherly acquaintance. I shall be glad to see her, though.”
“Of course, my dear boy; but the fact is, she is out.”
“She is? Hang it all, then, I’ve come at the right time. Have a day off with me at Tilborough, and we’ll dine afterwards at the hotel. We can get a snack of something.”
“No, no; you misunderstand me. My wife is only having a morning drive in the pony chaise. A little business in the village.”
“Oh, I see; Lady Bountiful – district visiting – buying curtsies of the old women, and that sort of thing.”
“Yes – er – exactly.”
“Ah! I’ve heard that Lady Lisle does a deal in that way. Takes the chair at charity meetings, eh? Primrose Dame, too?”
“Who told you that?”
“Told me? Let’s see. Oh, it was Lady Tilborough.”
The conversation ceased for a minute or two while Jane entered with a tray, busied herself, and then departed, leaving the visitor quite ready to show that his eight o’clock breakfast was a thing of the past.
“I say, though,” he exclaimed, with his mouth half full, “I didn’t mean this. I’ve left my horse hitched on to the gate.”
Sir Hilton rose, stepped to the window, and returned.
“Not there. Mark would see to it, of course, and give it a feed in the stables.”
“That’s all right, then. Yes, Lady Tilborough was talking about you the other day.”
“Was she? What did she say?”
“Oh, not much. Only that it was a pity you had given up hunting and the Turf.”
The baronet sighed – almost groaned. “Anything else?”
“Well – er – no-o-o-o. Oh, yes; a little bit of badinage.”
“Eh? What about? Nothing spiteful? No, she wouldn’t. She’s a dear good creature, bless her!”
“Good boy! So she is – bless her!”
“Ah! I once thought when the old man died, that – ”
“Oh, did you? Well, you didn’t, and you’ve married well enough to satisfy any man.”
Sir Hilton sighed, and his visitor looked at him out of the corner of his eye.
“Come, old man, you don’t seem to care for your corn. You didn’t have a wet night?”
“Hot coppers this morning? My dear boy, no! Why, I lead as quiet a life as a curate now.”
“All the better for you.”
Sir Hilton sighed again.
“Then it’s true?” said the visitor, smiling.
“What’s true? What have you been hearing? Did Lady Tilborough say – ”
“Oh, nothing; only a bit of chaff about you.”
“Tell me what the widow said.”
“Oh, it was all good humouredly – a bit of her fun. You know what she is – wouldn’t hurt the feelings of a fly.”
“Yes, yes, I know; but she has been laughing at me. She has – ”
“Nonsense – nonsense! Don’t make your coat rough, old man. She only said it was a pity.”
“What was a pity?”
“That dear old Hilt should be ridden with his curb chain so tight – by George! I didn’t know how hungry I was.”
“Yes,” said Sir Hilton, sadly; “the curb is a bit too tight sometimes, Jack; but someone means well, and she has a right to be a bit firm. I always was a fool over money matters.”
“Nonsense, old fellow! You were a prince, only you were unlucky, and were obliged to make a clear up; but you’re all right again now.”
“Yes,” said the baronet, “I’m all right again now.” But his voice sounded very doleful.
“It was thirty thou’ a-year, wasn’t it – I mean, isn’t it?”
Sir Hilton nodded.
“She got the title and you got the tin. Quid pro quo!”
Sir Hilton nodded again, and then made a desperate effort to turn the conversation back upon his friend.
“Lady Lisle has always taken an interest in parish matters and the poor, and it pleases her. She would not, of course, like me to take an interest now in racing affairs.”
“Of course not – of course not, my dear boy,” said the visitor, helping himself to the marmalade left by Sydney.
“But what about you?”
“Me? Oh, I’m doing capitally,” was the reply, rather thickly uttered.
“Nonsense! I mean that affair. How do matters go with the widow?”
“Hah!” sighed the visitor, laying down his knife.
“Hallo! Not off, is it, old chap?”
“No, not off, Hilt, but I’m just where I was. Like the farmer over the claret, I don’t seem to get no furder.”
“Well, you must be a duffer, Jack.”
“I suppose I am, old man. Pluck enough in some things, but I’m afraid of her.”
“But haven’t you spoken?”
“No; I daren’t, for fear she should laugh at me, and the whole affair be quite off.”
“I say, Jack, you’re dead hit.”
“I am, old man – dead. Bless her! She’s an angel! But I’m afraid, after her experience with that old ruffian Tilborough, she has made up her mind never to run in double harness again.”
“Nonsense! Pluck up, old fellow; a woman likes a man to be manly, and if she accepted you – ”
“Ah, if Hilt, if.”
“She would, or I don’t know her. I should like to see it come off, for there wouldn’t be a better matched pair in England. Go in and win.”
“Well, hang me if I don’t! I’ve been playing a shilly-shally waiting game, and now I’ll come to the point. But I say, what’s this about you in the papers – election news?”
“Oh, it’s the wife’s wish. She won’t rest till I have ‘M.P.’ at the end of my name.”
“Good thing too. You’re getting mossy here. Go into Parliament, and it will soon be rubbed off. The poor dear lady is spoiling you. Too much apron-string. She’s stopped your racing and hunting, but you must do something. Go in and win your seat.”
“I don’t care much about it.”
“More fool you! Think of the chances it will give you of a little life. The House – there you are; an excuse for everything not quite in running order with the ideas of such a lady as madam. Club? Best in London. Late hours? Sitting till two, three, four, or milk-time.”
“Yes; I never gave that a thought.”
“An excuse for everything, dear boy, and your wife proud of you. Oh, I should enter for those stakes, certainly. It will cost you something, though.”
“I suppose so; but, between ourselves, Lady Lisle has placed four thou’ to my account for election expenses.”
“Brave little woman! The widow’s all wrong.”
“How! Why? What do you mean?”
“She said her ladyship kept the chequebook, and saw to the estate herself, only allowing you a little pocket-money when you were a good boy.”
“Tell Lady Tilborough to mind her own business, Jack,” said the baronet, tartly.
“My dear Hilt, I’d share my last fiver with you, or I’d back any of your paper with pleasure; but I’ll be hanged if I’ll do that I say, though, come on to the race to-day.”
Sir Hilton shook his head.
“Nonsense! Think of it. Your old filly, La Sylphide, first favourite. I saw her a week ago. Lovely! Lady Tilborough told me she wouldn’t take four times as much for her as she gave at your sale.”
“The beautiful gazelle-eyed creature!” sighed Sir Hilton.
“That she is.”
“Who is up?” said Sir Hilton.
“Josh Rowle, your old jock, of course. The widow told me that she wouldn’t – I mean the mare – let anyone else go near her.”
“Just like her, Jack. She had a temper, but she was like a kitten with me. Came ambling up the paddock when I whistled, and she’d rub her head against me for all the world like a cat, and fetch bits of carrot out of my pocket, or whinny for sugar. Ah! those were dear old days. Yes, she’ll pull it off for certain.”
“Come and see her run.”
“I couldn’t, old man. I couldn’t bear it. No, I’m entered for the House of Commons. Lady Lisle says I’m to be a – a Minister some day.”
“Bravo! Be Chancellor of the Exchequer, and keep the purse. But I say, do come. You must be hungry for a race after fasting so long.”
“I am, Jack, I am.”
“Come, then.”
“No; don’t ask me,” said the baronet; “my racing days are over.”
“And you’ve burnt your jockey cap and silk, the scarlet and blue stripe of the finest gentleman-rider of his day?”
“By Jove! no. I keep them, leathers, boots, whip, and all, in a locked-up drawer. My man, Mark, takes them out to set them up and worship sometimes.”
“Then you really won’t come?”
“No, Jack, I can’t. It would break my wife’s heart if I did, and she really is very fond of me.”
“Very well; I won’t press you, old man. But, I say, you think La Sylphide will win?”
“It’s a dead cert. Have you anything on?”
“All I’m worth, dear boy. Have you?”
“I? Nonsense! I haven’t made a bet these two years.”
“Then now’s your time.”
“No, no: I’ve done with that sort of thing.”
“But, personally, you are not flush of money, are you?”
“I? Never was so short in my life.”
The doctor laughed. “Seize the chance, then, to make a thou’ or two.”
“Impossible.”
“Nonsense! You say yourself the mare’s sure to win.”
“Bar accidents, she must.”
“Then make your game.”
“No; I have no money.”
“Why, you said just now that her ladyship had placed four thou’ to your credit in her bank.”
“For my electioneering exes.”
“Bosh! To use. Put on the pot and make it boil. Why, man, you could clear enough on the strength of that coin lying idle to set you up for a couple of years.”
“Ye-e-es,” said Sir Hilton, who began biting at his nails. “Might, mightn’t I?”
“Of course. Why, you would be mad to miss the chance.”
“It does sound tempting.”
“Tempting? Of course. It isn’t as if there was any gambling in it.”
“Exactly. There would be no gambling in it?”
“Of course not. If it were some horse whose character you did not know, it would be different. But here you are – your own mare, whom you know down to the ground. Your own jockey, too. Look here, dear boy, La Sylphide can’t help winning. You’d be mad to miss this chance. I should say, go and see the run, but I give way to your scruples there; but when I see you chucking away a pile of money I begin to kick.”
Sir Hilton rose and walked up and down the room, as his old friend and companion continued talking, and ended by coming back to the table and bringing down his fist with a bang.
“Yes,” he cried, “it would be madness to miss the chance. By Jove! I’ll do it.”
“Bravo, old man!”
“I’ll put it in your hands, Jack. Get on for me all you can.”
“Up to what?”
“All I’ve got in the bank. Four thou’.”
“Do you mean it?”
“Of course.”
“Well done, old chap. That’s Hilt up to the hilt, like in the old times.”
“Pst! Someone coming,” said the baronet, dropping into a chair. “We didn’t hear the chaise. It’s my wife.”
Chapter Five.
A Lamentable Case
Lady Lisle swept into the room, fresh from the pony-carriage, looking rather stern and haughty, her brows knitting at the sight of the breakfast things, and then rising a little as she saw the gallant-looking gentleman who rose and advanced to meet her.
“Dr Granton!”
“At your service, Lady Lisle. I was in the neighbourhood, and rode over to see my dear old friend, but I am just off. I congratulate you. How well he looks!”
“I am glad you think so. But – you have only just come. Will you not stay? My husband must have a good deal to say to you.”
“We could talk for hours, my dear madam, but I must be going on.”
“You will stay to lunch?”
“Impossible. Most important business in the neighbourhood. Hilton has been most hospitable and refreshed me, and I really must be off – eh, Hilt?”
“Certainly.”
“The fact is, Lady Lisle, it is a question of money matters. Business connection with a bank.”
Lady Lisle bowed, and looked relieved.
“If you must go, then, Dr Granton – ”
“I really must, my dear madam. No, no, Hilton, dear boy, don’t ring for the horse; I’ll go round by the stables and pick up my hack. Don’t you come. Good-morning, Lady Lisle. I hope you will let me call if I am again this way?”
“Certainly, Dr Granton. I am always happy to extend the hospitality of the Denes to my husband’s friends.”
“Thank you; of course. Once more, good-morning. Morning, Hilton, dear boy. Au revoir!”
He passed out, and the frown on Lady Lisle’s brow deepened. “I’m afraid, Hilton,” she said, “that Dr Granton’s business may have something to do with the races.”
“Eh? Indeed! Well, now you say so, I suppose it is possible.”
“You have not allowed him to tempt you into going, Hilton?”
“No, my dear,” said the baronet; “certainly not.”
He spoke out quickly and firmly, the glow of the virtuous who had resisted temptation warming his breast.
“Thank you, dear,” she said, laying her hand almost caressingly upon her lord’s shoulder. “It could only have meant gambling, risking money to win that of others. Hilton, my love, it is so vile and despicable.”
“Think so, Laura?” he said, with the cold chill of his wife’s words completely extinguishing the virtuous glow.
“Think so? Oh, yes, Hilton. You cannot imagine how happy you make me by the way you are casting behind you your old weaknesses, and are devoting yourself to Parliamentary study.”
“For which I fear I am very unfit,” said Sir Hilton; and he turned cold directly after at a horrible thought which seemed to stun him.
Suppose she should say, “Well, give it up,” and want to withdraw that balance at the bank! “What an idiot I was to say that!” he thought. But relief – partial relief – came the next minute.
“That is your modesty, my dear,” said Lady Lisle. “I flatter myself that I know your capabilities better than you know them yourself. Hilton, I shall devote myself to the task of being your Parliamentary secretary, and I mean that you shall shine.”
“Thank you, my dear,” said the unhappy man, sadly, as he thought of the daring venture he had set in commission, and began to repent as he walked to the window and looked out.
“I ought not to have risked that money, though. Suppose the mare lost,” he mused. “Bah! I know her too well. There isn’t a horse can touch her in the straight, and it will regularly set me up. I shan’t have to go begging for a cheque, and then have ‘What for, darling?’ ringing in my ears. Hang it all! It makes a man feel so small. Why, the very servants pity me – I know they do. And as for that old scoundrel Trimmer – oh, if I could only give him something, even if it were only a wife to keep him short!”
“Suppose – ” he thought again, and could get no farther than that one word, which, like the nucleus of a comet, sent out behind or before it a tail of enormous proportions – a sort of gaseous mist of horrible probabilities concerning that four thousand pounds.
“If I could get a message to him and stop it all,” he muttered, as he watched Jane rapidly clear the table of the tardy breakfast things.
“Yes, my love, Parliament must be the goal of your ambition,” said Lady Lisle, with her eyes brightening, as soon as they were alone. “If I had been a man how I should have gloried in addressing the House!”
“Ah! there’s a deal of talk goes on there, my dear,” replied Sir Hilton.
“And what talk, Hilton! What a study! The proper study of mankind is man. How much better than devoting all your attention to dogs and horses!”
“‘How noble a beast is the horse,’ dear, it said in my first reading-book.”
“Absurd, my love. Pray don’t think of horses any more.”
Sir Hilton winced, and then watched his lady as she moved in a dignified way to the fireplace to rearrange her headgear.
“Going out again, my dear?” said Sir Hilton, for want of something better to say.
“Yes, love. I have ordered the carriage round, to drive over to Hanby.”
“To Hanby, dear?”
“Yes. Mr Browse drove by while I was at the vicarage,” said the lady, in a tone of disgust. “That man is in arrear with his rent for the farm. The vicar said he supposed the man was going to the races, and I am going over to see his wife.”
“For goodness’ sake, don’t go and interfere, my dear,” cried Sir Hilton, anxiously. “It would get talked about so at the Tilborough Market, and spread in all directions.”
“It would not matter, that I see,” said her ladyship, haughtily. “But I was not going to interfere. I might, perhaps, say a word or two of condolence to poor Mrs Browse, and point out how much happier she would be if her husband followed the example of mine.”
“But, hang it all, Laura, he can’t try to enter into Parliament!”
“No, my love, but he could give up horse-racing.”
“Surely you are not going over there – to drive all those miles – to say that?”
“No, my love, only to help carry on your election contest, and be in time. Mr Browse is in my – our debt, according to Mr Trimmer’s figures, for a whole year’s rental of the farm.”
“But you mustn’t go and dun people.”
“Dun, Hilton?”
“Well, collect rents. Leave that to Trimmer.”
“Of course I shall, my dear,” said her ladyship, with a condescending smile. “I am going over to name that circumstance of their indebtedness to me – us, and to tell her that I shall expect Mr Browse to vote for you. She will compel her husband to do so, and that will ensure one vote.”
“The grey mare’s the better horse,” said Sir Hilton to himself, and he was thinking of the train of circumstances in connection with the race, and planning to rush off and try to forestall the doctor’s risking money, as he sat back in his chair, when, slowly slouching along after passing through the swing gate, one of the regular hangers-on of a race-meeting approached the house. His aspect was battered, and the pink hunting-coat – one which had seen very much better days – was rubbed to whiteness here and greased to blackness there. It was frayed and patched, and wore the general aspect of having been used as a sleeping garment on occasion, being decorated with scraps of hay, prickly seed vessels, and the like, in addition to the chalky dust of the road, a good deal of which powdered the round-topped, peaked hunting cap, once of black velvet, now all fibre, with scarcely a trace of nap.
The coat was closely buttoned up to the throat, and a pair of much-worn cord trousers completed the man’s costume, all but his boots, which were ornamented with slashings, for the benefit, probably, of bunions, for if intended for effect, after the fashion of an old stuffed doublet, the effort was a mistake.
But there was no mistake about the man’s profession. He was hall-marked “tramp” by his blear eyes and horribly reddened, bulbous nose, and racing-tout by the packet of race-cards peering out of his breast-pocket. But evidently he was a man of much invention, inasmuch as from a desire to do a little trading on his way from racecourse to racecourse, or for an excuse to find his way to houses where he might pick up unconsidered trifles, cadging, filching, and the like, he carried in one hand a fat, white mongrel puppy, with a bit of blue ribbon tied about its neck. As a dog, it was about as bad a specimen as could be met with in a day’s march; but it had one advantage over its owner – it was scrupulously clean.
The squire of the Denes was not within the scope of the tramp’s view, as he loafed up with his blear eyes twinkling; and for the moment the shape of the room hid Lady Lisle, till the big Persian cat, the minute before apparently fast asleep, curled up on an ottoman upon which the sun shone warmly, suddenly smelt dog, and sprang to all fours, arching its back, bottle-brushing its tail, and baring its white teeth, as it began to swear loudly.
“Oh, Khan, Khan, what is the matter?” cried Lady Lisle, taking a step or two towards the cat, and then stopping short with “Oh, Hilton, my love, send this dreadful man away!”
“Buy a lovely little dawg, my lady,” cried the tramp, now close up to the window, and smiling, whining, and leering in. “Puss, puss, puss! Look at ’em! They’ll make friends in a minute.”
He reached in a hand and set the puppy down on the Turkey carpet, when the idiotic-looking little object, after the manner of its kind, began slowly to blunder towards the lordly Persian yclept Khan, to the imminent risk of having its eyes scratched out.
“Look at the pretty creetur, my lady,” whined the man. “Two guineas is the price, but seeing its you, my lady, and a good home for the little beauty, say one pun, and he’s yours.”
“Take your dirty whelp up and be off, you scoundrel!” cried Sir Hilton, in a passion, and deftly placing the toe of his boot under the puppy he lifted it and sent it flying through the window, to be fielded cleverly and without pain by its owner.
“What, my noble Capting! What, my noble barrowknight, you here? You are a sight for sore eyes. You ain’t forgot Dandy Dinny?”
“Forgotten you? No, you scoundrel!”
“Just your old self again, Sir Rilton. Why, bless me! this is like old times. Here, c’rect card, Sir Rilton; all the names colours, jocks, and starters. Take a dozen, your lordship; you’ll want ’em for your lady-friends on the course.”
“Be off, sir! How dare you trespass on my premises!”
“Trespass, Sir Rilton? I wouldn’t do such a thing. There, I knowed you’d never drop the Turf. Whats yer ’oss’s name?”
“Cut!” cried Sir Hilton, fiercely.
“Is it, now? A sharp ’un, then, as’ll show the field its four blessed racing plates. A dark ’un, your honour?”
“Will you be off, you scoundrel!”
“Off, your honour, in a jiffy, ready to look out for you on the course. But you’ll buy the little dawg for her lovely ladyship?”
“Take the miserable mongrel away.”
“But such a companion for the long-haired tom puss, Sir Rilton.”
“Did you hear me tell you to go, sir?”
“Yes, your honour,” whispered the man, shuffling his “c’rect cards” back into his pocket with one hand, and leaning forward into the room to whisper: “I’m ’orrid hard up, Sir Rilton. Give us a tip for the cup to help a pore fellow get a honest livin’. You’ll do that for your pore old friend as touted for you all these years?”