06.The Penniless Peer (The Eternal Collection)

by Cartland, Barbara

  If she was pretty in her new daffodil yellow gown, Hetty was looking radiantly beautiful in a soft strawberry pink ensemble that showed up the fairness of her skin and hair, and made her look like a rosebud.

  “Periquine! How delightful to see you!” she said to Lord Corbury holding out the small white gloved hand and raising her china-blue eyes to his with a gesture which was calculated to send any impressionable young man into a fever of delight.

  Fenella looked away. Somehow she could not bear to see the expression on Periquine’s face.

  She felt the happiness and elation that had been hers ever since they left home, ebb away from her.

  ‘Perhaps after today,’ she told herself, ‘Periquine will be in a position to ask Sir Virgil for Hetty’s hand in marriage!’ Then it would not matter what she wore or what she did, Periquine would be lost to her!

  It was with a slight feeling of comfort that she saw Sir Nicolas approaching.

  “I was not expecting to see you here today,” he said as he reached her side, “you did not tell me you were coming.”

  “Periquine made up his mind only at the last moment,” Fenella answered uncomfortably.

  She knew that Sir Nicolas would think it strange when she appeared at Ascot, but she had not warned him of their intention to be present lest Periquine should think she was betraying his interest in the horse they were to back.

  Looking up into Sir Nicolas’ s face she wondered if in fact Periquine’s information was correct.

  Could it be possible that Sir Nicolas’s stable of all stables would do anything that was even slightly crooked, or arrange a race so that an outsider won rather than the favourite?

  Then she told herself that it was too late to ask questions or to do anything but acquiesce in Periquine’s plans.

  “Come and look at the horses in the paddock.” Sir Nicolas suggested.

  Fenella knew it was because he wanted to talk to her alone. She glanced at Lord Corbury to see him deep in conversation with Hetty and her escort. Because she felt forgotten, Fenella said quickly ,

  “I would like that.”

  “Did you get my letter?” Sir Nicolas asked as they moved away.

  “I have had three letters from you,” Fenella answered, “since you left the Hall.”

  “And you have not answered one of them.”

  “I have been meaning to, but I have had so much to do these last few days.”

  “Looking after Corbury, I suppose,” Sir Nicolas said bitterly.

  It was the truth and Fenella did not deny it.

  She had been getting Periquine’s clothes ready, tidying the Priory and finding that because her arm still hurt her a little, she grew tired rather easily.

  When she returned home she had been glad to flop into bed and be fussed over by Anna rather than sit down and answer letters.

  Besides it was very difficult to know what to say in answer to Sir Nicolas’s protestations of love.

  She had not imagined he would be so romantic or indeed so poetical, but she had learnt now that, while he found it difficult to say the things he felt in his heart, he could pour them out on paper and be in fact very eloquent.

  “My letters do not bore you?” he asked suddenly, and she saw by the expression on his face that he was afraid of her answer.

  “No of course not,” she said gently, “I am proud that you should want to write to me and I value your letters.”

  “Is that the truth?” he enquired.

  “I promise you one thing,” Fenella answered, “I will never lie to you.”

  Even as she spoke she felt a little guilty. She was not lying to him, but she was keeping something from him that she thought he ought to know.

  Then she knew that she could not under any circumstances betray Periquine’s secret.

  She changed the subject and discussed the horses. Sir Nicolas was very knowledgeable on the subject and when they strolled back from the paddock towards the lawns below the Royal Box he said,

  “I shall not bet on this race, but I intend to back my own horse for the ‘Gold Cup’. I want you to see ‘Ivanhoe’, he is a magnificent beast.”

  It was with great difficulty that Fenella repressed an inclination to advise him not to bet on his own horse.

  But even as she played with the idea, Lord Corbury joined them and she saw from the look in his eyes that something had pleased him.

  “I want to show you something, Fenella,” he said, and with a smile at Sir Nicolas she walked away with him to another part of the lawn.

  “Joe Jarvis is here,” Lord Corbury said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I have just had a word with him.”

  “What did he say?” Fenella asked.

  “It is all arranged exactly as we expected. He has had a talk with the groom who gave him the information in the first place, and the whole of Sir Nicolas’s stable are backing ‘Crusader’.”

  “Have you put your money on yet?”

  “I have put every penny I possess and your money on ‘Crusader’. They think it will start a little higher than ten to one, so I did not take a price.”

  “Oh, Periquine, I hope it is all right! “ Fenella hardly breathed the words.

  “Of course it is all right,” he answered, “it has to be! “

  He smiled down at her gaily.

  “It is ‘win all or lose all’ where we are concerned, but personally I feel extremely confident.”

  Fenella laughed.

  “You are always the same, Periquine ! You always believe fervently in your own luck and sometimes it comes off.”

  “It always comes off !” he boasted. “We may have lost money on our last adventure, but do not forget we saved our lives. As you have pointed out so often to me, there is nothing so valuable.”

  “No indeed,” Fenella agreed.

  “Let us keep our fingers crossed and say a special prayer to the god of racing, whoever he may be!” Lord Corbury smiled.

  Then a friend came up to speak to him and there was no chance for any further private conversation.

  They went down to the paddock together to look at the horses parading in the ring.

  ‘Ivanhoe’ was certainly an outstanding animal. Everyone was admiring him but Fenella had eyes only for ‘Crusader’. He was long legged and somewhat gawky in appearance, but she had the feeling that he would show both stamina and speed once he was on the course.

  She watched Sir Nicolas’s jockeys wearing his colours of dark blue and gold mount, and then the horses proceeded past the Royal Box and cantered away to the start.

  They walked back to the lawns. Fenella saw Sir Nicolas looking in her direction, but she pretended not to see him. She knew this was a moment so tense, so important both to her and to Periquine, that she could not bear to have anyone else standing with them.

  They moved down almost to the rails. She heard a sudden murmur from the crowd, the cry of ‘They’re off’ and knew the race had started.

  Periquine had told her to keep her fingers crossed. She did that and now she started to will the horse into the lead.

  “‘Crusader’ win, you must win.”

  She tried not to think that £40,000 would mean that Periquine would be able to marry Hetty.

  She tried to think how much it would mean to him to be free of debt, to know that he could repair the Priory, could live comfortably and without scrounging round in all sorts of ridiculous and dangerous ways to make money.

  “ ‘Crusader’ win, you must win! You must!”

  The horses were coming down the straight. Every head was turned left to watch them. Now they were in sight and Fenella could see the jockey’s colours quite clearly.

  “First time round,” Lord Corbury remarked tersely. “It is a two and half mile race.”

  The horses passed them all bunched together. ‘Ivanhoe’ and ‘Crusader’ were quite close to each other.

  On the far side of the course, the horses began to stretch out. There was one several lengths ahead for a short tim
e, but it was soon overtaken.

  Now they were on the straight again. There were two horses in front and on one there was no mistaking a blue and gold cap!

  They were coming nearer and nearer, and now it looked as if there would be a neck and neck finish between the two leading animals.

  Nearer and nearer! It was impossible for Fenella to see anything but the jockey’s colours or to know whether it was ‘Ivanhoe’ or ‘Crusader’ which was ahead.

  With a roar from the crowd the horses passed the post. Sir Nicolas had won! There was no doubt that his colours had been carried half a length ahead of any other horse.

  Then Fenella saw coming in fourth or perhaps fifth the same blue and gold cap and this time she could see more clearly. There was no doubt that ‘Ivanhoe’ was the winner!

  She gave a little gasp, but before she could say anything, before she could even ask the question to which she already knew the answer, she saw the darkness on Lord Corbury’s face and the rage in his expression.

  He turned without a word and walked across the lawns towards the enclosure where the jockeys would unsaddle and weigh in, and because there was nothing else she could do, Fenella followed him.

  As they got there, the horses were coming in from the course. ‘Ivanhoe’ came first amid cheers and hand-clapping.

  “Well done! A fine race! Ye did well, boy!”

  People were reaching out to pat the horse as it passed. Lord Corbury stood watching. Then he said abruptly, his voice thick with anger,

  “Stay here! I will find out what happened.”

  He disappeared into the crowd moving towards the weighing-in room.

  Fenella walked slowly away to stand under the trees which bordered the course. There was no-one there to pay any attention to her and she stood wondering what had gone wrong and what Periquine would do now.

  She was certain that he had done as he said and put every penny he possessed on the horse. Now they had nothing left.

  There would be no money to pay Porrit for doing the repairs to the farm, no money to provide Mrs. Buckle and Barnes with their wages, no money for food, and she remembered too that she would have no money to pay for the clothes she had bought in Brighton on credit!

  What was more she had not even kept anything back to tip the servants at her Uncle’s house!

  She felt suddenly sick, not only at what had happened, but because she and Periquine had been so stupid.

  Why had they risked everything instead of being more cautious and wagering only half their money? If only Periquine had set out to win £20,000 instead of £40,000, he would now have at least £2,000 left for every-day expenses.

  ‘We were mad!’ she told herself and wondered why she had not tried to persuade him into being more sensible.

  ‘I am as foolish as he is,’ she thought.

  But that was poor consolation when the future seemed dark and hopeless and there appeared to be at the moment nothing they could do about it.

  She heard a bell ring and knew that the weighing-in had been completed and the next race would soon be starting. There was no sign of Periquine, and there was nothing she could do but wait for him and hope she would find some way of consoling him when he did appear.

  The horses left the paddock for the last race. Fenella watched them gallop down the course and wondered why anyone was so stupid as to put their money on anything so chancy as a horse-race.

  ‘It was just as foolish,’ she thought, ‘as gaming at cards when inevitably sooner or later one is the loser.’

  The race finished and she heard the cheers for the winner, but there was still no sign of Periquine.

  It was then she heard someone approaching and looked round quickly to see Sir Nicolas.

  “Whatever are you doing here?” he asked. “I have been looking for you everywhere.”

  “I am waiting for Periquine,” she answered.

  “Alone?” he enquired. “You know perfectly well, Fenella, he should not leave you unaccompanied on a racecourse.”

  “I am all right,” she answered.

  “That is not the point,” Sir Nicolas said stiffly. “Come along. I will take you to your Uncle’s. I imagine you are staying with him.”

  “I must wait for Periquine.”

  “Why?” he enquired. “He appears to have forgotten your existence. How long have you been here?”

  “Not very — long.”

  “Long enough! I will not have you hanging about waiting for that young waster when he has not the decency to look after you as he should.”

  “I must wait for him,” Fenella said, “he told me he would come back.”

  “It is impossible for you to stay here,” Sir Nicolas said as if reasoning with a child. “You will get yourself talked about, Fenella. Come, take my arm and I will escort you to my chaise.”

  “No, Nicolas” Fenella protested.

  He put out his hand and took hers.

  “I insist! It is not only insulting for you to have to stand here alone, it is unconventional and I will not allow it.”

  He pulled her forward as he spoke and she pulled against him.

  “No, Nicolas, no! I must wait!”

  “What is going on?” a voice asked angrily.

  Fenella and Sir Nicolas looked round to see that Lord Corbury had approached them unexpectedly.

  “Here you are, Periquine!” Fenella cried in relief. “I thought you had forgotten all about me.”

  “I was detained,” Lord Corbury replied briefly, “and may I ask why Waringham is behaving in this unaccountable manner? “

  “I was persuading Fenella that it is both incorrect and unconventional for her to wait here alone,” Sir Nicolas said in icy tones. “Something you appear to have overlooked!”

  “It is not your business,” Lord Corbury replied rudely, “and I resent your pulling my cousin about, in the same manner that you undoubtedly pulled your second horse in the ‘Gold Cup’.”

  Lord Corbury spoke furiously although his voice was low, but there was no doubt that he had lost his temper. Fenella gave a little gasp as Sir Nicolas said slowly in even tones,

  “I consider that an insult.”

  “That is exactly what I meant it to be!” Lord Corbury retorted.

  “I think, Corbury, it is time you were taught a lesson,” Sir Nicolas answered, “and I shall have much pleasure in blowing a hole through you tomorrow morning at dawn.”

  “No! no!” Fenella cried.

  But neither of the men facing each other with hatred in their expressions paid any attention to her.

  “I accept your invitation with pleasure,” Lord Corbury said sarcastically. “My seconds shall wait on yours within a few hours and I can promise you, Waringham, that if anyone learns a lesson, it will be you.”

  “That of course remains to be seen,” Sir Nicolas replied, his voice entirely expressionless.

  He bowed stiffly to Fenella and walked away, his shoulders and the carriage of his head eloquent with his disapproval of what had taken place.

  “Periquine, you cannot fight him! You must not!” Fenella cried.

  “Blow a hole through me!” Lord Corbury exclaimed in disgust. “I will blow a hole through him and I hope it kills him! “

  “Periquine, you are mad! You cannot do such a thing!”

  “I can and I will!” Lord Corbury retorted. “It is entirely his fault we have lost our money.”

  “Why?” Fenella enquired.

  “Because he changed the jockey on ‘Crusader’ just before the race. No-one knows why he did it. They do not think he had a suspicion that anything was afoot. But nevertheless he gave his orders and there was no question of their being disobeyed.”

  “You mean it might have been chance?”

  “Much as I loathe Waringham, I have to be frank and admit that is what everyone concerned thinks it was!” Lord Corbury answered. “In fact it was just damn bad luck!”

  He pressed his lips together and squared his chin.

  “Come on
, there is nothing to be gained by talking about it. We have to face facts, we are broke, completely and absolutely rolled up.”

  He walked across the paddock moving swiftly while Fenella struggled to keep up with him.

  They found their phaeton and drove in silence towards Lord Farquhar’s house which was only half a mile away from the race-course.

  Just before they turned in at the drive, Fenella said miserably “I am sorry, Periquine, about — the duel.”

  “Sorry!” he ejaculated sharply. “So you should be! You have encouraged Waringham to make a cake of himself from the very first ! “

  “I — did not — mean — to do so,” Fenella protested.

  She saw by the expression on Lord Corbury’s face that he was incensed with her.

  She would have pleaded with him, but at that moment he drew up the horses outside the front door of Lord Farquhar’s residence.

  She alighted and the servants removed their valises from beneath the phaeton. Raising his hat Lord Corbury said coldly,

  “Goodbye, Fenella.”

  “Where are you going?” she asked hastily.

  “I have business to attend to,” he replied frigidly. “Will you give your uncle my respects and say I shall unfortunately not be dining with him tonight as I intended, but will hope to see him before he retires.”

  “But Periquine, surely...” Fenella began.

  But already Lord Corbury was moving his horses and her words were lost.

  She knew then that he was going to find seconds for the duel he was to fight at dawn with Sir Nicolas.

  She knew too that he was blue-devilled at what had occurred and the only solace he was likely to find was drinking with any of his friends who would be obliging enough to pay.

  ‘He is in worse trouble than ever before !’ Fenella thought, ‘and it is all my fault’

  As she walked into the hall she felt the tears welling into her eyes and found her Uncle, tall and distinguished if slightly rotund in his middle age, waiting to greet her.

  “I am delighted to see you, Fenella, my dear . . .” he began. Then he saw the tears.

  “What has happened?” he asked.

  “Oh, Uncle Roderick,” Fenella replied. “Everything has gone wrong. It has been such a — horrible — day! “