The Runaways: A New and Original Story

"Easily imposed upon, I suppose that is what the majority of people would say; at any rate, if it is an imposition it is an uncommon one. I have a good mind to go up to London and on to Feltham just to spy out the land. I will ask the Squire about it. He will not call me a fool, he is far too polite, but he'll probably think I am one."

She sealed the letter and placed it in the postbag, locking it, and thus hiding her missive from prying eyes. Irene trusted her servants, but she understood human nature, and knew curiosity was well developed in the domestic maiden.

Passing into the room she used as a studio, she took the painting of Random from the easel and placed it in a more favourable light.

She criticised it, and was more than satisfied she had done the horse justice. The colouring was right, not hard, or harsh; the coat was not too glossy, yet it showed signs of health. The head was as perfect as it well could be. The left eye – the horse had his head turned three-parts round – was perhaps a shade too dull. She took up her palette, and with a couple of light touches altered it to her satisfaction.

"I think he will like it, and not merely because I have done it, but because it has merit."

She placed it in her portfolio, and adjusted the straps to suit her shoulders, so that it would not interfere with her riding. She rang the bell, and Mrs. Dixon, the housekeeper, appeared.

"Has anyone called, Dixon?"

"No; we need not look out for visitors in this weather."

Dixon was a privileged person; she had been in command at Anselm Manor long before Warren Courtly's mother died, and Irene declined to have her removed, although her husband would have been pleased to see the back of her.

Martha Dixon had a strong affection for Irene, although she would not abate a jot of her sternness or abrupt manner under any consideration. She also knew that Warren Courtly had been anything but a saint before he married, but that was none of her business.

"I suppose this is a gentle hint that I ought not to be riding about this weather?" said Irene, smiling.

Martha Dixon smiled back at her mistress and said, in a soft tone —

"If you take care of yourself it will do you no harm, and I know it's precious lonely at the Manor. How did you find the Squire?"

"He looks wonderfully well, but it was a bad night for him last night."

"Then he remembers; he has forgotten nothing?"

"And never will. He thinks Ulick will come back on the anniversary of the night he left home, and he has steeled himself to wait another year," said Irene.

"That minx Janet is at the bottom of it all. A regular little flirt; I have no patience with 'em," said Martha.

"Poor Janet, she has suffered for her wrongdoing, perhaps she is not to blame."

"Mr. Ulick ought to have packed her off somewhere and remained at home," she said.

"He was too much of a man to do that," said Irene. "Do you know, Dixon, I met Eli as I came here, and his faith in Ulick is as strong as ever?"

"It does him credit, but he knows different in his heart."

"You are mistaken; he believes Ulick is not guilty of wronging his daughter, I am sure of it."

"I wish it would come true," said Martha.

"I must go now," said Irene. "Please order my horse."

This being done, Martha Dixon fixed the picture firmly on Irene's back, and fastened the straps.

"The Squire will be pleased with that; it was Mr. Ulick's favourite horse."

"I believe that is why he was glad when I chose Random," said Irene, as she walked to the door and quickly mounted Rupert.

"If any letters come, shall I send them to Hazelwell?" asked Martha.

"No," replied Irene; then added quickly, as she thought of the mysterious Felix Hoffman, "on second thoughts, perhaps you had better do so, but I may ride over again in a day or two. Mr. Courtly writes that he will not be back for a week."

She rode quickly away, and Martha Dixon watched her until she was out of sight.

"I have nothing to say against Mr. Warren," muttered Martha, as she shut the door, "but I wish Mr. Ulick had not got into a mess. She'd have been happier with him, although I say it, as shouldn't."

CHAPTER V

HONEYSUCKLE'S FOAL

It was New Year's Eve, and Eli Todd was passing through a series of varying emotions. A stranger watching him might, with considerable excuse, have put him down as a lunatic. No sooner was he comfortably seated in his armchair by the cosy fire than he jumped up again suddenly, seized his hat, and dashed out into the wintry night.

After a quarter of an hour's absence he returned, settled down again, commenced to doze and, waking with a start, rushed out of the house in the same erratic manner as before.

The cause of these proceedings on the part of Eli was the mare, Honeysuckle. Never was a man placed in such a predicament, all on account of a mare, as Eli Todd on this occasion. It wanted four hours to midnight, and every moment the studmaster expected Honeysuckle's foal would come forth into the cold and heartless world an hour or two before the New Year. It was enough to drive him to despair. This would in all probability be Honeysuckle's last foal, but the Squire had already made up his mind that "what's last is best."

Blissfully ignorant was the Squire of the throes of anxiety his trusty servant was enduring. It was his firm belief that Honeysuckle would not foal until the middle of January at the earliest, and Eli had not undeceived him.

"I do wish you would keep still and not worry yourself," said Mrs. Marley. "It can do no good, the mare will get on quite as well without you; leave it to nature."

"Much you know about it," grumbled Eli. "Leaving it to nature is all very well, but you ought to know that nature requires a little assistance at times."

"You never take advice," she replied.

"I do when it is good," was the effectual reply.

Again Eli Todd opened the door, and a cold blast struck him in the face. A light was burning in Honeysuckle's box across the yard, and he plodded through the snow to it.

His head man was inside sitting in a chair, looking drowsy, and nodding.

Eli thought he had better go to bed, and said he would take his place.

"I'll call you if I want you," he said, and the man thanked him as he went out.

Eli sat in the chair watching the old mare and frequently looking at his watch. He had never wished time to fly so rapidly before.

Honeysuckle was restless, and from time to time looked at him with her big, soft eyes in a most pathetic way.

"I can't do anything for you, old girl," he said. "But you can oblige me very much by staving off the great event until the clock has struck twelve. After that the sooner you are over your trouble the better."

Another half hour passed, and still found Eli wakeful and on guard.

A slight noise outside aroused him, and he listened attentively. "It sounded like a man walking, perhaps Joe has come back. I know he is as anxious as I am about her," muttered Eli.

A knock on the door made him start, and he said —

"Who's there?"

No answer. It was mysterious at this hour of the night.

He asked the question again, and the reply was another rap.

Picking up his stick, he cautiously opened the door and peered out. He saw a man, muffled up; standing a yard or two away. Something about the figure seemed familiar to him, and a peculiar sensation passed through his body, making his pulses tingle with anticipation.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" he asked.

"Have you forgotten me, Eli?"

The studmaster started back, exclaiming —

"My God, it's Mr. Ulick!"

"Yes, it's me, none other; may I come in?"

For answer Eli dropped his stick, took him by both hands, and dragged him into the box.

Ulick Maynard unbuttoned his coat and unwound the scarf around his neck. He was a tall, handsome man, with a clear, open countenance. It was the face of a man to be trusted, if ever there was one.

"I am glad to see you, but it's a strange time to come," said Eli. "Are you going up to the house?"

"No," was the emphatic reply. "I shall never go back to Hazelwell until my father asks my pardon for the insult he put upon me."

"You don't know how he has suffered since you left," said Eli. "He sat up all night on Tuesday. You know what date it was?"

"Yes; I left home on that night two years ago."

"And Mrs. Courtly came over from the Manor and stayed with him," said Eli.

"Irene," he said softly.

"Yes, and she told me the Squire would be a young man again if you came back."

"Do they still believe I wronged your daughter?"

Eli made no reply, he thought it better to keep silent, for he would not tell a lie or deceive him.

"I see," said Ulick, bitterly. "I am still the black sheep, a disgrace to the name. And you, what do you think?"

"No need to ask me, Mr. Ulick. You know what I think. I never believed you guilty, and I never will, no, not even if Janet accused you, because she would be forced to it by the man who led her astray," said Eli.

Ulick took his hand and shook it heartily.

"Thank you, Eli," he said. "I give you my solemn word I did not wrong Janet. We may have flirted a trifle, as a man will do with a pretty girl, but I never injured her by word or deed. Is she at home still?"

Eli looked at him curiously. He evidently had no idea Janet left her home the same night he went away from Hazelwell.

"My girl has been away from me for two years."

It was Ulick's turn to look surprised.

"You thought it better to send her away, no doubt?"

"I did not send her away."

"She left her home, ran away from you?"

"That's what happened."

"When did she go?"

"The same night you did."

"Good heavens! No wonder my father still believes me guilty. No doubt he thinks I went with her," said Ulick.

"He came to my house in a towering passion the morning after she left, and when he found out she had gone he was very bitter against you both. He said words he ought not to have said, but I am sure he repented them afterwards."

"Have you heard anything of her?"

"No," replied Eli. "Not a line from her."

"I wonder who took her away? I'd give a good deal to find out," said Ulick.

"And so would I. She must be in London, I think; it is a good place to hide in," said Eli.

"So I find. A man can bury himself in London without much fear of recognition."

"Have you been in London since you left Hazelwell?" asked Eli.

"Most of the time. I very seldom came across anyone I know. You see, I have money of my own, independent of my father, so it enables me to live comfortably."

"And what has brought you down here?" asked Eli.

"Curiosity, a desire to see the old place, call it what you will. I wanted to have a chat with you, and hear how my father was going on," said Ulick.

"You had better go and see him. I am sure he has suffered enough by your absence."

"And do you not think I have suffered? And it makes it none the easier to bear because it is unjust. Have you ever suspected any one?"

"You mean about Janet?"

"Yes."

"I would rather not say. I have no proof, and if I am right it would cause even more trouble than the suspicion about you did."

"Then you have some idea who the man is?"

"I have, but we will not talk of that. If everything comes to light, well and good, but I am not going to be the one to cause more unhappiness."

"You ought to tell me. I have a right to know."

"Granted, but you must forgive me if I decline to say anything. This much I may tell you, that if what I suspect is true it will bring shame and disgrace upon someone who is very dear to you," said Eli.

Ulick was astonished, and wondered if Eli really had any grounds for suspicion. He would think the matter over on his return to London; it might possibly afford him some clue. If he found out the real culprit he would be able to judge what was best to be done. It was no use questioning Eli further.

"Old Honeysuckle looks in rather a bad way," he said, changing the subject, for which Eli was very thankful.

Eli explained the situation to him, and Ulick, looking at his watch, said —

"It only wants half an hour to midnight; we have been talking a long time. I'll stay with you and see it through. There is no danger of the Squire suddenly coming down?"

"Not at this hour, I am glad to say. He thinks there is no cause for anxiety. But will you not come into the house? Mrs. Marley has gone to bed, and we shall not be disturbed," said Eli.

"Let us remain here until it is all over," replied Ulick, and he sat down on the straw.

"Take this chair," said Eli.

"I prefer to be here, it is more comfortable."

It was a quiet night, and the light wind was blowing from the village of Helton.

Honeysuckle was in considerable pain, and they both watched her with anxious eyes, knowing what a vast difference a few minutes would make.

"There's the church clock at Helton striking," said Eli, as he opened the door of the box. He gave a sigh of relief when the last stroke of twelve came. The bells pealed forth a welcome to the New Year, and the old year, with all its joys and sorrows, was gone for ever. What would the New Year bring forth?

"This was a curious way of seeing the Old Year out and the New Year in," said Ulick, smiling.

A quarter of an hour after midnight Honeysuckle's troubles were over, and a fine colt foal had come into the world almost at the sound of the church bells.

"We must make a note of this," said Eli, putting down the date and hour of foaling.

"I shall not forget it," said Ulick. "If there happened to be any dispute my father would be rather surprised if I was called as a witness."

"Go across to my cottage," said Eli. "I'll ring Joe up, there is no occasion for you to see him."

"I will wait outside the gate for you," said Ulick, as he went across the yard.

Leaving Joe in charge, with strict injunctions to call him at once if wanted, Eli hurried after Ulick, and, opening the door, led him into the room where he had an interview with Janet the night they both left home.

Ulick sank into a chair tired out, and soon fell asleep.

Eli stood looking on him with a sorrowful expression on his face.

"I wish he'd go and see the Squire," he said to himself. "There would be a reconciliation between them, I am sure; but Mr. Ulick is as proud and stubborn as his father when he knows he is in the right. He looks a trifle older, but not much. It's a blessing he does not lack for money. I wonder what he has been doing with his time, racing probably – it runs in the blood. He never was a great gambler; I hope he has not taken to it to kill time and drown his feelings."

Eli was accustomed to night watches, and did not go to sleep. He locked the door so that no one could intrude, and about four o'clock he roused Ulick and asked him to have something to eat.

"The cold and long walk made me drowsy," he said, with a yawn. "I acknowledge to feeling hungry, likewise thirsty. If you have any cold meat; that will do, and some of your noted beer."

"I suppose you wish to keep this visit a secret?" asked Eli.

"Yes; it has done me good to run down to the old place. I shall try and find out Janet when I get back to town. You have no objection, I suppose?"

"On the contrary, I hope you will find her. If you do, try and induce her to come home."

"I'll bring her myself if I can," said Ulick. "They think we went away together, so we may as well return together; but she will have to give me the name of the man who has caused all the trouble."

He ate ravenously, and Eli was pleased to see him make such a hearty meal.

"I must be going now," said Ulick. "You will not tell anyone I have been here."

"No. Which way are you going?"

"I shall walk to Haydon Station and catch the early train to London. I got out there; there is a new station-master, he does not know me."

"That's more than ten miles," said Eli.

"It will do me good. I have not done much country walking lately."

"Will you leave me your address in town, I will take care no one sees it?" asked Eli.

Ulick wrote on a sheet in his pocket-book, and handed it to Eli, saying, "That address will always find me, no matter whether I am in London or otherwise. I always have my letters sent on, even if I am only away for a few days at a race meeting."

"Then you go in for racing?" said Eli, smiling.

"Yes, I have attended many meetings since I left Hazelwell."

"Do you bet?"

Ulick laughed, as he replied, "Sometimes, but I know too much about it to risk large sums. Between you and me, Eli, I own a couple of horses, one I daresay you have heard of, his name is the Saint."

"You own the Saint!" exclaimed Eli; "why, he was about the best of the two-year-olds last season."

"He was, and he will not be far off being the best of the three-year-olds this season. I bought him for a reasonable figure. Of course, you know his breeding: by Father Confessor out of Hilda. I hope to win some good races with him. He runs in the assumed name of Mr. Lanark. I hope when brighter days have dawned he will come to Hazelwell. It would rather surprise the Squire if he knew he belonged to me."

Ulick went into the hall and put on his coat.

"We might ride part of the way," said Eli.

"It's better for me to walk," replied Ulick, and added, "I will let you know if I hear anything of Janet, and will try and persuade her to come home."

"Thank you, Mr. Ulick, and if you do come across her, tell her home is the best place for her, and that I shall never remind her of what has happened."

"And you still have faith in me?" asked Ulick, smiling, as he shook hands.

"Yes, and always shall have, as I told you before," said Eli, who watched him until he disappeared in the darkness, and wondered at the strange chance that brought him to Hazelwell the night Honeysuckle's foal was born.

CHAPTER VI

A WILY YOUNG MAN

In a small, but comfortably-furnished house at Feltham, lived Mrs. Hoffman and her son, Felix. She was not a widow, but her husband had left her some years before. At that time her son was seventeen, now he was five-and-twenty, and a sore trial and trouble to her. Felix Hoffman was one of many men who prefer idleness to work, and he took good care not to find any suitable employment. It troubled his mother that he was seldom short of money. How did he obtain it? Not by work of any kind, of that she was certain. Once or twice she questioned him as to how he made sufficient to supply his wants, which were by no means few or inexpensive, but he always flew into a passion on such occasions, and his attitude became so threatening that she forebore to make further inquiries.

Felix Hoffman was not bad looking. He had a Jewish cast of features, black curly hair, and a fierce moustache of the same colour. His eyes were dark brown, shifty and uncertain, and when he conversed he seldom looked his companion in the face.

He did not resemble his mother in the least; she was English, and married Milas Hoffman when quite a girl. Had she been more experienced in the ways of the world he would have had but little chance of winning her. A few months after their marriage she found out her mistake. Milas Hoffman called himself a travelling jeweller. He certainly went about the country with a case packed with glittering ornaments, which he disposed of on most advantageous terms to servant girls, young grooms, and others of the same class in different countries. His profits were large, and he made a very fair income out of the gullibility of his customers. He became more daring in his transactions, and at last came within the grasp of the law. Not wishing to face the charges of swindling brought against him, he left England, and his wife had never heard of him since. She did not mourn over his desertion. She had sufficient money by her to carry on for a time, and she fixed her hopes upon her son Felix. They were doomed to be rudely shattered when he coolly told her there were plenty of ways of making money without working for it. What those ways were he failed to tell her, but it saddened her to see that he was right, and he drew supplies from sources she felt sure she could not approve of.

Felix Hoffman met many men in London in very different positions in life to himself. He was a frequenter of racecourses, one of the undesirables whose presence gives the sport a bad name, and its enemies a handle wherewith to pump obloquy upon all connected with it, the just and the unjust. At first he was a bookmaker's tout, and rushed about the ring watching the fluctuation of the odds, scenting out stable commissions and repeating the same to his employer with lightning speed. It was seldom the bookmaker was let in for a big bet "over the odds" when Felix Hoffman was hovering about with hawk-like keenness. The said bookmaker, whose sham diamonds were the envy of the uninitiated, became so impressed with the fertile resources of Felix Hoffman that he actually ventured to take him into partnership "in the book." This was a grave mistake, for in a very short time the versatile Felix had transformed the firm, and his name alone figured on the bag and tickets. The members of Tattersall's smiled; many of them had seen these mysterious changes before and knew what it meant. Felix Hoffman, in his turn, made a mistake. He handed over the "bag" to two men he fancied he could trust, and proceeded to back horses on his own account. He saw no reason why, with his skill in scenting out commissions and spotting genuinely-backed horses, he should not be able to lay the losers and back the winners. Better men than Felix had endeavoured to accomplish this feat before, and come lamentably to grief, and he followed them into the same quandary. It puzzled Felix not a little to find out the cause of his failure. He had not yet learned that to be successful on the turf a man must be either a backer or a layer, but not both, and in the one capacity a good share of luck must be his to succeed.

Warren Courtly was fond of racing, especially "chasing," and during the off-season he was frequently seen at meetings round London. Even the attractions of the hunting field could not, on many occasions, lure him from the racecourse. Irene knew he frequented such places, but she had no idea of the extent of his gambling transactions, or they would have appalled her. She thought his statement that the Anselm Manor estates required a good deal of looking after was an excuse for his visits to London, but, as a matter of fact, he was correct in his assertion. Everything he could mortgage he did, and even the Manor itself had sundry charges upon it, which he found it difficult to meet. The racecourse is a rare levelling ground, and men of very different types fraternise together with a freedom never seen elsewhere. Warren Courtly had noticed Felix Hoffman's energy in ferreting out information, and on more than one occasion had taken the trouble to find out whether he was right or wrong. In this way he gathered that his advice was generally good. He approached him one day at Hurst Park, and asked his advice about Milander in a hurdle race.

Felix Hoffman was not at all surprised at a stranger speaking to him about such matters. He eyed Warren Courtly over, and came to the conclusion it would pay him to tell him all he knew. As luck would have it, he did know Milander was a very fair thing for the hurdle race.

"I'll make it worth your while if it wins," said Warren.

"What will you put me on?"

"I will lay you the odds to a fiver."

"Milander has a very good chance. Dyer rides him, and he told me, bar accident, he would win. I think you can back him for a good stake."

"Meet me here after the race," said Warren, and walked out of the paddock into the ring.

"He's a real swell," thought Felix. "He may come in useful."

Milander won comfortably, and started at the remunerative odds of five to one. Warren Courtly won a good stake, and handed Felix "a pony," the winnings on the five pounds he put on for him.

"I'd give Dyer something, sir, if I were you," said Felix. "He's not a bad sort, and generally tells me when he has a chance."

"Give him this," said Warren, handing Felix a ten-pound note.

"Shall I see you again, sir?"

"I am often at these meetings. If you know anything, come and tell me, and I will see you are a gainer thereby."