The Runaways: A New and Original Story

Ulick agreed with him, and accordingly the Saint was entered.

Contrary to their expectations, there were some good horses in the race, including the winner of the Lincolnshire Handicap, and a four-year-old named Pinkerton, who had won the Jubilee Stakes the year before.

"We are in better company than I fancied we should be," said Fred May, when he glanced down the entries, "and I expect we shall get a biggish weight. We can strike him out if he is badly in."

The handicap, however, proved to be a good one, and although the Saint had eight stone, a big weight early in the year for a three-year-old, both Ulick and the trainer considered he had a chance. Pinkerton had eight stone twelve, and this horse they considered the most dangerous. There are few more enjoyable places than Kempton Park for racing in the spring, or, in fact, at any time of the year.

Although the Pastures Handicap was not the principal race of the day, it attracted the most attention, mainly on account of the Saint being a runner. His two-year-old performances placed him almost on a par with the Derby horses, and the favourite for that race would have been regarded as a certainty in the handicap with eight stone. It was generally acknowledged by the "clever division" that a four-year-old like Pinkerton ought to be able to give the Saint twelve pounds. Mulgar, Kit Cat, and Ringbell were also fair performers, and Kit Cat had been booked as a "rod in pickle" for some time past. As she had only seven stone, it was regarded as her "day out" – in other words, that the weight was right and she was going for the money.

The ring was kept busy when betting was opened on the Pastures Handicap. Four to one bar one, was first shouted, Pinkerton being the favourite, but these odds soon expanded until it was four to one on the field.

In the paddock the Saint was the great attraction. Everyone knew his two-year-old performances, and his remarkable colour always caused a mild sensation. He was "washy" enough as a two-year-old, but this spring he was almost white with a few "flea-bitten" spots on him.

"Looks as if he'd been powdered with black pepper and salt," was one characteristic remark, which certainly hit the mark.

Despite his colour, there was no mistaking the quality and fitness of the horse. He had been perfectly trained, hard and clean in his coat, no dandified polish on it, but a real glow of health.

"He'd make the Derby horses go if they ran against him now," said a well-known pressman.

"You are right, Harry. I fancy he'd start pretty near favourite. I think I shall back him," was the answer of a brother scribe.

The ladies crowded round "the curiosity," as the Saint was nicknamed, and a horse with a nickname is as popular as a rosy-cheeked schoolboy dubbed "apples." A nickname is a sure sign of something out of the common in man, boy, or horse.

"The curiosity" took the mobbing in good part, it troubled him not at all, although he condescendingly glanced round the ring from time to time, and, as Fred May saddled him, made playful snaps at his coat, and once succeeded in securing his hat.

Ben Sprig was to ride the Saint; a good jockey with a reputation for honesty. He was a miniature man, about thirty-five, capable of riding seven stone if necessary. His face was a study. Ben Sprig seldom smiled outwardly; he seemed to conceal all expressions of joy inside his small frame, and the only signs of pleasure experienced were sundry chuckles that sounded like the cracking of nuts. He spoke jerkily, shooting out his words like darts, and taking time to consider between each one. His complexion was bronze, and his eyes were small and brown. He had beautifully-shaped small hands and feet, of which he was very proud. He was dapper in his dress, and always clean and spruce. His humour was proverbial, and as he always had a solemn countenance it proved the more effective. A man who laughs at his own jokes is like an advertiser who stares at his own advertisements. There was none of the advertising agent about Ben Sprig.

"Where's Ben?" asked May, as the bell rang.

"I'll hunt him up," said Ulick, as he hurried off towards the jockey's room.

Ben Sprig was a thorn in the side of all clerks of the course. They invariably had to hurry him up, and in nine cases out of ten he was always the last to leave the paddock. He had a habit of sneaking his mount up the course when the majority of the spectators thought all the horses were at the post.

"Come along, Ben," said Ulick. "I never saw such a fellow, you are always last."

"Leaving the paddock," said Ben, solemnly.

Ulick laughed as he replied, "Not always in that position at the finish, I grant you."

Ben was walking slowly along, the olive green jacket adopted by Ulick being almost hidden beneath a coat which came down to the heels of his boots.

Ulick was striding along in front; the clerk of the course gesticulating furiously at Ben, who took no notice whatever of him.

"Hurry up," he said, as he rode up to the jockey. "You're always last, I wonder you are not fined every time for being late at the post."

Ben pointed solemnly to the clock, and said —

"They are always behind time when you are clerk of the course."

Ben was quickly in the saddle, and rode the Saint quietly out on to the course, which was cleared of the crowd. He sidled up to the rails, and slipped along past the stands. He was almost rounding the bend before the people recognised the colours.

"I thought the Saint had gone down long ago?" said one.

"That's a trick of Ben Sprig's, he generally goes up last," was the reply.

The noise at Tattersall's was deafening, and although Pinkerton was a slight favourite, the money had poured in for Kit Cat to such an extent that she was about the worst runner in many of the books.

The Saint stood at six to one, and Ulick had succeeded in obtaining a point longer for his money.

There was no delay at the post, Mr. Coventry sending them off in his usual style.

Kit Cat was quickly on her legs, and came along at a great pace, the golden stars on the black jacket of her rider glittering in the sunlight. Mulgar's white jacket also showed prominently, and after a gap came Pinkerton, and the olive green on the Saint.

From the start the pace was fast, and Kit Cat was making the most of her light weight. She had an easy style of going, and looked strong enough to carry a couple of stone more. Her owner had not waited in vain to get in with seven stone, and the money proved the mare could go when required. He was regarded, not without reason, as a very smart man. His name, Conrad Rush, had often figured against large winning accounts in Monday's settlement, and the ring had a wholesale dread of him. He never did anything underhand, but he possessed an amount of patience that fairly wore the handicappers out.

The golden stars leading in a mile race meant mischief, and already backers of Kit Cat were on good terms with themselves. The mare rounded the bend going in grand style, revelling in her light weight, and pulling hard. So far, it was a one-horse race, but creeping up on the rails not far behind were Pinkerton's blue jacket, the Saint, and Mulgar. To these four horses it soon became evident the race belonged; which would win?

Already the murmur of many voices could be heard in the rings. The sound gradually increased until it swelled into a roar, and louder and louder it became as the horses drew nearer.

Kit Cat still held a commanding lead, and it seemed almost impossible she could be caught.

"They don't win there," said Fred May to Ulick, "and the Saint has a rare turn of speed."

"It's a lot of ground to make up," he replied, "but I hope he'll do it. Pinkerton is running well, but Kit Cat has such a light weight she ought to last it out."

"I fancy Conrad Rush has overshot his mark this time. I have never seen the mare cover a mile. She may do it, but I doubt it. Look at her now – by Jove, she's done, I felt pretty sure of it."

Ulick saw the rider on Kit Cat "niggling" at her, and a second or two later he raised his whip as he heard the horses behind drawing nearer.

The bookmakers were jubilant and howled with delight.

Kit Cat responded to the call, but it was a mere flash in the pan.

Pinkerton was the first to tackle her on the outside, and as he drew level she swerved towards him and bored him out. This left an opening on the rails, which looked dangerous to squeeze through. Ben Sprig never flinched when he got a chance, however small he took it. He did so on this occasion. He was watching the two horses in front of him with keen eyes, and no sooner did Kit Cat swerve than he slid the Saint forward with one great effort and secured the lead.

It was a clever bit of jockeyship on the part of the rider, a marvellous run on the part of the horse, and the combined effort drew forth a hearty cheer.

The rider of Pinkerton had not expected this; he fancied the Saint was shut in on the rails, and would have to go round him on the outside. When he saw the olive green jacket on the other side of Kit Cat, it is needless to say he was surprised.

Pinkerton was not beaten, and as the pair cleared Kit Cat a tremendous race home ensued. It was a thrilling moment. Pinkerton had won over this course, and that was in his favour. The Saint had not run on it before. The four-year-old and the three-year-old struggled gamely on, with a difference of twelve pounds between them.

Ulick was excited; he had not seen the Saint in such a tight place before, and he hoped he would get out of it.

The horses were close to the winning post, a few more strides would decide it. They fought out every yard of the ground. Ben Sprig was a great finisher. He graduated in a good school, and he clung to the old tradition that a bit left for a finish is worth a hundred yards at any other part of the race.

His face was set, and his little eyes gleamed. His small hands gripped the reins firmly, his knees pressed the Saint's sides, and he helped the horse all he knew how. The olive jacket and the blue were level, the next few strides would do it; which would win?

A moment of suspense, a second or two of breathless silence, then a mighty shout.

"The Saint! The Saint!"

Ulick echoed the cry.

"The Saint wins!" he shouted.

Ben Sprig's immovable face showed no signs of the triumph within. He knew he had ridden one of his best races, he felt much of the success was due to his horsemanship, and he was pleased with himself. He slid past the judge's box about three parts of a length in front of Pinkerton, with Kit Cat a bad third.

The Saint's performance was acknowledged on all sides to be a great one, and "the curiosity" was mobbed as Ben rode him in amidst cheers. Mr. Lanark was not well known, but the Saint had made the olive green jacket popular.

"You rode a splendid race, Ben," said Ulick. "I think the best you ever rode on him."

Ben Sprig had ridden the Saint throughout his two-year-old career.

"I agree with you," jerked Ben. "I did ride a good race, the saints be praised."

"I expect you felt a bit uneasy when you squeezed through on the rails?" laughed Ulick.

"Not at all; I'm used to squeezing. I've been squeezing all my life to make both ends meet," said Ben.

"Then from all accounts you have squeezed to some purpose," said Ulick, for Ben Sprig was reported to be rich.

"I could lend some of 'em a trifle, I have no doubt," he replied, "but look at the time I have been at it."

They joined Fred May in the paddock, and looked at the Saint walking round.

"He's the rummiest coloured beggar I ever rode or saw," said Ben.

"Bar his colour, what do you think of him?" asked May.

"He's an out-and-out good one, and as game as they make 'em. If it came to a match between him and the Derby winner I would back him, provided I rode him."

"That's a pretty tall order," said Ulick.

"It would come off, you can take my word for it," he replied.

A friend came up to Ulick, and they walked away together. After some conversation as to the merits of the Saint's victory, he said —

"How are you going back to town – by train?"

"Yes," replied Ulick.

"I have to go on to Windsor. Drive with me to Feltham and go to Waterloo from there, unless you will come with me?"

Ulick thanked him, said he would drive to Feltham, but declined to go to Windsor.

After the races they took a carriage to Feltham, driving through Hanworth Park, and down the High Street.

They were chatting over racing matters, when his friend exclaimed —

"By Jove! there's a pretty girl – well dressed, too."

Ulick looked up and gave a start of surprise.

It was Janet Todd. She had not seen him, of that he felt sure. She was going down the street, and he resolved to leave his friend at the station, walk back, and meet her. It was a lucky chance that caused him to come this way back from the races.

"Do you know her?" asked his friend, smiling, as he saw him start.

"I fancy I do; I am almost sure of it. I think I'll walk back and meet her after I leave you," he replied.

"I don't blame you, my friend," he said, laughing. "Does she come from your part of the world?"

"I am almost sure of it," replied Ulick; "at any rate, I mean to find out."

"Good luck to you," laughed his friend, as he shook hands and went into the station.

CHAPTER XI

FOR A WOMAN'S SAKE

Ulick walked out of the station yard and along the High Street. He saw Janet coming down on the opposite side of the road, and wondered whether it would be best to stop her or to watch where she went. He would, no doubt, surprise her if he spoke to her in the street, and perhaps the suddenness of his appearance might cause a scene. He decided it would be the better plan to allow her to pass, and then follow her. He went into a shop, made a trifling purchase, and saw her pass by.

When he went out she was turning round by the church, and he followed some distance away. He saw her enter a house, where she probably lived, but he waited some time in case she came out again. When she did not he went up to the door and rang the bell.

As he heard it ring he wondered who to ask for. She would not be living there under her own name, at all events it was unlikely.

Fortune favoured him, for Mrs. Hoffman was out and Janet was alone in the house.

She opened the door and stood face to face with Ulick.

The shock was great; she felt faint and giddy, and caught hold of the door, but, recovering herself, gasped out —

"Mr. Maynard, what are you doing here? How did you find me out?"

"I saw you as I drove from Kempton Park to Feltham, and came back from the station to meet you. I thought, however, it would be better to see you in your house, as I might have startled you in the street."

"I am very glad you did," she replied. "Will you come in?"

"Thank you, I should like to have a little conversation with you," he replied.

"I wonder if he knows?" thought Janet, and quickly decided he could hardly do so. Then arose the question should she tell him? No, it would be better to keep her secret for the present.

"You will not be offended if I put some plain questions to you, I hope," said Ulick. "I have suffered a good deal on your account; that must be my excuse."

"Ask me anything you like, and I will try and answer it," she replied.

"Are you living alone here?" he said.

"Yes," replied Janet. "Mrs. Hoffman and her son are the only other occupants of the house."

"I am glad of it," he replied; "it will make my task less difficult."

"What do you wish to do?" she asked, timidly.

"I saw your father early in the New Year, on New Year's Day, and I promised him I would find you, and persuade you to return home," he replied.

"I cannot do that," said Janet, firmly. "It is impossible. You would be the first to say so, if you knew all."

"Tell me all, and let me judge what is best to be done," he replied.

"That, also, is impossible, I know you mean well, and I thank you for your kindness."

"Your father will be very glad to have you back; he will forget the past; he has long since forgiven you, but not the man who tempted you to leave home. I wish I had known what you were about to do the night I left home. I would have stopped you and saved you at any cost."

Janet Todd shuddered. She was glad he had not met her and Warren Courtly, or there was no telling what might have happened.

"I cannot undo all I have done," she said. "Some day it may be possible for me to go back to my father without any danger or trouble to others, but at present I cannot. Believe me, I would do so if it were possible."

"Consider well what you are saying," he said. "If I give your father your address he will come and take you away, you cannot refuse to go with him."

"You must not do it – indeed you must not," pleaded Janet, earnestly. "Oh, if you only knew, you would leave the house at once. It is better for you to go and forget you have seen me." He was surprised at her agitation, which he saw was genuine. There was something in the background he could not understand, and her father had thrown out hints in the same way. What was the mystery, and why was it necessary to keep him in the dark?

"Janet, will you tell me who the man is you ran away with? I will not mention it to anyone if you desire me not to do so. If I know, I may be better able to help you," said Ulick.

"I cannot tell you; it is impossible," she replied. "Please do not ask me?"

"It must have been someone in the neighbourhood, but I cannot think who would do such a cowardly action," he said.

This was dangerous ground, and Janet said quickly —

"You can tell my father you have seen me, that I am well, and will come to him as soon as I possibly can."

"That is not sufficient. It is my duty to let him know where you are."

"If you do I must leave here, and I am very comfortable. Mrs. Hoffman is kind to me, and has always been so. Please allow matters to remain as they are."

Ulick looked at her, and thought his friend was right in describing Janet as a pretty woman. She evidently lived a regular life, and he was glad to see a healthy glow on her cheeks. Whatever her faults in the past, she was living a decent, quiet life now, of that he felt certain. It would be a great consolation to Eli to know this.

"If you feel compelled to remain hidden here for a time," he said at last, "I will keep your secret, but you must allow me to write to your father and tell him you are well and living a respectable life. That will ease his mind, and he will wait for your return more patiently. It is right he should know, for he has suffered much on your account."

She thanked him, and gave the permission he required, again entreating him not to mention her address.

The gate opened, and Mrs. Hoffman came into the house. She was surprised to see Ulick, and looked at him sharply, thinking to herself, "I wonder what he is doing here? Perhaps he is a friend of Mr. Warren's?"

Mrs. Hoffman always addressed Janet as Mrs. Warren; it sounded more respectable.

Janet was at a loss what to say; she did not wish to give Ulick's name, in case Warren Courtly might hear he had called.

"A friend of yours, Mrs. Warren?" said Mrs. Hoffman, with a smile.

"Yes," said Janet, "a very old friend. I knew him when I was a little girl."

"Mrs. Warren," thought Ulick, thinking the name sounded familiar, but never dreaming of connecting it with Warren Courtly.

Mrs. Hoffman was fond of hearing herself talk, and launched out upon a variety of topics until Ulick wished her anywhere but in his presence. He thought, however, it was diplomatic, for Janet's sake, to be polite, and Mrs. Hoffman was delighted to find such an attentive listener. As a rule, her tirades were cut short with scant ceremony.

She pressed him to have a cup of tea, and, thinking this was the only way to get rid of her for a time he consented.

He went to the window and looked out into the street and saw someone walking down. He could hardly believe his eyes when he recognised Warren Courtly.

"What on earth is he doing here?" he thought.

Janet followed him, and when she saw Warren she turned as pale as death, standing almost rigid, unable to move.

They must not meet. Whatever happened they must not meet. That was her one thought, her sole desire.

Ulick's eyes were fixed upon Warren. She pulled his sleeve. When he turned round and saw her face it told him all.

"Good God," he exclaimed. "Irene, what about Irene?"

He seized Janet's wrist, and pressed it so tightly that she almost screamed out with pain.

"Irene, his wife; good heavens, his wife, she must never know! Do you hear, she must never know; it would kill her. Do you hear me?"

"Yes," said Janet.

"Promise you will never breathe a word to her of this."

"I promise. You will help me if I require help?"

"I will, Janet. He must not see me," he said.

Janet pulled him towards the door and led him into the kitchen.

"Well, I never!" exclaimed Mrs. Hoffman.

"There is no time for any explanation," said Ulick. "Mr. – "

"Mr. Warren is coming," put in Janet, "and Mr. Hazelwell" – it was the name that came first to her mind – "does not wish to meet him; they are not friends."

The door bell rang.

"Keep him here until Mr. Warren is gone," said Janet. "I will attend to the door."

Mrs. Hoffman was shocked. Why was it necessary for Mr. Hazelwell's visit to be concealed from Mr. Warren? She would not allow these goings on in her house. One thing, however, there was no getting over, and that was there was a gentleman in her kitchen, and she had asked him to have some tea. He was a good-looking gentleman into the bargain, and Mrs. Hoffman flattered herself there were considerable remains of her early beauty left.

"I am sorry this has occurred," said Ulick; "but I really do not wish to meet Mr. Warren."

"Didn't you know it was Mrs. Warren who lived here?" she asked.

"No, I saw her in Feltham. She was a playmate of mine years ago. I had no idea she was married."

"It is strange you should know Mr. Warren, too," said Mrs. Hoffman, curiously.

"Remarkable, I call it," he replied, as he accepted the cup of tea handed him.

He heard voices in the next room and the tones were angry.

Ulick was dumbfounded at the discovery he had made. He saw now, and understood Janet's reason for not wishing to return home, and he appreciated her delicacy. It was some consolation to think Warren Courtly got into this mess before he married Irene, not after; and yet, judging from his presence here, he was keeping up the connection. His feelings can be better imagined than described. He loved Irene, he had found out the truth ever since he lost her. She must never know it was Warren Courtly who tempted Janet away from her home and allowed all the suspicion to fall upon himself. At the thought of Warren's perfidy, his blood boiled, and he would have gone into the next room with pleasure and called him to account, There was no reason why he should not do so. No reason? Only one, and that everything to him. He could bear the blame cast unjustly upon himself, the separation from his father, the loss of all the pursuits he loved, and a hundred times more, for Irene's sake. Irene was the one reason why he would not call Warren Courtly to account. He knew her nature, and how she would suffer if the truth reached her ears. She was not likely to hear it from anyone except himself or Janet, and she had promised not to tell. Did Eli suspect Warren Courtly? He thought of his words, and felt he meant that if what he suspected turned out true, it would cause great trouble at Anselm Manor. Eli would not be the man to cause that trouble.

The voices in the next room grew louder, and Mrs. Hoffman said, "I am afraid they are quarrelling. Mr. Warren is a very irritable man."

"Does he come here often?" asked Ulick.

"No, he leaves her too much alone. He ought to be thankful he has me to look after her. Mrs. Warren is young, pretty, and inexperienced; he has no business to neglect her."

Ulick was glad to hear he neglected her; it was a sign he wished to spare Irene's feelings.

Warren remained about half an hour, and then left. He would have been very uneasy had he known Ulick Maynard was on the premises, and still more that he knew all about his connection with Janet. He had, as usual, quarrelled with her over money matters, but she had won in the end, as she was bound to do, considering the hold she had over him. She did not mean to let him shirk his responsibilities and he had no idea she would not have betrayed him to Irene under any circumstances.