The Obstacle Race by Ethel M. Dell

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He paused. Dick was looking straight before him with a set, grim face
that gave no indication of what was passing in his mind.

Again, more gently, the squire shook the shoulder under his hand. "I'm
out to make you happy, Dick. Can't you see it? For your mother's sake--as
well as your own. And there's a chance coming your way now--or I'm much
mistaken--which it would be madness to miss. This Miss Moore--she's
dropped from the skies, but she's charming, she's a lady, she's just the
woman for you. What, Dick? Think so yourself, do you? No, it's all right,
I'm not prying. But this is a chance you'll never get again. And you
can't ask her, you can't have the face to ask her, as long as you keep
that half-witted creature dangling after you. It wouldn't be right, man,
even if she'd have you. Look the thing in the face, and you'll be the
first to say so! It would be a hopeless handicap to any marriage--an
insurmountable obstacle to happiness, hers as well as yours. Don't tell
me you can't see it! You know it. You know you've no right to ask any
woman to share a burden of that kind with you. It would be manifestly
unfair--iniquitous. There! I've done. I've never spoken my mind to this
extent before. I've hoped--I've always hoped--the wretched boy would
die. But he hasn't. That sort never does. He'll live for ever. And it's a
damned shame that you should sacrifice yourself to him any longer. For
heaven's sake let him go!"

He ceased to speak, and there fell a silence so tense, so electric, that
it seemed as if it must mask something terrible. Dick's face was still
immovable, but he had the look of a man who endures unutterable things.
He had flinched once--and only once--during the squire's speech, and that
was at the first mention of Juliet. But for the rest he had stood quite
rigid, as he stood now, his lips tightly compressed, his eyes looking
straight before him.

He came out of his silence at last with a movement so sudden that it was
as if he flung aside some weight that threatened to overwhelm him. The
arrested vitality flashed back into his face. He threw back his head with
a smile, and looked the squire in the face.

"You haven't left me a leg to stand on, sir," he said. "But all the
same--I stand. There's nothing more to be said except--may I pay for
the window?"

Fielding's hand dropped from his shoulder. He flung round fiercely and
tramped to the window, swearing inarticulately.

Dick's black brows went up again to a humorous angle. He pursed his lips,
but he did not whistle.

"Do you realize that my wife might have been killed?" Fielding
growled at last.

"Oh, quite," said Dick. "I'm glad she wasn't. Ought I to congratulate
her?"

"Oh, don't be so damn funny!" Fielding jingled the money in his pocket
irritably. "You won't laugh when I turn you out."

"I wonder," said Dick.

Fielding turned sharply round upon him. "You behave as if you don't care
what I do," he said, an ugly scowl on his face. "Or perhaps you think I
won't or can't--do it."

"No, sir," Dick spoke deliberately, and though he still smiled his eyes
held the squire's with unmistakable determination. "I'm sure you can do
it. I'm equally sure you won't. And I'm surest of all that I shouldn't
care a damn if you did."

"You wouldn't care!" The squire looked furious for a moment, then he
sneered. "Oh, wouldn't you, my friend? We shall see. You'd better go
now--before I have you kicked out."

Dick's shoulders jerked with a swift tightening of the muscles. His eyes
gleamed with a fierce light though his smile remained. "I'll lay you even
odds," he said, "that if you want that done, you'll have to do it
yourself."

"I'm equal to it!" flashed the squire. "You'd better not try me too far!"

"I won't try you at all, sir," Dick suddenly relaxed again. He went to
him with a pacific hand held out. "Good-bye! I'm going--now."

Fielding looked at him, looked at the extended hand, paused for a long
moment, finally took it.

"Don't want to quarrel with me, eh?" he said.

"Not without cause," said Dick.

Fielding gripped the firm, lithe hand, looking at him hard and
straight. "You're very cussed," he said slowly. "I wish I'd had the
upbringing of you."

Dick laughed. "Well, you've meddled in my affairs as long as I can
remember, sir. I don't know anyone who has had as much to do with me as
you have."

"And precious little satisfaction I've got out of it," grumbled the
squire. "You've always been a kicker." He broke off as a knock came at
the door, and turned away with an impatient fling. "Who is it? Come in!"

The door opened. Juliet stood on the threshold. The evening light fell
full upon her. She was dressed in cloudy grey that fell about her in soft
folds. Her face was flushed, but quite serene.

"Mrs. Fielding wants to know if you have forgotten dinner," she said.

The squire's face changed magically. He smiled upon Juliet. "Come in,
Miss Moore! You've met this pestilent pedagogue before, I think."

"Just once or twice," said Juliet, coming forward.

"How is the ankle?" said Green.

She smiled at him without embarrassment. "Oh, better, thank you. It was
only a wrench."

"Hurt yourself?" questioned Fielding.

"No, no. It's really nothing. I slipped in the park and nearly sprained
my ankle--just not quite," said Juliet. "And Mr. Green very kindly helped
me into shelter before the storm broke."

"Did he?" said the squire and looked at Green searchingly. "Well, Mr.
Green, you'd better stay and dine as you are here."

"You're very kind," Dick said. "I don't know whether I ought. I'm
not dressed."

"Of course you ought!" said Fielding testily. "Come on and wash! Your
clothes won't matter--we're alone. That is, if Miss Moore doesn't object
to sitting down with blue serge."

"I have no objection whatever," said Juliet. She was looking from one to
the other with a slightly puzzled expression.

"What is it?" said Fielding, pausing.

His look was kindly. Juliet laughed. "I don't know. I feel as I felt that
day you caught me trespassing. Am I trespassing, I wonder?"

"No!" said Fielding and Green in one breath.

She swept them a deep Court courtesy.

"Thank you, gentlemen! With your leave I will now withdraw."

The squire was at the door. He bowed her out with ceremony, watched her
cross the hall, then sharply turned his head. Green was watching her
also, but, keen as the twist of a rapier in the hand of a practised
fencer, his eyes flashed to meet the squire's.

Fielding smiled grimly. He motioned him forward, gripped him by the
arm, and drew him out of the ream. They mounted the shallow oak stairs
side by side.

At the top in a tense whisper Fielding spoke. "Don't you be a fool,
Richard! Don't you be a damn' fool!"

Dick's laugh had in it a note that was not of mirth. "All right, sir,
I'll do my best," he said.

It was a drawn battle, and they both knew it. By tacit consent neither
referred to the matter again.

CHAPTER IV

A POINT OF HONOUR

"How like my husband!" said Mrs. Fielding impatiently, fidgeting up and
down the long drawing-room with a fretful frown on her pretty face. "Why
didn't you put a stop to it, Miss Moore? You might so easily have said
that the storm had upset me and I wasn't equal to a visitor at the
dinner-table to-night." She paused to look at herself in the gilded
mirror above the mantel-piece. "I declare I look positively haggard. I've
a good mind to go to bed. Only if I do--" she turned slowly and looked at
Juliet--"if I do, he is sure to be brutal about it--unless you tell him
you persuaded me."

Juliet, seated in a low chair, with a book on her lap, looked up with
a gleam of humour in her eyes. "But I am afraid I haven't persuaded
you," she said.

Mrs. Fielding shrugged her white shoulders impatiently. "Oh, of course
not! You only persuade me to do a thing when you know that it is the one
thing that I would rather die than do."

"Am I as bad as that?" said Juliet.

"Pretty nearly. You're coming to it. I know you are on his side all
the time. He knows it too. He wouldn't tolerate you for a moment if
you weren't."

"What a horrid accusation!" said Juliet, with a smile.

"The truth generally is horrid," said Mrs. Fielding. "How would you like
to feel that everyone is against you?"

"I don't know. I expect I should find a way out somehow. I shouldn't
quarrel," said Juliet. "Not with such odds as that!"

"How--discreet!" said Mrs. Fielding, with a sneer.

"Discretion is my watchword," smiled Juliet.

"And very wise too," said Green's voice in the doorway. "How do you do,
Mrs. Fielding? As I can't dress, I've been sent down to try and make my
peace with you for showing my face here at all. I hope you'll be lenient
for once, for really I've had a thorough bullying for my sins."

He came forward with the words. His bearing was absolutely easy though
neither he nor his hostess seemed to think of shaking hands.

She looked at him with a disdainful curve of the lips that could scarcely
have been described as a smile of welcome. "I imagine it would take a
good deal of that sort of thing to make much impression upon you, Mr.
Green," she said.

Green's eyes began to shine. He glanced at Juliet. "Really I am much more
inoffensive than you seem to think," he said. "I hope you are not going
to repeat the dose. I was hoping to secure your forgiveness for what
happened this afternoon. Believe me, no one regrets it more sincerely
than I do."

Mrs. Fielding drew herself together with a gesture of distaste. "Oh,
that! I have no desire whatever to discuss it with you. I have long
regarded your half-witted brother as a disgrace to the neighbourhood, and
my opinion is scarcely likely to be modified by what happened this
afternoon."

"How unfortunate!" said Green.

Again he glanced at Juliet. She lifted her eyes to his. "I am afraid I
haven't taken my share of the blame," she said. "But I think you know
that I am very sorry for Robin."

"You are always kind," he rejoined gravely.

"How could you be to blame, Miss Moore?" asked Mrs. Fielding.

Juliet turned towards her. "Because Robin and I are friends," she
explained simply. "He came here to look for me, and Jack ordered him off.
That was the origin of the trouble. And so--" she smiled--"Mr. Green
tells me it was my fault."

"He would," commented Mrs. Fielding.

She turned with the words as if Green's proximity were an offence to her,
and walked away to the window at the further end of the room.

In the slightly strained pause that followed, Juliet bent to fondle
Columbus who was sitting pressed against her and her book slid from her
lap to the ground. Green stooped swiftly and picked it up.

"What is it? May I look?"

She held out her hand for it. "It is _Marionettes_,--Dene Strange's
latest. Mrs. Fielding lent it to me."

He kept the book in his hand. "I thought you said you wouldn't read any
more of that man's stuff."

She knitted her brows a little. "Did I say so? I don't remember."

He looked down at her keenly. "You said you hated the man and his work."

She began to smile. "Well, I do--in certain moods. But I've got to read
him all the same. Everyone does."

"Surely you don't follow the crowd!" he said.

She laughed--her sweet, low laugh. "Surely I do! I'm one of them."

He made a sharp gesture. "That's just what you are not. I say, Miss
Moore, don't read this book! It won't do you any good, and it'll make
you very angry. You'll call it cynical, insincere, cold-blooded. It will
hurt your feelings horribly."

"I don't think so," said Juliet. "You forget,--I am no longer--a
marionette. I have come to life."

Again she held out her hand for the book. He gave it to her reluctantly.

"Don't read it!" he said.

She shook her head, still smiling. "No, Mr. Green, I'm not going to
let you censor my reading. I will tell you what I think of it next
time we meet."

"Don't!" he said again very earnestly.

But Juliet would not yield. She stooped again over Columbus and
fondled his ear.

Green stood looking down at her, his dark face somewhat grim, his eyes
extremely bright.

"I believe he's cross with us, Christopher." murmured Juliet. "Never
mind, old thing! We shall get over it if he doesn't. Being cross always
hurts oneself the most. We're--never cross, are we, Christopher? We
please ourselves and we please each other--always."

Columbus grunted appreciatively and leaned harder against her. He liked
to be included in the conversation.

Green suddenly bent and pulled the other ear. "You're a jolly lucky chap,
Columbus," he said. "I'll change places with you any day in the week."

Columbus smiled at him indulgently, and edged his nose onto his
mistress's knee. He knew his position was secure.

"Don't you listen to him, Christopher!" said Juliet. "He wouldn't be in
your place two minutes. If I dared to thwart him in anything, he'd turn
and rend me."

"He wouldn't," said Green decidedly. "Anyone else--perhaps, but his
mistress--never."

Columbus yawned. The topic did not interest him. But Juliet laughed
again, and for a moment her eyes glanced upwards, meeting the man's look.

"Is that a promise?" she asked lightly.

"My word of honour," he said.

"How generous!" said Juliet. "And how rash!"

Mrs. Fielding looked round from the window and spoke fretfully. "The
storm seems to have made it more oppressive than ever," she complained.
"I believe it is coming up again."

"I hope not," said Green.

Juliet got up quietly and moved to join her--a tall woman of gracious
outlines with the poise of a princess.

"You know all about everything," she said to him, in passing. "Come and
read the weather for us!"

He followed her. They stood together at the open French window, looking
out on to the stormy sunset.

"It isn't coming back," said Green, after a pause.

Mrs. Fielding gave him a brief, contemptuous glance. Juliet regarded him
more openly, a glint of mockery in her eyes.

"You are sure to be right," she said.

He made her a bow. "Many thanks, Miss Moore! I think I am on this
occasion at least. We shall have a fine day for the Graydown races
to-morrow."

"Are you keen on racing?" asked Juliet.

He laughed. "I've no time for frivolities of that sort."

"You could make time if you wanted to," observed Mrs. Fielding. "You are
free on Saturday."

"Am I?" said Green.

She challenged him in sudden exasperation. "Well, what do you do on your
off days?"

He considered for a moment. "I'll tell you what I'm doing to-morrow, if
you like," he said. "In the morning I hold a swimming class for all who
care to attend. In the afternoon I've got a cricket match. And in the
evening I'm running an open-air concert at High Shale with Ashcott."

"For those wretched miners!" exclaimed Mrs. Fielding.

He nodded. "Yes, and their wives and their babies. They are rather
amusing shows sometimes. We use native talent of course. I believe you
would be interested, Miss Moore."

"I am sure I should," said Juliet. "May I come to one some day?"

He faced her boldly. "Will you help at one--some day?"

"Oh, really!" broke in Mrs. Fielding. "That is too much. I am sure my
husband would never agree to that."

"I don't know why he shouldn't," said Juliet gently. "But the point
is--should I be any good?"

"You sing," said Green with confidence.

She smiled. "Who told you so?"

His brows worked humorously. "It's one of the things I know without being
told. Would you be afraid to venture yourself in that rough crowd with
only me to take care of you?"

"Not in the least," said Juliet.

"Thank you," he said. "You would certainly have no need to be. You would
have an immense reception."

"I am quite sure my husband would never allow it," said Mrs.
Fielding with a frown. "These High Shale people are so hopelessly
disreputable--such a drunken, lawless lot."

"But not beyond redemption," said Green quickly, "if anyone takes
the trouble."

She shrugged her shoulders. "There are not many people who have time to
waste over them. In any case, the responsibility lies at Lord
Wilchester's door--not ours."

"And as Lord Wilchester happens to be a rotter, they must go to the
wall," remarked Green.

"Well, it is no business of ours," maintained Mrs. Fielding. "I always
leave that sort of thing to the busybodies who enjoy it."

"What a good idea!" said Green. "Do you know I never thought of that?"

"Tell me about the cricket match!" Juliet said, intervening. "Who
is playing?"

He gave her a glance of quizzical understanding. "Oh, that's a village
affair too--Little Shale versus Fairharbour, most of them fisher-lads,
all of them sports. I have the honour to be captain of the Little
Shale team."

"You seem to be everything," she said.

"Jack of all trades!" sneered Mrs. Fielding.

Green laughed. "I was just going to say that."

"How original of you!" said Juliet. "Well, I hope you'll win."

"He is the sort of person who always comes out on top whether he wins or
loses," said Fielding, striding up the long room at the moment. "You've
not seen him play cricket yet, Miss Moore. He's a positive tornado on
the cricket-ground. To-morrow's Saturday, isn't it? Where are you
playing, Dick?"

His good-humour was evidently fully restored. He slapped a hand on
Dick's shoulder with the words. Mrs. Fielding's lips turned downwards at
the action.

"We are playing the Fairharbour crowd, sir, on Lord Saltash's ground,"
said Green. "It's in Burchester Park. You know the place don't you? It's
just above the town."

"Yes, yes, I know it. A fine place. Pity it doesn't belong to somebody
decent," said the squire.

Mrs. Fielding laughed unpleasantly. "Dear me! More wicked lords?"

Her husband looked at her with his quick frown. "I thought everybody
knew Saltash was a scoundrel. It's common talk that he's in Paris at this
moment entertaining that worthless jade, Lady Joanna Farringmore."

Juliet gave a violent start at the words. For a moment her face flamed
red, then went dead white--so white that she almost looked as if she
would faint. Then, in a very low voice, "It may be common talk," she
said, "but--I am quite sure--it isn't true."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed the squire. "My dear Miss Moore, pray forgive
me! I forgot you knew her."

She smiled at him, still with that ashen face. "Yes, I know her. At
least--I used to. And--she may have been heartless--I think she was;--but
she wasn't--that."

"Not when you knew her perhaps," said Mrs. Fielding's scornful voice. She
had no sympathy with people who regarded it as a duty to stand up for
their unworthy friends. "But since you quarrelled with her yourself on
account of her disgraceful behaviour you are scarcely in a position to
defend her."

"No--I know," said Juliet, and she spoke nervously, painfully. "But--I
must defend her on--a point of honour."

She did not look at Green. Yet instantly and very decidedly he entered
the breach. "Quite so," he said. "We are all entitled to fair
play--though we don't always get it when our backs are turned. I take off
my hat to you, Miss Moore, for your loyalty to your friends."

She gave him a quick glance without speaking.

From the door the butler announced dinner, and they all turned.

"Miss Moore, I apologize," said the squire, and offered her his arm.

She took it, her hand not very steady. "Please forget it!" she said.

He smiled at her kindly as he led her from the room, and began to speak
of other things.

Green sauntered behind with his hostess. His eyes were extremely bright,
and he made no attempt to make conversation as he went.

CHAPTER V

THE WAY TO HAPPINESS

It was an unpleasant shock to Juliet on the following morning when
she went to Mrs. Fielding's room after breakfast to find her lying in
bed, pale and tear-stained, refusing morosely to partake of any
nourishment whatever.

Juliet always breakfasted alone, for the squire was in the habit of
taking his early ride first and coming in late for the meal. She usually
took a morning paper up with her with which to regale the mistress of the
house before she rose, but the first glance showed her that this
attention would be wholly unwelcome to-day. Even the letters that had
accompanied her breakfast tray were scattered unopened by her side.

"Why, what is the matter?" said Juliet.

"I've had--a wretched night," said Mrs. Fielding, and turned her face
into the pillow with a sob.

Her maid glanced at Juliet with raised brows, and indicated the untouched
breakfast with a shrug of helplessness.

Juliet came to the bedside. "What is it? Aren't you well?" she
questioned.

"No, I'm wretched--miserable!" The words came muffled with sobs.

Juliet looked round. "All right, Cox. You can go. I will ring when you
are wanted."

Cox went, leaving the despised breakfast behind her.

Juliet turned back to the bed, and found Mrs. Fielding weeping
unrestrainedly. She bent over her, discarding all ceremony. "My dear
girl, do stop!" she said. "What on earth is the matter? You won't get
over it all day if you go on like this."

"Of course I shan't get over it!" sobbed Mrs. Fielding indignantly. "I
never do. He knows that perfectly well. He knows--that when once I'm
down--it takes me days--weeks--to get up again."

"Oh, dear!" said Juliet. "It's a quarrel, is it?"

Mrs. Fielding raised herself with a furious movement and thrust out a
white arm on which the bruises of a fierce grip were mercilessly defined.
"That's how--he--quarrels!" she said bitterly.

Juliet drew down the loose night-dress sleeve with a gentle but very
decided hand. "Don't let anyone else see it!" she said. "And don't tell
me any more unless you're sure--quite sure--you want me to know!"

"Why shouldn't you know?" said Mrs. Fielding pettishly through her
falling tears. "It's your fault in a way. At least it wouldn't have
happened if you hadn't been here--you and that horrid little cad of a
schoolmaster."

"Oh, don't put it like that!" said Juliet. "It's such a pity to offend
everybody at once. You really mustn't cry any more or you'll be ill. I'm
sure it isn't worth that."

"I don't care if I die!" cried Mrs. Fielding, with a fresh burst of
weeping. "I'm miserable--miserable! And nobody cares."

She flung herself down upon the pillow in such a paroxysm of hysterical
sobbing that Juliet actually was alarmed. She stood beside her, impotent,
unable to make herself heard, and wondering what to do. She had never
before looked upon such an abandonment of distress as she now beheld,
and since Mrs. Fielding was obviously beyond all reasoning or consolation
she was powerless to cope with it. She could only stand and wait for the
storm to spend itself.

It seemed, however, to increase rather than to abate, and she was
beginning to contemplate recalling Cox to her assistance when to her
astonishment the door suddenly opened, and Fielding himself appeared upon
the threshold.

She turned sharply, her first impulse to keep him out, for he wore an
ugly look. But in a moment she realized that the direction of affairs was
not in her control. He came straight forward with a mastery that would
brook no interference.

"Leave her to me!" he said, as he reached Juliet.

But at the first word his wife uttered so wild a shriek of alarm that
Juliet turned back to her with the swift instinct to protect. In an
instant Mrs. Fielding was clinging to her, clinging desperately,
frantically, like a terrified child.

"Oh, don't go! Oh, don't leave me!" she gasped. "Juliet! Juliet!
Stay--oh, stay!"

She could not refuse the appeal. It went straight to her heart. She put
her arms about the quivering, convulsed form and held it close.

"I can't go!" she said hurriedly to the squire.

"Stay then!" he said curtly.

Then abruptly he stooped over the trembling, hysterical woman. "Vera," he
said, "stop it at once! Do you hear me? Stop it!"

He did not raise his voice, but his words had a pitiless distinctness
that seemed somehow more forcible than any violence. Vera Fielding shrank
closer to Juliet's breast.

"Don't leave me! Don't leave me!" she moaned, still shaken from head to
foot with great sobs she could not control.

"She won't go if you behave yourself," said the squire grimly. "But if
you don't, I'm damned if I won't turn her out and deal with you myself."

"Don't be brutal!" breathed Juliet.

He gave her a swift, fierce look, but she met it unflinching and as
swiftly it fell away from her. He took one of his wife's feverish,
clutching hands and firmly held it.

"Now you listen to me!" he said. "I don't want to bully you but I can't
and won't have this sort of thing. It's damnably unfair to everybody. So
you pull yourself together and be quick about it!"

The trembling hand clenched in his grasp. "I hate you!" gasped Mrs.
Fielding furiously. "Oh, how I hate you!"

The man's mouth took an ominous downward curve. "I've heard that before,"
he said. "Now that's enough. We're not going to have a scene in front of
Miss Moore. If you can't control yourself, out she goes."

"She won't go," flashed back Mrs. Fielding. "She's on my side. Ask her if
she isn't! She won't leave me to your tender mercies again. She knows
what they are like."

"Hush!" Juliet said. "Don't you know there isn't a man living who can
stand this? Be quiet, my dear, for heaven's sake! You're making the most
hideous mistake of your life."

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