Run to Earth - Mary Elizabeth Braddon (classic reads .TXT) 📗

him."

"Well, I'm blest," exclaimed Mr. Hawkins; "and you don't look like a hossey gent either, guv'nor."

"I am not a 'horsey gent.' I don't want the 'Buffalo' for myself. I want him for a hunting-friend. If you can get me the brute a dead bargain, say for twenty pounds, and can get a week's holiday to bring him down to my friend's place in the country, I'll give you a five- pound note for your trouble."

The eyes of Mr. Hawkins glittered with the greed of gold as Victor Carrington said this; but, eager as he was to secure the tempting prize, he did not reply very quickly.

"Well, you see, guv'nor, I don't think Mr. Spavin would consent to sell the 'Buffalo' yet awhile. He'd be afraid of mischief, you know. He's a very stiff 'un, is Spavin, and he comes it uncommon bumptious about his character, and so on. I really don't think he'd sell the 'Buffalo' till he's broke, and the deuce knows how long it may take to break him." "Oh, nonsense; Spavin would be glad to get rid of the beast, depend upon it. You've only got to say you want him for a friend of yours, a jockey, who'll break him in better than any of Spavin's people could do it."

James Hawkins rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Well, perhaps if I put it in that way it might answer," he said, after a meditative pause. "I think Spavin might sell him to a jock, where he would not part with him to a gentleman. I know he'd be uncommon glad to get rid of the brute." "Very well, then," returned Victor Carrington; "you manage matters well, and you'll be able to earn your fiver. Be sure you don't let Spavin think it's a gentleman who's sweet upon the horse. Do you think you are able to manage the business?"

The groom laid his finger on his nose, and winked significantly.

"I've managed more difficult businesses than that, guv'nor," he said. "When do you want the animal?"

"Immediately."

"Could you make it convenient to slip down here to-morrow night, or shall I wait upon you at your house, guv'nor?"

"I will come here to-morrow night, at nine."

"Very good, guv'nor; in which case you shall hear news of 'Wild Buffalo.' But all I hope is, when you do present him to your friend, you'll present the address-card of a respectable undertaker at the same time."

"I am not afraid."

"As you please, sir. You are the individual what comes down with the dibbs; and you are the individual what's entitled to make your choice."

Victor Carrington saw that the brandy had by this time exercised a potent influence over Mr. Spavin's groom; but he had full confidence in the man's power to do what he wanted done. James Hawkins was gifted with that low cunning which peculiarly adapts a small villain for the service of a greater villain.

At nine o'clock on the following evening, the two met again at the "Goat and Compasses." This time their interview was very brief and business-like.

"Have you succeeded?" asked Victor.

"I have, guv'nor, like one o'clock. Mr. Spavin will take five-and- twenty guineas from my friend the jock; but wouldn't sell the 'Buffalo' to a gentleman on no account."

"Here is the money," answered Victor, handing the groom five bank-notes for five pounds each, and twenty-five shillings in gold and silver. "Have you asked for a holiday?"

"No, guv'nor; because, between you and me, I don't suppose I should get it if I did ask. I shall make so bold as to take it without asking. Sham ill, and send my wife to say as I'm laid up in bed at home, and can't come to work."

"Hawkins, you are a diplomatist," exclaimed Victor; "and now I'll make short work of my instructions. There's a bit of paper, with the name of the place to which you're to take the animal--Frimley Common, Dorsetshire. You'll start to-morrow at daybreak, and travel as quickly as you can without taking the spirit out of the horse. I want him to be fresh when he reaches my friend."

Mr. Hawkins gave a sinister laugh.

"Don't you be afraid of that, sir. 'Wild Buffalo' will be fresh enough, you may depend," he said.

"I hope he may," replied Carrington, calmly. "When you reach Frimley Common--it's little more than a village--go to the best inn you find there, and wait till you either see me, or hear from me. You understand?"

"Yes, guv'nor."

"Good; and now, good-night."

With this Carrington left the "Goat and Compasses." As he went out of the public-house, an elderly man, in the dress of a mechanic, who had been lounging in the bar, followed him into the street, and kept behind him until he entered Hyde Park, to cross to the Edgware Road; there the man fell back and left him.

"He's going home, I suppose," muttered the man; "and there's nothing more for me to do to-night."

* * * * *

CHAPTER XXI.


DOWN IN DORSETSHIRE.

There were two inns in the High Street of Frimley. The days of mail- coaches were not yet over, and the glory of country inns had not entirely departed. Several coaches passed through Frimley in the course of the day, and many passengers stopped to eat and drink and refresh themselves at the quaint old hostelries; but it was not often that the old-fashioned bed-chambers were occupied, even for one night, by any one but a commercial traveller; and it was a still rarer occurrence for a visitor to linger for any time at Frimley.

There was nothing to see in the place; and any one travelling for pleasure would have chosen rather to stay in the more picturesque village of Hallgrove.

It was therefore a matter of considerable surprise to the landlady of the "Rose and Crown," when a lady and her maid alighted from the "Highflyer" coach and demanded apartments, which they would be likely to occupy for a week or more.

The lady was so plainly attired, in a dress and cloak of dark woollen stuff, and the simplest of black velvet bonnets, that it was only by her distinguished manner, and especially graceful bearing, that Mrs. Tippets, the landlady, was able to perceive any difference between the mistress and the maid.

"I am travelling in Dorsetshire for my health," said the lady, who was no other than Honoria Eversleigh, "and the quiet of this place suits me. You will be good enough to prepare rooms for myself and my maid."

"You would like your maid's bed-room to be adjoining your own, no doubt, madam?" hazarded the landlady.

"No," answered Honoria; "I do not wish that; I prefer entire privacy in my own apartment."

"As you please, madam--we have plenty of bedrooms."

The landlady of the "Rose and Crown" ushered her visitors into the best sitting-room the house afforded--an old-fashioned apartment, with a wide fire-place, high wooden mantel-piece, and heavily-timbered ceiling--a room which seemed to belong to the past rather than the present.

Lady Eversleigh sat by the table in a thoughtful attitude, while the fire was being lighted and a tray of tea-things arranged for that refreshment which is most welcome of all others to an Englishwoman. Jane Payland stood by the opposite angle of the mantel-piece, watching her mistress with a countenance almost as thoughtful as that of Honoria herself.

It was in the wintry dusk that these two travellers arrived at Frimley. Jane Payland walked to one of the narrow, old-fashioned windows, and looked out into the street, where lights were burning dimly here and there.

"What a strange old place, ma'am," she said.

Honoria had forbidden her to say "my lady" since their departure from Raynham.

"Yes," her mistress answered, absently; "it is a world-forgotten old place."

"But the rest and change will, no doubt, be beneficial, ma'am," said Miss Payland, in her most insinuating tone; "and I am sure you must require change and fresh country air after being pent up in a London street."

Lady Eversleigh shook off her abstraction of manner, and turned towards her servant, with a calm, serious gaze.

"I want change of scene, and the fresh breath of country air, Jane," she said, gravely; "but it is not for those I came to Frimley, and you know that it is not. Why should we try to deceive each other? The purpose of my life is a very grave one; the secret of my coming and going is a very bitter secret, and if I do not choose to share it with you, I withhold nothing that you need care to know. Let me play my part unwatched and unquestioned. You will find yourself well rewarded by and by for your forbearance and devotion. Be faithful to me, my good girl; but do not try to discover the motive of my actions, and believe, even when they seem most strange to you, that they are justified by one great purpose."

Jane Payland's eyelids drooped before the serious and penetrating gaze of her mistress.

"You may feel sure of my being faithful, ma'am," she answered, promptly; "and as to curiosity, I should be the very last creature upon this earth to try to pry into your secrets."

Honoria made no reply to this protestation. She took her tea in silence, and seemed as if weighed down by grave and anxious thoughts. After tea she dismissed Jane, who retired to the bed-room allotted to her, which had been made very comfortable, and enlivened by a wood fire, that blazed cheerily in the wide grate.

Jane Payland's bedroom opened out of a corridor, at the end of which was the door of the sitting-room occupied by Honoria. Jane was, therefore, able to keep watch upon all who went to and fro from the sitting-room to the other part of the house. She sat with her door a little way open for this purpose.

"My lady expects some one to-night, I know," she thought to herself, as she seated herself at a little table, and began some piece of fancy- work.

She had observed that during tea Lady Eversleigh had twice looked at her watch. Why should she be so anxious about the time, if she were not awaiting some visitor, or message, or letter?

For a long time Jane Payland waited, and watched, and listened, without avail. No one went along the corridor to the blue parlour, except the chambermaid who removed the tea-things.

Jane looked at her own watch, and found that it was past nine o'clock. "Surely my lady can have no visitor to-night?" she thought.

A quarter of an hour after this, she was startled by the creaking sound of a footstep on the uncarpeted floor of the corridor. She rose hastily and softly from her chair, crept to the door, and peeped put into the passage. As she did so, she saw a man approaching, dressed like a countryman, in a clumsy frieze coat, and with his chin so muffled in a woollen scarf, and his felt hat drawn so low over his eyes, that there was nothing visible of him but the end of a long nose.

That long, beak-like nose seemed strangely familiar to Miss Payland;