Page 21

THE GENTLEMEN INVESTIGATE

L ord Matlock and Lord Cadbury passed through the gates at Tattersall’s and made their way to the subscription room, the colonel and Darcy trailing behind.

The older pair sauntered along so slowly, Cadbury leaning on his cane and Matlock keeping pace with him, that Fitzwilliam trod on his father’s heel and nearly pulled his boot off.

“I beg your pardon,” Fitzwilliam said as he yanked the man back upright and sent him on his way, then turned to Darcy and more quietly muttered, “I shall go mad if we continue at this pace.”

“Very well, then. Go and…reconnoitre or some such thing, you oaf. I shall follow them and observe Cadbury’s wagering habits. Off with you. Shoo!” Darcy waved him away, and Fitzwilliam slunk off to wards the stables.

Darcy carefully observed the parade of men greeting Cadbury as they passed—the sort of men they were (dull and rich), their manner of speaking to him (loud and jolly), their level of inebriation (medium to high), the height of their shirt points (not so very tall).

So intently was he peering at the passers-by that he stumbled over a pigeon and fell to one knee, banging into Lord Matlock’s hip with his shoulder on the way down.

The earl righted himself, swatting at Darcy and hissing, “What are you two about? Where has Fitzwilliam stolen off to? Is he likely to get himself arrested?”

Darcy haughtily hauled himself up to his full height and dusted off his breeches and hands. “No, no, hardly. He has gone in search of some…lemonade?”

His uncle rolled his eyes.

“Brandy,” Darcy said firmly. “Gin?”

“You know full well there is no drink to be had here, Nephew.”

Lord Matlock turned on his heel, shaking his head in disgust, and rejoined Lord Cadbury, who was animatedly discussing duck husbandry with the world’s most tedious-looking man.

One million agonising years later, they made their way into the crowded subscription room and towards the betting desks pushed into an octagon at the centre.

Men were standing about, their purses opened wide and mouths even wider as they chattered on about the merits of the horses in the forthcoming week’s races before placing their bets.

Darcy leant close and spoke into Lord Cadbury’s ear. “Sir, would you care to advise me on which horses to back in the races at Newmarket this week?”

“Beg pardon?” asked the older man.

“Wagering on the Newmarket races this week. Can you provide any tips, sir?”

“Say again?”

Lord Matlock moved to face his friend and bellowed, “Who should he bet on, Cad?”

Lord Cadbury’s face cleared as he shook with laughter. “Oh, I would not have the least idea. I never place bets. Cannot abide it. If you need advice, ask your uncle here.” He elbowed his friend and chuckled.

“Ha ha,” Lord Matlock chuckled back. “It has been an age since I bet with anything other than fish or buttons. You will have to ask my son. Where has he gone?” He peered about the room looking disgruntled.

“If you do not enjoy betting, Lord Cadbury, why do you subscribe to the Jockey Club? It is an institution for precisely that purpose,” Darcy asked, puzzled.

“What is that you say, sir?” Lord Cadbury cupped his ear.

Lord Matlock leant towards his friend and bawled, “Why did you join the Jockey Club since you do not bet on horses? ”

“Oh! Why, to spend time with these fine gentlemen, of course!” A brilliant smile on his face, Lord Cadbury made a flourish with his cane, indicating the crowd of young bucks and stout older men, and knocked the betting book off the nearest desk.

Drat, the man is clever, there is no doubt. He has an answer for everything.

Just then Darcy spotted Fitzwilliam across the room skulking about behind a pillar and took his leave of the older men, walking quickly towards his cousin.

“What have you learnt? You are ridiculous lurking about this way.”

“We shall see who is ridiculous. What have you learnt?” The colonel punched Darcy’s arm.

“Do not imagine you can distract me so easily. What have you learnt?”

“Nothing! Nothing, all right?” Fitzwilliam was practically frothing at the mouth in frustration.

“Nobody has anything bad whatsoever to say about the man. He does not drink to excess nor keep a mistress. He pays his debts. He loves his children and grandchildren. He is generous to his tenants and admired by his neighbours. He is an excellent shot but will not take part in fox hunts because he has a soft heart. He is the epitome of moral rectitude, good nature, and kindness, it seems.”

“Blast.” Darcy paused. “But what of the sell-off of his paintings and stables and whatnot? Does he not have debts?”

“It is an old estate that belonged to his dead wife, filled with the sorts of art one wishes to hide from the eyes of children and ladies but is appreciated by a certain type of collector. His father-in-law bought it with monies gained through dealings in Jamaica.” Fitzwilliam waggled his brows and elbowed his cousin.

“Wants to be relieved of it all and give the estate to his third son once it is cleansed of the taint.”

“Ah.” The irony of it! He wed the daughter of a wealthy reprobate. Now he admires the widow of one. “So, nothing at all?”

“Well, it is widely agreed that he has become rather hard of hearing and that it would be to everyone’s benefit if he would only use his ear trumpet. That is the end of it.”

“Yes, yes, we shall all need ear trumpets one day, too, if we are blessed to live long enough, and we shall likely refuse to use them, just as he does.” Moodily, Darcy crossed his arms over his chest. “Very well. I am convinced the man is a paragon.”

“What now?”

He shrugged—twice—just to spite Lady Catherine. “He is admirable. But he is also quite dull. What does our aunt find so enthralling about him? I do not understand.”

“Nor do I,” Fitzwilliam said, “but the greater mystery is what it is about her that has bewitched him.”

He spun round as if to return to his father and Lord Cadbury and walked right into the outstretched arm of the gentleman behind him, sending betting slips flying in all directions.

Fitzwilliam’s arms flailed wildly about, and his feet shot out from under him as he took Darcy down like a skittles pin as he hit the floor.

Lord Matlock appeared, cackling down at them sprawled on the flagstones. “Get up, you absurd puppies. I shall not ask how you came to assume this position.” He held out a hand to each of the other men to help them stand.

“Have Catherine’s nephews always been so cloddish?” shouted Lord Cadbury.

Darcy felt his face burning as Lord Matlock chuckled again before urging them forwards. “Let us go and see the horses. They are, after all, why a man comes to Tattersall’s.”

Upon leaving the subscription room, the men made their way excruciatingly slowly over to the courtyard for a look-in at the horses that would be for sale on auction day. A crowd stood admiring a tall grey mare as a groom struggled to keep hold of her reins.

The mare stamped and reared, whinnied and danced, jerking her bridle out of the groom’s fist. The men scattered in a great wave, all except for Lord Cadbury.

He only drew closer, patting the horse’s withers and stroking down her back to give her a firm, reassuring tap on the hip. The beast settled and edged towards him for more.

“There you are, my darling! That’s a good girl.”

“Are you not concerned to be so close,” shouted Darcy, “to such a wild and ill-tempered animal?”

“Oh no. Not at all, not at all,” Lord Cadbury said jovially.

“She is a fine one, this girl.” He clucked soothingly at her and rubbed her side.

“You see? Something has made her unhappy. Perhaps a groom mistreated her, or perhaps she is afraid of the crowd or does not like the scent of cigars. It is not so difficult to bring out the best in her once you understand her!” He laughed, a great jolly ha-ha-ha.

Darcy worried that the horse would trample them all from fright, but instead she sidled even closer to the earl and leant down to nuzzle his ear. Extraordinary.

“Just look her in the eye, like so, and you can see right into her soul and know she is a good ’un,” Lord Cadbury declaimed. The horse calmed and gazed expressively into the earl’s eyes.

Darcy felt dizzy.