THE WIVES OF DAVID,

Auckland Star, Volume LVII, Issue 37, 13 February 1926, Page 30

THE WIVES OF DAVID,

BY E. C. BTJXEY.

(Author of "The Mad Tremaynes," "Half Her Kingdom," "The Girl From Down Under," Etc., Etc.) CHAPTER XV. On the way back from the paddock to the stand, David Gaythorne had plenty to occupy his attention. He had already repented of the irritation which had caused him to speak so sharply and unjustly to Lois. He had already recalled the fact that the woman by his side had only followed his advice, in adopting the manner which had so disturbed him. She was again the Rath whose whims and freaks had made him heart sick, and had finally driven him out of the country. But he had expected that of her, and knew he should have made no comment upon it. And now, the triumph with Crying Shame has turned his thoughts in an other direction. He had been just as startled as Dargin himself, to see the high-mettled colt so tractable. It was little less than a miracle; and nobody knew it better than David Gaythorne. But was it more Of a miracle than the conquest of his sister Audrey; more of a miracle than the recent touching acta of wifely dutifulness, from a wife who still refused to wear a wedding ring? Within a few minutes, he had seen that there were two Ruths, as wide asunder in character and disposition as the poles. One must be real and the other a mere pose. But which was the real Ruth? As though in answer to this question, Lois said, as they reached the entrance to the stand:— "Here we are at Rome again, Davy." "Now, watch mc." She took the initiative now, ostentatiously courting attention and deliberately separating herself from David. He stood aside, watching her with eyes which lost no gesture, and ears which caught her every word. Lois was letting herself so recklessly, relying upon the fact that any blunder she might make would surely be set down to the excitement of the moment. She took liberties which might well be described as audacious, and as she moved from place to place a chorus of laughter seemed to accompany her. She had not so much as a glance for David, until somebody said the horses were coming out for parade. "Where's Davy?" he heard her say. "I left him lying about somewhere. He's got to take mc to the box now." Yes, it was quite like old times, David reflected. He was a sort of upper servant, a prince consort at the beck and call of the reigning monarch. A convenience; the husband of Mrs. Gaythorne, the smart young woman who owned Crying Shame. On that very morning one newspaper had published a big picture of Mrs. Gaythorne, and, set in one corner of it, a face no bigger than a postage stamp. "Inset," David had read, "is Mr. Gaythorne, the lucky husband of this fortunate young lady." That was about how big David felt as, with a gay wave of her hand to the people she had just left, Lois came carelessly to him. "Now for the race," she said gaily. "Do you think we are going to win, Davy ?" He manfully resisted the impulse to ask:— "What does it matter what I think ?" It was the answer he would have made once; and Ruth would have laughed in his face and replied:—. "Oh, you know quite a lot about racing Davy; everybody admits it." Ruth could always put him in the wrong by being good-tempered and graciously patronising. "Going to win?" he repeated, as they reached thee box. "Yes, after hearing what Dargin said I'm inclined to think you are." "I want Crying Shame to win so much," Lois said, as they took their seats. "Until just now, it didn't seem to matter so much to mc personally, but now . . . . " "Didn't matter?" David repeated sharply. "Whk, Ruth winning the Derby has been the one thing you said mattered in your young life.'/ "Since the accident, I mean," Lois replied readily. She realised that she had been taken off her guard again, but it didn't seem to matter. Only an hour or two now. And then what would David say; what would he do? But David Gaythorne, with Dargin's amazement still fresh in his mind, was completely dashed by' this fresh contradiction. 'Lois could see he was pondering over her slip, and seized upon the appearance of the file of horses to divert his attention. "Tell mc which is which, please, Davy," she requested. "And tell mc all about them', and which is most likely to beat Crying Shame ?" "You should know as much about them as I do," David replied suspiciously. "That didn't sound very nice, Davy," Audrey interposed. "And I would like to know something about the horses too." "Oh, certainly," David said. "Then that's the King's colt in front; the Royal colours always lead the parade. He is Blackadder, a useful sort, but not up to Derby form, I'm afraid." "Next to him, in orange with a black cap, is the second favourite, Alf Pinto, supposed to be the chief danger to Crying Shame. He beat him once, last season; but was twice beaten by your colt, Ruth. He won the Two Thousand Guineas because Crying Shame was not able to run. He just scrambled home, and the second and third have since been beaten. Grenadier beat them; he's third favourite in consequence. That is he in the cream with light pink sleeves and a black cap. And behind him you see Crying Shame himself; in the green and lilac, Audrey. He looks the best colt in the field, and he has the best performances. And there you are " "Thank you, Davy," Lois said, with suspicious meekness, for David had imparted the information in a dry tone, and with the- reluctant' manner of a schoolboy being pressed by an insistent master. But now the stately parade was over, and the animals which had participated, one by one swung about and ■ broke into swift action. There were cheers for Alf Pinto as he thundered past, but louder cheers for Crying Shame when he galloped past the stand'on his way to, the starting post. ••!-.• For thg first time that day Lois was. able to give her undivided attention to the scene before, her, and to the,sport which had assembled a quarter of a million of people on the green downs. There was no longer any need to be on the alert for the appearance of some stranger, whom she must greet as an intimate, and whose name must be picked up and used at the right moment.

At last Lois was free, and suddenly the spell of the hour and the place and the surroundings caught her in its grip.. The air was charged with expectation; and she, always sensitive to atmosphere, felt it all with a keenness all the more poignant because it had seized her so belatedly. She might well be the central figure of all this turmoil and excitement. Somebody had said to her that millions of pounds would change hands on the result. Somebody else had referred to a man, an invalid and struggling with poverty,, who had been so lucky as to draw the favourite in the biggest of all sweepstakes. Crying Shame had but to win, and this pathetic figure would leap into possession- of £80,000. The road from the ring, where betting was still proceeding feverishly; the streamers which flaunted in the air, the aeroplane writing in smoke letters on the blue vault of the sky, the tense swarms of people clustered on the slope opposite; they were all the background against which she was presently to appear. Lois felt as though she were sustaining a great role, the most important in her life. There was no director to prompt her, none of the accessories which made acting easier. But it was. thrilling, beyond anything she had ever experienced. And she also had a sensation of Tightness, of seeing her actions justified. But' for her delay in confessing the' truth, that bedridden invalid would have been robbed of his chance of a fortune. The crowd, which cheered Crying Shame on his way to the post, would have been sullen and disappointed. For Crying Shame would not have been started, if she had told David Gaythorne that Ruth,* his wife, had been killed in attempting a screen stunt at Hollywood. Of course, it would not have been seamly or decent to start the horse under such circumstances. Lois, indulged in a little smile, as she considered how grateful everybody ought to be to her for not spoiling the show. And they had been happy days at Gaythornes; the happiest of all her life. If the worst should happen, the memory of them could never be taken away from her. She could always think of them, and of David, wherever fate might call her. Her meditations were interrupted by David, who placed her race glasses in her hand. "They're at the post," he said. "And the flag will soon go up. You noticed, I suppose, that Crying Shame was drawn number eight." "I saw the number on his saddle," Lois replied. • ' ■ - "That's just a coincidence," David said patiently. "His place at the gate is also the eighth, from the rails. But, of course, you know that as well as I dc." He was looking at her very strangely, and Lois saw that she had slipped again. She tried to imagine a lifetime of such imposture; and felt genuine relief that the end was so close. Disregarding his puzzled and searching glance, she focussed her glasses, and concentrated upon the scene at the post. The crowd surged about the spot in, thousands, kept back by the rails, and a cordon of police, from too close proximity to the horses. But the men and women were quite close enough' seriously to disturb the mettlesome i youngsters. Crying Shame was among the most demonstrative, and proclaimed his objection to being mobbed by many a strange antic. Lois wanted to ask many questions, but was warned of the discretion of silence by the two recent blunders she had made. The delay seemed interminable, and her eyes got tired of concentrating upon the medley of bright satin jackets which kept changing kaleidoscopically, as the jockeys finessed for a good start. "This is doing the colt no good at all,"' David said. Almost as he spoke, the field made a general movement, and Lois saw them all dashing at full speed over the green turf, and up the slope. "They're off," shouted the people in the stands, who could see. Those on the flat, who could not see at all, took up the shout, and passed it on. It passed over the course in waves of sound. Up at Tattenham Corner, they were echoing it a full fifteen seconds after the field was sent on its journey. "Yes, they're off," David said, grimly. "And Crying Shame was as good as left at the post. He had all the worst of that start, Ruth." Her attention being called to the fact, Lois could see that David had spoken the bare truth. The green jacket and lilac sleeves was among the last six or seven horses, far behind the grey colt with a brilliant scarlet jacket, which led the field in a wild scamper uphill. CHAPTER XVI. '"He was actually last from the gate," David said, "and Curran had to balance him, as well. He is getting on his feet properly now; but he is left with a lot to do."^, Wide on the outside of the field, Lois could see the green and lilac moving rapidly forward. When she looked only at Crying Shame it seemed an easy thing for him to win still, for he was running through the laggards, passing them one after another. But when she turned her eyes to the leaders there was a different inference to be drawn. The grey colt—Headlong, David said he was called—was making the pace so fast that the held was already drawn out; and close behind him were Alf Pinto and Grenadier, the two from whom Crying Shame had ' most to . fear. On these three, and on one. or two close behind them, the favourite did not seem to be gaining at all. "He gets no nearer," Lois said in dismay. "Do you think he will be beaten Davy ?" ' "Plenty of time to win,' if he's good enough," David said stoutly. "He has been hampered by all those worthless sluggards, while the leaders have had a clear run. Now he's free from the ruck and there's a better chance. Another thing, Ruth! Do you notice how far from the rails Curran has taken him for a clear run? That means lie is covering more ground than those three in front which are grouped quite close to the rails." Lois could understand that, and could see everything for herself now. . She relapsed into a breathless silence, her whole attention concentrated unpn the jacket of green, with sleeves of lilac. Now he ran up to a pack of horses the middle division—and seemed to' be passing them on the outside. Lois could see the green jacket pressing forward, and hung upon the scene in rant attention.. Suddenly the field disappeared from; her sight, the race being blotted' but by ; a long line °f vehicles drawn up'ion the-: highest ridge of the ground enclosed by') the course. i '"''".':.■ "\ "it "Oh, she exclaimed in blank-dismay; : Silence fell on the course. While the field was in sight a ceaseless clamour was in progress; but now everybody was" waiting in expectation of the -first sight of them, when they reappeared on the slope down to Tattenham;Corner; "Alf Pinto leads,", somebody shouted.

Lois saw the vivid orange, just in front of the equally, bright scarlet. The grey still held the rails, but the second favourite was racing to be first round the crucial corner. Close behind them was the cream and pink of Grenadier; and Lois saw that Crying Shame had crept much closer. ~* "He's sixth," David said, with a note ol'hope in his voice now. "If the struggle/to get,through hasn't taken too mjich out of .'-him, he ought to do it. But Grenadier is going very well." ■ The crowd, it seemed, had already settled .that Alf Pinto was winning, for that name was shouted in a growing chorus. It was fascinating to see him draw to the front, and to watch the struggle of the grey to keep his place. Then Grenadier dashed past the grey in his turn, and the shouting for Alf Pinto was changed to a cry for Grenadier. .."Curran's waiting;, and quite, right," David's calm voice proclaimed. "He's dropped in behind them, to save ground. He's saving his run until they're headed for home." The steady roaring swelled, as the two leaders rounded the bend together, Alf Pinto on the rails. The second favourite gained at the turn; but as soon as they were straightened for home, Grenadier ranged alongside him. Then pandemonium broke loose, and all the previous shouting was as nothing to the din the multitude made. Lois gave up hope, for in all the medley of shouting she heard only two names mentioned. It was either Alf Pinto or Grenadier; and her eyes endorsed what her ears told her. Those two in front, side by side; their jockeys were working like mad automatons, and neither colt would yield an inch. Lois could not have told which was in front, but was looking on at the struggle fascinated, in spite of a keen disappointment ; when David cried in tones which thrilled her: "Here he comes, Ruth!" Once .more the green and lilac flashed into the picture; from nowhere at all, it seemed to Lois. Where two horses had been running, nose by nose, there were now three; and the third was Crying Shame., The crowd was not slow to proclaim the fact. The other two seemed forgotten, and all voices blended in one mighty shout. "Crying Shame! The favourite; the favourite wins. Crying Shame." They were still in line, it seemed to Lois; for the space of several seconds it seemed to her that all three were quite level. "He's done it," David said sharply. They were very close now, and Lois could see that Crying Shame was just a little in front of the others. They were running uphill again, and he seemed to gain a little with every stride. Whips were at work, a vast shouting rose to the heavens. Lois felt David's hand on her shoulder. "Go quickly," he said, "and while you've got the chance. You are to lead the winner in." "Show mc," Lois commanded. 'Tm frightened, I think." "Not you," David said shortly; but he hurried her to the stand entrance for owners, and through the weighing en- ! closure, to the gate which admitted to the course. "Go on," he said, as she hesitated; and Lois walked forward, amid a perfect tornado of cheers. Everybody was smiling, and genial policemen guided her in the right direction with white-gloved hands, even while they held back the throng which had now surged over the- course. Down a lane kept open by the police Lois walked, to meet Crying Shame, with Dargin at his side, holding the end of a leading rein. Press photographers seemed everywhere, and Lois even caught a glimpse of the familiar cinema camera, with a man turning the handle vigorously. "Catch hold, Mrs. Gaythorne," Dargin said, grinning excitedly as he put the rein in her hand. "Congratulations to the first lady to lead in the Derby winner at Epsom." "And : to you, Mr. Dargin," Lois replied; "and to you, Mr. Curran. I think you rode splendidly." "He won, anyhow," Dargin said, still grinning. Curran lifted his hand in salute, as acknowledgment of the. compliment from Lois, but his face was solemn' and rather bored looking. He knew what tradition required of him; and, besides, he had been left at the post, and had made a near thing of it. So Lois Churchill led back the winner to scale, an artless impostor, if ever there was one. The jockey went to scale, and presently Lois heard the word ■ "All right." 1 At once she was surrounded by men, all uttering words of congratulation. First came the owners of the second and third horses, and afterwards other horse owners whose names were well known to Lois. David stood aloof, but it was comforting to feel that he was at hand. And Lois was feeling tired and faint from reaction now. It was hard work to keep a guard on her tongue; but it had to be done. Finally she found herself in conversation with Lord Mellowfield, a steward of the meeting, and so important a person that others fell back from their conversation. "Yes. he is a very nice colt, Mrs. Gaythorne," Lois heard. "I congratulate you upon your deserved good fortune. Not, so long ago, I am told, you had a narrow escape from death itself. You seem to have made a complete recovery." "Yes," Lois asrreed. "But it really was a bad accident, Lord Mellowfield. And if it had ended as it m'.erht, I supnose David would not have allowed Crying Shame to run at all to-day." "Well, or course, the colt would not have been eligible to run if things had ' turned out as badly as all that. Let us be the more thankful they did not." ,"Not eligible?" Lois repeated. "Why?" "You" were his nominator, as well as his owner," Mellowfield said. "Were you not? And, of course, you know the rule which makes a nomination void on the death of the nominator." "I—l 'am- afraid I had forgotten," Lois .said. -"Then. Crying Shame could not have started if I had died from the effect of that accident?" Lord Mellowfield suddenly began to laucrh, but in rather an injured^way: "Very gO'od." he said.'"l was fairly caught that time. I had forgotten your -reputation- for '. Mrs. Gay? thorne." Lois made an impatient pesture. She had; cauph±:a plimpse of. new and terrible possibilities, and she had no inclination to., accept the- part hi a silly practical |oker. "T ani not iokincr. Lord Mellowfield." *he said, with convincing sincerity. "I really.-wish to know." \ "Tf iTOU, had been . killed. Crvin? Sharon would, not have been eligible to start." she-was informed. "Then suppose," Lois said slowly, trying to collect "her wits: "just suppose a. horse, won the Derbr, and that it was discovered later the samet pisrht 'say)'that the nominator was dead? T^.jeould,;{happen, couldn't it?".

"Ii never has," was the answer, "And I sincerely hope, never may." "What would happen?" Lois persisted. "There would be the wildest confusion, of course," Lord Mellowfield said, considering the point. "It is not safe to say, but I expect the winner would have to be disqualified, and the stakes awarded to the second horse. And bets would go with the stakes, as well as sweep prizes. It would be a hideous muddle, Mrs. Gaythorne; but then it could not very well happen. People well enough known to be in a position to nominate horses for the Derby, you see, can hardly die or disappear, without somebody knowing about it. The point would snrely be raised before hand." "I see," said Lois faintly. "You are not well," Mellowfield said, in quick alarm. "The excitement has been too much for you?" "If yo» would bring my husband," Lois murmured, feeling the whole world rocking about her. David came at a run; and Lois felt the support of his arm again. Somebody had brought a chair; somebody else a glass of water; somebody <°se a bottle of champagne. Lord Mellowfield poured a glass of the wine. "I rcommend this," he said, with an inquiring glance at David, who nodded. Lois drank half the contents of the glass, and felt the faintness clearing away. Everybody was regarding her with curious looks, though from a polite and considerate distance. "I'm better now," she said resolutely. "Let mc go to the box, Davy. I'm sorry to have made a scene, Lord Mellowfield." "No doubt your accident, and all this excitement " Lois bowed as she moved away, leaning on David's arm. "What was it?" he asked solicitously, "Something Lord Mellowfield said to you?" "Please don't ask any questions," Lois pleaded. "I want to think. I want to be quiet, and rest for a little." "Suppose we went off," David suggested. "There's nothing more. We can explain to Dargin later." "No, no," Lois cried. "You go to him, and say what ought to be said. Explain that I am resting. And take Audrey instead of mc, if you will." His concerned looks could not escape her, even in the middle of this new trouble; but sne wanted only to be left alone, if but for a minute or two. It was some relief when Miss Gaythorne went off obediently with David to the paddock, formally to thank trainer and jockey, and to explain the absence of the owner. Lois was left to contemplate the appalling consequences of what she had done. She had committed a blunder of such magnitude that the whole world must hear of it. She east her mind back to the motive which had prevented her from telling David everything, on the day of his first appearance. She had wished to hush up the scandal of Ruth's flight; to make it easier for the husband and wife to resume their proper relations; to heal the breach that had opened between them. Step by step she traced the progress she had made into this tragic dilemma. Hundreds of thousands of people would be affected by the disqualification of Cry-

ing Shame; for she did not doubt for a moment that David's first step, on learning the truth, would be to repair the wrong she had done in her ignorance. It would be the sensation of the moment; and every curious reader of the news would learn how Ruth Gaythorne had run away from her husband, to be killed in attempting a film stunt at Hollywood. Further, Lois knew that she had compromised herself in the sight of the whole world. She had lived under the same roof as David, as his wife; and even David was not supposed to have known the difference. For herself, she did not seem to care much; but the thought of the shame she had brought on David was worse than death to her. An angry voice, raised outside the door of the box, interrupted her dcs perate meditations. "I will go in," she heard, .in the tones of an angry girl. "What do I care what Mr. Gaythorne said? Ruth, old bean, they won't let mc in to see you." (To be continued Saturday next.)