The Obstacle Race by Ethel May Dell (robert munsch read aloud .txt) 📕

made it more oppressive than ever," she complained. "I believe it is coming up again."
"I hope not," said Green.
Juliet got up quietly and moved to join her--a tall woman of gracious outlines with the poise of a princess.
"You know all about everything," she said to him, in passing. "Come and read the weather for us!"
He followed her. They stood together at the open French window, looking out on to the stormy sunset.
"It isn't coming back," said Green, after a pause.
Mrs. Fielding gave him a brief, contemptuous glance. Juliet regarded him more openly, a glint of mockery in her eyes.
"You are sure to be right," she said.
He made her a bow. "Many thanks, Miss Moore! I think I am on this occasion at least. We shall have a fine day for the Graydown races to-morrow."
"Are you keen on racing?" asked Juliet.
He laughed. "I've no time for frivolities of that sort."
"You could make time if you wanted to," observed Mrs. Fielding. "You are free on Saturday."
"Am I?" said Green.
She challenged him in sudden exasperation. "Well, what do you do on your off days?"
He considered for a moment. "I'll tell you what I'm doing to-morrow, if you like," he said. "In the morning I hold a swimming class for all who care to attend. In the afternoon I've got a cricket match. And in the evening I'm running an open-air concert at High Shale with Ashcott."
"For those wretched miners!" exclaimed Mrs. Fielding.
He nodded. "Yes, and their wives and their babies. They are rather amusing shows sometimes. We use native talent of course. I believe you would be interested, Miss Moore."
"I am sure I should," said Juliet. "May I come to one some day?"
He faced her boldly. "Will you help at one--some day?"
"Oh, really!" broke in Mrs. Fielding. "That is too much. I am sure my husband would never agree to that."
"I don't know why he shouldn't," said Juliet gently. "But the point is--should I be any good?"
"You sing," said Green with confidence.
She smiled. "Who told you so?"
His brows worked humorously. "It's one of the things I know without being told. Would you be afraid to venture yourself in that rough crowd with only me to take care of you?"
"Not in the least," said Juliet.
"Thank you," he said. "You would certainly have no need to be. You would have an immense reception."
"I am quite sure my husband would never allow it," said Mrs. Fielding with a frown. "These High Shale people are so hopelessly disreputable--such a drunken, lawless lot."
"But not beyond redemption," said Green quickly, "if anyone takes the trouble."
She shrugged her shoulders. "There are not many people who have time to waste over them. In any case, the responsibility lies at Lord Wilchester's door--not ours."
"And as Lord Wilchester happens to be a rotter, they must go to the wall," remarked Green.
"Well, it is no business of ours," maintained Mrs. Fielding. "I always leave that sort of thing to the busybodies who enjoy it."
"What a good idea!" said Green. "Do you know I never thought of that?"
"Tell me about the cricket match!" Juliet said, intervening. "Who is playing?"
He gave her a glance of quizzical understanding. "Oh, that's a village affair too--Little Shale versus Fairharbour, most of them fisher-lads, all of them sports. I have the honour to be captain of the Little Shale team."
"You seem to be everything," she said.
"Jack of all trades!" sneered Mrs. Fielding.
Green laughed. "I was just going to say that."
"How original of you!" said Juliet. "Well, I hope you'll win."
"He is the sort of person who always comes out on top whether he wins or loses," said Fielding, striding up the long room at the moment. "You've not seen him play cricket yet, Miss Moore. He's a positive tornado on the cricket-ground. To-morrow's Saturday, isn't it? Where are you playing, Dick?"
His good-humour was evidently fully restored. He slapped a hand on Dick's shoulder with the words. Mrs. Fielding's lips turned downwards at the action.
"We are playing the Fairharbour crowd, sir, on Lord Saltash's ground," said Green. "It's in Burchester Park. You know the place don't you? It's just above the town."
"Yes, yes, I know it. A fine place. Pity it doesn't belong to somebody decent," said the squire.
Mrs. Fielding laughed unpleasantly. "Dear me! More wicked lords?"
Her husband looked at her with his quick frown. "I thought everybody knew Saltash was a scoundrel. It's common talk that he's in Paris at this moment entertaining that worthless jade, Lady Joanna Farringmore."
Juliet gave a violent start at the words. For a moment her face flamed red, then went dead white--so white that she almost looked as if she would faint. Then, in a very low voice, "It may be common talk," she said, "but--I am quite sure--it isn't true."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed the squire. "My dear Miss Moore, pray forgive me! I forgot you knew her."
She smiled at him, still with that ashen face. "Yes, I know her. At least--I used to. And--she may have been heartless--I think she was;--but she wasn't--that."
"Not when you knew her perhaps," said Mrs. Fielding's scornful voice. She had no sympathy with people who regarded it as a duty to stand up for their unworthy friends. "But since you quarrelled with her yourself on account of her disgraceful behaviour you are scarcely in a position to defend her."
"No--I know," said Juliet, and she spoke nervously, painfully. "But--I must defend her on--a point of honour."
She did not look at Green. Yet instantly and very decidedly he entered the breach. "Quite so," he said. "We are all entitled to fair play--though we don't always get it when our backs are turned. I take off my hat to you, Miss Moore, for your loyalty to your friends."
She gave him a quick glance without speaking.
From the door the butler announced dinner, and they all turned.
"Miss Moore, I apologize," said the squire, and offered her his arm.
She took it, her hand not very steady. "Please forget it!" she said.
He smiled at her kindly as he led her from the room, and began to speak of other things.
Green sauntered behind with his hostess. His eyes were extremely bright, and he made no attempt to make conversation as he went.


CHAPTER V
THE WAY TO HAPPINESS

It was an unpleasant shock to Juliet on the following morning when she went to Mrs. Fielding's room after breakfast to find her lying in bed, pale and tear-stained, refusing morosely to partake of any nourishment whatever.
Juliet always breakfasted alone, for the squire was in the habit of taking his early ride first and coming in late for the meal. She usually took a morning paper up with her with which to regale the mistress of the house before she rose, but the first glance showed her that this attention would be wholly unwelcome to-day. Even the letters that had accompanied her breakfast tray were scattered unopened by her side.
"Why, what is the matter?" said Juliet.
"I've had--a wretched night," said Mrs. Fielding, and turned her face into the pillow with a sob.
Her maid glanced at Juliet with raised brows, and indicated the untouched breakfast with a shrug of helplessness.
Juliet came to the bedside. "What is it? Aren't you well?" she questioned.
"No, I'm wretched--miserable!" The words came muffled with sobs.
Juliet looked round. "All right, Cox. You can go. I will ring when you are wanted."
Cox went, leaving the despised breakfast behind her.
Juliet turned back to the bed, and found Mrs. Fielding weeping unrestrainedly. She bent over her, discarding all ceremony. "My dear girl, do stop!" she said. "What on earth is the matter? You won't get over it all day if you go on like this."
"Of course I shan't get over it!" sobbed Mrs. Fielding indignantly. "I never do. He knows that perfectly well. He knows--that when once I'm down--it takes me days--weeks--to get up again."
"Oh, dear!" said Juliet. "It's a quarrel, is it?"
Mrs. Fielding raised herself with a furious movement and thrust out a white arm on which the bruises of a fierce grip were mercilessly defined. "That's how--he--quarrels!" she said bitterly.
Juliet drew down the loose night-dress sleeve with a gentle but very decided hand. "Don't let anyone else see it!" she said. "And don't tell me any more unless you're sure--quite sure--you want me to know!"
"Why shouldn't you know?" said Mrs. Fielding pettishly through her falling tears. "It's your fault in a way. At least it wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been here--you and that horrid little cad of a schoolmaster."
"Oh, don't put it like that!" said Juliet. "It's such a pity to offend everybody at once. You really mustn't cry any more or you'll be ill. I'm sure it isn't worth that."
"I don't care if I die!" cried Mrs. Fielding, with a fresh burst of weeping. "I'm miserable--miserable! And nobody cares."
She flung herself down upon the pillow in such a paroxysm of hysterical sobbing that Juliet actually was alarmed. She stood beside her, impotent, unable to make herself heard, and wondering what to do. She had never before looked upon such an abandonment of distress as she now beheld, and since Mrs. Fielding was obviously beyond all reasoning or consolation she was powerless to cope with it. She could only stand and wait for the storm to spend itself.
It seemed, however, to increase rather than to abate, and she was beginning to contemplate recalling Cox to her assistance when to her astonishment the door suddenly opened, and Fielding himself appeared upon the threshold.
She turned sharply, her first impulse to keep him out, for he wore an ugly look. But in a moment she realized that the direction of affairs was not in her control. He came straight forward with a mastery that would brook no interference.
"Leave her to me!" he said, as he reached Juliet.
But at the first word his wife uttered so wild a shriek of alarm that Juliet turned back to her with the swift instinct to protect. In an instant Mrs. Fielding was clinging to her, clinging desperately, frantically, like a terrified child.
"Oh, don't go! Oh, don't leave me!" she gasped. "Juliet! Juliet! Stay--oh, stay!"
She could not refuse the appeal. It went straight to her heart. She put her arms about the quivering, convulsed form and held it close.
"I can't go!" she said hurriedly to the squire.
"Stay then!" he said curtly.
Then abruptly he stooped over the trembling, hysterical woman. "Vera," he said, "stop it at once! Do you hear me? Stop it!"
He did not raise his voice, but his words had a pitiless distinctness that seemed somehow more forcible than any violence. Vera Fielding shrank closer to Juliet's breast.
"Don't leave me! Don't leave me!" she moaned, still shaken from head to foot with great sobs she could not control.
"She won't go if you behave yourself," said the squire grimly. "But if you don't, I'm damned if I won't turn her out and deal with you myself."
"Don't be brutal!" breathed Juliet.
He gave her a swift, fierce look, but she met it unflinching and as swiftly it fell away from her. He took one of his wife's feverish, clutching hands and firmly held it.
"Now you listen to me!" he said. "I don't want to bully you but I can't and won't have this sort of thing. It's damnably unfair to everybody. So you pull yourself together and be quick about it!"
The trembling hand clenched in his grasp. "I hate you!" gasped Mrs. Fielding furiously. "Oh, how I hate you!"
The man's mouth took an ominous downward curve. "I've heard that before," he said. "Now that's