The Potter's Thumb Part 25

'All right, Miss Tweedie, over like a bird. But you are right. Green rides badly.' And the short man looked at the Major comprehensively.

'Jimmy,' called the latter quickly, when the horses showed again at the end curve as they came round on the winning post for their first turn, Bronzewing fourth and ousted from her inner place by Blue-and-white, who was making the pace over the straightest bit in the course; 'get me all you can from them on the mare--in Simians Gad! I should like to let those fellows in.'

'But she is behind, ever so far behind,' interrupted Rose, divided between regret and relief that she would not have to watch a reckless tussle at the end, with its thousand possibilities of mishap.

'There isn't a beast near her at the jumps, and if Gordon--he's saving her now, Miss Tweedie--gets the inner lap again top and bottom; it is as near a moral as racing ought to be. Lord! how she took that water!

Well done, little 'un, well done!'

He was almost as excited as George, who was craning forward to catch a last glimpse of the trail of bright colours skimming round the farthest turn behind some trees.

'By Jove! he is in again, and how Green is riding him! Stick to it, man, stick to it! Game little lady! not an inch to spare, and waltzed over it as if she had the floor to herself. They mean Blue-and-white to win; that's clear. Ah! now it's on the straight! Now Green will shoot!

H'm--not much to spare in that cross. Green's in--that's an end.

Blue-and-white wins, unless he makes a mistake.' Major Davenant put down his field-gla.s.ses with a sigh.

On they came; the Red-hoop and the Green almost neck and neck, close in to the posts. Keeping pace half a length behind in the clear, Blue-and-white saving breath for his awkward beast at the last hedge; behind them, a trail of colours like a pennant streaming backwards. Now they are at the sharpest corner, and a murmur rises as Bronzewing shoots ahead, making the Green give way.

'Hullo, what's that?' cries the Major; 'a foul? Did any one see it?'

There was no time for an answer as yet. Green, seeing his work over, slacks to pace, and there is nothing but an easy hedge and a couple of hundred yards galloping between the Crimson-hoop, Blue-and-white and the winning post. Inch by inch Bronzewing gives way before the swinging stride of the Waler, but she presses him hard, too hard for the last fence, easy as it is. They rise almost at the same second. It is the mare's last chance against those longer, clumsier legs, and she gains it. Blue-and-white sways in his saddle as his beast, touching the rail, staggers, jumps short, and rolls over easily. Green, half a length behind, is alongside in a second, but a second too late; for Lewis Gordon wins by that second, and no more.

Rose, who for the last minute has been completely blinded by the beating of her own heart, was left alone amid feminine congratulations, the men having gone to offer theirs in person to the winner.

'Oh, Jimmy, my boy! I wish I'd said thousands, mourned Major Davenant as he pa.s.sed his pal in the outer tent.

Jimmy whistled softly. 'Just as well you didn't; they claim a foul for Green, and it looks bad. I wish you had been on. Williams and Gray are such duffers, and Van Souter'--a shrug of the shoulders completed his meaning effectually.

'A foul! Well, I must own it looked like one to me. What does Gordon say?'

'Looks black as thunder. Go inside and see. Most of the field swear to it; but it isn't like Gordon.'

There was not much judicial serenity about the inquiry which was being made in the steward's tent; nor much of the pomp and circ.u.mstance of justice either. Nothing but a bare tent, a cane-bottomed chair or two, and the weighing-machine, where Lewis still sat listening to Dalel Beg, who was volunteering information. An Englishman in like position would have been told to hold his tongue; but what are vaguely termed political considerations affect the question in regard to the native n.o.bility, especially at headquarters.

'I beg your pardon, I'm sure,' interrupted one of the judges diffidently; 'but if you will allow me--since the claim is made--perhaps Mr. Crosbie--that is, I think, your name, sir?--will kindly tell us what occurred.'

The man in green silk bowed. He was a gentlemanly-looking man, with a suspicion of past military training in his carriage.

'I regret it excessively, and I am sure it was quite unintentional on Mr. Gordon's part, but there can be no question about the foul. As most of those present can bear me out in saying, I had taken and kept the inner place fairly. Mr. Gordon was riding for it also. At the corner post his mount was too eager, and the foul occurred. So violently that, as you see, two b.u.t.tons have been almost wrenched off my breeches. I quite admit that I recovered an outside place without much delay; but I beg to remind the judges that the race was lost by a second.'

'And I beg to remind the judges,' added the Blue-and-white jacket, 'that I was on a level with Mr. Crosbie and Mr. Gordon, a little farther out, and saw the whole affair. It was not Mr. Gordon's fault; but the foul was indubitable.'

'And what have you to say about it, Mr. Gordon?'

'I?' He rose quietly and went over to Green. 'I should advise Mr.

Crosbie to try benzine collas. It's the best thing I know for taking paint off breeches--doesn't stain at all. By the way, Davenant, I've often told you that is a most awkward post. It's just on the angle, and if you haven't perfect control over your beast, it is almost sure to go the wrong side, as Mr. Crosbie's did, and then, if the thing is newly painted as it is to-day you--you spoil your clothes.'

He turned on his heel as he drawled out the last words and walked away.

'I utterly deny, I--I--it is impossible----' stuttered Green and Blue together.

He looked back from the door. 'Exactly so; I leave you, gentlemen, to settle how Mr. Crosbie got that red paint on his left knee, when, according to you, he was hugging the post with his right. It is an interesting question, and I shall be glad to hear the judges, decision, when they have arrived at it.'

He was in a towering temper despite his cool words; and Mrs. Boynton felt quite a pang of alarm as he apologised curtly for not being able to wait for her, saying he was in a hurry to get home to some important work. That, however--as she noticed keenly--did not prevent him from spending five minutes beside Rose Tweedie in eager conversation. Of course, Lewis Gordon was not such a fatuous idiot as to allow the mere gain or loss of half a dozen pairs of kid gloves to affect his arrangements for the future; but it certainly affected him in the present, and Gwen was quite aware of the fact, and felt glad that the proceedings of the _pari mutual_ were strictly confidential. As she went home, listening gracefully to George Keene's adoring small-talk, her mind was full of care. Now at these periods of life when the sun stands still in the heavens, and a man acquires the art of talking about the most trivial details in a tone which is a caress, he is apt to pall, unless the caress means as much to the woman. So Gwen sent George home from the turn up to her house, and went alone through the scented pine-woods, where the long shadows lay across the path. Her face, now there was no necessity for a smile, looked haggard and anxious; utterly out of keeping with the luxury of her surroundings, and the comfort of the flower-decked verandah, where the ayah stood waiting to receive her mistress. Some one else was waiting too, in highly starched muslin and a low-wound white pugree showing a triangle of pale-pink folds above the forehead. A smirk was on his face, a wooden pen-box under his arm, and an attendant was squatting beside more boxes done up in a Manchester handkerchief.

'Mem sahiba see my thing? Gold-work, Delhi-work, Cashmir-work--all work.'

He thrust a card into her hand--

'Manohar Lal, from Delhi.'

She turned away quickly. 'I don't want anything. Ayah! how often have I told you never to let these people come?'

'Manohar Lal say he know Mem sahiba,' murmured the ayah sulkily, moving off with the wraps.

'No need to buy, Huzoor,' said the crafty lips. 'I have good things to look. Or I buy. Anything. Gold-work, silver-work, pearls. I buy three big pearls of lady in Rajpore last months. Shall I open boxes, Huzoor?'

'Yes; you can open them,' said Gwen quickly.

CHAPTER XVI

Deodars and soft green stretches of turf, surrounded by a map of Asia in high relief; silver streaks of rivers at the bottom of the map; snowy peaks and pa.s.ses at the top of the map, just as if they were set there to show comparative lengths and heights. Such was the scene from the ridge chosen out for what is called a Rajah's picnic. What Rajah or Maharajah, what Nizam or Nawab, matters not. Some one of the many feudatories who crowd to prefer their claims to something at Simla had a.s.serted his dignity by giving a picnic to society, and society had consented to come and eat _pate de foie gras_ and drink champagne on a hill-side, at the expense of a man to whom one or other of these two things was an abomination. That is the case in a nutsh.e.l.l; and so long as the _pate_ was not bought cheap from a box-wallah, and the champagne was drinkable, n.o.body cared whether the host was or was not performing the whole duty of man in tempting his fellows to do those things which he himself considered worthy of purgatorial pains. But then, to nine-tenths of the guests the host was a mere lay figure imported into society on certain occasions, in order to give it local colour by the display of gold tissue and diamonds.

Barring the shock it gives to first principles in some minds, a Rajah's entertainment is generally pleasant enough; never more so than when it takes the form of a picnic--which, by the way, the natives translate adroitly into pagul khana, or 'fool's dinner.' This one was no exception to the rule. Two huge flat-roofed tents, open on all sides save for a deep valance of gay applique-work, and supported by fern and flower-wreathed poles, served as marquees, where a most elaborate lunch was laid out in a style worthy of the great Simla caterer. What the cost was to be per head to the unfortunate n.o.ble playing the part of host is a trivial detail. So, to him, was the lunch itself, seeing that in this particular case, the host was a Hindu of the strictest caste; too pure, too proud even to sit down at a table spread with such abhorred viands. His part consisted, therefore, in receiving the company in a Cashmir shawl tent with silver poles, yawning between the handshakes, and thereinafter, when the outcasts were safely started on the champagne and the _pate_, jolting back joyfully in a _jhan-pan_ to Simla in order to purify himself in unmentionable ways before eating his own dinner. The next day or the day after he would pay the bills, some official would be told off to congratulate him on the success of the entertainment; perhaps, if he was a great swell, to say that H---- E----y had enjoyed it immensely. And then the only thing remaining to be done would be to enter the cost in the State accounts.

Under what heading outsiders cannot presume to say; possibly civilisation.

But none of the guests troubled themselves about these details. The sky was blue as blue could be, the grey bloom on the spreading deodar branches glinted white in the strong light, the shadows beneath them showed black. Across the valley, contours of terraced crops round a cl.u.s.ter of apricot-trees marked the village sites. Blue air lay between you and them, blue air between them and the snows, blue air gave a thousand iridescent tints to the plains rolling up into the southern sky beyond the dotted ridge of Simla. And below you, drifting up the valleys like grazing sheep, were little fleecy mist-clouds, inconsequent, hopelessly astray.

'Poor things! How lost they look!' said Gwen gaily, pointing at them with her white lace parasol.

'A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind,' quoted one of her circle.

'Mrs. Boynton knows what it is for a heavenly being to be condemned to earth.'

'That sounds prettier than it is. An angel astray! Lewis! defend me from my friends!'

She turned to him with the prettiest air of appeal, the sweetest confidence in a regard, which to the outside world was cousinly, to these two something more. Such a bait seldom fails to rouse a man's vanity, even if it leaves his heart untouched.

'My dear Gwen,' he replied readily, 'there is no need for defence. The angel is not astray since you are here with us, and we are in Paradise.'

George Keene applauded with both hands as he sat at her feet looking out over the plains. Once more it seemed incredible that there should be such a place on G.o.d's earth as Hodinuggur.

'Well, some of us will be sitting at the gate thereof disconsolate ere long,' remarked a man leaning against a rock, with a cup of black coffee and a cigarette. 'By the way, Keene, we might share a tonga the day after tomorrow.'

'Mr. Keene is not going,' interrupted Mrs. Boynton quickly. 'No one wants him down there, and we need dancing men dreadfully. Miss Tweedie had spoken to her father about it?'