Kate Lee Ferguson

“ Oh! the white throat—the lovely jeweless throat and hands—the glorious violet eyes, that graceful drooping head, with its crown of waving, bronze-hued hair, those supple limbs, clad in a close-fitting robe of green silk!
“A bore! my God!” and the room grew dim, and the lights went out, while before his eyes a maddened crowd came, the dangling neck of a dead jockey rose, and a foam-covered, rearing steed stood, while there was a cry in Emory’s heart: “Cliquot, Cliquot, my beautiful, win for me or I perish!” ”

“ They were putting Clovis’ mares back into the carriage, and she was preparing to leave. She raised her veil, and turned her dark eyes upon him—those beautiful orbs so full of fire usually, now so filled with the tender light of love for him. Can he resist them, even at this moment when his own heart is stirred with a passion which well nigh stops its beating? ”

“ Yes, Gwendoline rode the stallion, rode to victory the colt she herself had reared. A few years back, when her father lived, he had owned the mother of Cliquot, and, from the time the beautiful sorrel came into the world until that dark day when misery, ruin and death settled on their hearts and homes, the girl had caressed and fondled the lovely creature, who, when old enough to mount, was, for her, as gentle as a lamb. ”

“ On! together, on! How the dust flies and the sun pours down!
When opposite the stand, a hundred glasses are leveled at the horses, but not a shade of difference is seen in the speed of the two. Now they have reached the quarter-stretch. Bay Thomas’ rider uses his whip fast and quick. Cliquot’s carries no lash, but, with his slender knees pressed hard against his horse’s sides, with lips drawn tight above the clenched teeth, the red jockey swings around the curve, and, as he does so, leans over and, in a clear voice, cries:
“Up! up! there!” ”

“ Gwinn; “I said he might get a divorce; but on what grounds I know not.”
She walked to the windows, shook out the curtains, straightened a chair or two, in an aimless fashion, thinking, for the first time, that she detected a chord in her daughter’s voice and a look of the love she had once half-suspected that she entertained for the handsome blond who had married her niece.
“Might get I said, Gwendoline,” she repeated, “but such things don’t grow on trees, as forbidden fruit does. Ah! here is Alice to undress you. Take off your clothes and go to bed; it is better to dream than weep.” ”

“ Where is her energy now? Gone? No! oh, no! but she can be quite as lazy as ever now, and so the beautiful, tall, supple girl stretches out her graceful limbs on the downy couch, with the same ease that the racer does his on the greensward.
“How glad I am that he does not know!” she thought. She was not aware Neil had discovered her, for, when she opened her eyes in the carriage, Peleg alone was with her; and, when they drew up before the blacksmith’s cottage, her hair was again under her black wig, and she was able to alight and enter, leaving him to return thanks by the driver. ”

“ Lying back in a large chair, in all the glory of jewels and fleecy lace, was the lovely Clovis. Her large dark eyes had a dreamy, far-away look, for she was thinking of the one man in all the world whom she loved. Yes, with her whole heart, her whole soul, she loved Neil Emory. ”

“ Little by little was she won away from herself; and, at last, to please that mother, now so devoted a parent, she again took her place before the world, apparently fully restored to health, beauty and good spirits. Beauty such as hers can but attract admirers; and, in the handsome saloons of private houses, as well as amid the public places of amusement, did Gwendoline Gwinn again reign supreme. ”

“ Like an arrow from a bow, swifter than a flying cloud, with heaving sides and quivering nostrils, the beautiful stallion rushes in to victory! He has cleared [77] the string, leaving the other far behind, and, still galloping on, stops at length beyond the gate!
With difficulty his rider turns him towards the stand. Cliquot knows he has won. Rearing slightly and fretting a little, he is almost beyond the control of the exhausted jockey.
Near the fence, inside the field, Clovis had drawn her team, and one of the mares threw up her head at the approach of the stallion. ”

“ The but half-concealed fury which flashed from the young man’s eyes showed Neil Emory a little of the volcano that lurked beneath.
Mrs. Gwinn came up on the arm of a handsome man. He had a courtly bearing, wore his silver hair close cut, had a moustache, a complexion like a girl’s, and was a wealthy sugar planter and desperately enamoured Gwendoline Gwinn, this lovely girl who held her court in the most indolent fashion. ”

“ Gwinn. “I had not heard that. Thanks for your kind information,” and she turned her face to the stage, as the curtain rose.
[145]
Like all Cassandra’s selections, the play was both tasty and beautiful. Gwendoline thought her quite as lovely as ever, only, perhaps, a little thinner, and a “wee bit” worn in face and figure. The story of the drama was one like unto her own life—the hopeless, passionate love of a woman for a man, who had given the best of his heart-treasures to another. Emory, standing in the shade of a column, saw all and felt her powerful language. ”

“ Alice Legare, her maid, stood behind her and softly brushed out its silken waves. It was beautiful hair, but not long—falling only a little below her shoulders, a few tapering coils going nearly to the waist. It grew so lovely upon that shapely head! It is not always the wealth of hair that is attractive. A great many women have that; but all along the brow, around the ear and back of the neck it went wandering away as if it were a wave of light. And then the color—rich red brown, the bronze you read about, the “sunset glow,” and all that you see in the “Cenci” pictures. ”

“ For a week or so, she had held sway at the theatre and that night was to witness her crowning success. Lovers she had in plenty—pure love they called their infatuation. Her manager was very careful of her, and she shone forth a “Goddess among men.” The world [43] of our city had given her some fond admirers, and among those said to be the most ardent was Neil Emory, who, report stated, knew her, in other places, years before. That he had bent with warmth above her chair at the receptions, and almost rested his blond moustache on her white shoulders, was true. ”

“ A SHORT HEAT. Another jockey had been killed on the race-course. The utmost excitement prevailed. The magnificent animal which had caused the death reared and plunged in the hands of a groom, his foam-covered sides catching the dust from his flying heels. The crowd poured and surged from the stand, while the band still played. The two other horses were led away, one quiet enough, but the other, a black gelding, fretting and sidling through the throng.
Mr. Emory, the owner of the restless stallion, hurried down the steps of the grand stand. He was a tall blond, and wore a soft gray hat. ”

“ A blacksmith is to bring a youngster to-morrow and I shall judge what he can do. Would you like to see another jockey tossed, Miss Gwinn?” he asked, laughing a little, hard laugh as he turned to her.
[31]
“Are they always killed?” she asked; “and does it hurt very much to have one’s neck broken? I wonder why persons will be so silly as to fall off and get their necks broken!”
“But he was thrown,” cried Selina, “and so his neck was cracked.”
“No,” said Gwendoline; “I don’t think I care to see that any more; but I promise to be at the race, if that comes off—and not the jockey.” ”

“ Emory, keep that crowd back,” he cried again, “or I’ll not answer for the consequences!” and Neil, pushing here and there, assisted by the police, dispersed the restless, curious stragglers of the race-course.
Peleg threw his arm around his half-exhausted companion and hurried him through the heat and dust to the shade, where an old buggy stood.
The track swarmed with people, and a hundred voices took up the cry:
“Cliquot wins! A thousand to one on Cliquot! Going, going, going, gone!”
“Pool, sir? Pool, sir, on Cliquot?” and the air was rent with the wild cries, oaths and bets on the stallion. ”

“ He went into his room and sat down. It was Saturday [55] night and noisier than usual on the street. The week had dragged slowly enough, yet he began to dread the coming of that Monday morning, that day which would mean so much for him. He shaded his eyes from the soft twilight, and seemed to see it all! The hot and restless crowd, the ever-penetrating rays of the summer sun, the quivering, panting steed—and, perhaps, the death of another jockey in the end. ”

“ Neil Emory, a man with a past, is the hero, and the heroine is Gwendoline Gwinn, who, while admired as a belle, petted by her mother and apparently fond of her ease, is yet a woman to do and dare. A theatrical element is cleverly introduced in the shape of two actresses, Cassandra Clovis and the mysterious “Kitty Who Laughs.” The book takes its title from a thoroughbred racing stallion, capable of great things on the turf but addicted to killing his jockeys. A boy is at last found who rides him to a successful finish and about whom some very singular developments are made. ”

“ The other personages introduced are of minor importance, but well-drawn and representative types of Southern character, for the scene of “Cliquot” is laid in the South, the most thrilling developments taking place in New Orleans. The love passages, of which there are quite a number in the delightful volume, are highly wrought and overflowing with ardent passion, but altogether within the bounds of the natural. They will certainly stir a responsive chord in the breast of every youthful reader and not a few of the older ones. ”

“ Young Maury pressed his suit, but in vain; and, at last, he, too, went home, a “sadder if not a wiser man.” I do not think I have ever led you to suppose that Reginald Gray had cared for her in a lover-like way. His place in these pages has only been that of Neil Emory’s friend—perhaps, one of Gwendoline’s, too—and the would-be lover of that gloriously seductive creature, Cassandra Clovis. ”

“ Emory is married and has not been released from the wife he has put aside, but this does not prevent him from passionately loving Gwendoline Gwinn, the beautiful heroine and an admirable character, by the way, strong in all those points which bring a man to a woman’s feet and keep him there. Spicy incidents abound and are well worked up, particularly those in which Cassandra Clovis and “Kitty Who Laughs,” a couple of actresses, figure conspicuously. Cassandra is a handsome, passionate creature who loves unbidden and suffers bitterly in consequence. ”

“ The blacksmith, Jess Peleg, who had lived on her father’s place, had moved with them and set up his forge just outside the city limits. Here Gwendoline often stopped in her carriage to exchange kindly greetings.
When a little girl, she had stood for hours, watching him at his work, while the light from the glowing coals shone on her face and hair. Sometimes, in the twilight, the man would turn to gaze upon her, as she lingered near ”

“ Afar off in her rosy bower that breezy morn Gwendoline thought of him, and her cheek grew paler at the idea that he might have discovered her. No word or look, as yet, had betrayed her passionate love for him. The color rushed over throat and brow, as she thought of what she had braved for him. To give to the husband of another her heart’s best treasure [97] was terrible in itself ”

“ Love, of course, is its predominating theme, but much of its interest centres in the racing career of a fleet thoroughbred stallion from which the romance takes its name and which by reason of intractability and a habit of killing jockeys has failed in every race. Neil Emory, the hero of the novel and his owner, however, finds a boy who manages to control and bring him in a winner. ”

“ Emory received his congratulations on his success in securing a jockey.
“I trust he will do,” said Coutell, “and we will yet see the race.”
“Thanks,” replied Neil. “I am sure he’ll suit, though I fear somewhat for the fellow’s life. There’s no counting on such horses.”
“I’ll be in at the death!” cried Gwendoline, as she glanced up with—for her—a mischievous smile. ”

“ At length the three horses have turned and trotted slowly up the quarter-stretch. Yellow and white are the colors worn by the jockey who rides Black Boy, pink and green those of Bay Thomas, while red and blue distinguish Cliquot’s.
Cliquot was behaving well. Neil, from behind the bell, watched him stepping softly on towards the starting post, his jockey’s back-curls shining in the sun. Every nerve in the owner’s body quivered, and his [73] brain whirled to the verge of madness. Reginald Gray had hardly dared approach him, and then only whispered a word or two. ”

“ She was lying on the little bed in the back room of this humble home when Alice appeared with her [84] garments, as usual. Her carriage stood a short distance off, under some trees, and it was not long before she appeared in her own dress, looking tall and stately, and, with her faithful maid, drove home, through the gloom.
Mrs. Gwinn had not gone to the race. She never attended races; in fact, she had preferred to spend the day with a friend.
When Gwendoline entered her own room, she walked over to where the picture of the stallion hung. ”

“ So far, it is a beautiful race. Again they come! Men and boys shout wildly as they see a gap, a little gap, when they turn once more.
“I dare not look!” said Emory. “Reg., tell me!”
“The black is behind.”
“And the bay?”
Before the reply came, a flash of red went alone under the string and the first heat was over!
The boy sprang from the horse and tottered against the blacksmith, who was near at hand. The yelling, surging crowd almost overpowered them. Neil approached and asked if the boy was sick or hurt. ”