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Cynthias chauffeur


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Title:Cynthia'sChauffeur
Author:LouisTracy
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Cynthia’s
Chauffeur
BY


LOUISTRACY
AUTHOROF
THEWINGSOFTHEMORNING,
ASONOFTHEIMMORTALS,ETC.,
ETC.
Illustrationsby

HOWARDCHANDLER
CHRISTY


NEWYORK

GROSSET&DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS

COPYRIGHT,1910,BY
EDWARDJ.CLODE

EnteredatStationers’Hall


“ThereisnoloveliergardeninEnglandthanatWellsPalace.”
“ThereisnoloveliergardeninEnglandthanatWellsPalace.”




CONTENTS
CHAPTER
PAGE
I. THEHIREDCAR
1
II. THEFIRSTDAY’SRUN
23
III. SOMEEMOTIONS—WITHOUTAMORAL
47
IV. SHADOWS—WITHOCCASIONALGLEAMS
72
V. AFLURRYONTHEMENDIPS
94
VI. AMIDSUMMERNIGHT’SVAGARIES
119
WHEREINCYNTHIATAKESHEROWN
VII.
143
LINE
VIII. BREAKERSAHEAD
167
IX. ONTHEWYE
191
X. THEHIDDENFOUNTSOFEVIL
216
XI. THEPARTINGOFTHEWAYS
239
XII. MASQUES,ANCIENTANDMODERN
260
WHEREINWRATHBEGUILESGOOD
XIII.
283
JUDGMENT
—ANDGOODJUDGMENTYIELDSTO
XIV.
307
FOLLY
XV. THEOUTCOME
324
THEENDOFONETOUR:THE
XVI. BEGINNING
344
OFANOTHER


CYNTHIA’SCHAUFFEUR


CHAPTERI
THEHIREDCAR
Derby Day fell that year on the first Wednesday in June. By a whim of the
British climate, the weather was fine; in fact, no rain had fallen on southern
England since the previous Sunday. Wise after the event, the newspapers
published cheerful “forecasts,” and certain daring “experts” discussed the
probabilitiesofaheatwave.SoLondon,onthatbrightWednesdaymorning,was
agogwithexcitementoveritsannualholiday;andatsuchatimeLondonisthe
gayestandliveliestcityintheworld.
Andthen,whollyindependentoftheweather,therewastheGreatQuestion.
From the hour when the first ’bus rumbled Citywards until some few seconds
before three o’clock in the afternoon the mass of the people seemed to find
delight in asking and answering it. The Question was ever the same; but the
answer varied. In its way, the Question formed a tribute to the advance of
democracy.Itcausedstrangerstoexchangeopinionsandpleasantriesincrowded
trains and omnibuses. It placed peers and commoners on an equality. During
somepartofthedayitcompletelyeclipsedallothertopicsofconversation.
Thus,youngLordMedenhammadenopretenseofshirkingitwhilehestoodon
thestepsofhisfather’smansioninCavendishSquareandwatchedhischauffeur
stowingaluncheonbasketbeneaththefrontseatoftheMercury38.
“Youknowabitaboutracing,Tomkinson,”hesaid,smilingattheelderlybutler
whohadbroughtthebasketoutofthehouse.“What’sgoingtowin?”
“The King’shorse,mylord,”replied Tomkinson,withtheunctuousconviction
ofaprelatelayingdownadogma.
“Isitassureasallthat?”
“Yes,mylord.”
“Well,Ihopeso.Youareonasovereign—Bygad,youreallyare,youknow.”
Tomkinson was far too keenly alive to the monetary side of the transaction to


payheedtothequip.Hisportlyfigurecurvedinasuperbbow.
“Thankyou,mylord,”saidhe.
“Remindmethiseveningifyouareright.Ishallnotforgettodamnyouifyou
arewrong.”
Tomkinsonignoredthechanceoferroranditsconsequences.
“Yourlordshipwillbehomefordinner?”
“Yes,Ihavenootherengagement.Allready,Dale?”forthechauffeurwasinhis
seat, and the engine was purring with the placid hum of a machine in perfect
tune.
Tomkinsonmovedgrandlydownthesteps,usheredViscountMedenhamintothe
car,andwatcheditsgracefulswoopintoHollesStreet.
“Timeshavechanged,”saidhetohimself.“Twentyyearsago,whenIfirstcame
here,hislordship’sfatherwouldhavegivenmeatip,andhewouldn’thavebeen
cominghomefordinner,neether.”
BythatlastfatalwordTomkinsonbetrayedtheclovenhoof.Atleast,hewasno
prelate—andhisassumptionofthepropheticrôlewouldsoonbeputtothetest.
ButhehadansweredtheGreatQuestion.
The Mercury crossed Oxford Street and insinuated itself into the aristocratic
narrowness of Mayfair. It stopped in Curzon Street, opposite a house gay with
flowersinwindow-boxes.TheViscountlookedathiswatch.
“HowfartoEpsom?”heaskedoverDale’sshoulder.
“Aboutsixteenmilesbythedirectroad,mylord,butitwillbebesttogoround
byKingstonandavoidtheworstofthetraffic.Weoughttoallowanhourforthe
run.”
“Anhour!”
“WearenotinFrancenow,mylord.Thepoliceherewouldhavespasmsifthey
sawthecarextended.”
LordMedenhamsighed.
“Wemustreasonwiththem,”hesaid.“Butnotto-day.LadySt.Maurdeclares


she is nervous. Of course, she doesn’t know our Mercury. After to-day’s
experienceitwillbequiteanothermatterwhenItakehertoBrightonforlunch
onSunday.”
Dalesaidnothing.HehadmethisemployeratMarseillesinOctober,whenLord
MedenhamlandedfromAfrica;duringtheprecedingtwelvemonthshislicense
had been indorsed three times for exceeding the speed limit on the Brighton
Road,andhehadpaid£40infinesandcoststovariouspettysessionalcourtsin
SurreyandSussex.Sunday,therefore,promiseddevelopments.
Medenhamseemedtothinkthathisaunt,LadySt.Maur,wouldbewaitingfor
him on the doorstep. As no matronly figure materialized in that locality, he
alighted, and obeyed a brass-lettered injunction to “knock and ring.” Then he
disappearedinsidethehouse,andremainedtheresolongthatDale’srespectfor
thelawbegantoweaken.Thechauffeurhadbeengivenaracingcertaintyforthe
firstrace;thehourwasnearingtwelve,andeveryroadleadingtoEpsomDowns
wouldsurelybecongested.
Hislordshipcameout,alone,anditwasclearthattheunexpectedhadhappened.
“Nice thing!” he said, with the closest semblance to a growl that his goodnatureddrawlwascapableof.“Thewholeshowisbusted,Dale.Herladyshipis
inbedwithherannualbiliousattack—comesofeatingforcedstrawberries,she
says. And she adores strawberries. So do I. There’s pounds of ’em in that
luncheonbasket.Who’sgoingtoeat’em?”
Dale foresaw no difficulties in that respect, but he did realize at once that his
master cared little about racing, and, so far as Epsom was concerned, would
abandon the day’s excursion without a pang. He grew desperate. But, being
somethingofastoic,hekepthisfeelingsincheck,andplayedacardthatcould
hardlyfail.
“You will find plenty of youngsters on the hill who will be glad of them, my
lord,”saidhe.
“You don’t tell me so! Kiddies at the Derby! Well, why not? It shows what a
stranger I am in my own land that I should never have seen the blessed race.
Right ahead then, Dale; we must back the King’s horse and arrange a school
treat.ButI’lltakethewheel.Canyoutuckyourlegsoverthatbasket?I’mnot
goingtositaloneinthetonneau.And,whoknows?—wemaypickupsomeone
ontheroad.”


Startingontheswitch,thecarsprangofftowardsPiccadilly.Dalesighedinhis
relief. With ordinary luck, they ought to reach Epsom before one o’clock, and
racingdidnotbegintillhalfanhourlater.Heleftwhollyoutofreckoningthe
mysterious element in human affairs that allots adventures to the adventurous,
thoughcloseassociationwithViscountMedenhamduringthepastninemonths
ought to have taught him the wisdom of caution. Several chapters of a very
interestingbookmightbesuppliedbyhislordship’smotoringexperiencesonthe
Continent,andthesewouldonlysupplementthestillmorecheckeredbiography
ofonewho,atthecloseoftheBoerWar,electedtoshoothiswayhomethrough
theMid-Africanhauntsofbiggameratherthanreturnbyorthodoxtroopship.On
thefaceofthings,itwasabsurdtoimaginethataself-confessedwanderershould
bepermittedtoseehisfirstDerbyinthesacrosanctcompanyofastoutauntand
a well-filled luncheon basket. Even Medenham’s recording angel must have
smiled at the conceit, though doubtless shaking a grave head when the
announcement of the Dowager’s indisposition revealed the first twist from the
pathofgoodintent.AsforLadySt.Maur,shedeclaredlongafterwardsthatthe
whole amazing entanglement could be traced distinctly to her fondness for the
ducalfruitraisedunderglass.Acherry-stonelodgedinthevermiformappendix
of an emperor has more than once played strange pranks with the map of
Europe,soitisnotsurprisingthatastrawberry,subtlybestowedinaplacewell
adaptedtotheexerciseofitsfellskill,shouldbeabletoconvulseasectionofthe
Britishpeerage.
Be that as it may, the hap that put Medenham in control of his Mercury
unquestionablyledtothenextturninevents.Amandrivingahigh-poweredcar
watchestheincidentsoftheroadmorecloselythanthesameindividuallounging
ateaseinthebackseat.Hence,hislordship’sattentionwascaughtinstantlybya
touringcardrawnupclosetothecurbinDownStreet.Thatshortthoroughfare
forms,asitwere,abackwashforthetrafficofPiccadilly.Atthemomentitheld
noothervehiclethanthetwoautomobiles,anditrequirednosecondlookatthe
faceofthedriverofthemotionlesscartodiscoverthatsomethingwasseriously
amiss.Angeranddespairstruggledthereforpredominance.RichardtheThirdof
England must have given just such a glance at his last horse foundered on
BosworthField.
Medenhamneverpassedanothermotoristintroublewithoutstopping.
“Anythingthematter?”heasked,whentheMercurywashaltedwiththeeaseof
atrainedathletepoisedinsuspendedmotion.


“Everything!”
The chauffeur snapped out the word without turning. He was a man devoid of
faith,orhope,orcharity.
“CanIhelp?”
“Canyouh—l!”camethesurlyresponse.
Thereupon,manyviscountswouldhavesweptonintoPiccadillywithoutfurther
parley—notsoMedenham.Hescrutinizedthesoldierlyfigure,thehalf-averted
face.
“Youmustbehardhit,Simmonds,beforeyouwouldanswermeinthatfashion,”
saidhequietly.
Simmondspositivelyjumpedwhenheheardhisname.Hewheeledround,raised
hiscap,andbrokeintostutteringexcuse.
“Ibegyourlordship’spardon—Ihadn’ttheleastnotion——”
ThesetwohadnotmetsincetheydiscussedBoertrenchesandBritishgenerals
during a momentary halt on the Tugela slope of Spion Kop. Medenham
rememberedthefact,andforgaveagooddealonaccountofit.
“Ihaveseenyoulookfarlessworriedunderaplungingfirefromapom-pom,”
hesaidcheerily.“Now,whatisit?Wiresoutoforder?”
“No,mylord.Thatwouldn’tbothermeverylong.It’saregularsmashthistime
—transmissionshaftsnapped.”
“Why?”
“Iwasrunintobyarailwayvan,andforcedagainstastreetrefuge.”
“Well,ifitwasnotyourfault——”
“Oh, I can claim damages right enough. I have plenty of witnesses. Even the
driverofthevancouldonlysaythatoneofhishorsesslipped.It’sthedelayI’m
jibbing at. I hate to disappoint my customers, and this accident may cost me
threehundredpounds,andabusinessofmyownintothebargain.”
“Bygad!Thatsoundsratherstiff.What’sthehurry?”


“Thisismyowncar,mylord.EarlyinthespringIwasluckyenoughtofallin
witharichAmerican.Iwasdrivingforacompanythen,butheofferedmethree
hundred pounds, money down, for a three months’ contract. Straightaway I
boughtthiscarforfivehundred,anditishalfpaidfor.Nowthesamegentleman
writesfromParisthatIamtotakehisdaughterandanotherladyonathousand
miles’runfortendays,andhesaysheispreparedtohiremeandthecarforthe
balanceofanotherperiodofthreemonthsonthesameterms.”
“Buttheladieswillbereasonablewhenyouexplainmatters.”
“Ladiesareneverreasonable,mylord—especiallyyoungones.IhavemetMiss
Vanrenenonlyonce,butshestruckmeasonewhowasverymuchaccustomed
to having her own way. And she has planned this tour to the last minute. Any
other day I might have hired a car, and picked up my own somewhere on the
road,butonDerbyDayandinfineweather——”
Simmonds spread wide his hands in sheer inability to find words that would
expressthehopelessnessofretrievinghisshatteredfortunes.Dalewasfidgeting,
fingering taps and screws unnecessarily, but Medenham was pondering his
formertrooper’splight.Herefusedtoadmitthatthepositionwasquitesobadas
itwaspainted.
“Oh,comenow,”saidhe,“I’llgiveyouatowtothenearestrepairshop,anda
word from me will expedite the business. Meanwhile, you must jump into a
hansomandappealtothesympathiesofMiss—Vanrenen,isit?”
“Nouse,mylord,”wasthestubbornanswer.“Iamverymuchobligedtoyou,
butIwouldnotdreamofdetainingyou.”
“Simmonds,youarepositivelycantankerous.Icansparethetime.”
“Thefirstraceisat1.30,mylord,”mutteredDale,greatlydaring.
Medenhamlaughed.
“You,too?”hecried.“Someonehasgivenyouatip,Isuppose?”
Daleflushedunderthisdirectanalysisofhisfeelings.Hegrinnedsheepishly.
“IamtoldthatEyotcan’tlosethefirstrace,mylord,”hesaid.
“Ah!Andhowmuchdoyoumeantospeculate?”


“Asovereign,mylord.”
“Handitover.Iwilllayyoustartingprice.”
Somewhat taken aback, though nothing said or done by Viscount Medenham
couldreallysurprisehim,Dale’sleathergarmentscreakedandgroanedwhilehe
producedthecoin,whichhismasterdulypocketed.
“Now, Simmonds,” went on the pleasant, lazy voice, “you see how I have
comfortedDalebytakinghismoney;won’tyoutellmewhatistherealobstacle
thatblockstheway?Areyouafraidtofacethisimperiousyounglady?”
“No, my lord. No man can provide against an accident of this sort. But Miss
Vanrenenwillloseallconfidenceinme.Thearrangementwasthatto-day’sspin
shouldbeashortone—toBrighton.IwastotaketheladiestoEpsomintimefor
the Derby, and then we were to run quietly to the Metropole. Miss Vanrenen
made such a point of seeing the race that she will be horribly disappointed.
ThereisanAmericanhorseentered——”
“Bygad,anothergambler!”
Simmondslaughedgrimly.
“Idon’tthinkMissVanrenenknowsmuchaboutracing,mylord,buttheowner
ofGrimalkinisafriendofherfather’s,andheisconfidentaboutwinningthis
year.”
“Iambeginningtounderstand.Youareinafixofsorts,Simmonds.”
“Yes,mylord.”
“Andwhatisyourplan?Isupposeyouhaveone.”
“Ihavesentforaboymessenger,mylord.WhenhearrivesIshallwrite—Oh,
hereheis.”
Viscount Medenham descended leisurely and lit a cigarette. Dale, the stoic,
foldedhisarmsandlookedfixedlyatthepressofvehiclespassingtheendofthe
street.VividmemoriesofLordMedenham’schivalrouscourtesy—hislordship’s
dashedtomfooleryhecalledit—warnedhimthatlifewasabouttoassumenew
interests.
Theboymessenger,summonedtelephonicallybyasympatheticmaid-servantin


a neighboring house, guessed that the gentleman standing on the pavement
ownedthe“motor-car”towhichhehadbeendirected.Hereweretwocars,but
theboydidnothesitate.Hesaluted.
“Messenger,sir,”hesaid.
“Thisway,”intervenedSimmondscurtly.
“No.Iwantyou,”saidMedenham.“YouknowSevastopolo’s,thecigaretteshop
inBondStreet?”
“Yes,sir.”
“Takethiscardthere,andaskhimtodispatchtheorderatonce.”Meanwhilehe
waswriting:“Kindlysend1,000Salonikasto91CavendishSquare.”
Simmondslookedanxious.Hewasnotasmooth-spokenfellow,buthedidnot
wishtooffendLordMedenham.
“WouldyourlordshipmindifIsenttheboytotheSavoyHotelfirst?”heasked
nervously.“Itisratherlate,andMissVanrenenwillbeexpectingme.”
“WhattimeareyoudueattheSavoy?”
“Weweretostartattwelveo’clock,buttheladies’luggagehadtobestrapped
on,and——”
“Ah,thedeuce!Thatsoundsformidable.”
“Of course they must stow everything into the canvas trunks I supplied, my
lord.”
Medenhamstoopedandexaminedthescrewswhichfastenedanirongridatthe
backofthebroken-downvehicle.
“Whipopenthetoolbox,Dale,andtransferthatarrangementtomycar,”hesaid
briskly. “Make it fit somehow. I don’t approve of damaged paintwork, nor of
weightbehindthedriving-wheelsforthatmatter,buttimepresses,andtheladies
mightshyatarequesttorepacktheirbelongingsintomykit-bags,evenifIwere
carrying them. Now, Simmonds, give me the route, if you know it, and hand
overyourroadmaps.Imeantotakeyourplaceuntilyourcarisputright.Wire
me where to expect you. You ought to be ship-shape in three days, at the
utmost.”


“Mylord——”begantheoverwhelmedSimmonds.
“I’llseeyouhangedashighasHamanbeforeIhandovermyMercurytoyou,if
that is what you are thinking of,” said Medenham sharply. “Why, man, she is
builtlikeawatch.Itwouldtakeyouamonthtounderstandher.Now,youboy,
beofftoSevastopolo’s.WherecanIbuyachauffeur’skit,Simmonds?”
“Your lordship is really too kind. I couldn’t think of permitting it,” muttered
Simmonds.
“What,then—doyourefusemyassistance?”
“Itisn’tthat,mylord.Iamawfullygrateful——”
“AreyouafraidthatIshallrunoffwithMissVanrenen—holdhertoransom—
sendBlackHandletterstoherfather,andthatsortofthing?”
“FromwhatlittleIhaveseenofMissVanrenensheismuchmorelikelytorun
offwithyou,mylord.But——”
“You’regrowingincoherent,Simmonds.Forgoodness’saketellmewhereIam
togo.Youcansafelyleavealltheresttome,andwehaven’taminutetoloseifI
amtosecureanysortofadecentmotoringkitbeforeIturnupatthehotel.Pull
yourselftogether,man.Actionfrontandfire!Gunsunlimberedandfirstrangefinderdispatchedinnineteenseconds—eh,what?”
Simmonds squared his shoulders. He had been a driver in the Royal Artillery
beforehejoinedViscountMedenham’stroopofImperialYeomanry.Therewas
nofurtherargument.Dale,OrientalinphlegmnowthatEyotwassafelybacked,
wasalreadyunscrewingtheluggagecarrier.
Halfanhourlater,theMercurycurledwithsinuousgraceoutofthebusyStrand
intothecourtyardoftheSavoyHotel.Theinclosuresnortedwithmotors,theair
was petrolisé, all the world of the hotel was going, or had already gone, to
Epsom.
OnequickglanceatthelinesoftrafficshowedMedenhamthattheSwissRearAdmiralondutywouldnotallowhimtoremainanunnecessaryinstantinfront
of the actual doorway. He swung his car to the exit side, crept in behind a
departingtaxicab,andgrabbedahurryingboyinbuttons.
“Youlistentome,boy,”hesaid.


Theboyremarkedthathishearingwasperfect.
“Well,gotoMissVanrenenandsaythathermotoriswaiting.Seizeaporter,and
donotleavehimuntilhehasbroughttwocanvastrunksfromthelady’srooms.
Helphimtostrapthemonthegrid,andI’llgiveeachofyouhalf-a-crown.”
Theboyvanished.Neverbeforehadachauffeuraddressedhimsoconvincingly.
Medenham,standingbythesideofthecar,wasdeepinthecontoursofaroad
mapofSussexwhenasweetifsomewhatpetulantvoice,apparentlyathiselbow,
complained that its owner could not see Simmonds anywhere. He turned
instantly.Aslim,straight-figuredgirl,wearingadust-cloakandmotorveil,had
comeoutfromtheSavoyCourtdoorwayandwasscrutinizingeveryautomobile
in sight. Near her was a short, stout woman whose personality seemed to be
strangely familiar to Medenham. He never forgot anyone, and this lady was
certainlynotoneofhisacquaintances;nevertheless,herfeatures,herrobin-like
strut,herveryamplitudeofgirthandsingularrotundityofform,camedefinitely
withinthenetofhisretentivememory.
Tobesure,hegaveherbutbriefsurvey,sincehercompanion,inalllikelihood
Miss Vanrenen, might quite reasonably attract his attention. Indeed, she would
findfavorintheeyesofanyyoungman,letaloneonewhohadsuchcauseas
ViscountMedenhamtobeinterestedinherappearance.Inheramazinglylovely
facethehaughtybeautyofanaristocratwassoftenedbyatouchofthatpiquant
femininitywhichthewell-bredAmericangirlseemstobringfromPariswithher
clothes. A mass of dark brown hair framed a forehead, nose, and mouth of
almost Grecian regularity, while her firmly modeled chin, slightly more
pronounced in type, would hint at unusual strength of character were not the
impression instantly dispelled by the changing lights in a pair of marvelously
blueeyes.InthecourseofasinglesecondMedenhamfoundhimselfcomparing
themtobluediamonds,totheazuredepthsofasunlitsea,totheexquisitetintof
themyosotis.Thenheswallowedhissurprise,andliftedhiscap.
“MayIaskifyouareMissVanrenen?”hesaid.
Theblueeyesmethis.Forthefirsttimeinhislifehewasthrilledtothecoreby
awoman’sglance.
“Yes.”
Sheansweredwithasmile,anapprovingsmile,perhaps,fortheviscountlooked


verysmartinhistight-fittinguniform,butnonethelesswondering.
“Then I am here instead of Simmonds. His car was put out of commission an
houragobyabrutalrailwayvan,andwillnotbereadyfortheroadduringthe
nextdayortwo.MayIoffermyservicesinthemeantime?”
The girl’s astonished gaze traveled from Medenham to the spick and span
automobile.Forthemomenthehadforgottenhisrôle,andeachwordheuttered
deepened her bewilderment, which grew stronger when she looked at the
Mercury.Thesleekcoachworkandspotlessleatherupholstery,theshiningbrass
fittingsandglisteningwings,everyvisibledetailinfact,gavegoodpromiseof
theexcellenceoftheenginestowedawaybeneaththesquarebonnet.Evidently
MissVanrenenhadcultivatedthehabitofgatheringinformationrapidly.
“Thiscar?”sheexclaimed,withadelightfulliftingofarchedeyebrows.
“Yes,youwillnotbedisappointedinit,Iassureyou.IamdoingSimmondsa
friendlyturnintakinghisplace,soIhopetheslightaccidentwillnotmakeany
differencetoyourplans.”
“But—whyhasnotSimmondshimselfcometoexplainmatters?”
“He could not leave his car, which is in a side street off Piccadilly. He would
havesentanote,butherememberedthatyouhadneverseenhishandwriting,so,
asaproofofmygenuineness,hegavemeyouritinerary.”
Medenhamproducedaclosely-writtensheetofnote-paper,whichMissVanrenen
presumably recognized. She turned to her stout companion, who had been
summingupcarandchauffeurwithcarefuleyessinceMedenhamfirstspoke.
“Whatdoyouthink,Mrs.Devar?”shesaid.
When he heard the name, Medenham was so amazed that the last vestige of
chauffeurismvanishedfromhismanner.
“Youdon’tmeantosayyouareJimmyDevar’smother?”hegasped.
Mrs.Devarpositivelyjumped.Ifalookcouldhaveslainhewouldhavefallen
thenandthere.Asitwas,shetriedtofreezehimtodeath.
“DoIunderstandthatyouarespeakingofCaptainDevar,ofHorton’sHorse?”
shesaid,aloofasaniceberg.


“Yes,”saidhecoolly,thoughregrettingthelapse.Hehadstupidlybroughtabout
anawkwardincident,andmustrememberinfuturenottoaddresseitherladyas
anequal.
“I was not aware that my son was on familiar terms with the chauffeur
fraternity.”
“Sorry,butthenameslippedoutunawares.CaptainDevaris,orusedtobe,very
easy-goinginhisways,youknow.”
“So it would seem.” She turned her back on him disdainfully. “In the
circumstances, Cynthia,” she said, “I am inclined to believe that we ought to
makefurtherinquiriesbeforeweexchangecars,anddrivers,inthisfashion.”
“Butwhatistobedone?Allourarrangementsaremade—ourroomsordered—I
haveevensentfathereachday’saddress.Ifwecanceleverythingbytelegraphhe
willbealarmed.”
“Oh,Ididnotmeanthat,”protestedtheladyhurriedly.Itwasevidentthatshe
hardly knew what to say. Medenham’s wholly unexpected query had unnerved
her.
“Isthereanyalternative?”demandedCynthiaruefully,glancingfromonetothe
other.
“Itisratherlatetohireanothercarto-day,Iadmit——”beganMrs.Devar.
“Itwouldbequiteimpossible,madam,”putinMedenham.“ThisisDerbyDay,
andthereisnotamotortobeobtainedinLondonexceptataxicab.Itwassheer
goodluckforSimmondsthathewasabletosecuremeashisdeputy.”
He thanked his stars for that word “madam.” Certainly the mere sound of it
seemedtosootheMrs.Devar’sjarrednerves,andtheappearanceoftheMercury
wasevenmorereassuring.
“Ah, well,” she said, “we are not traveling into the wilds. If desirable, we can
alwaysreturntotownbytrain.Bytheway,chauffeur,whatisyourname?”
ForaninstantMedenhamhesitated.Thenhetooktheplunge,stronginthebelief
that a half-forgotten transaction between himself and “Jimmy” Devar would
preventthatimpecuniouswarriorfromdiscussinghimfreelyinthefamilycircle.
“GeorgeAugustusFitzroy,”hesaid.


Mrs. Devar’s brows knitted; she was regaining her self-possession, and a
sarcastic smile now chased away a perplexing thought. She was about to say
somethingwhenCynthiaVanrenenbrokeinexcitedly:
“Ideclaretogoodnessifthehotelpeoplehavenotfastenedonourboxesalready.
Theyseemtoknowourmindsbetterthanwedoourselves.Andhereistheman
withthewraps....Pleasebecarefulwiththatcamera....Yes,putitthere,withthe
glasses. What are you doing, Fitzroy?” for Medenham was discharging his
obligationstotheboyinbuttonsandaporter.
“Payingmydebts,”saidhe,smilingather.
“OfcourseyourealizethatIpayallexpenses?”shesaid,withjusttherequisite
noteofhauteurinhervoicethatthesituationcalledfor.
“Thisisentirelyapersonalmatter,Iassureyou,MissVanrenen.”
Medenham could not help smiling; he stooped and felt a tire unnecessarily.
Cynthia was puzzled. She wrote that evening to Irma Norris, her cousin in
Philadelphia—“Fitzroyisanewlineinchauffeurs.”
“Bytheway,whereisyourtrunk?”shedemandedsuddenly.
“Icameawayunexpectedly,soIhavearrangedthatitshallbesenttoBrighton
byrail,”heexplained.
Apparently,therewasnothingmoretobesaid.Thetwoladiesseatedthemselves,
and the car sped out into the Strand. They watched the driver’s adroit yet
scrupulously careful dealing with the traffic, and Cynthia, at least, quickly
graspedtheessentialfactthatthesixcylindersworkedwithasilentpowerthat
heldcheapeveryothervehiclepassedorovertakenontheroad.
“Itisalovelyautomobile,”shemurmuredwithalittlesighofsatisfaction.
“Quiteanup-to-datecar,Ifancy,”agreedherfriend.
“I don’t understand how this man, Fitzroy, can afford to use it for hiring
purposes.Yet,thatishisaffair—notmine.Iratherlikehim.Don’tyou?”
“Hismannersaresomewhatoff-hand,butsuchpersonsaregiventoapingtheir
superiors. George Augustus Fitzroy, too—it is ridiculous. Fitzroy is the family
name of the Earls of Fairholme, and their eldest sons have been christened
GeorgeAugustuseversincethebeginningoftheeighteenthcentury.”


“The name seems to fit our chauffeur all right, and I guess he has as good a
claimtoitasanyotherman.”
CynthiawasapttoflaunttheStarsandStripeswhenMrs.Devarairedherclass
conventions, and the older woman had the tact to agree with a careless nod.
Nevertheless, had Cynthia Vanrenen known how strictly accurate was her
commentshewouldhavebeenthemostastoundedgirlinLondonatthatminute.
The Viscountcy, of course, was nothing more than a courtesy title; in the cold
eyeofthelaw,Medenham’sfulllegalnamewasthatwhichMrs.Devardeemed
ridiculous. As events shaped themselves, it was of the utmost importance to
Cynthia,andtoMedenham,andtoseveralotherpersonswhohadnotyetrisen
abovetheircommonhorizon,thatMrs.Devar’ssneershouldpassunchallenged.
Though that lady herself was not fashioned of the softer human clay which
expressesitsstrenuousemotionsbyfaintingfitsorhysteria,somesuchfeminine
expedientwouldcertainlyhavepreventedherfromgoinganotherhundredyards
alongthesouthroadhadsomewizardtoldherhownearlyshehadguessedthe
truth.
ButtheluckofthebornadventurersavedMedenhamfromprematureexposure.
“I dare all” was the motto of his house, and it was fated to be tested in full
measureerehesawLondonagain.OftheseconsiderationsthepurringMercury
neitherknewnorcared.Shesangthesongofthefreehighway,andspedthrough
the leafy lanes of Surrey with a fine disregard for Acts of Parliament and the
“rules and regulations therein made and provided.” Soon after one o’clock,
however,shewascompelledtoclimbtheroadtothedownsinmeekagreement
with two lines of toiling chars-à-bancs and laboring motors. Just to show her
mettlewhentheopportunityoffered,shetookthesteephilloppositethestands
withagreyhoundrushthatvastlydisconcertedapolicemanwhotoldMedenham
to“hurryupoutofthedip.”
Then,havingfoundaclearspace,shedozedforawhile,andCynthia,likeatruebornAmerican,begantheday’sbusinessbygivingtheanswerbeforeeitherof
hercompanionseventhoughtofputtingtheGreatQuestion.
“Grimalkin will win!” she cried. “Mr. Deane told my father so. I want to play
Grimalkinfortendollars!”


CHAPTERII
THEFIRSTDAY’SRUN
Though Medenham was no turf devotee, he formed distinctly unfavorable
conclusionsastothefinancialstabilityofthebawlingbookmakersnearathand.
“Ifyouwishtodoanybetting,MissVanrenen,”hesaid,“givemethemoneyand
I will invest it for you. There is no hurry. The Derby will not be run till three
o’clock.Wehaveanhourandahalfinwhichtostudyform.”
For the life of him he could not imitate the complete annihilation of self
practiced by the well-bred English servant. The American girl missed the
absenceofthistraitfarlessthantheotherwoman,but,bythistime,evenMrs.
Devar began to accept Medenham’s good-humored assumption of equality as
partoftheday’samusement.
Cynthiahandedhimacard.Shehadboughtthreewhiletheywerecrawlingup
thehillbehindabreak-loadofjeeringCockneys.
“Whatwillwinthefirstrace?”sheasked.“Fathersaysyoumenoftenhearmore
thantheownersabouttherealperformancesofhorses.”
Medenhamtriedtolookknowing.HethankedhisstarsforDale’sinformation.
“IamtoldEyothasachance,”hesaid.
“Well, put me a sovereign on Eyot, please. Are you playing the ponies, Mrs.
Devar?”
Thatlady,beingquick-witted,tookcarenottooffendCynthiabypretendingnot
tounderstand,thoughitsetMedenham’steethonedgetoheararacehorsecalled
apony.Sheopenedagoldpurseandproducedacoin.
“Idon’tmindriskingalittle,”shetittered.
Medenhamfound, however,thatshealsohadhandedhimasovereign,and his
consciencesmotehim,forheguessedalready,withaccuracyasithappened,that
shewasMissVanrenen’spaidchaperonduringtheabsenceofthegirl’sfatheron


theContinent.
“Personally,Iamadufferinmattersconnectedwiththeturf,”heexplained.“A
friendofmine—achauffeur—mentionedEyot——”
“Oh,thatisallright,”laughedCynthia.“Ilikethecolor—EaudeNilandwhite.
Look!Therehegoes!”
Shehadgoodeyes,aswellasprettyones,elseshecouldnothavedistinguished
thesilkjacketwornbytheriderofahorsecanteringatthatmomentalongthe
clearedcourse.Crowdedcoaches,fourrowsdeep,linedtherailsnearthejudge’s
box, and the gay-hued parasols of their feminine occupants almost completely
blockedtheview,adistantoneinanycase,owingtothewidthoftheintervening
valley.
Medenham raised no further protest. He walked to a stand where a press of
peoplebetokenedthepresenceofapopularlayerofodds,foundthatEyot’sprice
waschalkedupatfivetoone,andbackedhimforfourpounds.Hehadtopush
and elbow his way through a struggling crowd; immediately after the bet was
made, Eyot’s quotation was reduced by two points in response to signals ticktacked from the inclosures. This, of course, argued a decided following for
Dale’s selection, and these eleventh hour movements in the turf market are
illuminative.Beforehegotbacktothecartherewasamightyshoutof“They’re
off!”andhesawCynthiaVanrenenstandontheseattowatchtheracethrough
herglasses.
Mrs.Devarstoodup,too.Bothwomenweresointentonthetroopofhorsesnow
streamingoverthecrestofthesix-furlongcoursethathewasabletostarehisfill
withoutattractingtheirattention.
“IlikeCynthia,”hesaidtohimself,“thoughIshallbeinadeuceofamessifI
meetheranywhereafterthispieceofmasquerading.Notmuchchanceofthat,I
expect, seeing that Dad and I go to Scotland early in July. But what a bore to
tumble across Jimmy’s mater! I hope it is not a case of ‘like mother like son,’
becauseJimmyisthelimit.”
A strange roar, gathering force and volume each instant, rose from a hundred
thousandthroats.Soontheshoutbecameinsistent,andCynthiaVanrenenyielded
toitsmagnetism.
“Eyotwins!”shecrieddelightedly.“Yes,noneofthemcancatchhimnow.Go


on, jockey—don’t look round! Oh, if I were your master I’d give you such a
talkingto.Ah-h-h!We’vewon,Mrs.Devar—we’vewon!Justthinkofit!”
“Howmuch,Iwonder?”Mrs.Devar,thoughexcited,hadthecalculatinghabit.
“Fivepoundseach,”saidMedenham,whohadapproachedunnoticedduringthe
tumult.
Cynthia’seyessparkled.
“Fivepounds!Why,Iheardsomebettingpersonoverthereofferingonlythreeto
one.”
Itwasataskbeyondhispowerstocurbanunrulytongueinthepresenceofthis
emancipatedschoolgirl.Hemetherebullientmoodhalfway.
“I have evidently beaten the market—that is, if I get the money. Horrible
thought!Imaybewelshed!”
Hestrodebackrapidlytothebookmaker’sstand.
“What do you think of our chauffeur now?” cried Cynthia radiantly, for the
winning of those few sovereigns was a real joy to her, and the shadow of the
welsherhadnoterrors,sinceshedidnotknowwhatMedenhammeant.
“Heimprovesonacquaintance,”admittedMrs.Devar,thawingalittleunderthe
influenceofasuccessfultip.
Hesoonreturned,andhandedthemsixsovereignsapiece.
“My man paid up like a Briton,” he said cheerfully. “I have no reliable
information as to the next race, so what do you ladies say if we lunch quietly
beforeweattacktheringfortheDerby?”
Therewasanawkwardpause.TheairofEpsomDownsisstimulating,especially
afteronehasfoundthewinnerofthefirstrace.
“Wehavenotbroughtanythingtoeat,”admittedCynthiaruefully.“Weordered
somesandwichesbeforeleavingthehotel,andwemeantostopforteaatsome
old-worldhotelinReigatewhichMrs.Devarrecommends.”
“UnfortunatelyIwasnothungryatsandwichtime,”sighedMrs.Devar.
“If it comes to that, neither was I, whereas I have a most unromantic appetite


now.Butwhatcando,astheBabussayinIndia.Iamratherinclinedtodoubt
thequalityofanythingwecanbuyhere.”
Medenham’sfacelitup.
“India!”hecried.“HaveyoubeentoIndia?”
“Yes,haveyou?MyfatherandIpassedlastcoldweatherthere.”
WarnedbyasuddenexpansionofMrs.Devar’sprominenteyes,hegaveaquick
turntoadangeroustopic,sinceitwasinCalcuttathatthegallantex-captainof
Horton’s Horse had “borrowed” fifty pounds from him. Naturally, the lady
omittedthetelltaleprefixtoherson’srank,butitwasunquestionablytruethat
theBritisharmyhaddispensedwithhisservices.
“I was only thinking that acquaintance with the East, Miss Vanrenen, would
prepare you for the mysterious workings of Kismet,” said Medenham lightly.
“WhenIcameacrossSimmondsthismorningIwasbewailingthefactthatmy
respected aunt had fallen ill and could not accompany me to-day. May I offer
youtheluncheonwhichIprovidedforher?”
Hewithdrewthewickerbasketfromitsnookbeneaththefrontseat;beforehis
astonished guests could utter a protest, it was opened, and he was deftly
unpackingthecontents.
“But that is your luncheon,” protested Cynthia, finding it incumbent on her to
saysomethingbywayofpoliterefusal.
“Andhisaunt’s,mydear.”
In those few words Mrs. Devar conveyed skepticism as to the aunt and ready
acceptanceoftheprofferedfare;butMedenhampaidnoheed;hehaddiscovered
thatthenapkins,cutlery,eventheplates,borethefamilycrest.Thesilver,too,
wasofaqualitythatcouldnotfailtoevokecomment.
“Well,heregoes!”hegrowledunderhisbreath.“IfIcomeapurleritwillnotbe
forthefirsttimewherewomenareconcerned.”
Helaughedasheproducedsomelobsterinaspicandachicken.
“Itisjollyusefultohaveasafriendabutlerinabighouse,”hesaid.“Ididn’t
knowwhatTomkinsonhadgivenme,buttheseconfectionslookallright.”


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