Fast as the Wind: A Novel

She got up and walked to and fro in the room. She was debating what to do, how to act. Never since her love affair with Hector Woodridge had she met a man who appealed to her as William Rolfe did. The moment she was introduced to him at the races she knew he was bound to influence her life for good, or evil. She recognized the strong man in him, the man who could bend her to his will; she knew in his hands she would be as weak as the weakest of her sex, that she would yield to him. More, she wished him to dominate her, to place herself in his power, to say to him, "I am yours; do what you will with me." All this swept over her as she looked into his eyes and caught, she fancied, an answering response. She had felt much of this with Hector Woodridge, but not all; William Rolfe had a surer hold of her, if he wished to exercise his power, she knew it.

Did she wish him to exercise the power?

She thought no, and meant yes. Fletcher Denyer was useful to her, but in her heart she despised him; he took her money without scruple when she offered it. She was quite certain Rolfe would not do so, even if he wanted it ever so badly. She had no fear of Denyer, or his jealous moods. She smiled as she thought of him in his fits of anger, spluttering like a big child. Rolfe was a man in every respect, so she thought; she was a woman who liked to be subdued by a strong hand. The tragedy in her life had not killed her love of pleasure, although the result of it, as regards Hector Woodridge, had caused her much pain. Still she was a woman who cast aside trouble and steeled herself against it. She had not met a man who could make her forget the past and live only in the present, but now she believed William Rolfe could do it.

Would he try, would he come to her? She thought it possible, probable; and if he did, how would she act? Would she confess what had happened in her life? She must, it would be necessary, there would be no deception with such a man. What would be the consequences – would he pity, or blame her?

At last she went to bed, and toward morning fell asleep, a restless slumber, accompanied by unpleasant dreams. It was eleven o'clock when she dressed; she remembered she had to meet Fletcher and William Rolfe at luncheon. She took a taxi to the hotel, and found Rolfe waiting for her. He handed her a note; it was from Denyer, stating he was detained in the city on urgent business, apologizing for his unavoidable absence, asking Rolfe to meet him later on, naming the place.

He watched her as she read it, and saw she was pleased; it gave him savage satisfaction. He had not thought his task would be so easy; everything worked toward the end he had in view.

"I hope you will keep your appointment, at any rate," he said.

"I have done so, I am here," she answered, smiling.

"I mean that you will lunch with me."

"Would it be quite proper?" she asked with a challenging glance.

"Quite," he said. "I will take every care of you."

She wondered how old he was. It was difficult to guess. He might be younger than herself – not more than a year or two at the most. What caused that look on his face? It certainly was not fear; he was fearless, she thought. It was a sort of hunted look, as though he were always expecting something to happen and was on his guard. She would like to know the cause of it.

"You cannot imagine how difficult I am to take care of," she said.

"I am not afraid of the task," he said. "Will you lunch with me?"

"With pleasure," she replied, and they went inside.

The room was well filled, a fashionable crowd; several people knew Mrs. Elroy and acknowledged her. To a certain extent she had lived down the past, but the recollection of it made her the more interesting. Women were afraid of her attractions, especially those who had somewhat fickle husbands; their alarm was groundless, had they known it.

"Wonder who that is with her? He's a fine looking man, but there's something peculiar about him," said a lady.

"What do you see peculiar in him? Seems an ordinary individual to me," drawled her husband.

"He is not ordinary by any means; his complexion is peculiar, a curious yellowy brown," she said.

"Perhaps he's a West Indian, or something of that sort."

They sat at a small table alone; she thoroughly enjoyed the lunch. She drank a couple of glasses of champagne and the sparkling wine revived her.

"Shall we go for a motor ride after?" he asked.

"Yes, if you wish, and will not be tired of my company," she said.

"You do yourself an injustice," he said. "I do not think you could tire any one."

She laughed as she said: "You don't know much of me, I am dull at times, rather depressed." She sighed, and for a moment the haggard look came into her face. Hector wondered if remorse were accountable for it; if she ever repented the injury she had done; no, it was not possible or she would have stretched out her hand to save him. He steeled his heart against her; he hated her; he would have his revenge, cost her what it might.

They entered a taxi and were driven in the direction of Staines and Windsor. She felt a strange thrill of pleasure as she sat close beside him.

CHAPTER XIX

"WHAT WOULD YOU DO?"

THEY went along the Staines Road, then by the banks of the Thames past Runnymede, came to Old Windsor, and from there to the White Hart Hotel. She thoroughly enjoyed it; the drive nerved her; she forgot the painful reflections of the previous night. He talked freely. She noticed with satisfaction he seemed attracted by her, looked at her searchingly as though interested. They went on the river and were rowed past the racecourse. It was warm and fine, the flow of the water past the boat soothed her. They had tea at the hotel, then returned to town.

"Where to?" he asked when they were nearing Kensington. She gave the name of her flat and they alighted there.

"I have been here some time," she said. "I find it comfortable and quiet. Will you come in?"

He followed her. He noticed her room was furnished expensively and in excellent taste; there was nothing grand or gaudy about it.

"I am alone here, with my maid," she said. "They have an excellent system: all meals are prepared downstairs and sent up; there is a very good chef."

"The least possible trouble," he said. "How long have you been here?"

"Three years. It suits me; I do not care to be away from London. In my married days I lived in the country, but it bored me to death. Do you like the country?"

"Yes, I love it; but then much of my life has been spent in solitude."

"You have traveled?"

"Yes."

"I thought so."

"Why?"

"Your complexion denotes it. I like it, there is a healthy brown about it."

"I have done much hard work in my time," he said.

"Mining?" she asked.

"Yes, I suppose you would call it that."

"Where?"

"On Dartmoor," he said.

She was so astonished she could not speak. She looked at him with fear in her eyes.

"Dartmoor?" she whispered. "I did not know there were mines on Dartmoor."

"Oh, yes, there are – copper mines. I was fool enough to believe there was money in them, but I was mistaken; there is copper there, no doubt, but I did not find it," he said.

She felt as though a snake fascinated her, that she must ask questions about it.

"I have been to Torquay, but I did not go to Dartmoor," she said.

"You ought to have done so; it is a wonderful place. I was there a long time. When were you in Torquay?"

She told him.

"Strange," he said; "I was there at that time."

She felt a curious dread, not of him, but of something unknown.

"I went to the races – a friend of mine was riding there. He won four events. Lucky, was it not?"

"Yes," she said faintly. "Who was he?"

"Picton Woodridge. His yacht the Sea-mew was in the bay. I was on it."

"You!" she exclaimed, and he saw the fear in her eyes.

"Yes, why not? Is there anything strange about it?" he asked, smiling. "He lives at Haverton. He is rich, but he is not quite happy."

"Why not, if he has everything he wants?"

"He has not everything he wants; no one has, as a matter of fact. It would not be good for us. You have not all you want."

"No, I have not; but I get along very well."

"What is missing out of your life?" he asked.

"I can hardly tell you."

"My friend's life is overcast by a great calamity that befell his family some years ago."

"What was it?" she asked, and a slight shiver passed through her.

"His brother was accused of murder, of shooting the husband of the woman he had fallen in love with. He was condemned and reprieved; he is at Dartmoor now. That is enough to make his brother's life unhappy; it killed the Admiral, their father."

"How shocking!" she said.

"I never thought of it before, but, strange to say, the man's name was Elroy. It is your name," he said.

She laughed uneasily; she could not tell him now.

"I hope you do not connect me with the lady in question?"

"No, of course not. How absurd! But still it is strange – the name is uncommon," he said.

"I suppose you never saw his brother at the prison?"

"I did – I wish I had not."

"Did he look very ill, broken down?"

"He was a terrible wreck. He suffered awful agony, of mind more than body. I never saw such a change in a man in my life. When I knew Hector Woodridge he was a fine, well set up, handsome man, in the army, a soldier's career before him. The breakdown was complete; it made me suffer to look at him. I never went again and I do not think he wanted it. If ever a man was living in hell upon earth he was; the wonder is it did not kill him."

"How terrible!" she said.

"I wonder if the woman suffers? He did it on her account. I do not believe he is guilty – I am certain he is not. His brother believes in his innocence, so does Captain Bruce, and all his friends. I believe it is the knowledge that he is innocent sustains him in his awful life; he told me he hoped one day to prove his innocence, but that his lips were sealed, he could not speak. I told him that was foolish, that it was due to himself to speak, but he shook his head and said, 'Impossible!'"

"Is it a very terrible place at Dartmoor?"

"I suppose it is like all such prisons; but think what it must be for an innocent man to be caged there with a lot of desperate criminals, the scum of the earth. What must it be for such a man as Hector Woodridge, cultured, refined, an army man, well-bred – and on the top of it all the knowledge that the disgrace killed his father. It would drive me mad."

"And me too," she said. "You say he is there still?"

"Yes; there is no chance of his escaping. I wish he could."

"A prisoner escaped when I was at Torquay. I saw it in the local paper," she said.

"So did I; the fellow had a terrible fight with a bloodhound and strangled it. A desperate man has desperate strength," he said.

"I met an old boatman named Brack there; he told me the man must be dead."

"No doubt; fell down a disused mine, or drowned himself, poor devil. I don't wonder at it," he said.

"I wonder how the woman feels about it?" she said in a low voice. "She must suffer, her conscience must trouble her, in a way her life must be as hard to bear as his."

"That depends on the woman," he said. "I believe she can prove his innocence; something tells me she can; his brother believes it too. If this be so, she ought to speak and save him, no matter at what cost to herself."

"Do you think she will?"

"No; or she would have spoken before. She must be callous, hard-hearted, dead to all sense of human feeling. Such a woman would make me shudder to come in contact with her," he said.

She smiled as she thought: "He little knows I am that woman. I must wait. If he loves me later on I can tell him."

"Perhaps the woman cannot prove his innocence. She may believe him guilty."

"Impossible. There were only three persons present: the husband, the wife, and Hector Woodridge."

"It seems very strange that if he is innocent she has not declared the truth."

"Steeped in wickedness and sin as she is, I do not wonder at it; she is probably living in the world, leading a fast life, ruining men as she ruined him."

"Or she may be suffering agonies and be too much of a coward to speak; she may be an object of pity; perhaps if you saw her you would be sorry for her, as sorry as you are for him," she said.

"He is in prison, she is free; she has the world to distract her, he has nothing."

"You spoke of torture of the mind. Perhaps she is a sensitive woman; if so, her sufferings are as terrible as his."

"If you were the woman, what would you do?" he asked.

The question was put with an abruptness that startled her; again a feeling of fear was uppermost. It was strange he should know Hector Woodridge; still more curious that he was on the Sea-mew in Torbay. He must know if Hector Woodridge boarded the yacht; was he concealing something?

"I do not know what I should do. It would depend upon circumstances."

"What circumstances?" he asked.

"If I knew he was innocent, I should speak, I think – that is, if I could prove it."

"She must be able to prove it," he said. "I believe he is suffering, keeping silent, to save her."

"If he is, his conduct is heroic," she said.

"Foolish – a sin and a shame that he should waste his life for such a woman."

"You think her a very bad woman?"

"I do, one of the worst," he said.

She sighed.

"I am glad I have never been placed in such an unfortunate position," she said.

"So am I, but I am sure if you had been, Hector Woodridge would be a free man," he said.

"I wonder if he loved her?" she asked quickly.

"Loved her? He must have done so. Think how he is suffering for her; he must love her still," he said.

"Perhaps she does not know this."

"She ought to know; all his actions speak of love for her. No man ever made a greater sacrifice for a woman," he said. Then, looking at his watch, he added, "It is time for me to go, to meet Mr. Denyer. He is a great friend of yours, is he not?"

"I should not call him a friend exactly, although I have known him a long time; he is useful to me in business matters," she said.

"Can I be of any use in that way?" he asked.

"You might; I will ask you if I require anything."

"And then I shall be an acquaintance," he said, smiling.

"Would you rather be my friend?"

"Yes."

She held out her hand.

"I do not think that will be difficult," she said, her eyes flashing into his.

CHAPTER XX

RITA SEES A RESEMBLANCE

SOME acquaintanceships ripen fast into friendship; it was so with Lenise Elroy and Hector, at least on her side. She knew him as William Rolfe and as such he appealed to her. At times he reminded her in a vague way of Hector Woodridge; she liked him none the worse for this, although it brought back painful memories. She was fast drifting into the ocean of love where she would be tossed about, buffeted by the waves, and probably damaged. The impression he made on her was not easily effaced; she began to neglect Fletcher Denyer, much to his mortification. Before she met Rolfe their connection had been smooth, going on the even tenor of its way, with nothing to mar the harmony, but this new acquaintance proved a disturbing element and she was no longer the same to him. He resented it but could do nothing; he was powerless. He spoke to her, remonstrated, and she laughed at him; it was of no use tackling Rolfe, who would probably tell him to mind his business.

He had, however, no intention of relinquishing what little hold he had over her, and tried to make himself more indispensable. Rolfe was friendly, took a hint as to some speculative shares and made money.

It was September and the St. Leger day drew near. Hector had not forgotten Tearaway. He did not write to his brother; he thought it better not, safer. He watched the papers and saw the filly occasionally quoted at a hundred to four taken. The secret of the trial had been well kept, nothing leaked out about it. Ripon was a firm favorite at three to one, and all the wise men at Newmarket were sanguine of his success. Bronze was much fancied in certain quarters, and Harriet, The Monk, and Field Gun, frequently figured in the list; there was every prospect of a larger field than usual.

Fletcher Denyer often talked about racing with Hector, who was quite willing to discuss the chances of horses with him.

"I am told on the best authority Bronze will win," said Fletcher. "What do you fancy, Rolfe?"

"I haven't thought much about it," replied Hector. "If Bronze is as good as they make out, he must have a chance."

"If you want to back him I can get your money on at a good price," said Fletcher.

"I'll think it over," said Hector.

Mrs. Elroy was also interested in the St. Leger. She knew the owner of Ripon, who told her he did not think his horse had anything to fear. This news was imparted to Hector.

"Are you going to Doncaster?" she asked.

He said he was, that he always liked to see the St. Leger run.

"I think I shall go," she said. "I have been asked to join a house party near Doncaster."

Hector wondered how it came about that a woman who had behaved so badly could be so soon forgiven, and her past forgotten.

"Then I shall have the pleasure of seeing you there," he said.

"I hope so. Your friend Mr. Woodridge has something in the race – Tearaway, is it not? I suppose she hasn't got much of a chance, it is such a good price about her," she said.

"No, I don't expect she has or she would not be at such long odds," he answered.

"There have been some big surprises in the St. Leger," she said.

"It doesn't look like one this year," he replied.

A few days before the Doncaster meeting, Hector went to Haverton, where he had a warm welcome. Sir Robert Raines was there, Captain Ben, and one or two more, including Dick Langford, and Rita. Lady Raines came to act as hostess for Picton and brought two of her daughters; it was the knowledge that she would be there induced Rita to come with her brother.

At first Picton hesitated to ask her; she had never been to Haverton; but finally he decided. Lady Raines and her daughters would be there, it would be all right and proper. He was delighted when he heard she had arranged to come with Dick.

Hector came the following day after their arrival. He first saw Rita in the garden with Picton. He recognized her at once: it was the lady who had been so kind to him on his way from Dartmoor to Torquay. He saw how close they walked together, how confidential was their talk, and guessed the rest. He recognized this with a pang; he had built castles in the air about her, which, like most such edifices, are easily shattered. Would she know him again as the tramp she helped on the road? It was not likely. In the first place, he was greatly changed, and secondly she would never expect to find him here. He smiled grimly as he thought of the condition he was in the last time they met. He went out to face her and walked toward them.

Picton introduced them. She started slightly as she looked at him.

"I thought I had seen you somewhere before," she said with a bright smile. "You quite startled me, but I dare not tell you about it, it is quite too ridiculous."

"You have roused my curiosity. Please enlighten me," he said.

"You are quite sure you will not be offended?" She looked at them both.

"I shall not, and I am the principal person to consider," said Hector.

"Then, if you promise not to be angry with me, I will; after all, I am sure he was a gentleman although in reduced circumstances," she said.

"Who was a gentleman?" asked Picton.

"The man I for the moment fancied resembled Mr. Rolfe," she said. "It was the day you came to Torwood."

Rita told them about the tramp she had befriended, and added:

"He was a well-bred man who must have met with some great misfortune. I pitied him, my heart bled for him; he was no common man, it was easy to recognize that. He thanked me courteously and went on his way down the road. I have often thought of him since and wondered what became of him. When you first came up, Mr. Rolfe, you reminded me of him, in looks and build, that is all. Have I offended you?"

"Not at all," said Hector. "You are quite sure I am not your gentleman tramp? Look again."

"Don't be absurd! Of course you are not the man; it was a mere passing resemblance," she said.

"You did a very kindly action, and I am sure the man, whoever he is, will never forget it, or you. Perhaps at some future time he may repay your kindness. Who knows? There are some strange chances in the world, so many ups and downs, I should not at all wonder if you met him again in a very different sphere," said Hector.

Lady Raines and her daughters came on to the terrace and Rita joined them.

"Whew!" said Hector, "that was a narrow squeak, Pic. I went hot and cold all over when I recognized who it was with you, but I thought I had better come out and face the music."

"That's about the closest shave you've had, but even had she been certain she would only have known you as William Rolfe."

"I forgot that," said Hector. "Still, it is better as it is. I say, Pic, is she the one?"

"I hope so," his brother replied, laughing. "I mean to have a good try."

"Lucky fellow!" said Hector with a sigh. "There's no such chance of happiness for me."

"There may be some day," said Picton. "You have not told me what you have been doing in London."

"Plotting," said Hector. "I am on the way to secure my revenge – I shall succeed."

"Can't you give me some idea how you mean to be revenged?" asked Picton.

"Not at present. You may get an inkling at Doncaster, if you keep your eyes open; but I expect all your attention will be riveted on Tearaway," said Hector.

"That's highly probable. One doesn't own a Leger winner every year," said Picton.

"Then you think she is sure to win?"

"Certain, and Sir Robert won't hear of her defeat. He has backed her to win a large stake, and he's jubilant about it."

"It seems strange she does not shorten in the betting," said Hector.

"I don't take much notice of that; she's not a public performer, and it is a field above the average. If it had leaked out about the trial it would have been different, but we have a good lot of lads at Haverton; they know how to hold their tongues," said Picton.

"I'll tell you what, Pic, I'd like to let old Brack know. Wouldn't the dear old boy rejoice at getting on a twenty-five to one chance; he'd think more of it than anything. Brackish, boatman, Torquay, would find him," said Hector.

"He shall know," said Picton. "I'll tell you what, it would be a joke to get him to Doncaster for the St. Leger. I'll send Rose down to hunt him up and bring him."

"I'm afraid Rose would look askance at Brack, he's such a highly superior person," said Hector.

"I fancy Brack would break his reserve down before they reached Doncaster," said Picton. "I shall send him, anyway."

CHAPTER XXI

BRACK TURNS TRAVELER

ROSE, I am about to send you on an important mission to Torquay," said Picton.

"Yes, sir."

"You are to find an old boatman named Brackish, generally called Brack. He is a well-known character; there will be no difficulty about it. You will hand him this letter, and if he requires persuading you will use all your eloquence in that direction. You will give him ten pounds and pay all his expenses, and you must land him in the paddock at Doncaster at the latest on the St. Leger day. You understand?"

"Yes, sir. May I ask what kind of an individual he is?"

"Rough and ready. He was formerly a boatman at Scarborough. He is a Yorkshireman. He will don his best clothes; perhaps he will require a new pilot coat – if he does, buy him one."

"And what am I to do when I land him in the paddock, sir?"

"Wait until I see him."

"Very good, sir. Is that all?"

"Yes, I think so. Look after him well; he once did me a good turn. You'll find him interesting, also amusing."

"When shall I go, sir?"

"To-morrow; that will give you ample time – a day or two in Torquay will be a pleasant change."

"Thank you, sir; it will," said Rose.