Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History Cynthia's ChauffeurOpen Original Text The Project Gutenberg eBook of Cynthia's Chauffeur
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Cynthia's Chauffeur
Author: Louis Tracy
Illustrator: Howard Chandler Christy
Release date: March 2, 2010 [eBook #31472]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/31472
Credits: E-text prepared by D Alexander and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR ***
E-text prepared by D Alexander and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive (http://www.archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 31472-h.htm or 31472-h.zip:
(https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/31472/pg31472-images.html)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/files/31472/31472-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://www.archive.org/details/cynthiaschauffeu00traciala
CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR
by
LOUIS TRACY
Author of
The Wings of the Morning,
A Son of the Immortals, Etc., Etc.
Illustrations by Howard Chandler Christy
New York
Grosset & Dunlap
Publishers
Copyright, 1910, by
Edward J. Clode
Entered at Stationers' Hall
[Illustration: "_There is no lovelier garden in England than at Wells
Palace._"]
CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR
By LOUIS TRACY
The scene opens in London on Derby day. A lovely American girl and her
English chaperon had engaged a chauffeur to take them in his car on a
thousand miles run for ten days. On his way to keep the appointment
the car met with an accident, and a young Englishman, the son of an
earl, happened to be in the vicinity. The chauffeur had once been in
his employ, and when he saw his distress at the possible loss of a
good customer he thought it would be a fine lark to go himself, in the
guise of a chauffeur, and take the ladies on their journey.
The girl was beautiful and the pseudo chauffeur was young and
romantic, and one of the strangest of love stories began.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE HIRED CAR 1
II. THE FIRST DAY'S RUN 23
III. SOME EMOTIONS--WITHOUT A MORAL 47
IV. SHADOWS--WITH OCCASIONAL GLEAMS 72
V. A FLURRY ON THE MENDIPS 94
VI. A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S VAGARIES 119
VII. WHEREIN CYNTHIA TAKES HER OWN LINE 143
VIII. BREAKERS AHEAD 167
IX. ON THE WYE 191
X. THE HIDDEN FOUNTS OF EVIL 216
XI. THE PARTING OF THE WAYS 239
XII. MASQUES, ANCIENT AND MODERN 260
XIII. WHEREIN WRATH BEGUILES GOOD JUDGMENT 283
XIV. --AND GOOD JUDGMENT YIELDS TO FOLLY 307
XV. THE OUTCOME 324
XVI. THE END OF ONE TOUR: THE BEGINNING
OF ANOTHER 344
CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR
CHAPTER I
THE HIRED CAR
Derby Day fell that year on the first Wednesday in June. By a whim of
the British climate, the weather was fine; in fact, no rain had fallen
on southern England since the previous Sunday. Wise after the event,
the newspapers published cheerful "forecasts," and certain daring
"experts" discussed the probabilities of a heat wave. So London, on
that bright Wednesday morning, was agog with excitement over its
annual holiday; and at such a time London is the gayest and liveliest
city in the world.
And then, wholly independent of the weather, there was the Great
Question.
From the hour when the first 'bus rumbled Citywards until some few
seconds before three o'clock in the afternoon the mass of the people
seemed to find delight in asking and answering it. The Question was
ever the same; but the answer varied. In its way, the Question formed
a tribute to the advance of democracy. It caused strangers to
exchange opinions and pleasantries in crowded trains and omnibuses. It
placed peers and commoners on an equality. During some part of the day
it completely eclipsed all other topics of conversation.
Thus, young Lord Medenham made no pretense of shirking it while he
stood on the steps of his father's mansion in Cavendish Square and
watched his chauffeur stowing a luncheon basket beneath the front seat
of the Mercury 38.
"You know a bit about racing, Tomkinson," he said, smiling at the
elderly butler who had brought the basket out of the house. "What's
going to win?"
"The King's horse, my lord," replied Tomkinson, with the unctuous
conviction of a prelate laying down a dogma.
"Is it as sure as all that?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Well, I hope so. You are on a sovereign--By gad, you really are, you
know."
Tomkinson was far too keenly alive to the monetary side of the
transaction to pay heed to the quip. His portly figure curved in a
superb bow.
"Thank you, my lord," said he.
"Remind me this evening if you are right. I shall not forget to damn
you if you are wrong."
Tomkinson ignored the chance of error and its consequences.
"Your lordship will be home for dinner?"
"Yes, I have no other engagement. All ready, Dale?" for the chauffeur
was in his seat, and the engine was purring with the placid hum of a
machine in perfect tune.
Tomkinson moved grandly down the steps, ushered Viscount Medenham into
the car, and watched its graceful swoop into Holles Street.
"Times have changed," said he to himself. "Twenty years ago, when I
first came here, his lordship's father would have given _me_ a tip,
and he wouldn't have been coming home for dinner, neether."
By that last fatal word Tomkinson betrayed the cloven hoof. At least,
he was no prelate--and his assumption of the prophetic rôle would soon
be put to the test. But he had answered the Great Question.
The Mercury crossed Oxford Street and insinuated itself into the
aristocratic narrowness of Mayfair. It stopped in Curzon Street,
opposite a house gay with flowers in window-boxes. The Viscount looked
at his watch.
"How far to Epsom?" he asked over Dale's shoulder.
"About sixteen miles by the direct road, my lord, but it will be best
to go round by Kingston and avoid the worst of the traffic. We ought
to allow an hour for the run."
"An hour!"
"We are not in France now, my lord. The police here would have spasms
if they saw the car extended."
Lord Medenham sighed.
"We must reason with them," he said. "But not to-day. Lady St. Maur
declares she is nervous. Of course, she doesn't know our Mercury.
After to-day's experience it will be quite another matter when I take
her to Brighton for lunch on Sunday."
Dale said nothing. He had met his employer at Marseilles in October,
when Lord Medenham landed from Af Next |