The Rider in Khaki. Nat Gould

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СКАЧАТЬ just going to have a look at the horses; will you come?" he said.

      "Only too pleased," said Vincent, and Harry acquiesced eagerly.

      "Think we'll drive; horses are more enjoyable than motors—that's if you haven't to go any distance."

      A pair of beautiful bays were brought round, the shooting wagon was spic and span, almost new, the groom smart and dapper, everything in perfect style.

      Alan handled the reins and they drove along the well-kept road in the direction of Trent Stud.

      Their way skirted past "The Forest" and as they passed the gates Evelyn Berkeley came out in her motor. Alan pulled up, she stopped the car, and greetings were exchanged.

      "We're going to see the horses. Will you come?" asked Alan.

      She thanked him, said she had an appointment in Nottingham, and from there had to go to Newark.

      "You'll be in town for the Derby, I suppose?" said Alan.

      "Yes. Are you running anything at the meeting?"

      "Three or four. Might pick up a race or two."

      "You'll not forget to put me on," she said, smiling.

      "Oh no, I'll not forget. I'll call and see you and give you all particulars; shall you have a house full?" said Alan.

      "Half a dozen single friends and two married couples; you can stay with me if you like, it will be quite proper," she said, laughing.

      Alan did not give a direct answer; he merely repeated that he would call.

      "By Jove, she is handsome!" said Harry enthusiastically.

      "Not a doubt about that," said Alan placidly, as he touched the horses with the whip and they went along at a fast pace.

CHAPTER II

       Table of Contents

      TRENT PARK

      Trent Park was a wonderful place; the house was modern, the new mansion having been built by William Chesney, but the park was full of ancient trees and there were some old buildings. A venerable keep, surrounded by a moat full of water and only reached by a boat, there being no bridge, was not far from the stud buildings.

      It was a picturesque spot and many visitors came to see it. History attached to it, romance threw a halo round, there were many stories associated with it, some true, others doubtful, the more doubtful the more interesting. Murder had been committed within its walls in the time of the first Edward; and even down to the Georges; it possessed an unenviable reputation for dark deeds and mysterious crimes.

      It was used as a prison in the Tudor times and tradition said many a man had been done to death there without just cause.

      Men employed at Trent Park in various capacities reported having seen weird sights: shadowy, wailing figures, mostly women, flitting about, even rising out of the moat where, it was said, bodies had been found, or, to be more correct, skeletons.

      The villagers of Little Trent shunned it after nightfall; youngsters were frightened into obedience by threats to bring the moat ghosts after them.

      It was a round keep, built of massive stone, the walls ivy-covered, the base green with moss, damp and age.

      A massive oak door studded with large-headed nails creaked on its rusty hinges when opened, which was seldom.

      A visitor from New York received permission to examine the keep, tower, and moat in search of historical data and facts. He stayed at the Sherwood Inn at Little Trent. One evening he returned from his explorations with a white, frightened face; when questioned he shivered but gave no answers. He hurriedly took his departure and, from stray bits of paper in the fire-grate in his room, it was surmised he had burnt his copious notes about the keep, no doubt being terrified by some ghostly warning to destroy them.

      The ruins of a monastery stood at the other end of the Park. A stately pile of crumbling mortar, and stones shifting from places they occupied for centuries. The outer walls stood and inside the square was a keeper's cottage hidden in a warm snug corner, concealed from prying eyes, unnoticeable until the ruin was entered.

      A curious place to build a cottage, and nobody seemed to know who put it up or for what purpose the place was selected. It was there when William Chesney bought the estate and it was a long time before he knew of its existence.

      Tom Thrush, head gamekeeper at Trent Park, occupied it, living there with his daughter Jane, a pretty girl of twenty, a lonely place for her; yet she liked it and loved to wander in the woods and roam about in the great forest bordering on the Park.

      Tom Thrush, for many years, was employed at Chesney's Brewery; it was at his own request he was sent to Trent Park and installed as second keeper and then raised to head keeper in the course of a few years. He was a strange man, lonely, taciturn, passionately fond of his daughter, and spent the bulk of his time in the forest, where he studied wood-craft and the habits of all wild birds and animals. There was something almost uncanny in the way he made friends with the wild things of the woods and forests; no living bird or animal seemed to fear him, and he taught Jane much wild lore and how to make friends with the denizens of the woods.

      The preserving of game was strictly carried out at Trent Park and thousands of birds were killed every season; in this Tom Thrush was most successful, a prince among keepers.

      The Park abounded with massive oaks, and no doubt at one time had been part of Sherwood Forest, and these were ancient trees that had been spared when others fell. Centuries old some of them, with vast trunks and huge gnarled, twisted branches which seemed to have suffered from terrible convulsions of nature, been put on the wrack, as it were, and come forth mutilated in a hundred deformities.

      There were deer in the Park, and white cattle, almost wild, sometimes dangerous, they were confined in a strong ring fence.

      One part of the Park was laid out in paddocks for the blood stock, and here the young thoroughbreds from the Trent Stud galloped about and played their games until it was time for them to be broken in and sent to the trainer.

      Well-kept roads ran in various directions through the Park, there was plenty of water, a minor river running through on its way to join the Trent. It was indeed a glorious place and Alan Chesney might well be counted a lucky man to own it.

      His two friends had gone, after staying a week, and it was arranged they should meet at Epsom for the Derby.

      It was seldom Alan Chesney was alone in the big house; many times he wished it smaller, not so roomy, more cosy, in keeping with his bachelor habits. There were parts of it he had only been in once or twice. The long picture gallery he shunned, although some exquisite modern paintings hung there.

      When he came into possession he had some of the smaller and brighter pictures removed into the living rooms and the spaces were still left vacant. The windows in this gallery overlooked the Park, in the distance the keep could be seen, and farther away a corner of the monastery. There were large reception-rooms, and bedrooms the size of the СКАЧАТЬ