That Boy Of Norcott's. Lever Charles James

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СКАЧАТЬ places, he ‘ll graduate in the Marshalsea – that’s a prison – before he’s twenty.’ I am so glad when a day passes without my being brought up for the subject of a discussion, which papa always ends with, ‘After all I was neither an Etonian nor Rugbeian, and I suspect I can hold my own with most men; and if that boy doesn’t belie his breeding, perhaps he may do so too.’

      “Nobody likes contradicting papa, especially when he says anything in a certain tone of voice, and whenever he uses this, the conversation turns away to something else.

      “I forgot to say in my last, that your letters always come regularly. They arrive with papa’s, and he sends them up to me at once, by his valet, Mons. Durand, who is always so nicely dressed, and has a handsomer watch-chain than papa.

      “Mdme. Cleremont said yesterday: ‘I’m so sorry not to know your dear mamma, Digby: but if I dared, I’d send her so many caresses, de ma part.’ I said nothing at the time, but I send them now, and am your loving son,

      “Digby Norcott.”

      This letter was much longer than it appears here. It filled several sides of note-paper, and occupied me till daybreak. Indeed, I heard the bell ringing for the workmen as I closed it, and shortly after a gentle tap came to my door, and George Spunner, our head groom, entered.

      “I saw you at the window, Master Digby,” said he, “and I thought I’d step up and tell you not to ride in spurs this morning. Sir Roger wants to see you on May Blossom, and you know she’s a hot ‘un, sir, and don’t want the steel. Indeed, if she feels the boot, she’s as much as a man can do to sit.”

      “You ‘re a good fellow, George, to think of this,” said I. “Do you know where we ‘re going?”

      “That’s what I was going to tell you, sir. We are going to the Bois de Cambre, and there’s two of our men gone on with hurdles, to set them up in the cross alleys of the wood, and we ‘re to come on ‘em unawares, you see.”

      “Then why don’t you give me Father Tom or Hunger-ford?”

      “The master would n’t have either. He said, ‘A child of five years old could ride the Irish horse;’ and as for Hungerford, he calls him a circus horse.”

      “But who knows if Blossom will take a fence?”

      “I’ll warrant she’ll go high enough; how she’ll come down, and where, is another matter. Only don’t you go a-pullin’ at her, ride her in the snaffle, and as light as you can. Face her straight at what she’s got to go over, and let her choose her own pace.”

      “I declare I don’t see how this is a fair trial of my riding, George. Do you?”

      “Well, it is, and it isn’t,” said he, scratching his head. “You might have a very tidy hand and a nice seat, and not be able to ride the mare; but then, sir, you see, if you have the judgment to manage her coolly, and not rouse her temper too far, if you can bring her to a fence, and make her take off at a proper distance, and fly it, never changing her stride nor balk, why then he’ll see you can ride.”

      “And if she rushes, or comes with her chest to a bank, or if – as I think she will – she refuses her fence, rears, and falls back, what then?”

      “Then I think the mornin’s sport will be pretty nigh over,” growled he; as though I had suggested something personally offensive to him.

      “What time do we go, George?”

      “Sir Roger said seven, sir, but that will be eight or half-past. He’s to drive over to the wood, and the horses are to meet him there.”

      “All right. I’ll take a short sleep and be sharp to time.”

      As he left the room, I tore open my letter, to add a few words. I thought I’d say something that, if mischance befell me, might be a comfort to my dear mother to read over and dwell on, but for the life of me I did not know how to do it, without exciting alarm or awakening her to the dread of some impending calamity. Were I to say, I ‘m off for a ride with papa, it meant nothing; and if I said, I ‘m going to show him how I can manage a very hot horse, it might keep her in an agony of suspense till I wrote again.

      So I merely added, “I intend to write to you very soon again, and hope I may do so within the week.” These few commonplace words had a great meaning to my mind, however little they might convey to her I wrote them to; and as I read them over, I stored them with details supplied by imagination, – details so full of incident and catastrophe that they made a perfect story. After this I lay down and slept heavily.

      CHAPTER VIII. A DARK-ROOM PICTURE

Mr next letter to my mother was very short, and ran thus: —

      “Dearest Mamma, – Don’t be shocked at my bad writing, for I had a fall on Tuesday last, and hurt my arm a little; nothing broken, but bruised and sore to move, so that I lie on my bed and read novels. Madame never leaves me, but sits here to put ice on my shoulder and play chess with me. She reads out Balzac for me, and I don’t know when I had such a jolly life. It was a rather big hurdle, and the mare took it sideways, and caught her hind leg, – at least they say so, – but we came down together, and she rolled over me. Papa cried out well done, for I did not lose my saddle, and he has given me a gold watch and a seal with the Norcott crest. Every one is so kind; and Captain Hotham comes up after dinner and tells me all the talk of the table, and we smoke and have our coffee very nicely.

      “Papa comes every night before supper, and is very good to me. He says that Blossom is now my own, but I must teach her to come cooler to her fences. I can’t write more, for my pain comes back when I stir my arm. You shall hear of me constantly, if I cannot write myself.

      “Oh, dearest mamma, when papa is kind there is no one like him, – so gentle, so thoughtful, so soft in manner, and so dignified all the while. I wish you could see him as he stood here. A thousand loves from your own boy,

      “DIGBY.”

      Madame Cleremont wrote by the same post. I did not see her letter; but when mamma’s answer came I knew it must have been a serious version of my accident, and told how, besides a dislocated shoulder, I had got a broken collar-bone, and two ribs fractured. With all this, however, there was no danger to life; for the doctor said everything had gone luckily, and no internal parts were wounded.

      Poor mamma had added a postscript that puzzled Madame greatly, and she came and showed it to me, and asked what I thought she could do about it. It was an entreaty that she might be permitted to come and see me. There was a touching humility in the request that almost choked me with emotion as I read it. “I could come and go unknown and unnoticed,” wrote she. “None of Sir Roger’s household have ever seen me, and my visit might pass for the devotion of some old follower of the family, and I will promise not to repeat it.” She urged her plea in the most beseeching terms, and said that she would submit to any conditions if her prayer were only complied with.

      “I really do not know what to do here,” said Madame to me. “Without your father’s concurrence this cannot be done; and who is to ask him for permission?”

      “Shall I?”

      “No, no, no,” cried she, rapidly. “Such a step on your part would be ruin; a certain refusal, and ruin to yourself.”

      “Could Mr. Eccles do it?”

      “He has no influence whatever.”

      “Has Captain Hotham?”

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