The Vision of Desire
rowed her over to a distant promontory, when they picnicked together on
the brow of the cliffs, afterwards exploring the woods which crowned them.
Another time they motored into Ferribridge, where Ann, long denied the
sight of a shop window, revelled in the opportunity to spend her pennies
and shopped riotously. Yet another time, on the day preceding that fixed
for the dinner-party on board the _Sphinx_, they rode together on the
downs--Ann mounted on Dick Turpin, Brett on a bad-tempered, unruly mare
which Lady Susan had bred and which the grooms at White Windows were
terrified to back.
Forrester's horsemanship was superb. He had hands of steel and velvet, and
fear was an unknown quantity to him. Ann watched the ensuing tussle between
man and beast with unequivocal admiration. The mare, a big raking bay, with
black points and a white blaze, sulkily obeyed her rider's curbing hands
upon the bridle whilst they rode through the lanes, but when they emerged
upon the wide, swelling sweep of the downs, she evidently decided that the
moment had come to assert her independence.
She commenced operations by going straight up in the air--so straight that
for an instant Ann thought she must surely topple backwards, and wondered
with a little breathless thrill of admiration how Brett contrived to keep
his seat at all at such an angle. Possibly the mare wondered also, for,
coming down once more on all four feet to find the hated incumbrance still
astride her back, she reared again, immediately. Ann had a vision of two
black hoofs pawing the air indignantly, then, swift as a flash of light,
Brett had flung himself forward on the mare's neck and brought his crop
down on her head between the pointed ears. She came down to earth with a
bang, plunged violently, then, giving an evil twist to her whole body,
started bucking with all the wicked energy that was in her.
Brett had a magnificent seat, but twice she nearly had him out of the
saddle, and it is certain that if he had not been blest with almost
inexhaustible staying power, combined with a pliant strength of muscle,
he would have come off second best in the contest of wills, for the mare
seemed tireless, and looked as though she could go on bucking--and enjoying
the process, too--till the crack of doom. Finding, however, that she could
not rid herself of Forrester by the same methods which had proved easily
successful with the stable lads at White Windows, she uttered a squeal of
rage, laid back her ears, and bolted hell-for-leather across the downs.
This proved altogether too much for Dick Turpin's composure. He was seized
with a spirited desire to go and do likewise, and for a moment or two Ann
had her hands full. Gradually, however, she steadied his first wild rush
to a gallop, then to a canter, and finally, as he eased into a trot, she
dared to direct her attention elsewhere and look round to discover what had
become of Brett.
She caught her breath with a gasp of dismay. Far ahead she could see the
bay mare streaking across the downs, with Brett still square in the saddle,
headed straight for the edge of the cliffs. From the way she tore along Ann
knew she must be practically out of hand, and, if Brett were unable to turn
her, the next few minutes would see horse and rider leap into space, to
fall headlong down on to the rocks two hundred feet below.
Instinctively she urged her cob in pursuit, though subconsciously aware of
the utter futility of it--of her absolute helplessness to avert disaster.
Sick with horror, she could see the mare rocketing wildly towards the brink
of the cliff. Almost she thought she could hear the thunderous beat of the
maddened hoofs racing the beat of her own heart as it thudded in her ears,
feel the wind of that reckless rush towards destruction. Nearer ... nearer
to the cliff's edge.... Ann's whole body stiffened convulsively in
anticipation of the inevitable catastrophe.
Then, just when it seemed as though the end were come, the mare gave
a shrill scream of terror and swerved violently in her stride, with a
suddenness that sent her staggering to her knees. She slithered along the
turf, then, scrambling to her feet, stood stock still, her head thrust
forward, snorting with fright.
What followed was so surprising that Ann, about to urge her pony onward,
pulled up in astonishment. In some miraculous way Brett had retained his
seat in the saddle, and instead of dismounting, as she expected him to do,
he lifted his arm and brought his crop hard down on the mare's quarters,
so that she leaped forward, and the next moment he was sending her along
as fast as she could gallop, while his arm rose and fell like a flail,
thrashing her unmercifully. They fled past Ann at racing speed, and she
watched, dumb with amazement, while Brett steered a huge semicircular
course on the downs, keeping the animal he rode at full stretch the whole
time. When at last they came back and pulled up, the mare's breath was
sobbing in her throat, while Brett himself, hatless and deadly pale beneath
his crop of ruddy hair, was almost reeling in the saddle.
Rather stiffly he dismounted and, slipping the reins loosely over his arm,
walked towards Ann, the mare following him meekly, like a beaten child.
He looked fagged out, but his blue eyes still gleamed with their old
indomitable fire.
"Brett! How could you?" exclaimed Ann breathlessly, as they approached.
"How could I--what?"
"Gallop the mare like that, just after she'd run away? She might have
bolted with you again."
He threw back his head and laughed.
"Not likely! She'll never try those tricks with me again. Will you, old
lady?"--and he rubbed the black velvet muzzle at his side with a kindly
hand. To Ann's astonishment, the mare, dripping with the sweat of sheer
exhaustion, her coat striped with the hiding Brett had given her, pushed
her head forward, nuzzling his sleeve.
"She bolted the first time for her own amusement," he continued. "The
second gallop was for mine"--grimly. "Don't you see, she'd have bolted
again whenever the fit took her if I hadn't punished her. The only cure was
to make her gallop till she was dead beat. She knows which of us is master
now. And she doesn't bear me any grudge, either. Do you, old thing?" And he
patted the mare's streaming neck.
"I wonder she doesn't," said Ann. "Wasn't it--rather brutal of you?"
"Not a bit. Merely necessary. And neither people nor animals bear a grudge
when once they are mastered, fair and square." His eyes, with a gay,
dare-devil challenge in them, flashed up and met hers. "You'll find that
out some day," he added.
"I hope not," replied Ann stiffly. Then, remembering how near death he had
been, she softened. "Anyway, I'm thankful you're alive. I don't know how
you managed to pull the mare round as you did."
"_I_ pull her round? My dear girl, if it had rested with me, we should both
be lying in smithereens at the present moment, on the rocks below. She
realised the drop just in the nick of time, and wheeled before we got to
it."
"What do you mean--she realised it? How could she?"
For a moment Brett's eyes held a curious gravity.
"I can't tell you," he said at last, simply. "Only I know horses have a
kind of instinct which very often warns them of danger. I've seen a similar
thing happen once before, in the hunting field. A man was riding straight
for a high bank that looked just like an ordinary on and off jump. You
couldn't see what lay beyond it, and on the further side there was a
forty-foot drop into a quarry. His horse had its forefeet actually on the
bank--and then it must have sensed the danger, for it swung right round,
just as the mare did to-day."
As he finished speaking, he gathered up the reins and remounted.
"We'd better be jogging homeward, I think," he said. "The mare's too hot to
stand about. I don't want her to catch cold."
They rode slowly over the springy turf, the bay mare beaten but not cowed,
responding docilely to every touch of Brett's hands on the bridle. She had
learned her lesson, recognised the man who rode her as her master.
Ann was very quiet, her thoughts preoccupied with the happenings of the
afternoon. In some sort, they shed a fresh light on the character of the
man beside her. It was impossible not to admire his cool composure in the
face of danger, and his unexpected kindliness to the mare, once he had
asserted his supremacy over her, and her responsiveness to his caress, had
astonished Ann considerably. She had thought Brett purely brutal when she
had watched him force the frightened, flagging horse anew into a gallop,
but no man could be all brute to whom an animal would turn with such mute
confidence as the mare had shown when the struggle between them was over.
Behind Brett's careless courage, Ann recognised an insistent force and
dominance that frightened her. If he could be so invincibly determined to
subdue the will of a horse, how would it fare with any woman whom he had
made up his mind to conquer? Would his persistency at last beat down her
opposition? Or, if the woman's will were strong enough to resist him, would
the fight between them go on--endlessly? Somehow she could not imagine
Forrester laying down his weapons to admit defeat.
They were now approaching the big headland flanking Silverquay harbour,
and, as the waters of the bay came into view, Ann's eyes went instinctively
to the _Sphinx_, where she rode at anchor, specklessly clean and shining
in the brilliant sunlight. She had often admired the yacht, with her long,
graceful lines that promised speed, and on occasion, when she had steamed
out of the bay, Ann missed her from her accustomed anchorage--feeling
rather as though a bit of the landscape had vanished, leaving a gap. But
now, for the first time, she was conscious of a disagreeable impression at
the sight of the yacht gleaming there in the sun. It seemed as though it
were there on guard, watching ... waiting ... motionless and silent, like a
sleek cat watching at the mouth of a mousehole. Interminably patient. She
glanced at Forrester, riding quietly at her side, and recalled his battle
with the bay mare. He and the yacht--his yacht. Both so quiet, and both
with such an infinite latent capacity for swift, directed action.
She shivered a little, and was aware of an inward sensation of relief when
the horses at last pulled up at the gate of the Cottage and Billy Brewster
flew out from the stables to take charge of the pony. The sight of the
boy's rubicund, commonplace face gave her a feeling of reassurance, seeming
to restore the normal, everyday atmosphere which the uncomfortable train of
thought evoked by the _Sphinx_ had momentarily dissipated.
"Well, I suppose I shan't see you to-morrow--until the evening?" Brett,
standing by her side, the mare's bridle over his arm, was regarding her
with an oddly mocking expression in his eyes. She almost felt as though he
had been reading her thoughts. "I shall be going backwards and forwards
to the yacht, to see that everything is shipshape for my party to-morrow
night."
"Don't forget to hang up a full moon in the sky, by way of decoration,"
suggested Ann, trying to speak lightly.
"The matter shall receive attention," he replied gravely. "Aunt Susan and
I shall go aboard early, of course, but the dinghy will be waiting for
you all at the jetty at half-past seven." He shook hands, sprang into
the saddle, and a minute later his horse's hoofs clattered away into the
distance.
Ann turned and walked slowly up the path into the house. She wondered
whether--now--Eliot Coventry would be at the dinner on board the yacht. She
had not seen him since the day of the rectory garden-party, and she could
think no other than that he had deliberately kept out of her way.
CHAPTER XIX