Sir Hilton's Sin. Fenn George Manville
Читать онлайн книгу.
up all your old tricks you learnt with Master – Sir Hilton – and be steady?”
“And so I have been. Saved every penny, and thought of nothing but getting on for you.”
“Yes, it looks like it,” said the girl, sarcastically.
“Well, so it do. This is only a bit of a flutter.”
“Flutter, indeed!”
“And what’s it for?”
“To make a fool of yourself again, like your master.”
“Oh, is it?” said the young fellow, sturdily. “You know well enough that if I saved all my wages I couldn’t save enough to take a pub in twenty years. If La Sylphide passes the post first to-day she’ll land me enough to take a nice little roadside hotel, something like Sam Simpkins, the trainer at Tilborough, only not so big, of course; nice little place, where I can plant my wife behind the bar, and do a nice trade with visitors, somewhere down in the country where there’s waterfalls and mountains and lakes.”
“And that is why you’ve begun betting again, Mark?” said the girl, a little more softly.
“Yes, that’s what I meant, my gal, for I didn’t think you’d take it like that. Our mare – I mean Lady Tilborough’s – La Sylphide being a certainty. But if she loses, I shan’t go and marry some rich woman for the sake of her money.”
There was silence for a few moments, Mark turning a little away to take a pink out of his buttonhole and begin nibbling the stalk, and Jenny turning in the other direction so that her lover should not see a little sign of weakness in her eyes, which she strove hard to master, and so well that in a short time, when she spoke again, her voice sounded sharp and without a tremor.
“A pretty game, I’m sure, sir. Races indeed, and betting too! Sir Hilton had better take your precious dogcart and go La Sylphiding. You mark my words, if he does her ladyship will be sure to find it out, and then if she suspects you had anything to do with it you’ll get the sack.”
“Well, I don’t know as it matters much,” said the groom, drearily. “You don’t seem to understand a fellow, and it’s all wrong here, and it’s miserable to see the poor guv’nor so down in the mouth.”
“Down in the mouth indeed, after missus’s father found the money to pay all his debts, and four thousand pounds for him to go into Parliament as an M.P.”
“Tchah! Such nonsense! Our Sir Hilton ain’t going to give up the Turf and chuck hisself away like that.”
“Chuck hisself away?”
“Yes. Turn Jawkins. Him going to turn himself into a talking windmill, a-waving his arms about? Not he. But how come you to hear that?”
“Mr Trimmer told me.”
“Mr Trimmer! How come he to tell you?” said the young man, with his face growing dark.
“Oh, Mr Trimmer is very pleasant and friendly to me sometimes.”
“Oh, is he? Then he ain’t going to be, and so I tell him. A long, lanky, white-chokered imitation Methody parson, that’s what he is! What right has he got to be civil to you, I should like to know?”
“Well, I’m sure, sir,” cried the girl, whose eyes were sparkling with delight to see how her lover was moved, “I don’t know what her ladyship’s bailiff and agent and steward and confidential man would say – him, a real gentleman – if he heard what poor Sir Hilton’s groom and valet said.”
“Gentleman – confidential man! Why, he ain’t half a man, and he ain’t the good sanctified chap he pretends to be, and I’d tell him so to his face. Look here, Jenny; he may be her ladyship’s, but he ain’t going to be your confidential man. But there, I ain’t no right to say nothing, I suppose, and this about finishes it. Ladyship or no ladyship, whether the guv’nor comes or whether he don’t, I’m going over to Tilborough racecourse ’safternoon, and if La Sylphide don’t pull it off for me I shall make a hole in the water and leave it to cover me up.”
“Mark!” said Jenny, softly, with her eyes half closed. “Well?”
“I can’t help Mr Trimmer speaking civil to me when he comes to see her ladyship about the accounts.”
“Oh, no, of course not,” said the young man, sarcastically.
“I can’t really, Mark – dear. He always seems to me like one of those nasty evats that come down in the stone passage in damp weather, and just as they do when they’ve rubbed a little of the whitewash on to their throats.”
“Jenny!”
“Yes, Mark dear. I do hope La Sylphide will win.”
“Oh!”
“Ahem!”
Smart-looking, well-built, dapper little Sir Hilton Lisle, looking the beau-ideal of a horse-loving country gentleman, entered the breakfast-room.
Chapter Four.
The Tempter’s Call
Mark and Jane started apart, looking extremely guilty – of a loving kiss – but quite ready to make the best of things, the latter darting to the table to rearrange the position of a couple of forks, and Sir Hilton’s body-servant holding out a hand, palm upwards.
“Do look sharp, Jane,” he said, “and hurry up that hot coffee and the kidneys. I knew Sir Hilton would be down directly.”
“Mark!” said the baronet, sharply.
“Yes, Sir Hilton.”
“You know I don’t like humbug, eh?”
“Yes, Sir Hilton?”
“Jane, my girl, do you want to lose your place?”
“No, Sir Hilton. I’m very sorry, Sir Hilton – I – ”
“Let him kiss you?”
“Oh, Sir Hilton!”
“Don’t deny it! Saw more. You gave him one. Now, look here, both of you. You, Jane, are a very nice, respectable girl, and I like you. Mark, here, is a very good fellow, and if some time you two think of getting married, I don’t say I will not give you both a hundred pounds to start life with – ”
“Oh, Sir Hilton!”
“If I’ve got it. But no more of this. It looks bad, and is not respectful to your employers. You both know, I suppose, that if her ladyship saw half what I noted just now you would be dismissed, Jane, and I’m afraid, Mark, I should have to part with you.”
“I beg – ”
“That will do – not another word. Breakfast, Jane – quick, please.”
“Yes, Sir Hilton!” and Jane drew a breath full of relief, as she hurried through the door.
“Heigh – ho – ha – hum!” yawned the baronet, placing his hands in his pockets and looking down in a dreamy way at the breakfast-table. Then he took out and opened his hunting watch, and closed it with a snap.
“E-lev-en o’clock,” he said. “Her ladyship send for you, Mark?”
“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,