The Gated Road

by Jean S. MacLeod

  “Maybe I should consider this compensation enough,” Nigel grinned when he brought his open sports car round to the door. “Driving you over, I mean, instead of riding Satan. Adam won’t let me handle him till we’re actually in the race.”

  “Time enough!” Adam said, coming up behind them and looking far too handsome in his riding kit. “I won’t be over for the first few races, but I’ll be there in time for the Salver.”

  “Good heavens!” Nigel expostulated. “What are you going to do? Surely you can take one day off?”

  “I’m taking half-a-day,” Adam told him without reverting to argument. “You can work in your time later on in the week.”

  Nigel flushed.

  “See what I mean about Adam?” he said to Jane as they drove away. “He never lets up. Nothing interests him except High Tor. He doesn’t take time to relax, and he’s absolutely ruthless about seeing that everybody else does their share.”

  “Don’t be disgruntled, Nigel,” Jane said gently. “You have a wonderful heritage here in High Tor and the Priory, and Adam’s all right.”

  “You evidently don’t know him!”

  “I think I do.”

  He half turned in his seat.

  “Well he can have High Tor, and the Priory—and the Peel Tower into the bargain!” He put the car recklessly to the next rise. “He’s quite capable of managing the lot!”

  “Not without your help.”

  “He could get someone else.”

  “It wouldn’t be the same.” She was quite sure of that. “High Tor and what Adam has made of it belongs to you both.”

  They covered the remaining distance to the point-to-point at a hair-raising speed that took Jane’s breath away, and she had to admit to relief when at last she saw the car-filled enclosure on the side of a hill ahead of them. Nigel drew up before a field gate with a screech of brakes, paid their entrance money, and parked the car at the end of the nearest row.

  “I say, you’ve cut it rather fine, haven’t you?” Roger Malchatt observed, coming up to shake hands. “Where’s that brother of yours, and the redoubtable Marion?”

  “Marion came over with the horses—her own and Adam’s,” Nigel explained. “She must be here, somewhere. Adam’s bringing Satan over for me later.”

  “You’re taking a chance with that horse of your father’s, you know,” Malchatt warned, although his tone was indifferent. “He’s a surly brute. Too old for the game now, and resents it like the devil when he sees another horse at the jumps!”

  “You all seem to think I can’t ride,” Nigel grumbled, “but I’ll show you the way, Roger!”

  “Maybe,” Malchatt conceded. “But you don’t surely expect to pass Marion—or Adam, for that matter?”

  “I’ll pass Adam,” Nigel said decisively.

  “Can I hope that you and Nigel are going to come back to Fother Gill with my little party after the last race?” Roger Malchatt asked, watching as Nigel left them and edged nearer the totalizator. “I’m very fond of Nigel, you know. His adventurous spirit appeals to me.”

  “If you mean recklessness, I think you’re doing him and his family a disservice in encouraging it, Mr. Malchatt,” Jane said before she could stop herself. “Nigel is very young and undisciplined—”

  Roger Malchatt laughed outright.

  “My dear girl!” he protested, “you can’t keep anyone like Nigel on a string, even if Adam has issued the order! I don’t think Adam’s being very wise, as a matter of fact,” he added conversationally. “He’s crushing all the life out of the boy.”

  He wandered away before Jane could say any more, the habitually vague look spreading over his rubicund countenance.

  She turned in search of Nigel, to find herself confronted with Marion striding magnificently from one of the marquees which dotted the field. There was no doubt about it, Marion looked superb in her riding habit. She wore black, with pale fawn breeches, and her immaculate bowler sat securely and well on her raven hair. Jane could not deny her the admiration she deserved. In this environment she knew so well, there were few women who could even compare with her. Heads were turned automatically as she passed, and there was a gleam of conquest in her eyes already.

  “Where’s Nigel?” she asked. “I thought he would be saddling up.”

  “He won’t be long,” Jane said. “We’ve only just arrived.”

  She was trying to cover up for Nigel, but it was difficult to deceive Marion.

  “What’s that young fool been doing?” she demanded. “Laying too much on the first race, I’ll bet!”

  Marion was elated, vibrant with her own sense of power, and sure of her final victory. In everything she did she seemed to dwarf Jane completely, and this was Adam’s world, too!

  Jane drew in a deep breath. What a fool she was to hope, even remotely, that her love could ever mean anything to a man like Adam!

  “Hullo,” Nigel said, joining them. “You’re in the next race, Marion.”

  “So I see.” Marion gave him an amused glance. “Did you put your money on me, Nigel? I’ve saddled Thunderer,” she added more seriously, “but I haven’t had time to attend to the Dalesman for Adam. I’ll have to leave that to you.”

  Nigel nodded and she strode away, her riding crop swinging jauntily as she went to collect her mount.

  “She’ll win of course,” Nigel reflected. “Marion always does.” They went to a high part of the field to watch the race through binoculars. From their vantage-point, they could see most of the course spread out before them now that the mist had lifted, and a fitful gleam of yellow sunlight was breaking through. Some of the younger riders wore gaily-colored jerseys and they stood out clearly against the green background of the hills, but it was Marion’s black-clad figure which held Jane’s attention all the time. She was fascinated by her, by the cool, determined way in which she snatched point after point from her opponents and came on, calmly and self-assuredly, to win. Nothing could deflect her from her ultimate purpose. There were spills, the inevitable tumbles at a difficult jump, but always the big gray horse was out in front with the slim, black-coated figure clinging to his back.

  After lunch in one of the marquees, they began to watch for Adam riding over the hill, but by two o’clock there was no sign of him and Nigel became restless and then angry.

  “What the devil can he be up to?” he muttered. “If I thought he was purposely standing me up...”

  “Don’t be a fool!” Marion said. “Something has kept him back. He’s running it fine, I’ll admit, but I don’t think he’ll stay away.”

  Nigel began to walk the Dalesman up and down, scowling as his blue eyes ranged the hills for a first sight of his brother coming in with his own mount.

  Jane stood in complete silence. Her heart was beating slowly and painfully against her breast, because she could not thrust aside the fear of an accident. She tried to tell herself that Adam had been practically born in the saddle, that he had been able to ride almost as soon as he could walk, but there was little comfort in the assurance.

  When she saw the great black horse coming streaking up over the undulating fields toward the enclosure where they stood she could have cried out in sheer relief, but it was Nigel who spoke first.

  “Damn Adam!” he cried. “Look at that horse. He’s flogged it to a standstill!”

  “You’ll have time to rub him down and give him a bit of a rest,” Adam said when he reached them. “What have you done about the Dalesman?”

  Nigel could hardly speak.

  “He’s waiting for you,” he muttered at last. “You have every chance.”

  Adam shrugged and turned away, looking at Jane for the first time.

  “You’re worried about the race,” she guessed. “Don’t let him ride, Adam.”

  “I don’t think I could stop him now, even if I tried,” he returned. “But it’s all right. If he holds Satan in up to the last stretch nothing should go wrong. Nigel knows when to give him his head.”

 
I hope so, Jane thought. I hope so!

  Almost before she realized it, she was standing alone and the field was away. She watched like someone in a none-too-happy dream, unable to discover who held the initial advantage as rider after rider cleared jump after jump without any appreciable thinning out.

  “Second time round!” someone said behind her, and she saw Adam flash past and then Marion and Nigel, riding abreast.

  Then, quite suddenly, Marion was in the lead, and she appeared to keep her advantage on the downward stretch, taking the rise on the far side of the water jump with absolute confidence. The tiny beck which intersected the course was narrow and deep and there were a few spills, but the three leading horses came on.

  Jane found herself running down with the crowd to a position between the last two hurdles. They looked formidable enough to her inexperienced eye and her heart began to beat ponderously as the first riders came up the field. Marion was still out in front, with Adam and Nigel nose to tail behind her. Then, slowly, effectively, Adam began to pull away.

  Jane felt herself caught up in the utter excitement of it all for the first time. She wanted to shout, she wanted to cheer for Adam, but something held her still.

  The three horses came on, with Adam a length ahead now. It was his race. Surely it was his race now! He had beaten Marion.

  Jane closed her eyes. Was that all that mattered to her? Was she so mortally afraid of Marion that she wanted Adam to win even in a small thing like this?

  There was a roar from the crowd, a strange sound that seemed to be stifled at birth, and she opened her eyes to see the Dalesman crushed against the supports at the far end of the final jump.

  “It was that devil of a black horse!” someone was saying. “It got right out of control...”

  “The boy wasn’t fit to hold it. He should never have had it in the race!”

  “They’re all experienced horsemen,” another voice objected, but Jane was beyond hearing, beyond argument.

  Over on the far side of the jump, Adam and the Dalesman were down. She saw Marion riding on to victory, but it meant nothing.

  She tried to run, but her frozen limbs refused to obey her. The whole sky seemed to have darkened, the whole air seemed filled with the beat of thundering hooves.

  Adam! Adam! The words surged to her throat, but she was never sure afterwards whether she had cried them aloud or not.

  Before she reached the jump a crowd had formed, with someone on the inside telling the others to stand back. She felt as if she had no strength left to push her way forward, and then, suddenly, Marion was there, Marion, calm and authoritative, making a wedge through the crowd to where the Dalesman had fallen.

  “D’you mind? Excuse me, please. I’m one of the family.”

  She pushed her way through and Jane followed, white-faced and shaken. In that moment Marion seemed to notice her for the first time.

  “That fiend of a horse!” she said. “Nigel couldn’t hold him once he had given the vicious brute his head.”

  She strode on, the crowd parting automatically to let her pass. The force of her personality defeated argument and Jane was drawn along with her. It was the only way she could have reached Adam, Jane felt, but when she saw him lying huddled on the grass her limbs froze again and she could not go on.

  He was conscious, and in a moment or two he was on his feet. All that she could see was a small trickle of blood running slowly down his cheek, which he wiped away with his handkerchief.

  Utter relief engulfed her and she knew an instant’s wild desire to rush straight into his arms, but the impulse had to be slain at birth. She had no right to go to him with her love fully expressed for all to see. She was his fiancée by proxy, a stranger who was no more to him than the constant, bitter reminder of the girl who had betrayed him.

  At that moment she became aware of Marion again. She was standing beside Adam but not looking at him. She was looking straight at Jane with her pale eyes glinting with victory.

  Jane crossed uncertainly to Adam’s side. He was still mopping the blood from his brow and he smiled ruefully at her from behind the soiled handkerchief.

  “Are you all right?” Her voice sounded no more than a whisper. “No bones broken?”

  “None at all, I hope. The doctor insists on a check-up, though. I’m afraid I came to an ignominious end.”

  He turned abruptly, looking round for his mount. The unconcerned Dalesman was cropping the grass contentedly behind him.

  “Better have that check-up,” Marion advised, although her quick, incisive mind seemed busy with something else. “People have been known to walk about with a broken collar-bone before this, you know!”

  Adam looked as if he might shrug the advice aside, but already the doctor was leading the way toward the first-aid tent.

  Marion found herself a cigarette and lit it, watching Jane through the blue column of smoke as if she had just seen her for the first time.

  “We’ll be going across to Fother Gill,” Marion told her as they watched a distressed Nigel following his brother and the doctor into the first-aid tent. “The salver is always presented there and Roger puts on a buffet supper afterwards.”

  Jane wondered if Adam would go to Fother Gill, but supposed that he would at least put in an appearance to see Marion presented with the trophy he had so nearly won.

  “Adam won’t wait long, of course,” Marion said. And then, abruptly: “You don’t know a great deal about Adam, do you?”

  “Not a lot,” Jane was forced to confess. “After all, this is my first visit to High Tor.”

  Marion turned to face her, every bit the ruthless inquisitor now, with no pretence of friendship left.

  “It’s rather odd, you know,” she observed, “that Adam didn’t describe you to us at all accurately. He didn’t even mention your accident or the fact that it had left you with a limp. You have a twin sister, haven’t you?”

  The seemingly irrelevant remark achieved its purpose. Jane was taken completely by surprise and could only stare back at her questioner, like a rabbit fascinated into immobility by a snake, until the silence between them was broken by Marion’s laughter.

  “So that’s it, is it?” she reflected. “I thought someone who was genuinely in love with Adam would have rushed more ardently to his side when he fell just now.” She took a step nearer, the slanting sunlight reflected into her eyes so that they glittered like pale amber.

  “What exactly is this?” she demanded. “What are you and Adam trying to do?”

  “Nothing,” Jane protested, trapped into instant admission by the swiftness of the attack. “We were only trying to save Mrs. Drummond the added shock of knowing that—that Penny had failed Adam at the last moment.”

  “But this is fantastic!” Marion murmured beneath her breath. “Adam must be quite mad. But you did trick his mother, didn’t you? You tricked her between you. It’s all been rather clever and I must say you’ve played your part admirably, Jane. Even to being able to use your own name! ‘I was christened Jane’!” she mocked, “It was all so easy, wasn’t it? But I don’t think we’re going to go on with it, are we?”

  “What do you mean?” Jane gasped.

  “I mean,” Marion said deliberately, “that unless you find some reason—some suitable excuse—for leaving High Tor within the next twenty-four hours, I shall take it upon myself to tell Mrs. Drummond the truth.”

  “You couldn’t!” Jane cried. “You wouldn’t be so—so cruelly vindictive. The shock would kill her.”

  Marion raised questioning eyebrows.

  “You think so?” she asked. “Then you know what to do. You didn’t give us much notice when you came here. I’m sure nobody will be greatly surprised if you leave again just as unexpectedly—in the morning, shall we say?”

  “Marion,” Jane began, “you can’t do this!” And then she knew that Marion could do it very well. “It will involve telling Adam.”

  “Not necessarily,” Marion advised as the field began
to close in, offering her their boisterous congratulations. “You can go quietly and leave a letter.”

  Roger Malchatt came up to slap her heartily on the back. “Good for Marion!” he exclaimed. “Now that we know Nigel didn’t knock Adam out deliberately, we’ve got time for a few congratulatory speeches! I must say, though, that if I’d been Drummond I should never have allowed that horse of his father’s to be entered. He’s a demon, and Nigel shouldn’t have given him his head at the last there. It was a near thing as far as you were concerned, old girl!” he added with a grin.

  Jane slipped away unnoticed. She felt stunned and sick with apprehension. What was she to do? What could she do without Marion’s telling Adam the truth about Marion’s threat?

  The thought of going to Fother Gill held no appeal, but she knew that Adam would go, for the presentation at least.

  Looking anxiously toward the first-aid tent, she saw him come out with Nigel and the doctor in attendance. Nigel looked pale and guilty, but he was also very obviously relieved that the incident at the jump had not resulted in a serious accident to his brother. If he had tried to crush Adam out at the hurdle he had certainly regretted it immediately, and Adam showed no sign of resentment.

  Jane went toward them, conscious of Marion watching their meeting from the edge of the crowd. Adam had a piece of adhesive plaster on his forehead and one wrist was bandaged, but otherwise he appeared to have escaped without injury.

  “He’s all right,” Nigel informed her with a rush of relief. “No bones broken. Only a graze or two. The doc has just checked up.”

  Adam looked amused at all the fuss. He evidently didn’t expect Jane to feel anxiety on his account.

  “Shall we forget about it, Nigel?” he suggested. “I took an unlucky toss, that was all.”

  “Will you go to Fother Gill?” Nigel asked doubtfully.

  Adam shrugged.

  “Why not? The salver is being presented there.”

  Jane stood silently, waiting for the others to come up.

  “Will you ride over?” Marion asked, looking directly at Adam. “Or shall I take you in the car?”