“Lose, old fellow?” the stout man asked cheerfully. “Never mind, better luck with this one! Can’t lose ’em all. Keep at it, I say,” and he gave a broad chuckle.
The thin man looked at him with polite dismay.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but were you addressing me?” His voice was quite soft. Had Emily been less close she would not have caught the words.
“You look as if misfortune has visited you,” the stout man went on heartily. “Happens to the best of us. Keep trying, I say.”
“Indeed, sir. I assure you I have had no misfortune.”
“Ah,” the stout man grinned and winked. “Not wanting to admit it, eh?”
“I assure you, sir-”
The stout man laughed and clapped the other on the arm. At that moment a stranger missed his footing and staggered sideways, cannoning into the stout man. He in turn fell forward almost into the arms of the sallow man in the mourning clothes. The man put out both hands to steady the sudden weight, or to fend it off. There were profuse apologies all round, and an attempt at straightening clothes. The ill-footed stranger muttered something, then apparently saw an acquaintance in the distance, and still talking, took himself off. A smart young woman materialized next to the dark man and begged him to come immediately and witness some good fortune of hers, while two other fellows having a heated discussion on the merits or demerits of a certain horse, took over almost the same spot of ground.
The stout man brushed himself down, drawing a deep breath. Then his hand stopped convulsively, halfway down his body, dived into his vest pocket, and came out empty.
“My watch!” he howled in anguish. “My money! My seals! I had three gold seals on my watch chain! I’ve been robbed!”
Emily swivelled round and tugged on Ashworth’s sleeve.
“George!” she said urgently. “George, I just saw a man robbed! He was robbed of his watch and seals!”
Ashworth turned round, a slightly indulgent smile on his mouth.
“My dear Emily, it happens all the time at the races.”
“But I saw it! It was most cleverly done. This man bumped him from behind and forced him almost on top of another, who ran his hands over him, and like a conjuror must have removed his possessions! Aren’t you going to do something?”
“What do you suggest?” His eyebrows rose. “The man who took them will be innocently engaged in something quite different by now, and the goods themselves will have been passed on to someone else neither you nor the victim has ever seen.”
“But it only happened this moment!” she protested.
“And where is the thief?”
She stared round. There was no one she recognized, except the victim and the two arguers. She turned back to George helplessly.
“I can’t see him.”
He grinned.
“Of course not, and even if you tried to pursue him, there would be people specially detailed to block your way. That’s how they work. It’s quite an art, indeed nearly as great as the art of avoiding them. Don’t think about it. There’s really nothing you can do. Just don’t carry money in your skirt pockets. They are excellently clever at robbing women, too.”
She stared at him.
“Now,” he said firmly. “Would you care to place a small wager on Charles’s horse? I can promise a place at least.”
She accepted. To wager money was exciting, part of the thrill, and since it was not her own money, she could lose nothing, and might even gain. But far more important than any small financial advantage was the knowledge she was actually part of this new, brilliant world that since adolescence she had dreamed about. Ladies of high fashion laughed and swirled their skirts as they flounced along on the arms of elegant gentlemen, gentlemen with money and titles, who gambled on horses, on the turn of a card or the fall of dice, gentlemen who took life by the throat and won or lost fortunes in a day. She overheard their talk and it conjured visions for her; a little blurred, of course, because she had never been to a gambling den or a dogfight or cockfighting pit; she had never seen a gentlemen’s gambling club, or, come to that, anyone more than very slightly the worse for drink. But there was danger in it, and danger, risk, was the essence of fortune. Emily had youth and looks, and some ready wit, and above all she believed she had style, that indefinable quality that marked the winners from the losers. If she were to win something permanent, the chance must be taken now.
She succeeded as well as she could have hoped. Ten days later she was invited, again with Miss Decker, to a lawn tennis party, which she enjoyed enormously. Of course she did not play, but the purpose was purely social, and in this she accomplished much, including an invitation to ride in the park in a few days’ time. She would, of course, have to be lent both horse and habit, but this presented no problem. Ashworth had arranged for the horse, and she could perfectly easily borrow Aunt Susannah’s habit. They were much the same size, and the fact that Susannah was approximately two inches taller could be dealt with by tucking the skirt over at the waist. No one but herself would know.
The day was the first of June, cool and brisk with dazzling sky and rain-clean streets. Emily joined Miss Decker, whom she had grown to dislike, although she hid it excellently, Lord Ashworth, and a Mr. Lambling, who was a friend of Ashworth’s, and who had taken a distinct fancy to Miss Decker. Heaven only knew why!
They rode together under the trees on the firm gravel of Rotten Row. Emily sat a trifle precariously on the side saddle. She was not used to horses, but determined to keep her balance and even manage a certain panache as she guided her horse cautiously between a group of solemn children on fat ponies. She looked good, and she heard it reflected in the approving murmurs of a bunch of gentlemen eight or ten yards away. The habit was half an inch tight, flatteringly so. Her high-crowned riding hat, very like a gentleman’s top hat, sat rakishly to one side on her shining hair. Her fair skin was complemented perfectly by the hat’s dark colour and her shirt’s white lace ruffles.
The others caught up with her and rode more or less abreast. Conversation was sporadic until they passed quite the most elegant woman Emily had ever seen. She had the palest silver fair hair and broad, handsome face. Her habit was forest green and most exquisitely cut, with velvet on the collar. Her horse was an animal of obvious mettle. Emily was lost in admiration. One day she would dearly like to ride down Ladies’ Mile with that air of assurance, of superiority so deep as to be casually assumed.
The woman smiled broadly as they drew level, and adjusted her hat fractionally with one finger, setting it at a still more dashing angle. She was looking at Ashworth.
“Good morning, my lord,” she said with a faintly mocking air.
Ashworth looked through her for a long, chill moment, then turned slightly in the saddle to face Emily.
“You were telling me, Miss Ellison, about your aunt’s visit to Yorkshire. It must be most pleasant country, from your account. Do you go frequently yourself?”
It was an astounding piece of rudeness. It had been at least a quarter of an hour since Emily had mentioned Yorkshire, and the woman quite plainly knew him. Emily was too astonished to speak.
“. . although I’m surprised she found early spring a comfortable time of the year to visit so far north,” he went on, still keeping his back to the Row.
Emily stared at him. The woman’s face twisted in a small grimace, a touch of bitter amusement in it. Then she touched her horse with her crop and moved on.
“She was speaking to you!” Emily said boldly.
“My dear Emily,” Ashworth’s mouth curved downward slightly, “a gentleman does not reply to every harlot who importunes him,” he said with a hint of condescension. “Most especially in such a public place as this. And certainly not if he happens to be in the company of ladies at the time.”
“Harlot?” Emily stammered. “But she was-she was dressed-I mean-”