Read Ebook: Blackthorn Farm by Applin Arthur

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Ebook has 1900 lines and 81955 words, and 38 pages

Rupert leapt to his position on the stand and putting up his glass watched the race.

A good start, though one horse was left. It was not Paulus, so he did not care. One horse out of the way!

He watched the horses climb the hill, the colours of the jockeys made brilliant blots against the blue sky. The great human ant-hill was still now, silent, too. The whole thing looked like a cinematograph picture; the horses like clockwork animals.

They neared Tattenham Corner. Rupert held his breath. The vast crowd began to murmur now. A strange sound as if emanating from the lips of one man. The sound rose and fell like distant thunder.

Presently he heard the thunder of the horses' hoofs. They had rounded the corner and were coming down the straight. He took a deep breath, and for a moment the scene was blotted from his eyes. And again he saw the black Devon moorlands, neither purple heather nor golden gorse now, just granite tors and bogland; and an old man standing at the entrance of a thatched-roofed little farmhouse staring out over the grey hills--as if waiting for one who never came.

"Nimbo wins! A monkey to a pea-nut on Nimbo!"

The storm broke now. First the name of one horse was shouted, then another. The field had strung out, but there were half a dozen horses locked together.

"Paulus wins! I'll back Paulus!"

Rupert took a deep breath, and for the moment put down his glasses. Then he heard his own voice shrieking hysterically, "Paulus! Paulus!"

A sudden silence fell, more terrifying than the thunder of ten thousand voices. The leading bunch of horses was within a hundred yards of the winning post now. Paulus led, then fell back suddenly challenged by a rank outsider, Ambuscade. Neck and neck they ran, first one, then the other, getting the advantage. Rupert was conscious of Ruby clinging to his arm. He was conscious of the great crowd on the hill, of the crowd surrounding him, swaying to and fro; of the perfume of the girl's hair--the girl he loved; the colours of the jockeys as they lay almost flat on the horses' backs.

The race was over now. The winning-post was reached. Thunder-clap after thunder-clap of human voices.

"Paulus wins! ... Paulus! Paulus! Paulus!"

Rupert was shouting at the top of his voice as he was carried by the crowd he knew not whither, Ruby clinging to his arm. He waved his hat in the air and he laughed as he shouted. He was saved, and for a moment he forgot all he had learned. He could not control himself, he just shouted with the crowd, his crowd.

Still the excitement was not over. There were a few moments more of tension until the numbers went up and they saw on the telegraph board that Paulus had won by a short head.

Rupert found himself standing alone at the bottom of the enclosure. He wiped the perspiration from his face. Ruby had disappeared--yet a moment ago she had been hanging on his arm. He heard the "All right" called and he realised she had gone to draw the money from the bookmaker. After a while he saw her hemmed in by the crowd near the rails. He fought his way to her and in answer to his queries she showed him her purse.

"Come along, let's go back," he whispered. "There's nothing else to wait for now."

Once clear of the crowd they walked up the hill to the railway station, caught the first train returning to London, and drove straight to Rupert's rooms.

A telegram was waiting for him on the table. He picked it up and gave it to Ruby.

He broke off as Ruby tore open the little buff envelope and looked at the message. The next moment she had dropped it and taken him in her arms, heedless now of the damage to her French toilet. Her black, sweetly-scented hair brushed his face, her soft cheek was pressed against his own. She mothered him as if he were her child instead of her lover.

He had failed.

"What does it matter?" he cried with bravado. "I'm rich now. I can pay my bills; we can have a jolly good time before I go home."

He broke away from her angrily. "You don't know what you're saying. If Paulus hadn't won!"

The raucous cries of a newsboy from the street interrupted him. They both listened, then Rupert smiled.

"Forgive me, it's ripping of you to think of father and all that. I know it'll knock the old man sideways: he'll be awfully sick about it. But I've got one more chance, and now I can afford to take it. If I hadn't won this money I couldn't have. I should have had to go home and stop there, shut up in that crumbling hole in the midst of those beastly moors. But I'll try again and, by gad! I'll win. I swear I'll pass next 'go.' It was the worry of thinking of the beastly money which upset me this time."

Another newsboy ran shrieking down the street.

Rupert moved towards the door. "Let's get a paper and see the starting price."

Ruby followed him. "Wait a moment, Rupert. Tell me honestly, how much you would have owed if Paulus hadn't won?"

"Oh, I don't know. What does it matter now?" he cried carelessly. "A hundred or two, I think. What does it matter now? I can go on working until I pass. And I'll send the guv'nor that last fiver he posted me, old Crichton's cheque. Those brutes at Post Bridge Hall are absolutely rolling in money, but, by gad! they shall see we've got some, too. Come on, let's get a paper."

Smiling at his excitement Ruby followed him out of the room. From the doorstep they beckoned to a passing newsboy, who thrust a paper into Rupert's hands. Chucking him sixpence Rupert made his way upstairs again. He opened the paper in the sitting-room, and Ruby bent over his shoulder.

"Well?" she said.

Then she heard Rupert catch his breath, she saw his face change colour, grow deadly white. The paper began to shiver and tremble between his hands. She looked at the stop press news. She saw the result:

Paulus first, Ambuscade second--then in huge black type underneath: OBJECTION!

"The stewards objected to the winner for bumping and not keeping a straight course. An enquiry was held and Paulus was disqualified. The outsider, Ambuscade, is therefore the winner. The starting price is a hundred to one."

Rupert crunched the paper in his hands, and staggering forward fell into the chair in front of the writing-table. He stretched his arms out, sweeping off the litter of papers, and his head fell forward between his hands.

Ruby bent over him and tried to raise him. "Rupert--perhaps it's not true. Rupert!"

She lifted him up, but he fell back into the chair half fainting. Putting her arms around him she dragged him into the bedroom, and laying him on the bed loosened his collar. She found some brandy and forced a little between his lips. Then she sat beside him, holding his hand tightly. Presently the colour returned to his cheeks, his eyes opened. He lay quite still, staring at the ceiling.

"It'll be all right," she whispered. "It'll all come right, Rupert. I--I love you, dear, I'll help you. It'll all come right."

The muscles of his face twitched convulsively. "Leave me," he whispered. "For pity's sake leave me for a little while."

Drawing down the blind, she crept out of the room and shut the door behind her. She heard someone coming up the stairs--the landlady bringing tea. Stooping down she commenced to pick up the papers scattered on the floor. Among them she found the cheque Rupert had received that morning from his father, the cheque drawn by Reginald Crichton. She looked at it curiously, a sudden instinct telling her how much that little sum meant to the old father who had sent it.

Five pounds! Scarcely the value of the hat she wore. Folding it up she slipped it into her gloved hand, then sat down at the writing-table waiting until the landlady left the room. She had a few pounds in her purse which she had drawn over Paulus before the objection was made. A few pounds in the Post Office Savings-bank. Between them they might collect twenty or thirty pounds: and Rupert confessed to owing a hundred or two. That might mean five hundred--the price of his father's honour and happiness, his little sister, the house, everything.

And she loved Rupert Dale. Now that ruin faced him she knew how much she loved him. She would give her life to save him.

She poured herself out a cup of tea and drank it. The little sitting-room felt hot and stuffy, her brain felt numb, she wanted air. She crept downstairs and commenced to walk to and fro up and down the pavement trying to think what she would do. Twelve pounds in her purse and a cheque for five pounds in her gloved hand. How lightly Rupert had thrown aside that cheque a few hours ago. Probably he did not know what he had done with it; would think he had lost it.

Scarcely thinking what she was doing she took it out and looked at it closely. And she remembered Reginald Crichton's name. She had heard men at the theatre speak of him in connection with mining investments.

The clock struck the hour--six--and she made her way back to the lodging-house, and very quietly opened the door of the sitting-room. Then she stopped short, frozen with terror. Rupert was standing at the writing-table. The blinds were drawn down. In his hand he held a revolver. She saw him slowly turn it until the muzzle was pointing at his breast.

FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS.

"Rupert!" Ruby's voice scarcely rose above a whisper.

Slowly Rupert turned the revolver from his breast. Very slowly his arm dropped until it hung limply by his side. His grip relaxed and the revolver fell to the floor. Ruby crossed to his side, and, stooping down, picked it up.

Extricating the cartridges, she put the revolver away in a drawer of the writing-table and locked it up. Then she drew a chair forward and sat down, facing the man whose life she had just saved, the man she loved.

It was a long time before either of them spoke. Rupert Dale had meant to kill himself. Ruby had arrived at the critical moment. Thirty seconds more and she would have been too late. The crisis had passed now, but the shock had left the woman unnerved and weak.

Rupert merely felt vaguely surprised that he was still alive. The idea of suicide was horrible to him because normally he was a healthy, sane young man, but the news of his failure for the third time in his final examination, coming upon the victory and subsequent disqualification of Paulus, had made him see the hopelessness of his position. It was a lightning flash; illuminating the horizon of Hope. The instant's flash had shown him himself, his career ruined before it had started, and his father beggared--not merely of his home and his money, but of his dreams: of all that was left him.

Ruby watching him, holding his cold hand in hers, saw what was passing, and what had passed, in his mind. Of a sudden she felt her responsibility.

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