The Runaways by Nat Gould (trending books to read .txt) 📕

at once if there was anything of importance she thought she ought to know.

When Irene returned to the Walton, her maid told her Warren Courtly had called, and was very angry when he discovered his wife had come up to London without informing him.

"The manager told him you were here," said Mary. "I expect he thought he had come to see you."

"Did you see Mr. Courtly?"

"Yes, and he asked me where you had gone. I told him I did not know, but that I expected you back in the afternoon, and he said he would be here for dinner."

Irene went to her room, and after dismissing her maid thought over the best course to pursue. Should she tell him of her meeting with Janet, and that she had learned everything, or would it be better to leave him in the dark? What excuse could she give for her journey to London? State she had come to give him a pleasant surprise, and that the Squire would be there in a day or two for the Epsom week. Perhaps that would be the better plan. If he was unreasonably cross and irritable, she might possibly throw out a hint that would startle him and make him more careful.

It was four o'clock, and she did not expect him for dinner before seven, so there was ample time to review the eventful morning she had spent with Janet Todd. This she was doing when her maid knocked at the door and said Mr. Ulick Maynard had called to see her.

Irene did not expect him, his father must have written at once to inform him she had gone to town.

"Where is he?" asked Irene.

"In the reading-room."

"I will see him in my sitting-room," she said; and her maid went away to give the necessary instruction.

"I am glad to see you," said Ulick, as she entered the room. "It is an unexpected pleasure. I had no idea you were in town until my father wrote me a hurried note."

She shook hands with him, and as she did so the thought that he knew what her husband had done, and how he had acted, caused her some confusion, at which Ulick wondered.

"I came to town to give Warren a surprise," she said, hurriedly. "I have not seen him yet, but he has called, and my maid says he did not seem overwhelmed with joy at my presence."

"Then he ought to have been," said Ulick.

"He is joining me at dinner. Will you make one of the party?" she asked.

"If you wish it, and you think he will have no objection?"

"I am sure he will be pleased to see you."

"In that case I have no hesitation in accepting. I will run home and dress."

How lovely Irene looked; he felt he must go away, leave her presence, or he would be tempted to betray his feelings. He little knew how strongly she controlled herself, and how deeply she loved him. It was well for them that it should be so.

Warren Courtly's temper had not improved when he arrived again at the Walton. He went to Irene's room and waited impatiently for her, and she did not keep him long.

"What brings you to town in such a hurry?" he asked.

"I felt lonely and thought I would give you a surprise," she said, with a faint smile.

"You had no business to come without first writing me about it."

"I saw no harm in it."

"Harm, no; but it is a strange proceeding on your part," he replied.

"Are you not pleased to see me?" she asked.

"Of course I am," he answered, testily. "It's the manner of your coming I do not approve of."

"You will soon recover from the shock," she said, carelessly. "Shall we dine at seven. I have invited Ulick Maynard to join us. He called this afternoon, and I thought it only polite. He accepted on condition you had no objection, and I said you would be very pleased to see him."

Warren Courtly with difficulty suppressed an oath. Of late he had avoided Ulick, and he was the last man he cared to meet.

"I would rather have had you to myself," he said.

"Ulick is such an old friend, he will make no difference," she replied.

"You are precious fond of his society still," he said, showing his ill-temper; "I should have thought you would have preferred being alone with me, if you came down to give me a surprise. Perhaps you wrote and informed him you were coming here."

Irene was angry at this remark, and said—

"You know I did no such thing, and I am surprised at you insulting me by such a remark. His father wrote and gave him the information."

"At your suggestion," sneered Warren.

"You are in a bad temper, and forget yourself," she replied. "I will leave you to recover your manners. Remember one thing, if you make any more suggestions of a similar kind at dinner I shall retaliate. I am quite capable of giving you a very unpleasant surprise if you fail to treat me with respect."

She went out of the room, and he stood looking at the closed door. Then he said to himself—

"What has come over her? I never found her in this mood before. I must get to the bottom of it. Retaliate, will she? Well, we shall see."

CHAPTER XVI. A RACE TO BE REMEMBERED.

It was not a social meal, anything but that, and they were glad when it was over. Warren Courtly, irritable and ill at ease, spoke once or twice to his wife in such a manner that Ulick glared at him savagely; he noticed it, and enjoyed it.

Unfortunately, Warren was going from bad to worse. He realised the truth of the saying that evil communications corrupt good manners. At his club he played bridge and lost large sums. On the racecourse he tried to repair these losses, with the inevitable result. His fortune, at one time ample, gradually dwindled away, and he knew that if he did not pull up Anselm Manor would be in the market in a couple of years or so.

Irene had no idea things were as bad as this; her mind was occupied with other matters. The knowledge she possessed of her husband's conduct towards Janet Todd and Ulick she found burdensome. She was positively certain Ulick would not tell the Squire, and she felt he ought to know, but she had promised Janet to tell no one but her husband. When she left them to retire for the night, Warren commenced to talk about racing. He had a substantial bet about Sandstone for the Derby at very fair odds, and was sanguine of winning. He discussed the race with Ulick, who was of the same opinion that Sandstone would win.

"If he does," Ulick remarked, "I should put part of the winnings on my horse for the Coronation Cup."

"Your horse!" exclaimed Warren. "I had no idea you owned one."

"More than one—several," replied Ulick; "but the Saint is the best."

"You own the Saint!" said Warren, more and more surprised. "I have heard it said he is the best three-year-old we have."

"He is not far short of it," he replied. "At least, that is the opinion of Fred May, and he is a very good judge."

"You are lucky to own such a colt. Where did you pick him up?"

Ulick explained how he came to possess him, and Warren said, grumbling, that some people had all the luck.

"I have been deuced unfortunate of late," he went on, "and a big win is the only way out of the difficulty that I can see. If Sandstone lands the Derby I will have a plunge on your horse. I am much obliged to you for telling me."

"I shall be glad to hear of your winning a good round sum," replied Ulick. "I was sorry to hear you were compelled to part with Holme Farm."

Warren's face clouded. He had heard quite enough about that, and said—

"I don't see what there is to make such a fuss about. Something had to go; why not that part of the estate as well as another?"

"My father says he would have given you half as much again for it."

"I could not have accepted it; he would merely have done it out of kindness."

Ulick thought this probable, and knew his father would do that, and more, for Irene's sake.

The Squire arrived at the Walton, and was feverishly anxious for the Saint's race to be decided. Fred May had sent glowing accounts of the colt's progress, and considered he had a chance second to none.

"We will show them what he is capable of this time; it will be the race of his life. He has never been quite so fit as he is now, and I fear nothing, not even Vulture," he wrote.

"By Jove! that is good news," said the Squire. "The olive green will win, my boy."

On Derby Day they all went to Epsom, where Redmond Maynard had a box, and the great scene was repeated as it has been for many years.

It was one of the sights of the world, most uncomfortable, but unique.

Sandstone won somewhat easily, and Warren was jubilant. He meant to invest the bulk of his winnings on the Saint.

He confided to Irene that if Ulick's colt won his difficulties would be well-nigh at an end.

"I had no idea you were in difficulties," she said.

"Not very serious," he replied, in an off-hand manner, which did not deceive her, "but still bad enough to be unpleasant."

Thursday, the day after the Derby, was fixed for the Coronation Cup, and the half-dozen horses that were likely to go to the post were all great performers.

It was a meeting of champions, a race to be remembered, and a thorough sporting affair. The crowd was much larger than usual on this day, and the race was looked forward to with as much eagerness as the Derby had been the previous day.

Warren Courtly was in a fever of excitement. He had backed the Saint to win him several thousands, and when he saw him in the paddock felt inclined to put more on.

The colt's peculiar colour rendered him easily distinguishable, and he was mobbed in the paddock, taking it as unconcernedly as usual.

Ben Sprig was to ride him again, and he felt a trifle anxious as to the result. He had never been beaten on the Saint, having scored five victories in succession; but he knew the five horses he was to meet in about a quarter of an hour were probably the best in the country.

Vulture had won the Derby the previous year, as easily as Sandstone, and followed it up by a St. Leger victory. Coralie, a handsome mare, had an Ascot Gold Cup to her credit. Avenger made hacks of the last Cesarewitch field. Decoy Duck was an Eclipse winner; and Mermaid landed the Oaks in Vulture's year. Well might men gasp and exclaim, "What a field. It beats the Derby into a cocked hat."

No wonder the betting was fast and furious, and backers were split up into half-a-dozen parties. It was the more venturesome speculators who stood by the Saint. The old hands preferred one of the other tried stayers.

"It is too much to expect of him," they said of the Saint. "It's more than Sandstone could do, and look how