“I won’t have a word said against Lady Barbarity,” Lady Grace declared. “Captain Chalmers is a good horseman, of course but for a lightweight he has the worst hands I ever knew.”
“But surely amongst your immediate friends there must be many others,” the Prince said. “Sir Charles, for instance?”
“Charlie is riding his own horse,” Lady Grace answered. “He hasn’t the ghost of a chance, but, of course, he won’t give it up.”
“Not I!” Somerfield answered, gorgeous in pink coat and riding breeches. “My old horse may not be fast, but he can go the course, and I’m none too certain of the others. Some of those hurdles’ll take a bit of doing.”
“It is a shame,” the Prince remarked, “that you should be disappointed, Lady Grace. Would they let me ride for you?”
Nothing the Prince could have said would have astonished the little company more. Somerfield came to a standstill in the middle of the room, with a cup of tea in one hand and a plate of ham in the other.
“You!” Lady Grace exclaimed.
“Do you really mean it, Prince?” Penelope cried.
“Well, why not?” he asked, himself, in turn, somewhat surprised. “If I am eligible, and Lady Grace chooses, it seems to me very simple.”
“But,” the Duke intervened, “I did not know—we did not know that you were a sportsman, Prince.”
“A sportsman?” the Prince repeated a little doubtfully. “Perhaps I am not that according to your point of view, but when it comes to a question of riding, why, that is easy enough.”
“Have you ever ridden in a steeplechase?” Somerfield asked him.
“Never in my life,” the Prince declared. “Frankly, I do not know what it is.”
“There are jumps, for one thing,” Somerfield continued,—“pretty stiff affairs, too.”
“If Lady Grace’s mare is a hunter,” the Prince remarked, “she can probably jump them.”
“The question is whether—” Somerfield began, and stopped short.
The Prince looked up.
“Yes?” he asked.
Somerfield hesitated to complete his sentence, and the Duke once more intervened.
“What Somerfield was thinking, my dear Prince,” he said, “was that a steeplechase course, as they ride in this country, needs some knowing. You have never been on my daughter’s mare before.”
The Prince smiled.
“So far as I am concerned,” he said, “that is of no account. There was a day at Mukden—I do not like to talk of it, but it comes back to me—when I rode twelve different horses in twenty-four hours, but perhaps,” he added, turning to Lady Grace, “you would not care to trust your horse with one who is a stranger to your—what is it you call them?—steeplechases.”
“On the contrary, Prince,” Lady Grace exclaimed, “you shall ride her, and I am going to back you for all I am worth.”
Bransome, who was also in riding clothes, although he was not taking part in the steeplechases himself, glanced at the clock.
“You are running it rather fine,” he said. “You’ll scarcely have time to hack round the course.”
“Some one must explain it to me,” the Prince said. “I need only to be told where to go. If there is no time for that, I must stay with the other horses until the finish. There is a flat finish perhaps?”
“About three hundred yards,” the Duke answered.
“Have you any riding clothes?” Penelope whispered to him.
“Without a doubt,” he answered. “I will go and change in a few minutes.”
“We start in half an hour,” Somerfield remarked. “Even that allows us none too much time.”
“Perhaps,” the Duke suggested diffidently, “you would like to ride over, Prince? It is a good eleven miles, and you would have a chance of getting into your stride.”
The Prince shook his head.
“No,” he said, “I should like to motor with you others, if I may.”
“Just as you like, of course,” the Duke agreed. “Grace’s mare is over there now. We shall be able to have a look at her before the race, at any rate.”
The opinions, after the Prince had left the table, were a little divided as to what was likely to happen.
“For a man who has never even hunted and knows nothing whatever about the country,” Somerfield declared, “to attempt to ride in a steeplechase of this sort is sheer folly. If you take my advice, Lady Grace, you will get out of it. Lady Barbarity is far too good a mare to have her knees broken.”
“I am perfectly content to take my risks,” Lady Grace answered confidently. “If the Prince had never ridden before in his life, I would trust him.”
Somerfield turned away, frowning.
“What do you think about it, Penelope?” he asked.
“I am afraid,” she answered, “that I agree with Grace.”
Two punctures and a leaking valve delayed them over an hour on the road. When they reached their destination, the first race was already over.
“It’s shocking bad luck,” the Duke declared, “but there’s no earthly chance of your seeing the course, Prince. Come on the top of the stand with me, and bring your glasses. I think I can point out the way for you.”
“That will do excellently,” the Prince answered. “There is no need to go and look at every jump. Show me where we start and as near as possible the way we have to go, and tell me where we finish.”
The course was a natural one, and the stand itself on a hill. The greater part of it was clearly visible from where they stood. The Duke pointed out the water jump with some trepidation, but the Prince’s glasses rested on it only for a moment. He pointed to a clump of trees.
“Which side there?” he asked.
“To the left,” the Duke answered. “Remember to keep inside the red flags.”
The Prince nodded.
“Where do we finish?” he asked.
The Duke showed him.
“That is all right,” he said. “I need not look any more.”
In the paddock some of the horses were being led around. The Prince noted them approvingly.
“Very nice horses,” he said,—“light, but very nice. That one I like best,” he added, pointing to a dark bay mare, who was already giving her boy some trouble.
“That’s lucky,” the Duke answered, “for she’s your mount. I must go and talk to the clerk about your entry. It is a little late, but I think that it will be all right.”
The Prince glanced over Lady Grace’s mare and turned aside to join Penelope and Somerfield.
“I like the look of my horse, Sir Charles,” he said. “I think that I shall beat you today.”
“We both start at five to one,” Somerfield answered. “Shall we have a bet?”
“With pleasure,” the Prince agreed. “Will you name the amount? I do not know what is usual.”
“Anything you like,” Somerfield answered, “from ten pounds to a hundred.”
“One hundred,—we will say one hundred, then,” the Prince declared. “My mount against yours. So!”
He threw off his overcoat, and they saw for the first time that he was dressed in English riding clothes of dark material, but absolutely correct cut.
“I must go now and be introduced to the Clerk of the Course,” he said. “Ah, here is Lady Grace!” he added. “Come with me, Lady Grace. Your father is seeing about my entry. I think that in five minutes the bell will ring.”
Everything was in order, and a few minutes later the Prince came out. The mare was stripped, and the whole party gathered round to watch him mount. He swung himself into the saddle without hesitation. The mare suddenly reared. Prince Maiyo only smiled, and with loose reins stooped and patted her neck. He seemed to whisper something in her ear, and she stood for a moment afterwards quite still. Lady Grace drew a quick breath.
“What did you say to her, Prince?” she asked. “She is behaving beautifully except for that first start.”
“Your mare understands Japanese
, Lady Grace,” the Prince answered, smiling. “She and I are going to be great friends. Show me the way, please. Ah, I follow that other horse! I see. Lady Grace, au revoir. You shall have your cup.”
“Gad, I believe she will!” the Duke exclaimed. “Look at the fellow ride. His body is like whalebone.”
The parade in front of the stand was a short one. The Prince rode by in the merest canter. The mare made one wild plunge which would have unseated any ordinary person, but her rider never even moved in his saddle.
“I never saw a fellow sit so close in my life,” the Duke declared. “Do you know, Grace, I believe, I really believe he’ll ride her!”
Lady Grace laughed scornfully.
“I have a year’s allowance on already,” she said, “so you had better pray that he does. I think it is very absurd of you all,” she added, “because the Prince cares nothing for games, to conclude that he is any the less likely to be able to do the things that a man should do. He perhaps cannot ride about on a trained pony with a long stick and knock a small ball between two posts, but I think that if he had to ride for his own life or the life of others he would show you all something.”
“They’re off!” the Duke exclaimed.
They watched the first jump breathlessly. The Prince, riding a little apart, simply ignored the hurdle, and the mare took it in her stride. They turned the corner and faced an awkward post and rails. The leading horse took off too late and fell. The Prince, who was close behind, steered his mare on one side like lightning. She jumped like a cat,—the Prince never moved in his seat.
“He rides like an Italian,” Bransome declared, shutting up his glasses. “There’s never a thing in this race to touch him. I am going to see if I can get any money on.”
Another set of hurdles and then the field were out of sight. Soon they were visible again in the valley. The Prince was riding second now. Somerfield was leading, and there were only three other horses left. They cleared a hedge and two ditches. At the second one Somerfield’s horse stumbled, and there was a suppressed cry. He righted himself almost at once, however, and came on. Then they reached the water jump. There was a sudden silence on the stand and the hillside. Somerfield took off first, the Prince lying well away from him. Both cleared it, but whereas Lady Grace’s mare jumped wide and clear, and her rider never even faltered in his saddle, Somerfield lost all his lead and only just kept his seat. They were on the homeward way now, with only one more jump, a double set of hurdles. Suddenly, in the flat, the Prince seemed to stagger in his saddle. Lady Grace cried out.
“He’s over, by Jove!” the Duke exclaimed. “No, he’s righted himself!”
The Prince had lost ground, but he came on toward the last jump, gaining with every stride. Somerfield was already riding his mount for all he was worth, but the Prince as yet had not touched his whip. They drew closer and closer to the jump. Once more the silence came. Then there was a little cry,—both were over. They were turning the corner coming into the straight. Somerfield was leaning forward now, using his whip freely, but it was clear that his big chestnut was beaten. The Prince, with merely a touch of the whip and riding absolutely upright, passed him with ease, and rode in a winner by a dozen lengths. As he cantered by the stand, they all saw the cause of his momentary stagger. One stirrup had gone, and he was riding with his leg quite stiff.
“You’ve won your money, Grace,” the Duke declared, shutting up his glass. “A finely ridden race, too. Did you see he’d lost his stirrup? He must have taken the last jump without it. I’ll go and fetch him up.”
The Duke hurried down. The Prince was already in the weighing room smoking a cigarette.
“It is all right,” he said smiling. “They have passed me. I have won. I hope that Lady Grace will be pleased.”
“She is delighted!” the Duke exclaimed, shaking him by the hand. “We all are. What happened to your stirrup?”
“You must ask your groom,” the Prince answered. “The leather snapped right in the flat, but it made no difference. We have to ride like that half the time. It is quite pleasant exercise,” he continued, “but I am very dirty and very thirsty. I am sorry for Sir Charles, but his horse was not nearly so good as your daughter’s mare.”
They made their way toward the stand, but met the rest of the party in the paddock. Lady Grace went up to the Prince with outstretched hands.
“Prince,” she declared, “you rode superbly. It was a wonderful race. I have never felt so grateful to any one in my life.”
The Prince smiled in a puzzled way.
“My dear young lady,” he said, “it was a great pleasure and a very pleasant ride. You have nothing to thank me for because your horse is a little better than those others.”
“It was not my mare alone,” she answered,—“it was your riding.”
The Prince laughed as one who does not understand.
“You make me ashamed, Lady Grace,” he declared. “Why, there is only one way to ride. You did not think that because I was not English I should fall off a horse?”
“I am afraid,” the Duke remarked smiling, “that several Englishmen have fallen off!”
“It is a matter of the horse,” the Prince said. “Some are not trained for jumping. What would you have, then? In my battalion we have nine hundred horsemen. If I found one who did not ride so well as I do, he would go back to the ranks. We would make an infantryman of him. Miss Morse,” he added, turning suddenly to where Penelope was standing a little apart. “I am so sorry that Sir Charles’ horse was not quite so good as Lady Grace’s. You will not blame me?”
She looked at him curiously. She did not answer immediately. Somerfield was coming towards them, his pink coat splashed with mud, his face scratched, and a very distinct frown upon his forehead. She looked away from him to the Prince. Their eyes met for a moment.
“No!” she said. “I do not blame you!”
XXX. INSPECTOR JACKS IMPORTUNATE
Table of Contents
They were talking of the Prince during those few minutes before they separated to dress for dinner. The whole of the house-party, with the exception of the Prince himself, were gathered around the great open fireplace at the north end of the hall. The weather had changed during the afternoon, and a cold wind had blown in their faces on the homeward drive. Every one had found comfortable seats here, watching the huge logs burn, and there seemed to be a general indisposition to move. A couple of young men from the neighborhood had joined the house-party, and the conversation, naturally enough, was chiefly concerned with the day’s sport. The young men, Somerfield especially, were inclined to regard the Prince’s achievement from a somewhat critical standpoint.
“He rode the race well enough,” Somerfield admitted, “but the mare is a topper, and no mistake. He had nothing to do but to sit tight and let her do the work.”
“Of course, he hadn’t to finish either,” one of the newcomers, a Captain Everard Wilmot, remarked. “That’s where you can tell if a fellow really can ride or not. Anyhow, his style was rotten. To me he seemed to sit his horse exactly like a groom.”
“You will, perhaps, not deny him,” the Duke remarked mildly, “a certain amount of courage in riding a strange horse of uncertain temper, over a strange country, in an enterprise which was entirely new to him.”
“I call it one of the most sporting things I ever heard of in my life,” Lady Grace declared warmly.
Somerfield shrugged his shoulders.
“One must admit that he has pluck,” he remarked critically. “At the same time I cannot see that a single effort of this sort entitles a man to be considered a sportsman. He doesn’t shoot, nor does he ever ride except when he is on military service. He neither plays games nor has he the instinct for them. A man without the instinct for games is a fellow I cannot understand. He’d never get along in this country, would he, Wilmot?”
“No, I’m shot if he would!” that young man replied. “There must be something wrong about a man who hasn’t any taste whate
ver for sport.”
Penelope suddenly intervened—intervened, too, in somewhat startling fashion.
“Charlie,” she said, “you are talking like a baby! I am ashamed of you! I am ashamed of you all! You are talking like narrow-minded, ignorant little squireens.”
Somerfield went slowly white. He looked across at Penelope, but the angry flash in his eyes was met by an even brighter light in her own.
“I will tell you what I think!” she exclaimed. “I think that you are all guilty of the most ridiculous presumption in criticising such a man as the Prince. You would dare—you, Captain Wilmot, and you, Charlie, and you, Mr. Hannaway,” she added, turning to the third young man, “to stand there and tell us all in a lordly way that the Prince is no sportsman, as though that mysterious phrase disposed of him altogether as a creature inferior to you and your kind! If only you could realize the absolute absurdity of any of you attempting to depreciate a person so immeasurably above you! Prince Maiyo is a man, not an overgrown boy to go through life shooting birds, playing games which belong properly to your schooldays, and hanging round the stage doors of half the theatres in London. You are satisfied with your lives and the Prince is satisfied with his. He belongs to a race whom you do not understand. Let him alone. Don’t presume to imagine yourselves his superior because he does not conform to your pygmy standard of life.”
Penelope was standing now, her slim, elegant form throbbing with the earnestness of her words, a spot of angry color burning in her cheeks. During the moment’s silence which followed, Lady Grace too rose to her feet and came to her friend’s side.
“I agree with every word Penelope has said,” she declared.
The Duchess smiled.
“Come,” she said soothingly, “we mustn’t take this little affair too seriously. You are all right, all of you. Every one must live according to his bringing up. The Prince, no doubt, is as faithful to his training and instincts as the young men of our own country. It is more interesting to compare than to criticise.”
Somerfield, who for a moment had been too angry to speak, had now recovered himself.
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