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_Title:_ Maiden Stakes
_Date of first publication:_ 1928
_Author:_ Cecil William Mercer (as Dornford Yates) (1885-1960)
_Date first posted:_ Mar. 31, 2022
_Date last updated:_ Mar. 31, 2022
Faded Page eBook #20220389
This eBook was produced by: Al Haines, Pat McCoy & the online
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[Cover Illustration]
=_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_=
Published by
WARD, LOCK AND CO., LTD.
BERRY AND CO.
JONAH AND CO.
ADÈLE AND CO.
AND BERRY CAME TOO
ANTHONY LYVEDEN
VALERIE FRENCH
THE BROTHER OF DAPHNE
THE COURTS OF IDLENESS
AND FIVE WERE FOOLISH
AS OTHER MEN ARE
THE STOLEN MARCH
MAIDEN STAKES
BLIND CORNER
PERISHABLE GOODS
BLOOD ROYAL
FIRE BELOW
SAFE CUSTODY
STORM MUSIC
SHE FELL AMONG THIEVES
SHE PAINTED HER FACE
THIS PUBLICAN
GALE WARNING
SHOAL WATER
PERIOD STUFF
AN EYE FOR A TOOTH
MAIDEN STAKES
BY
DORNFORD YATES
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED
LONDON AND MELBOURNE
_First Published_… _1928
_
_Reprinted_……… _1931
_
_Reprinted_……… _1933
_
_Reprinted_……… _1936
_
_Reprinted_……… _1941
_
_Reprinted_……… _1943
_
_Reprinted_……… _1944
_
MADE IN ENGLAND
Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Ltd., Frome and London
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHILDISH THINGS……………………. 9
ST. JEAMES………………………… 41
AESOP’S FABLE……………………… 75
VANITY OF VANITIES…………………. 105
FORCE MAJEURE……………………… 131
BRICKS WITHOUT STRAW……………….. 163
‘SERVICE’…………………………. 189
IN EVIDENCE……………………….. 225
MAIDEN STAKES……………………… 261
LETTERS PATENT…………………….. 295
TO
_Those exquisite summer evenings, when I have sat, in my
shirt-sleeves, two thousand five hundred feet up, watching my
elders and betters using the scythe, and, by their comfortable
labour, performing the incredible feat of adding sweetness to
the mountain air._
CHILDISH THINGS
Cicely Rage’s letter reached me when I was in a receptive mood.
I had just returned from Harley Street, where I had rather childishly
paid three guineas to be told what I already knew to be the truth.
“My dear sir, of course it’s the concussion. If every vehicle were
electrically propelled and ran upon comfort tires, or if twelve years
ago you hadn’t been shot through the brain, London Town wouldn’t give
you a headache to-day. As it is . . .”
“I know, I know. But the country in bad weather . . . . I mean, last
summer was awful. Besides, my friends . . . .”
“Why don’t you travel for a bit?” said the physician, rising. “And
marry. Marry a nice, quiet girl.”
“There aren’t any left,” said I.
He laughed and saw me out, and I drove to the Club.
Five minutes later the letter was in my hands.
_March 28th._
_DEAR ADAM,_
_Toby and I have found a peach of a place, but it’s too big for
us alone. Will you come in? We can have it from now for six
months. Up on the top of a hill, four bathrooms, private plage,
quarter of an hour from Biarritz—and the rest. Please wire
because we’ve got to decide. Too hot to write more._
_CICELY._
And overleaf was scrawled—
_This is a real good thing and the cellar is half full of
Roederer 1914. I’ve bought that, any way—just in case._
_TOBY._
It was absurdly vague and ridiculously attractive. ‘Too hot to write
more.’ I raised my eyes from the sheet. In St. James’s Street a fine
snow was falling. . . .
After a little reflection I sent my reply.
_I will come in and shall leave for Biarritz on Thursday next._
I was really extraordinarily thankful.
I had known and loved Cicely for twenty years, and Toby had chosen me to
be his best man. Indeed, they were, both of them, after my own heart.
They were reasonable and did reasonably in an unreasonable age. They
liked the high lights, rejoiced in revelry, could lift a dragging party
into a blazing success: but their lives were not founded upon these
things and never had been. They could dine alone together for a month
and afterwards sit by the fire and find each sober evening a refreshing
festival. One of their closest friends was a High Court Judge who had
never entered a Casino and drank cocoa with every meal. The two were
pre-war.
But for the invitation I do not know what I should have done.
Thanks to a patient sniper, for eleven long years I had been at a very
loose end—an existence which may suit some men, but was to me
obnoxious. The Boleyns have always been Heralds, and, but for that enemy
marksman, I should have been engaged at the College of Arms. I was not
made to be idle, and hated the state: neither was I made to dwell in the
countryside—at least, not alone: finally, to set down the truth, I did
not seem to have been made to enjoy the post-war world. Fashions,
outlook, the spirit and manners of the age—I found the lot beyond me.
To condemn them would have been presumptuous. I merely deplored the fact
that I could not adapt myself to their demands. The dance of life had
altered, and I could not master the steps. So I had withdrawn from the
struggle and gone back to what was left of the old highways which people
used to tread before the War, passing along them soberly and for the
most part alone, and occasionally wondering whether, after all, the
sniper had not known better than the surgeons who saved my life.
I was a young fogey.
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