Sir Hilton's Sin

“That I’m sure he’s not,” cried the girl, indignantly, “and you oughtn’t to call him so, even if you are his uncle. Syd!”

“You tell me, then,” said Sir Hilton. “What did I – Oh, hang it all!” he cried, “I can’t remember a bit.”

“That you can’t, Sir Hilton,” said the trainer, nervously, as Sir Hilton stared at him blankly, pressing his hands to his head. “It’s just what I told you, Sir Hilton. What you want is a good night’s rest, and you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“But I feel better now – ever so much. What should I want to go to bed for? Why, I’ve only just got up.”

“Oh, dear!” groaned the trainer to himself. “I give it him too strong; I give it him too strong, and it was nothing like what one might ha’ give a horse.”

“Look here,” cried Sir Hilton, making as if to fix his visitor with a pointing finger, which he kept in motion following imaginary movements on the part of Simpkins. “I wish to goodness you’d sit still. What the dickens do you keep bobbing about like that for? What did you say – go to bed?”

“Yes, Sir Hilton.”

“But why – why? Didn’t I just get up?”

“’Bout ’nour ago, Sir Hilton. You see, we’ve driv’ over here since. You would get up and come.”

“Of course! Home – to my wife. That’s right; I can see that quite plain, and – Here you two on the sofa, what are you doing? You, Syd, let that young lady alone, sir. Sit up, my dear. It isn’t delicate for you to be going to sleep on his shoulder like that.”

“Yes, it is – now,” whimpered the girl, half crying. “I can’t help it. I’m so dreadfully sleepy.”

“Of course you are, of course. Poor little thing! Half-past three! Why, you ought to have been in bed hours ago. It was shameful of your father to bring you here. But – but – but,” cried the unfortunate man, staring and gesticulating fiercely, “why doesn’t someone tell me?”

“I did tell yer, Sir Hilton. The hosses was put in the dogcarts when you would come, and I’ve seen you safe. Can’t you understand now?”

“No, no; not a bit. Here, Syd!”

“Yes, uncle.”

“Come here.”

“Yes, uncle. There, lean your head back, Molly, if you will go to sleep.”

“I can’t help it, Syd dear; and I’m so cold.”

“Here, pull that over you, then,” whispered the boy hastily, and, as the poor girl sank back, he seized and gave the great silk-lined skin a hasty twitch which swept it right over his young wife. “Did you call me, uncle?”

“Yes, of course. I want Mark and that girl.”

“What girl, uncle?” cried the lad, indignantly.

“What girl, sir? Jane, the maid. Where are they?”

“Gone to the pantry, I s’pose, uncle,” said Syd, giving a glance in the direction of the couch and seeing nothing now but the hump of white, woolly skin. “Gone to bed, p’raps. I say, uncle; do go too. You’ll be able to think better when you wake up.”

“Wake up!” said Sir Hilton, musingly – “remember? Yes; something about a boy – no, a girl on a bicycle. I did, didn’t I? – talk to a girl – or see one on a bicycle – no, it was in pale blue and scarlet I did, didn’t I, Sam?”

“Yes, sir; I think you did – to my gal there.”

Sir Hilton looked in the direction in which the trainer pointed, and saw the Polar bear skin; nothing more.

“Where?” he said vacantly, as he turned his eyes back upon the trainer, who was wiping the drops again from his steaming face. “Your girl – Mary Ann Simpkins – La Sylphide?”

“Oh, pore chap, he’s quite off his head!” groaned the trainer. “It means a ’sylum, and if old Trimmer splits – ”

“Ha!” cried Sir Hilton, in a tone which made the trainer spring to his feet, staring wildly at the speaker.

“Here, uncle, don’t go on like that,” said Syd, soothingly. “I wish old Granton were here with a straight waistcoat. Here, Sam Simpkins help me! It’s all your fault. Don’t seize a fellow like that, uncle? Help, Sam! He’s got ’em horrid, and it must be with the stuff he had in your place.”

“Now, don’t you go and say such a thing as that, young gen’leman,” cried the trainer, fiercely, as he tried to take hold of Sir Hilton’s arm. “Here, let’s get him to bed, and you’d better send for your doctor.”

“Be quiet, both of you,” cried Sir Hilton, shaking himself free. “My head’s clear now, but I must have been ill; my head has been horribly mixed up. Yes, I recollect now; but speak low. Don’t make a noise, or you’ll be having her ladyship down.”

“I believe she has been listening all the time. Oh, uncle, there will be such a scene in the morning.”

“Yes, my boy,” said Sir Hilton, nervously; “but we must hush it up. Yes, that’s it; I promised Lady Tilborough I’d ride her mare.”

“Yes, uncle; that’s right.”

“And somehow I couldn’t get to the saddling paddock.”

“Why, you’re going back again now, uncle.”

“No, my boy. I can see it all clearly enough now. I couldn’t get there after that champagne – ”

Simpkins had hard work to suppress a groan.

“Some little syren of a girl got hold of me and kept me back so that I lost the race, Lady Tilborough’s money, and my four thousand pounds.”

“Don’t, uncle! Pull yourself together. You’re sliding back again.”

“Yes; stop him,” cried the trainer, seizing his victim and shaking him hard. “Don’t go back, Sir Hilton; if you don’t come round now, see what it means for me and my pore gal.”

“Oh, uncle, you’re going off again,” said Syd, excitedly. “Do hold on to something, and don’t keep sliding back. Try – try. Now give your head a good shake to make it work. Here, Sam Simpkins, don’t you think we might give him a dose of spirits to wind him up?”

“No, no,” cried the trainer, excitedly. “With a head like this there is no knowing what might happen to him.”

“But I can’t let him stop like this. There, don’t waggle your head any more, uncle; try if you can remember now.”

“No; nothing but the bees, my boy.”

“The bees?”

“Yes, my boy, and the rushing after the poll. Oh, yes, I’m beginning to recollect now. The election, and the race against Watcombe, the brewer.”

“Race?” cried Syd. “That’s the right clue, uncle. Now you’re beginning to go again. That shaking did it. Now hold tight to the ‘race.’”

“Yes, my boy; I remember all right now; heading the poll and leaving the brewer nowhere.”

“No, no; the race, uncle – the race.”

“Of course, my boy. It’s all coming back now. That bad champagne and the buzzing of the bees.”

“Oh, dear!” groaned the trainer; “he don’t forget that, and he’s off again.”

“To be sure,” cried Sir Hilton, eagerly. “I recollect. It was ever so long ago, and the speaker was – ”

“No, no, uncle; you’re getting mixed again. The starter.”

“No, my boy, the speaker in the chair, and the bell was ringing.”

“That’s right, uncle, to clear the course. Now you’re all right!”

“Yes, now I’m all right, my boy. I was in and there was a division. I rushed through the Lobby, and out into the fresh air. The mare was ready. Someone gave me a leg-up, and I was all excitement for the race.”

“That’s your sort, uncle,” cried Syd, as with his eyes fixed on one of the moonlit windows, Sir Hilton stopped, panting as if out of breath. “Bravo! Stick to the rage. He’s coming round fast now, Sam.”

“No, no; look at him. He’s as mad as a hatter.”

“Yes,” cried Sir Hilton; “then, before I knew where we were, and without waiting for the starter, away we went. Parliament Street was passed in a stride – the mob scattered right and left. Charing Cross and the lions – Cockspur Street – Pall Mall – whirr – buzz – away we went, with the bees swarming round my head. Just at the corner by the clubs I wrenched her head round, and she bounded up Saint James’s Street. A drag to the left, and we were in Piccadilly. A road-car was in the way, but she cleared it in a bound. Cabs strewed the earth, for the strike was over; but she took them all in her stride as we dashed on, just catching a glimpse of the houses to the right – the Green Park to the left. Then, clearing a penny ’bus at Hyde Park Corner, we nearly rushed into the hospital doors. Again I wrenched her head, turning in my saddle in time to see a passenger on the knifeboard pick up his hat. Then down Constitution Hill we swept as if gliding along a chute. In my wild excitement, as we darted by the Palace, I yelled out, ‘God save the King!’ But he was not at home, and we were urging on our wild career past the barracks, along the Bird-cage Walk. The ducks whirred up from the pool, the people shrieked, as we scattered perambulators, nursemaids, and children, flying like leaves upon the wind. Storey’s Gate was closed, but the mare laughed – a loud, weird laugh – as she cleared it, and we dropped in Great George Street, where a newsboy yelled ‘winners!’ with the Parliament House in sight. ‘We win – we win!’ I cried, for it was the goal. ‘Give her her head!’ the people yelled, but the mare took it. She stretched her neck right into infinite space, my silk swelled out like a bubble, and feeling that I must steer now I drew on the reins, hand over hand – hand over hand – to feel her head; but it was half a mile away. At last I got a bite. She took the bait – the bit in her teeth, and I struck, turned her, and we dashed through Palace Yard again, straight for the great Hall doors. ‘M.P. mustn’t pass!’ shouted an inspector, throwing out his arms. ‘Head of the poll!’ I yelled, and the mare went through him like a flash, as we reached the Lobby once more. There was the straight run in, and holding her well in hand I lifted her over the gangway and settled down to win. How they cheered! Opposition to right of me, Government to left of me, and the Speaker ahead of me, waving me on. ‘The Ayes have it! The Noes! The Ayes! The Noes! They volleyed, they thundered. ’Vide – ’vide – ’vide – ’vide!’ and the mare ’vided them as we still tore on, nearer and nearer, till the curls in the Speaker’s wig grew clear, and then the whites of his eyes. Nearer and nearer in the mad excitement of the race, till with one final rush we passed the Mace, the Irish party rising as one man, and ran past the winning-post right into Parliament to the roaring of their wild hurroo!”

“Bravo! Hurroo!” shouted Syd, as his uncle stopped, panting heavily again. “That was how you did it. You won; only you’ve got it a bit mixed. But you’re coming round. I say, you feel ever so much better, don’t you, for getting rid of that?”

“Oh, it’s all over, my lad,” cried the trainer. “Did you ever hear the like?”

“It’s only excitement,” said Syd. “Look at him; he’s calming down now beautifully. You see, he’d got two things on his brain – the race and the election – and having been a bit screwed with the bad stuff you let him have, he naturally got himself a bit mixed.”

“Mixed?” said Sir Hilton, turning upon the boy sharply. “Wasn’t I talking about something just now? But look, look at that man Simpkins rolling his eyes about. Is he going mad?”

“Not a bit o’ it, Sir Hilton; it’s you as is mad. Ain’t it enough as I’ve lost what I have?”

“You lost too?”

“Yes, uncle,” cried Syd, shaking him; “but you haven’t. You won – for all of us. I turned that ten you gave me into a century.”

“I – won?” stammered Sir Hilton, with his hands pressing his temples.

“To be sure you did. You were sitting all of a jelly, and the game was nearly up; but Dr Jack Granton gave you a drench, just as if you’d been a horse. Then we got you into the air, and you came round directly, and ran between us to the saddling paddock, where we set you on to the mare just in time, and you led the field from the beginning. You won in a canter. Can’t you recollect?”

“No, nothing.”

“Don’t you remember nearly tumbling off the horse after you’d passed the post?”

“No.”

“Nor getting into the scales, saddle and bridle and all?”

“No; nothing whatever.”

“Oh, Sam Simpkins, you must have given him a dose!”

“Yes, I remember that – that champagne. It did taste very queer and strange,” cried Sir Hilton, turning upon the trainer, whose red face looked piebald with sickly white, so strangely was it mottled.

“I’d had it a long time, Sir Hilton,” stammered the man. “P’raps it was a bit off.”

“Oh, hang that!” cried Sir Hilton. “Tell me again, Syd, my boy; did I win?”

“In a canter, I tell you, uncle,” cried the boy.

“Ha!” sighed Sir Hilton, with a look of intense relief. “But it must be kept from your aunt. She has such – ”

“Kept from auntie?” cried Syd, staring. “Why, she knows all.”

“Knows all? You’ve told her?”

“No-o-o-o. Don’t you remember? No, you recollect nothing. She got to know you were off to ride somehow, and came after us to the hotel.”

“What?”

“That’s right, uncle. Lady Lisle came and saw him, didn’t she, Sam?”

“Yes, sir,” growled Sam, still mopping his face.

“But not dressed – not in my silk and boots?”

“Oh, yes, uncle. Didn’t she, Sam?”

“Yes, sir; that’s right enough.”

“Horror!” groaned Sir Hilton. “She’ll never forgive me.”

“Worse than that, uncle. She saw that you were tight.”

“You young villain, it’s not true!” roared Sir Hilton. “How dare you say that!”

“Because it’s true,” cried Syd, lightly. “Isn’t it, Sam?”

“Yes, sir,” faltered the man. “Wery screwed indeed.”

“Tell me the rest,” groaned Sir Hilton in despair.

“Fainted away, uncle; but I didn’t stop to see. I had to look to you and the race. But afterwards Dr Jack Granton went back to the hotel and physicked her. Didn’t he, Sam?”

“Yes, sir, ’long o’ Lady Tilborough; and they took her away in her ladyship’s carriage to Oakleigh.”

“And then brought her home?”

“I s’pose so, uncle. I dunno. I stuck to you. So did Sam.”

“Thank you, my boy – thank you, Simpkins. I’ll talk to you another time. But, you see, I’m quite clear and well now.”

“Yes, Sir Hilton – thank goodness!” said the trainer, hoarsely.

“Then, now, you had better have a glass of something and drive – What’s that?”

“Wheels, uncle. There goes the gate.”

The click, click, click came very plainly, and the next minute there were the steps of Jane and Mark in the hall.

“Stop a moment,” cried Sir Hilton. “What is it? Who is it come?”

“Her ladyship, I think, Sir Hilton,” cried Jane.

“What! I thought she was at home.”

“No, sir. She went to Tilborough after you.”

“Uncle,” cried Syd, “whatever shall we say?”

He shrank back with his uncle into the drawing-room, and the door swung to, while the next moment they heard the front door open and Lady Lisle’s voice.

“Has Sir Hilton returned?”

“Yes, my lady,” replied Jane.

“Ha!”

Lady Lisle hurried into the drawing-room with stately stride, but she looked round in vain, and faced Lady Tilborough and Doctor Granton, who had followed her in, for the late occupants of the room had disappeared.

So vast is woman’s power over man.

Chapter Twenty Three.

Further In

The sound of his wife’s voice had a wonderful effect upon Sir Hilton for the moment, and, turning sharply, he rushed out of the drawing-room and down the passage leading to the servants’ portion of the house.

“Here, Sam,” cried Syd, “come on and stop him. He’s going into another fit.”

The boy dashed after his uncle, closely followed by the trainer, and they overtook him in the pale light of the kitchen, whose window faced the east, standing, panting hard, with his hand upon the table, where he was collared by one on each side.

“What are you doing that for?” he cried.

“Never you mind, Sir Hilton. You’ve got to stop here.”

“That’s right, uncle. Come, steady! No larks.”

“Larks, sir? Let go. I insist. Let go, I tell you. I’m going to meet your aunt, Syd. I must have some explanation with her about all this.”

“Well, if you come to that, Sir Hilton, that’s what I want too about my gal. If it’s all the same, I’ll go back first.”

“That you don’t,” cried Syd, shifting his hold from uncle to father-in-law. “There’ll be row enough without having that in the mess. Hark! Can’t you hear talking?” he whispered. “Aunt’s having it over with Molly. Let them settle it before we go in.”

“Look here, don’t you talk like that, my boy, to one old enough to be your grandfather,” protested the trainer. “You’re not standing up for my gal’s rights as you should do, and if you don’t I must.”

“But one thing at a time, old man. Let’s get uncle quieted down first.”

“Quieted down?” cried Sir Hilton. “What do you mean? Here, Syd, my throat’s on fire. Fill that jug at the tap.”

“Won’t hurt him, will it?” whispered Syd.

“I d’know, my lad; I’d charnsh it now.”

The jug was filled at the tap over the sink and handed to Sir Hilton, who drank long and deeply, setting it down with a loud “Ha!” just as a familiar voice rang out loudly —

“Hilton! Hilton! Are you there?”

For as the pair dashed out after Sir Hilton the door through which they passed closed with a dull, jarring thud, which seemed to bring down another flower-pot in the conservatory; but this was not heard by Lady Lisle, who entered the drawing-room excitedly, closely followed by Lady Tilborough and the doctor, all looking pallid and all-nightish in the yellow light of the candles mingled with the pale grey dawn stealing in.

“Now, pray listen to me, my dear Lady Lisle,” said Lady Tilborough, in a soothing voice. “Do be reasonable.”

“I will not listen to you, madam,” cried Lady Lisle, passionately.

“Pray do now. For your own sake as well as your husband’s.”

“He is no husband of mine,” cried Lady Lisle, excitedly.

“Be reasonable. Come, think, my dear madam. You cannot wish to have a scandal. Your servants are in the hall. You cannot want them to hear.”

“They must hear – the whole world will hear. Oh, it is dreadful, dreadful!”

“Say a word to her, for heaven’s sake, Jack!” whispered Lady Tilborough; and the doctor stepped forward.

“Yes, Lady Lisle,” he said firmly, “I am bound to speak – as, temporarily, your medical attendant.”

“Wretched man, why did you not let me die?” cried Lady Lisle, pacing up and down and wringing her hands.

“Because I wished to save an estimable lady for a reconciliation with an old friend; for really, my dear madam, when you calm down, you will see that you have been most unreasonable.”

“Unreasonable? Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the unhappy woman, hysterically.

“Yes, my dear madam; most unreasonable. First in insisting upon leaving Oakleigh at this extremely early hour in the morning, after you had been suffering from a congeries of hysterical fits. Recollect what you promised me.”

“I recollect nothing but my wrongs,” cried Lady Lisle.

“Then as your medical attendant, called in upon this emergency by my friend, Lady Tilborough, it is my duty to tell you that you gave me your word that you would be calm if I allowed you to return.”

“Yes,” said the suffering woman, bitterly. “I promised because I could not bear to stay longer in that hateful woman’s house.”

“It seemed to me, madam, that the lady whom you so wrong, behaved in a very loving and sisterly way to you in an emergency.”

“Yes; brought about by her machinations.”

“Oh, dear!” sighed Lady Tilborough. “What an unreasonable darling it is! Machinations! Why, I only asked a dear old friend to help me and save me from ruin, and he responded nobly.”

“Ruin? You helped to ruin him by luring him back to the diabolical horrors of the Turf.”

“There, there, my dear; I won’t argue with you, certainly not quarrel. Pray, pray try and calm yourself, or you’ll be having another of those terrible hysterical fits.”

“Yes,” said Granton, “and worse than the last.”

“I am glad. It will be my last. Infamous woman, why did you drag me to your house?”

“Because, my dear, I didn’t like to see a lady in your position ill and suffering in such a place as the Tilborough Arms.”

“And because, my dear madam, when I found how bad you were I begged Lady Tilborough to save you from a long hour’s drive home when your coachman was not to be found.”

“But you lured my husband away, woman.”

“Well, I have confessed to that, my dear madam, and I am sorry that you should look upon it with different eyes from mine. I don’t think I have been such a terrible sinner, do you, doctor?” she added, with a look which made the gentleman addressed flutter as regarded his nerves.

But he had the medical man’s command over self, and he said quietly: “I think when Lady Lisle has grown calmer she will look a little more leniently upon her neighbour’s actions. Now, pray, my dear madam, let me beg of you to – Ah! that’s better. Don’t try to restrain your tears. They are the greatest anodyne for an overwrought mind. Now, remember your promise. Let me ring for your maid. A cup of tea and a good long sleep, and the racing escapade will wear a different aspect by the light of noon.”

“Oh, doctor, doctor!” sobbed the poor woman, passionately, as she yielded to Granton’s pressure, and sank into a lounge; “you do not know – you do not know!”

“Yes, yes, yes, I know; but pray think. I grant that racing is gambling, but I really believe my dear old friend Hilton Lisle will for the future yield to your wishes and fight shy – I beg your pardon – religiously abstain from attending Turf meetings.”

“Oh, oh, oh, doctor!” sobbed the patient, who was at her weakest in the weakest hour of the twenty-four. “You do not know all. I could have forgiven that; but when I discovered the base disloyalty of the man in whom I had always the most perfect faith – ”

“Dear me! Ahem!” coughed the doctor. “I – ” and he glanced at Lady Tilborough.

“Oh, hang it, no!” cried the latter, firing up. “Surely, madam, you don’t think that! Oh, absurd! Poor old Hilton! Oh, nonsense, nonsense! Why, the woman is jealous of me!”

“No, no, no!” cried Lady Lisle, excitedly. “I did not think – Oh, no, Lady Tilborough, I do not think that.”

“Ha! That’s some comfort,” sighed the lady addressed; but she frowned angrily, and the look she darted at the doctor was by no means like the last, though his was of the most abject, imploring kind.

“I can’t explain – I can’t explain,” sobbed Lady Lisle in her handkerchief. “I would sooner die, for it is all over now.”

The others exchanged looks and a whisper or two, as they drew aside from the weeping woman.

“Oh, I don’t believe it of poor old Hilt,” said Lady Tilborough.

“Neither do I,” cried the doctor.

“There is no one,” said Lady Tilborough. “Unless – ” she added, as a sudden thought struck her. “No, no, no; he’s too loyal to go running after a pretty little commonplace doll like that, Jack.”

“I hope so,” said the doctor, shaking his head. “Well, here he is to answer for himself,” he added quickly, for the farther door was opened, and, clad in slippers and dressing-gown, and carrying a flat candlestick, whose light was not wanted, and looking quite himself mentally, but ghastly pale, Sir Hilton briskly entered the room.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he cried, stopping short, and looking from one to the other.

“Oh-h-h-h!” exclaimed Lady Lisle, in a long-drawn utterance expressive of her anger and disgust.

“Why, Hilt, old fellow,” cried Granton, “I thought you were ill in bed?”

“What brings you here, sir?” cried Sir Hilton. “But stop; I’ll talk to you afterwards,” he added fiercely. “Now, madam, will you have the goodness to explain what this means?”

“Oh-h-h-h!” ejaculated Lady Lisle again, in tones more long-drawn and suggestive of the rage boiling up within, her darting and flashing eyes telling their own tale of the storm about to burst.

“Oh, indeed, madam!” cried Sir Hilton, mockingly. “Really, I am very sorry to have to make a display of the soiled laundry of our establishment before our visitors, but I must demand an explanation. Here am I, called suddenly away upon very important business respecting monetary matters, and I return home late, to find that you have taken advantage of my absence to – to – to – to – there, I will not give utterance to my thoughts, but ask you, madam, to explain why I find you away, even at midnight, and not putting in an appearance till nearly four in the morning – four in the morning, and in a state that – Good heavens, madam! have you looked at yourself in the glass?”

Lady Lisle had not looked at herself in the glass, and her husband’s words came so aptly, rousing such a feeling of wonder in her that she involuntarily turned sharply to glance in one of the long mirrors and see a reflection in the crossed light of the artificial and the real coming from candle and break of day, that she felt horrified, and once more ejaculated “Oh!”