Chapter VIII: The Riding-Party

For some time the days passed on as they generally do in a country-house like Dundargue, and there was all the usual flow of life and--with three exceptions, Sir Paget, Holcroft, and Cameron--change of guests and visitors, with the amusements wealth can give.

First came the partridge-shooting, and then the pheasants were to be knocked over, while the ladies drove almost daily to the preserves with the luncheon in the drag or large pony-carriage; there were hunting days, dinners, luncheons, musical evenings, carpet dances, and so forth, and the inevitable lawn-tennis, with the ladies in bewitching costumes; but still Allan, damped perhaps by his sister's communications, 'made no way' with his tantalising cousin, and Hawke Holcroft, on Lord Aberfeldie's invitation, was still lingering at Dundargue.

To Allan, Olive had become a part of his life, and each day seemed only to begin when he met her at breakfast in her charming morning toilette, fresh from her bath and the hands of Mademoiselle Clairette, her hair dressed to perfection, and her face radiant with health and beauty.

'How often do I wish she had not a _sous_!' sighed Allan. 'Then she might learn that I love her for herself alone.'

The curious position in which they were placed relatively made the cousins most strange to each other, involving much constraint.

'They are fencing with their feelings,' was Lord Aberfeldie's conviction.

To Evan Cameron, however, it was evident that Holcroft was 'making all the running he could' during Allan's absences after the game, or apparent occupation with laughing Ruby Logan, while it became evident to Sir Paget and more than one other guest that he got up many a quiet game at _ecarté_--that most rooking of all games--and many a match at billiards after the ladies had retired; and it was soon remarked by the same close observers that he was a singularly successful player, often pocketing large sums, seldom losing, and then very slenderly, as if to keep up appearances.

At Dundargue he felt himself in clover! He knew, or was aware instinctively, that neither Lady Aberfeldie nor the Master cared much about him; but he also knew that his host was inspired by the kindliest feelings towards him as the only son of an early friend and gallant old Crimean comrade who had gone to his long home.

If any rule governed the erratic life of the horsey and gambling Holcroft, it was that of resolutely shutting his eyes against to-morrow, and letting it take care of itself; and, now that there was a prospect of winning a wife with money--and such a chance seldom came his way--could he but play his cards well and surely, his fortune would be made!

He was a mass of absolute selfishness--the result either of his innate nature or of his nomadic habits. A life-long bankrupt, he had been ever readier to borrow than to lend, to smoke any other fellow's cigars than his own, and to take every advantage of the honourable and unsuspecting.

Such was the perilous inmate which a mistaken sense of kindness, gratitude, and hospitality had induced Lord Aberfeldie to make one of the family circle at Dundargue during the shooting season; and to whom the advent of the bangle--which, though it slipped easily upon his wrist, most mysteriously would not come off it--and other adventitious circumstances, the real cause of which he did not know, gave a considerable amount of what he termed to himself 'modest assurance' and confidence of ultimate success.

'I should like to come into a nice little pot of money--a fortune, if you will--but not with a girl tacked to it,' he said, on one occasion, to throw Allan 'off the scent,' as he thought. 'I am neither domestic nor ambitious. A few thousands would do.'

'And make you content?'

'Content! I should feel as happy as more than once I have been at Monaco, when I have seen the croupier's rake pushing a jolly pile of gold across the _trente-et-quarante_ table towards me, by Jove.'

It did not occur to him that by little speeches like this and anecdotes about his own acumen in the betting ring, he let a little light in upon the general tenor of his past and present life, and, all unconscious that Sir Paget and others listened with slightly elevated eyebrows, he would produce a sealskin cigar-case of portentous dimensions, draw therefrom a great Rio Hondo cigar, and after carefully manipulating it, begin to smoke it with intense satisfaction.

Hawke Holcroft, like Mr. Micawber, was always waiting for something to 'turn up' in the way of good for himself, and now thought he had found that something in Olive Raymond--an heiress free, he deemed, to choose for herself--free to be wooed and won; and on a day when she proposed a riding-party to visit Macbeth's Castle of Dunsinane he very nearly had the hardihood to learn his fate--in the words of Montrose's song, to put it 'to the touch, to win or lose it all.'

Drives, riding-parties, and rambles to visit artistic bits of scenery and the rural [** Transcriber's note: line missing from source book?] lions the neighbourhood afforded every opportunity to those who wished to cultivate each other's society at Dundargue, and the expedition proposed by Olive to visit the ruins of the usurper's castle, proved the occasion of Mr. Hawke Holcroft's attempt to advance his own interests.

Whatever Lady Aberfeldie's views were, her husband had never been called upon to fulfil the duties of a vigilant guardian or parent, and to study the difference between 'detrimentals' and married parties, so he left the guidance of the whole affair in the hands of Allan, and remained closeted with his solicitor.

By judicious manoeuvring, Holcroft contrived to pair-off with Olive, while Allan thus became the escort of Ruby Logan, and Eveline, of course, fell to Sir Paget, who soon found the truth of the vulgar adage about two being company, &c., on their being joined by Stratherroch.

It was a clear and brilliant day early in October, when the blue sky was flecked by fleecy clouds, and the far-stretching scenery of the fertile Carse, overlooked by the long chain of heights, named the Sidlaw Hills, lay steeped in sunshine.

The parks of Dundargue, with their broad acres of velvet-like turf, their stately oaks and towering beeches, among the gnarled branches of which legions of gleds were cawing to each other, and brown squirrels were gliding to and fro; their hedges of ancient thorn, and others where the hawthorn berries showed red and the wild roses were blooming--the parks, we say, were left behind, with all their groups of deer, and the party, certainly a merry and a well-mounted one, accompanied by the stag-hounds Shiuloch and Bran, careering joyously on either hand, followed by a couple of splendidly-horsed grooms, cantered along the highway, and ere long broke, or fell, into that slow and ambling pace which is suited for conversing with ease. And Holcroft, who was well versed in all horsey details, and had a very appreciative eye, could see that his fair companion's _tout ensemble_, her riding costume, her hat, veil, and gauntlets were all perfect, from the coils of brown glossy hair to the little foot that rested firmly in its tiny stirrup of burnished steel; and that foot was indeed a model--arched, small, and always full of character in its elasticity of tread; and, more than all, intoxicated by the ambient air, the sunshine, her own high spirits, and the pleasure of being mounted on her own favourite pad, Olive Raymond was looking her brightest and her best.

He had, while engaging all her attention in conversation, contrived, unknown to her, by the pacing of his horse, to leave the trio referred to at some distance behind; while, luckily for him, Allan Graham, lured on by Ruby Logan--who was something between a flirt and a hoyden--had gone ahead with her suddenly at a hand-gallop, and now the pair were out of sight.

There could be no engagement, despite all rumour thereof--not even a passing fancy--between the cousins, was now Holcroft's conviction, and of his own ultimate success with Olive he began to have little doubt, could he but warily mould her to his purpose; and already in fancy he saw her thousands--how many there were he knew not--firmly in his grasp.

Though swallowed up by mortgages, his place in Essex--or the few acres that nominally still remained to him there--caused the retention of his name among the 'landed gentry of England,' and he based much upon that circumstance as aiding his designs on Lord Aberfeldie's ward, to whom he had sometimes dropped glowing hints of possession that were not nor ever had been his.

Something undefined in Olive's manner rather encouraged him on this day. She, to show that she resented the apparent indifference of Allan as being a 'laggard in love,' even while resenting the tenor of that family compact which was meant to bind them together, was disposed to flirt with Holcroft, out of pique rather than precise preference, and to annoy Allan.

With the latter present now, Holcroft became at times a species of difficulty to Olive. During a past season in London there had been sundry, not exactly love-passages, but little coquettings and lingerings in conservatories that nearly amounted to such; and he, in ignorance of the footing in which she was regarded by the family, was quite inclined, penniless as he was, or nearly so, to revive, if not improve, past relations; and this had been his object from the first day he came to Dundargue.

And now 'that muscular idiot the Master,' as he was in the habit of mentally calling Allan, having cantered out of sight, he addressed himself more fully to his companion and the matter in hand.

'I enjoy town to the full--none can do so more--when I am there, but I love--oh, I do love--the country!' replied Olive, in reply to a remark of Holcroft's about their last London season.

'It is always very romantic, of course, and all that sort of thing.'

'And with pleasant people about one, the country becomes so delightful for a time; and then we girls have such perfect freedom here.'

'Even an escort is not necessary at times.'

'Unless in the park--beyond that I always like to have one,' said Olive.

'Are you pleased to have _me_ for one?' he asked, in a low voice, and pretty pointedly.

'Of course,' she answered, frankly.

'How charming to be at hand in case of danger!'

'What possible danger?' asked Olive, with surprise.

'Oh, the untimely appearance of an infuriated stag or the proverbial mad bull of the three-volume novel.'

'Why not a brigand or a Bengal tiger?' said Olive, laughing; then, suddenly becoming grave, she added--'But, by the way, talking of Bengal, please to give me back my bangle.'

'Why?'

'Simply because I cannot permit you to retain it,' she replied, little foreseeing to what the natural request might lead.

'Do not deprive me of it!' he urged, softly and entreatingly.

'Why?' asked she, in return; 'for what reason. It is impossible--what may people say?'

'What they please, if seen, which it never shall be.'

'What might they not think?'

'Oh, what does it matter?' he urged again, with much would-be sadness and tenderness.

'Little to you, perhaps, but much to me,' retorted Olive; 'but I do not choose that aught should be either thought or said about it. We shall certainly be accused of flirting.'

'No, no, Miss Raymond--oh, no, Olive----'

'Olive!' she repeated, in a startled manner.

'Pardon me--none could ever accuse me of flirting with you--that were an impossibility--for deeper thoughts----'

'My bangle, please, Mr. Holcroft, and at once!' she said, imperatively, in dread of what more he might say.

She held forth her hand, but the trinket either would not come off his wrist, or he pretended that such was the case. Olive tried to remove it, but in vain, and glanced round her, red with vexation. Her hand was gloved, otherwise she would have felt how unpleasantly cold and clammy were the fingers of her would-be lover.

'Allow me to retain it, even for a time--though would that I might wear it in my grave--for a time, in memory of the darling hopes I have dared to cherish,' he whispered, in a manner there could be no mistaking now.

'Spare me this melodramatic sort of thing, Mr. Holcroft,' said Olive, growing rather pale; 'I cannot--must not listen to you.'

'Why--what do you mean?'

'That there are obstacles between us, even were there not the want of liking,' she replied, decidedly, but with an agitated voice.

'Obstacles?' he repeated, inquiringly, sadly, and certainly with an air of _disappointment_; 'am I now to understand that you are engaged to the Master of Aberfeldie, as these absurd Scots people call him?'

Olive bit her ruddy nether lip at this home question; but made no reply.

'What enigma is this? You either are or you are not. If not, why may not I----'

'I dare not listen to this style of conversation,' interrupted Olive, with positive annoyance; 'and you have no right to force it upon me.'

'After all that has passed?' said he, reproachfully, and rather feeling as if his hopes were melting into air.

'I do not understand you,' replied Olive, whose conscience certainly did reproach her.

'If I force this conversation--' he began in a bitter and rather upbraiding tone, then pausing; 'pardon me if I offend,' he resumed, with what seemed growing sadness, while attempting to touch her hand, yet withdrawing his own in apparent timidity. 'But am I wrong in deeming your engagement--or alleged engagement, as rumour says, made when you were a child--one in which your woman's heart and wishes have not been consulted? Tell me--for I may have to leave Dundargue soon now.'

She was in some respects but a weak girl; he a crafty and wily man of the world; and, though he knew it not in the least, he was touching her on a very tender point--yet she replied, firmly enough,

'You have no right to question me; but say, what has Allan done to you that your face should darken at the mention of his name? Is he not your friend?'

'He was.'

'And now----'

'He is no longer so.'

'Why?'

'He is my rival.'

She coloured to her temples at this blunt reply, and all it inferred.

'I loved you long before you ever cared for me,' he resumed, coolly.

'Sir--how dare you say I ever cared for you?' exclaimed Olive, her cheeks aflame now; 'let this subject cease, and be resumed no more!'

'It breaks my heart to hear you speak thus.'

'Hearts don't break now-a-days, even in such romantic places as Dundargue,' said she, with a sharp little laugh; 'and here this matter ends.'

He bowed in silence; but, fatally perhaps for Allan's interests and her own, she thought, and her vanity was flattered by the idea:

'Holcroft loves me, despite the tenor of papa's will--loves me, for myself, of course; while Allan _knows_ its value to himself! Surely there is a difference in this!'

But it was precisely because Holcroft knew neither of the will nor its spirit that he took the courage to address her as he did. Had he done so, that enterprising gentleman would speedily have 'dropped out of the hunt,' and, so far as he is concerned, we should then have no story to tell.

Meanwhile he did not lose heart, and thought he had only to wait the fulness of time for the certainty of winning her, and with her, wealth--of joy or happiness he took no heed at all.

By this time, greatly to Olive's relief, Eveline and her two swains had overtaken them, and so the matter dropped, though the minds of both, from two points of view, were full of it. She would now have to endure the double annoyance of being daily in the society of a lover who had addressed her as such, and of an _intended_ lover who had scarcely yet approached the subject!

And, for some reason only known to herself, she did not tell Eveline, though her bosom-friend, of what had passed between herself and Holcroft. The latter, however, still retained the golden bangle on which her name was engraved; but for a time now there was something in her manner little to the liking of Hawke Holcroft--full as he was of dreams of her, or of her fortune rather--of the risks he ran, and the shifts to which he might be put ere he handled it.