Escapade (9 page)

“Clare, do something,” Sara begged, tugging at his sleeve. “She'll tip off that raft and drown."

“Don't fret yourself. The water is not more than two feet deep, or I should not have let her do it."

“But she'll fall in and get filthy."

Belle and Sherry were for once in accord hoping for this exact outcome. Miss Fairmont would not appear so jaunty if she fell in and ruined her gown. Though on a second glance, Sherry could not believe it would be much loss.

“She won't fall in,” Clare calmed them. “She manages herself very well afloat. There, she's getting within grabbing distance now, if she doesn't frighten him off."

Ella was too experienced in the way of frogs to disturb him before he was within her grasp. She let the raft float quietly till the water was quite still. There was not a sound now but the occasional croaking of a frog. The audience was dead silent, staring at her. She approached from behind, and leaned perilously over the raft's edge, balancing herself with the pole she carried. Her other hand went out stealthily, hovered a moment over the bullfrog, then in a flash of fingers she had him secure. A little ripple of clapping from Clare, then a general whoop of congratulations went up, with Peters and Harley leading the shout.

Ella looked up in surprise. She had not been aware of the intense interest she had created, because she needed all her wits to catch Prince Charming. Such escapades were a mere commonplace at Fairmont. Indeed a plunge into the pond would not much have discommoded her at home, though she was very careful not to fall in here. She looked about her for a container for the frog, and finding none, untied her bonnet and put him in there, forming a cover with the wide ribbons.

“She'll ruin her pretty chipstraw,” Miss Sheridan moaned.

“And buy a new one with her prize money,” Clare said. He hurried to the pond's edge to help her alight.

“I congratulate you on a virtuoso performance, Miss Fairmont,” he said.

Before she was required to word a reply, Bippy, Peters, and Harley were at her side. “By Jove, that was a famous stunt!” “Showed us all the way,” and various compliments of this exalted nature were issued. Then there was a general demand to see Prince Charming.

“Tell you what, Harley,” Mr. Peters said when he had seen the monstrous fellow, “I'm going to change my bet. I don't think I will win this race. Miss Fairmont will. There ain't none of our frogs can touch this fellow. Look at the hind legs on him."

“Deep-chested too,” Harley agreed, as seriously as though they were rating the points of the bloods at Newmarket.

“See here, Peters,” Bippy broke in. “A placed bet stands. You can't go changing your bets whenever you feel like it. We all know Prince Charming will win; what you bet is that your nag—frog, that is, will beat Harley's. I'm the one stuck to keep book, and I can't go changing all the odds now. Prince Charming is a dark horse—just what makes a race interesting in my view."

“There is no saying Prince Charming will win,” Ella told them. “I have often seen the unlikeliest frog win out over larger and even faster ones. They don't always hop forward, you see. Sometimes they take it into their heads to go sideways or backward."

“What are the rules if they hop off the track?” Harley wanted to know. He disliked any irregularity in his races.

“You have to take them back to the starting line,” she said firmly. “It is hard when they get three-quarters of the way to the finish line and you have to start them all over again, but you have to have rules."

“Can't have a horse race without rules,” Bippy supported.

“Yes, as long as the rules apply to everyone across the board,” Peters said, with a meaningful look at the young ladies, who had already flouted one bunch of rules in not securing their own entrants.

No one found anything ludicrous in this conversation. Their interest had been caught, and the race promised better sport than anything in the last few days.

Clare was now the only one without a frog, and he could not find one, so everyone began helping him, peering into rushes and looking into the murky depths of the pond. After about five minutes, a very small one leapt up on to a lily pad. In the flash of an eye Clare was in up to his ankles, but was out again so fast that the damage to his top boots was not considered to be irreparable.

“Will he do, Miss Fairmont?” he asked, holding out his hands. She had to peek into the cracks between his fingers, for he couldn't hold him up in case he should hop away.

“He's small but wiry,” she decided. “You can never tell. Well, everyone has one now. Shall we go?"

As this was what they had been waiting impatiently for, they trooped off to find a likely race course. At Miss Fairmont's suggestion, they chose a shady spot in the Park, and she set the gentlemen to collect sticks and stones to indicate the starting and finishing lines. Bippy's suggestion that they just “tear up a bit of turf” was instantly vetoed. The owners all lined up with their frogs at the starting line, Clare with two as Miss Sedgley did not care to touch hers, even with gloves. Miss Fairmont was requested to call the start. “One, two, three—Go!"

“They're off!” Peters yelled. But in fact several of them were not. There was then a vociferous pandemonium of urgings, threats, and cajolings to try to get the amphibians to the finish line.

“Come on, Jumper, nasty old frog,” from Miss Sheridan.

“Move, blast you, Ugolino,” from Miss Prentiss.

“Get going, Prince Charming,” from Miss Fairmont.

Mr. Peters’ Green Boy took off in a mighty leap, and his proud owner yelled, “That's the ticket. Show ‘em all the way."

“Come on, Herbert,” Sara shouted, for though a matron, she never liked to miss out on any fun.

“Sara, did you call him that?” Ella asked. They both giggled, but no one paid them any heed.

“Get a move on, Leaper,” Bippy commanded. When the frog remained immobile, he stuck out his foot.

“That's illegal!” Miss Prentiss yelled. “You're disqualified. Miss Fairmont, he touched Leaper with his toe."

“You'll have to start over,” Ella declared.

“Deuce take it, how can I start over? He hasn't budged yet."

“Well, don't do it again anyway."

“Move, Prattle,” Clare urged, crouching over his frog.

Ella and Sara exchanged startled glances. “Move, damn you,” he repeated, unaware of their interest.

Mr. Peters’ Green Boy and Ella's Prince Charming were in the lead, neck-to-neck. Miss Sheridan's Jumper had gone off the edge of the track and had to start over. Miss Prentiss's Ugolino took two jumps forward, then two back, and was again at the starting line.

Harley claimed that his Prince George had pulled a tendon, and he feared he would have to withdraw him from the race. Lady Honor's entrant, called Honor's Frog for lack of the lady's having come up with a name for it, appropriately enough did not move an inch. The others were scattered about the track, only the owners knowing which was which. The frogs continued to hop about at random, this way and that, and after a while it was clear that only three had any hopes of winning. Peters’ Green Boy, Ella's Prince Charming, and Bippy's Leaper were all within a quarter of the way from the finish line, with their respective owners yelling themselves hoarse.

“Go, Green Boy, Go!"

“Come on, Prince Charming!"

“You can do it, Leaper!"

What Leaper did, however, was to spot a midge, and leap off the track to grab it. Green Boy continued hopping more or less towards the finish line, and Prince Charming suddenly sat still and didn't move at all, in spite of the most violent threats of reprisals from his owner.

“He's winded,” Harley informed Ella. “Had a nag that pulled that stunt on me at Newmarket."

With a final hop, Green Boy was over the line of sticks and stones, and the clamor due to the occasion was as loud as a healthy group of youngsters could make it. There followed a spirited discussion as to why the various entrants had performed so ill. Bippy and Ella had to exchange condolences as to the nearness of their wins. “Placed and showed anyway,” Bippy pointed out. Before long there was an enthusiastic request for a re-match for the three who had made any showing at all.

The frogs who were not to re-enter were jumping about and in danger of becoming stepped on or lost.

“Let's get the others back into the baskets. They should be returned to the pond,” Ella said. No one paid much attention to her, and she finally began chasing around, picking them up herself. Clare went to give her a hand. “They might not survive if they're left so far from the water,” she explained to him.

“Yes, by Jove. We might want to use ‘em again,” Bippy agreed, and he too began scuttling after frogs.

Finally they were all caught, and the three who were to run again were set at the starting line. Clare did the honor of hollering “Go,” and immediately Green Boy took three long hops. Prince Charming sat still. “Told you he was winded,” Harley reminded Ella. Leaper took a magnificent vault, unfortunately fifteen inches off the track.

“Curse you,” Bippy shouted.

The shout got Prince Charming into action, and he was after Green Boy. From then it was a race between Green Boy and Prince Charming, for Leaper continued vaulting to the left. Bippy tried to nudge him around with his toe, but the sharp-eyed Belle Prentiss saw his nefarious plot and disqualified him on the spot.

“I don't lay my blunt on this turtle again,” Bippy declared in disgust.

Prince Charming was the more powerful hopper, but he hopped only intermittently, so that the race once again went to Green Boy.

“Thought for a minute there he'd got his second wind,” Harley said to Ella. “What you want to do is enter him in the short races. He ain't good for the mile—that is, this longer course. Your Prince Charming has possibilities though, for the shorter runs."

“This Leaper's worth his weight in gold,” Peters declared, lifting the winner from the grass. “You're a sweet goer, feller. Made me close to a hundred pounds today. I ain't putting him back in the pond, Miss Fairmont. I'm going to keep him in a pail of water and take him back to London with me. I ought to breed him."

“He won't survive in a bucket,” she counseled. “They never do. Bertie, my brother, has tried it a dozen times."

“Mean to start a new strain, and improve the breed, do you?” Clare asked sardonically. During the afternoon, Clare was never far from Miss Fairmont's side, a circumstance that she had not failed to notice.

“What you ought to do is mate him with Prince Charming,” Bippy advised. “With the Prince's size and Green Boy's speed, you'd get something like.”

“Don't know your biology, my friend,” Peter told him. “You can't breed two stallions."

“Oh, as to that, no saying Green Boy's a boy. Prince Charming is a bullfrog, of course, but I think you'd have done better to call your champ Green Girl."

“Nosir! She ain't no commoner. I'll call her Green Lady."

There was some more discussion of this silly nature, before the guests began walking back to the Palace to change for dinner.

“We must take the frogs back to the pond,” Ella reminded their departing backs, but they kept on walking away from her.

Clare had not left, nor had Bippy. “I'll help you,” Bippy offered.

Clare too picked up a basket and was poking one prisoner intent on escape back into it.

“No need for you to delay yourself, Miss Fairmont,” Clare said. “Bippy and I will see they are put back in the pond."

“Jolly good game you came up with,” Bippy congratulated her. “We'll do this again some time, eh, Clare?"

“Next time I shall have a cup inscribed,” Clare promised, smiling warmly at Miss Fairmont.

“Thank you,” she replied, in a little confusion at so much condescension. “I guess you don't need me if you are both going.” With a wave she ran after the others and caught up with Sara. She half expected a scold for her afternoon's wantonness, but as Clare had enjoyed the scheme, Sara held her tongue.

Trudging to the pond with the baskets of frogs, Clare said, “An interesting girl, your Miss Fairmont."

“Yes, she don't look like much, but she's nice."

“Quiet on the surface. I suppose she is shy, but when one gets to know her a little, as you do, I think she will prove an interesting addition to our circle of acquaintances."

“Glad you like her. Was a bit afraid you wouldn't, you know."

“I so seldom approve of your amours,” Clare roasted gently.

“As to that, ain't an amour precisely. More of a friend. Platonic you might say."

“I would be unlikely to say anything so hackneyed, but I take your meaning.” This explanation satisfied Clare on two points. Firstly, as to why Miss Fairmont should be so disinterested in Tredwell's attentions. If it were merely friendship, she would expect no special care from him. And secondly, it explained Bippy's interest in so plain-looking a girl. One could understand his liking her; loving her was something else. Bippy usually had an eye for a gaudy beauty. He had blushed in London at the mention of her name, but he was an awkward fellow, not much in the petticoat line.

Dinner was again held in the formal dining hail, and again a small party of country gentry came after dinner for a dance. This was an even more impromptu affair than the other one, and the only music provided for the dancers was Mrs. Prentiss's playing the pianoforte. She was relieved at intervals by Lady Sara and one of the ladies from the neighborhood. They played only country dances and an occasional waltz.

At the first striking of a chord, Lady Honor materialized at Lord Clare's side. It was one of the mysteries of life that she, who was never seen to move in haste, should always be there, waiting, when a partner was required. She must have hustled, he thought, to beat Miss Sheridan to the gun. He danced, perforce, with Lady Honor. One could not after all offend the daughter of one of the oldest and proudest families in all England. He was rather relieved to have it over early, in any case.

He had the next one with Miss Sheridan and complimented her on her new coiffure. “Very fetching,” he said. “I like it nearly as well as the Méduse you have been wearing.” Needless to say, Sherry appeared on the next and succeeding days in the Méduse.