The Master of the Ceremonies

After a mile or two the rapid swinging trot of the chargers grew into a regular military canter, and that, by an imperceptible change, into a rapid gallop that was now kept up, for the excitement of the chase told upon Mellersh, and his ideas of prudence as to husbanding the horses’ powers were swept away as if by the keen wind that dashed by their ears.

“I ought to check him,” said Mellersh, as he toned down his excitement for the minute; and then – “No, I cannot, for I must take that scoundrel by the throat.”

Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Six.

The End of the Race

Colonel Mellersh was the only one who was likely to ride with a cool head: the others were for racing at the top of the horses’ speed. And so it was that before long, as Richard Linnell sat well down and gave his horse its head, James Bell, whom the ride was gradually sobering in one sense, but also making far more excited as he realised clearly the position of his sister, shook his reins, pressed his horse’s flanks with his heels, and the brave beast began to almost fly. Naturally enough, the Colonel’s steed pressed more heavily upon its bit, refusing, after the fashion of a cavalry horse, to be left behind, and forcing itself between the other two, till the riders were knee to knee, and tearing along as if in a desperate charge.

“We’re distressing the horses, Dick,” said Mellersh, turning his head to his right; but Bell heard him.

“I’m sorry for the horses, sir; but they are his. Let them be distressed.”

“We must overtake them,” said Linnell between his teeth.

“Right, sir, right,” cried Bell. “Forward, Colonel. Please don’t draw rein.”

Fortunately for them, the night grew a little lighter, and along the treeless Down road they thundered. Every now and then one of the horses snorted as the dust flew, but mile after mile was spurned beneath their heels and they showed no sign of distress, but seemed to rejoice in the long night gallop and the music of their clattering hoofs.

The road was singularly silent and deserted; not so much as a foot-passenger was on the way, not a vehicle was seen.

A gate at last came in view as they were breathing the horses up a hill, after riding for some distance without a word, the very silence telling the intensity of the men’s feelings.

Here was a check, for the gate was closed, and no light visible, but Bell rode close up and kicked hard at the panel, till the door in the gatekeeper’s hut was opened.

“Now, then, quick!” cried Bell. “How long is it since a chaise and four passed?”

“Chaise and four?” said the man surlily.

“Yes, chaise and four. Has a chaise and four passed?”

“What, to-night?”

“Yes, to-night. Answer; quick, or – ”

He caught the man by the collar, and the evasion he was about to utter did not pass his lips.

“Yes,” he growled; “one went by.”

“How long ago?” said the Colonel.

“How long?”

“Yes, yes. Quick, man, quick! and here’s a crown for the toll. Keep the change.”

This seemed to enliven the surly fellow’s faculties, and he took the money and rubbed his head as he began to unfasten the gate.

“Well, how long?” cried the Colonel.

“Long? Well a good bit ago, sir.”

“Yes, yes, but what do you mean by a good bit?”

“Mebbe two hours – mebbe hour and a half. I’ve been asleep since.”

“Come along,” cried the Colonel, who was as excited now as his companions. “There’s nothing more to be got from this lout.”

They left the man leaning on the gate, having gained nothing whatever by the colloquy but a short breathing space for their horses, and these continued their gallop the moment they were through.

They passed a side road now and then, and at the first Linnell turned in his saddle.

“Is it likely that they will leave the main road?” he said.

“No,” was the prompt answer given by Bell, without waiting for the Colonel to speak. “They’re going west – far enough, I dare say – and they must change their horses now and then. We shall hear of them at Cheldon.”

Bell was right, for, when, at the end of another quarter of an hour, they cantered into the little post town, there was a light still burning in a lantern in the inn yard, and an ostler proved to be a little more communicative.

Yes, a post-chaise – a yellow one – came in half an hour ago, and changed horses and went on. Their horses were all in a muck sweat, and here was one of the boys.

A postboy came out of the tap, and stood staring.

He knew nothing, he said, only that he and his mate had brought a party from Saltinville.

“A lady and gentleman?” said Linnell sharply.

“I d’know,” said the postboy. “I didn’t ride the wheeler; I was on one of the leaders.”

“But you must have seen?” cried Linnell angrily.

“No; I didn’t see nothing. I’d enough to do to look after my horses. Bad road and precious hilly ’bout here, sir.”

“Come along,” cried Linnell angrily.

“Walk your horses for a few minutes,” said Mellersh quietly; and as Linnell and Bell went on he dismounted and thrust his hand into his pocket. “Just tighten these girths for me a little, will you, my man?” he said, turning to the postboy, and slipping a guinea into his hand.

“Cert’ny, sir. Get a bit slack they do after a few miles canter. Steady, my lad. Nice horse, sir, that he is,” continued the postboy, who was smooth civility itself. “Must be a pleasure to ride him.”

“Yes,” said Mellersh, as the man went on talking and buckling with his head supporting the saddle-flap. “You don’t get such a nag as that for a leader, eh?”

“No, sir, not likely. Fifteen pounders is about our cut. That one’s worth a hundred. All of a sweat he is, and yet not a bit blown. You’ve come fast, sir.”

“Yes; at a good rattling gallop nearly all the ten miles.”

“’Leven, sir, a good ’leven, and a bad road.”

“Is it, though?” said Mellersh quietly, as he prepared to mount again.

“All that, sir.”

“Postboys’ miles, eh?”

“No, sir; honest miles. We’d charge twelve. Wouldn’t you like them stirrups shortened two or three holes?” said the man eagerly.

“No, thanks; no. I’m an old soldier, and we always ride with a long stirrup. Matter of use. Shall we catch them, do you think?”

“What, with them horses, sir? Yes, easy. They’ve got a shocking bad team. They never have a decent change here. Lookye here, sir. You put on a decent canter, and you’ll be up to them before they get to Drumley. The road’s awful for wheels for about six miles; but when you get about a mile on from here, you can turn off the road on the off-side, and there’s five miles of good, close turf for you where a chaise couldn’t go, but there’s plenty of room for a horse. Good-night, sir; thankye, sir. Good luck to you.”

Mellersh said “good-night” and cantered off after his companions, his steed needing no urging to join its fellows.

“Anyone would think that a guinea dissolved into golden oil and made a man’s temper and his tongue run easily. I can’t prove it, but I should not be surprised if that was one of Rockley’s own guineas. Odd. Running him down with his own horses, and his own coin. Well, he deserves it all.”

“We’re on the track right enough, Dick,” he cried, as he overtook Linnell; Bell, in his impatience, being a couple of hundred yards ahead.

“Are you sure? I don’t understand this fellow. Why should he be so eager to overtake that scoundrel?”

“Can’t say. Puzzled me,” replied Mellersh drily.

“Is he leading us wrong?”

“No. We are well on our way, and shall overtake them by the time they reach the next posting house. Forward.”

Mellersh did not feel quite sure, but his confidence increased as he found the postboy’s words correct about the badness of the road, and the smooth turf at the side, on to which they turned, and cantered along easily for mile after mile.

Every now and then Bell burst forth with some fierce expletive, as if he could not contain his rage; and they gathered that at times it was against himself, at others against Rockley. As fierce a rage, too, burned in Linnell’s breast, compounded of bitter hatred, jealousy, and misery.

He could not talk to Mellersh, many of whose remarks fell upon unheeding ears, while Linnell asked himself why he was doing all this to save from misery and shame a woman who did not deserve his sympathy.

But, when he reasoned thus, it seemed as if Claire’s pure, sad face looked up into his reproachfully, and the thoughts her gentle loving eyes engendered made him press his horse’s flanks, and send him along faster as he said to himself:

“It is a mystery. I cannot understand it; and were she everything that is bad, I should be compelled to fight for her and try to save her to the end.”

Mile after mile was passed, and though the dull thudding of their horses’ hoofs upon the soft turf gave them opportunities for hearing the rattle of wheels and the trampling on the rough road, no sound greeted their ears.

“We shall never catch them, gentlemen, like this,” cried Bell at last. “Curse the horses! Push on. If we kill the poor brutes we must overtake that chaise.”

“Forward then,” said Mellersh eagerly, for there was that in the young man’s voice that cleared away the last shadow of doubt and suspicion.

They had been on the grass waste beside the road for quite five miles when, all at once, the way seemed to narrow; and they were about to turn on to the road, but Linnell drew rein suddenly.

“Stop!” he cried. “Listen!”

There was no doubt about it. As soon as they drew up, with their mounts breathing hard, and snorting or champing their bits, there came on the night air the beat, beat of trotting horses, and the rattle of wheels.

“There,” cried Mellersh, “that settles it. Forward, again!”

The horses seemed almost to divine that they had only to put on a final spurt and finish their task, for they went off at a free gallop, and before long there was the rattle of the wheels plainly heard, though for the most part it was drowned by the sound of the trampling hoofs, for the pursuers were now upon the hard, chalky road.

A quarter of an hour’s hard riding and they were well in view, in spite of the darkness of the night and the cloud of dust churned up by the team in the chaise. It was evident that the postboys were being urged to do their best; and as they had put their wretched horses to a gallop, the pursuers could see the chaise sway from side to side when the wheels jolted in and out of the ruts worn in the neglected road.

Had any doubt remained as to the occupants of the chaise, they would soon have been at an end; for, as Linnell pushed on taking one side, and Mellersh the other, Rockley’s voice could be heard shouting from the front of the chaise, and bidding the postboys whip and spur.

It was the work of minutes, then of moments, when Linnell, who was now leading in a break-neck gallop, yelled to the postboys to stop.

“Go on, you scoundrels! Gallop!” roared Rockley from the front window. “Go on, or I fire.”

The man on the wheeler half turned in his saddle and made as if to pull up, but there was the flash of a pistol, the quick report, and as a bullet whistled over his head, the postboy uttered a cry of fear, and bent down till his face almost touched the horse’s mane, while his companion on the leader did the same, and they whipped and spurred their jaded horses frantically.

“Stop!” shouted Linnell again. “Stop!”

“Go on! Gallop!” roared Rockley, “or I’ll blow out your brains.”

The men crouched lower. Their horses tore on; the chaise leaped and rocked and seemed about to go over, and all was rush and excitement, noise and dust.

Linnell was well abreast of the chaise door now, and pushing on to get to the postboy who rode the leader, when the glass on his side was dashed down, and, pistol-in-hand, Rockley leaned out.

“Back!” he said hoarsely, “or I fire.”

“You scoundrel!” roared Linnell. “Cowardly dog! but you are caught.”

“Stop, or I fire,” shouted Rockley again, fuming with rage and vexation at being overtaken in the hour of his triumph.

“Fire if you dare!” cried Linnell excitedly, as he pressed on.

Crack!

There was a second flash and report, and the horse Linnell rode made a spring forward as if it had been hit.

The thought flashed across Linnell’s brain that in another few moments the brave beast he bestrode would stagger and fall beneath him, and that then the cowardly scoundrel who had fired would escape with the woman he was ready to give his life to save. A curious mist seemed to float before his eyes, the hot blood of rage to surge into his brain, lights danced before him, and for the moment he felt hardly accountable for his actions.

All he knew was that he was abreast of the wheeler, with the man whipping and spurring with all his might; that the horses were snorting and tearing along in a wild race, and that Rockley was leaning out of the window yelling to the men to gallop or he would fire again.

Linnell had a misty notion Mellersh was somewhere on the other side, and that Bell was galloping behind, but he did not call to them for help. He did not even see that Mellersh was pushing forward and had reached out to catch the off-leader’s rein. All he did realise was that Claire Denville, the woman he loved, was in peril; that her whole future depended upon him; and that he must save her at any cost.

He was galloping now a little in advance of the postboy. Their knees had touched for an instant; then his leg was in front, and he was leaning forward.

“Touch that rein, and I fire,” roared Rockley.

Then there was once more a flash cutting the darkness; and as the bullet from Rockley’s pistol sped on its errand, the horse made one plunge forward, and then pitched upon its head. There was a tremendous crash of breaking glass and woodwork, and beside the road the wreck of a chaise with two horses down, and the leaders tangled in their harness and kicking furiously till they had broken free.

Volume Two – Chapter Twenty Seven.

Richard Linnell thinks he has been a Fool

For a few moments, in the suddenness of the catastrophe, every one was too much astounded to take any steps. Linnell was the first to recover himself, and, leaping from his horse, he threw the rein to Bell.

Mellersh followed his example, joining Linnell as he tried to drag open the door of the chaise, which was over upon its side with the off-wheeler kicking in the front, as it lay there upon its companion in a tangle of harness.

The framework was so wrenched that for a minute or two the door would not yield, and the utter silence within sent a chill of horror through Linnell.

“Let me come, Dick,” whispered Mellersh, the catastrophe that had so suddenly befallen them forcing him to speak in subdued tones; “let me come, Dick. I’m stronger, perhaps.”

“Pish!” was the angry reply, as Linnell strained at the door, which suddenly yielded and flew open, the glass falling out with a tinkling noise.

Just at the same time the man with the leaders trotted back with his frightened horses, the broken traces dragging behind.

“Hurt, Jack?” he cried to his fellow.

“No, not much,” was the answer, as the postboy who rode the wheeler dragged his leg from beneath his horse, and immediately stepped round and held down the head of the animal, which was kicking and struggling to rise. “Woa! will yer. Hold still, Captain!”

With the customary feeling of helplessness that comes over a horse as soon as its head is pressed down, the poor animal ceased its frantic efforts, uttered a piteous sigh that was like that of a human being, and lay perfectly still.

“Old Spavin’s a dead ’un, mate,” said the man.

“Dead?” said the second postboy.

“Dead as a nit, mate. There’ll be something to pay for to-night’s job.”

“Anyone killed?” said the second man in a whisper.

“I d’know, and I don’t care,” grumbled the man; “my leg’s bruzz horrid. Shutin’ like that! It’s as bad as highwaymen. Here, come and help cut some of this harness. They’ll stand now. Take out your knife, mate, and use it. They’ll have to pay. I can’t sit on this ’oss’s head all night.”

“There’s some of ’em got it,” whispered the second man in a low voice, as he dismounted and stood beside his comrade watching while Linnell lifted out the insensible figure of one of the occupants of the chaise, and bore her, tangled in a thick cloak, to the roadside, where he laid her reverently upon the turf.

“With you directly, Dick,” said Mellersh, still in the subdued voice, as he climbed into the chaise, and, exerting all his strength, raised Rockley and half thrust, half lifted him out, to drag him to the other side of the road.

“Is she much hurt, sir?” said Bell hoarsely. “I can’t leave the horses.”

“I can’t say. I don’t know yet,” panted Linnell, who was trying to lay open the folds of the cloak, which he at last succeeded in doing, so that the air blew freely on the insensible woman’s face.

Linnell’s pulse beat madly, as he half closed his eyes, and kept his head averted while he knelt there in the semi-darkness, and placed his hand upon the woman’s breast.

Then he snatched his hand away and felt giddy. But a throb of joy ran through him. Her heart was beating, and he felt sure she was only fainting from the fright.

“Why don’t you speak, sir?” cried Bell angrily. “Is she much hurt?”

“I think not, my man, only fainting,” said Linnell.

“Well?”

This to Mellersh, who came to him from where he had laid Rockley.

“I don’t know,” was the answer to the abrupt query. “Only stunned, I think. Head cut with the broken glass.”

“Not killed then?” said Linnell bitterly.

“No. Such as he generally come off easily,” replied Mellersh. “What’s to be done?”

“Better send our man back for a fresh post-chaise,” said Linnell quickly. “Will you attend to Miss Denville?” he whispered. “I think I’ll take one of the horses and ride back myself for the chaise.”

“Why not let me go, Dick?”

“No,” said Linnell in sombre tones. “I’ve stopped this wretched flight. My part’s done. Mellersh, I trust to you to place her once more under her father’s charge.”

“Will not you do it?”

“I? No. I have done. We’ll send this man for the chaise, though. That scoundrel Rockley may come to again and be troublesome.”

“Lookye here, gents,” said the man who had ridden the wheeler, “we want to know who’s going to pay for this night’s job. My leg’s bad; my ’oss is dead; and the chay’s all to pieces.”

“Wait and see, my man,” said Mellersh sternly. “You will be recompensed.”

“But fine words butter no parsnips, you know, sir. I want to know – ”

“Hold your tongue, fellow! I am Colonel Mellersh, of Saltinville. That man you were driving is Major Rockley, of the – th Dragoons. Of course everything will be paid for, and you will be recompensed. Now then, which of you can ride back for a fresh chaise?”

“Well, sir, I – ”

“Damn it, man, don’t talk. Five guineas if a chaise is here within an hour.”

“Ah, that’s business, sir. Come on, mate. We’ll be back before then.”

The man seemed to forget his bruised leg, and with the help of his comrade the girths were unbuckled, and the saddle dragged off the dead horse, placed upon the other, and they were about to start when the first postboy asked whether it would be safe to leave the injured chaise where it was.

As it happened, in the struggle it had been dragged off the road on to the grass border, and lay there, so that there was ample room for passers-by; and, satisfied with this, the postboys were off at a rapid trot.

“Rather an awkward position if that fellow is seriously injured,” said Linnell grimly.

“Pooh! man; it was an accident, and he was engaged in an unlawful act,” said Mellersh coolly, but with a peculiar meaning in his tone.

Linnell winced, for the mental pang was sharp. His old friend suggested that Claire might have been a willing partner in that night’s adventure.

He made no reply. He dared not, for fear that it should be an angry retort; and content that he had certainly for the present frustrated Rockley’s machinations, he walked to his side, and, seeing that his temple was bleeding, he knelt down by him, took out his handkerchief, and bound up the cut, furtively watching Mellersh the while as he stood by the other prostrate figure on the turf.

Linnell longed to go to her and kneel there, holding her little hand in his, but he was too heartsore; and, telling himself that there was more dignity in keeping aloof and playing the manly part of ceasing to care for one whom he believed to be unworthy of his love, even if he rendered help when there was need, he contented himself with deputing the care he would gladly have bestowed to another.

It had grown darker during the past few minutes, a thicker cloud having veiled the sky, when, as Linnell rose from where he knelt, he heard a sigh which went through him.

“She is coming round,” he muttered. “Poor girl! Poor, weak, foolish girl! I – ”

“Why, Dick!” cried Mellersh in a sharp, angry voice. “Come here!”

“What is it? There is no danger, is there?” cried Linnell, hastening across the road.

“Danger? No,” cried Mellersh angrily. “Whom do you suppose we have stopped here?”

“Whom? Miss Denville, of course, and – Good Heavens! – Miss Dean!”

“What is it? Where am I? You – Mr Linnell! – Colonel Mellersh!” said Cora confusedly, as she struggled up into a sitting position.

“At your service, madam,” said Mellersh, with a peculiar bitterness in his voice.

“What has happened?” cried Cora, holding her hand to her head, and staring wildly round till her eyes lighted upon the broken chaise. “Oh!”

She said no more, but struggled to her feet, turned giddy, and would have fallen, had not Mellersh caught her arm and supported her.

It was evident that she had realised her position in that one glance, and she seemed to shudder slightly. At the end of a few minutes, though, she recovered, and, shrinking from Mellersh, she looked round.

“Give me that cloak,” she said calmly. “It is cold.”

Linnell, who was half-stunned by the discovery, hurriedly stooped and picked up the cloak, spreading it rather clumsily and placing it upon her shoulders.

“Thank you,” she said coldly; and there was an awkward pause, during which Mellersh walked to and fro with the look of a caged wild beast.

“Well?” said Cora suddenly. “Why are we waiting, Colonel Mellersh? Will you kindly see me home?”

“See you home?” he replied.

“Where is that man – Major Rockley?” cried Cora hastily.

“I am afraid he is incapacitated for further service, Miss Dean,” said Mellersh coldly. “The accident has prevented him from carrying out – shall I say your wishes?”

“What?” she replied. “Do you think I – ! Pah!”

She turned her back upon him angrily.

“Mr Linnell,” she said, “you will not insult me if I ask you to see me safely home, even if I do not enter into any explanations. Let us go at once.”

There was a strange resentful hauteur in her tone, and Linnell offered her his arm.

“We will walk a little way if you wish it, Miss Dean,” he said; “but we ought hardly to leave Major Rockley in this state. My friend Colonel Mellersh – ”

“Don’t mind me, Dick,” said the latter. “I’ll play hospital nurse, if Miss Dean will trust me with the care of the Major.”

Cora did not condescend to reply, but stepped forward as if to walk back.

“We are many miles from Saltinville, Miss Dean,” said Linnell, “and a post-chaise will be here soon.”

Further conversation was prevented by James Bell whispering hurriedly:

“It’s all a mistake, Mr Linnell, and the consequences will be terrible if I am found to have taken the Major’s horses. Can you do without me?”

“Yes,” said Linnell quickly; “but your master?”

“I can’t think of him, sir,” said Bell hastily. “I must think of myself. Gentlemen, I thought we were chasing another lady whom I would have given my life to save. I stood by you; will you stand by me?”

“Yes,” said Mellersh quickly. “Take the horses back. I’ll stay by your master till help comes.”

“And you will not tell upon me about the horses, gentlemen?”

“No,” said Mellersh shortly. “Go.”

“And you, Mr Linnell?”

“You may trust me,” was the reply.

Bell went off with the horses on the instant, and a tedious time of waiting ensued, the end of which was that it was arranged when the fresh post-chaise came that Mellersh should ride with Cora and the injured man back to the posting house, Linnell walking by the side of the chaise.