CHAPTER TEN
Denton’s predictions proved accurate. Morning brought a precursor to the heavy, cloying heat usually associated with high summer. The day qualified as pleasant, though the air was still, and the ladies were keeping fans close by. The horses, as they came in from their morning gallops, were drenched in sweat.
One by one, their grooms led them to the river, where the beasts were thoroughly rubbed down and permitted to drink when cool.
“How did Excalibur, Sovereign Remedy, and Dasher go?” I asked as a beaming Atticus led Atlas up the barn aisle. While Atticus and I had shared a morning tray in the predawn gloom, I’d mentioned that those three had been taken out for nighttime gallops.
Though the tray, strictly speaking, had not been shared. It never was. Atticus hovered under the guise of tidying up the bedroom while I ate enough to take the edge off my hunger. As I finished dressing, Atticus returned the tray to the kitchen, always mysteriously devoid of leftovers by the time it arrived belowstairs.
Atticus had his notions of class distinctions and defended them ceaselessly.
“Them three ran like the wind,” he said, unfastening Atlas’s girth and then replacing the horse’s bridle with a halter. “They all run like the wind, and the jockeys have to hold them back, and the owners yell at ’em to let them sprint to the finish, or not, and they all run like mad, and if they won’t, then the Congress of Vienna convenes to figure out why. The dewfall was heavy this morning. Denton said galloping like that on wet grass was folly. Said Excalibur, being older, knew better than to go flat out over wet grass.”
Or Excalibur, having galloped like mad six hours ago, had been overtaxed. “What of Dasher and Sovereign Remedy?” I lifted saddle and pad from Atlas’s sweaty back.
“They ran against each other. Tenneby left room for match races at the end of next week, so some of the gallops are being done in twos. Piggott says the betting on match races is worse than the auction for two year old’s at Tatts.”
“Then listen to Piggott and keep your coin close.”
“You got that blowin’-up-castles-in-Spain look about you, guv.” Atticus took the saddle and pad from me and set them over an open half door, then draped the bridle over the saddle. “What you thinkin’?”
The stable yard was oddly deserted for the morning hour. The first string had come back from its exertions, and the second had gone out. No grooms were at leisure in the morning sun, and what horses weren’t at grass or exercise were content to doze in their stalls.
Like Denton, they could sense the building heat.
“I’m thinking,” I said, “that Tenneby makes up the gallop rosters, so he would have known Dasher and Remedy were to pace each other. If both horses are tired, that’s less evident when they run against each other.”
Atticus shook his head. “The rosters have been posted for the week, in pencil, at the bottom of the carriage house steps. Every groom knows the schedule, and so do the owners. They like their whole string to run together, if they have more than one runner, but sometimes if they own both colts and fillies, that don’t work.”
He was picking up his own version of an Oxford education without cracking a book.
“Then everybody knew that Dasher and Remedy would be paired this morning, and Denton had an excuse for Excalibur being tentative.”
“Excalibur’s getting on, according to Piggott. He’s rising seven, and that’s old for a runner.”
“Excalibur’s racing over fences these days, and seven is not old for that undertaking. Seven is arguably young. Like you.”
Atticus stuck out his tongue at me and took the horse’s gear into the saddle room.
I considered my mount, who was considering me. “We are not old. We are in our prime, and that child knows nothing about anything.”
Atlas swished his tail at a fly, which I took for agreement among the senior ranks. When Atticus returned, he took up Atlas’s lead rope and they sauntered away in search of green grass, to be followed by a doubtless mutual roll in the river.
My boyhood summers had been filled with such pleasures, mostly shared with my brother Harry, or with a canine or equine companion. I dearly hoped that Atticus had many more years to savor innocent joys and that his enthusiasm for all things equestrian would not end in grief.
My own agenda was to find Tenneby and report the previous night’s developments. I stopped by his apartment, to no avail. I looked in on the breakfast parlor, half hoping to find Hyperia and coming instead across her brother.
A brief conference with Healy was also on my agenda, so I put together a plate at the sideboard and suggested to Healy that we enjoy the morning sunshine on the terrace. He heaped his plate full of second helpings and obliged me.
“Did you go along for morning gallops?” he asked, taking a bench that looked out over the park. The balustrade made a handy table, and I was famished.
Healy looked entirely too rested and relaxed for my liking, when I was again in want of a bath and short of sleep.
“Atticus, my groom, tiger, and general factotum, took my horse out for me by way of a hack. He’s enthralled with the whole race meeting. I trust St. George will be joining the excursions as soon as he’s rested from his travels?”
“He well might, but if you think to lecture me on the care and training of my jumper, spare your breath. You sat on a horse for a few years in Spain, I grant you, but I have known the magic of Newmarket. Nowhere will you find a greater abundance of wisdom relating to all matters equine than in Newmarket.”
Sat on a horse for a few years in Spain. Not altogether wrong, but still. I pushed aside the urge to smack Healy’s toast from his hand.
“Newmarket is certainly the capital of Thoroughbred racing,” I said, “but you’d be hard put to learn the deepest mysteries of the pony or the plow horse there. I found Newmarket a bit like a rummage sale. Unless you are looking to buy trinkets, it’s all so much gossip and money changing hands.”
Healy took a bite of toast soaked with butter. “Philistine. You have allowed Hyperia too much influence over your masculine sensibilities, and you a former soldier.”
I tore off a bit of hot cross bun and mentally counted to five. “Tell me about St. George. Where does he shine?”
“Over fences, and not those puny hurdles gaining favor with owners whose runners are too slow on the flat. Fences, Caldicott. Fences are where the excitement and the true athleticism lie. Any dog can run fast on the flat, but fences require strategy.”
“I had no idea you were so keen on jump racing.”
“Getting keener by the day. You know old Richard Tattersall made his fortune off one stud. A fortune from a single horse. That’s why it’s called the sport of kings, you know, because the right horse can make any man a king of sorts.”
And here, I’d thought royalty had had something to do with that epithet, or perhaps needing a royal fortune to be able to afford to participate.
“And St. George is that horse?”
Healy paused in the demolition of his omelet. “He’s fast, Caldicott. He’s blazingly fast and brave as the devil. If he doesn’t make me a fortune, he’ll die trying. He’s that kind of horse.”
He was that kind of horse, apparently, until midmorning or so. “What does Hyperia think of this venture?”
“Oh, she’s against it, of course. She’s against all of my ventures. She expects me to sit around a second-rate club reading newspapers and hoping for some modestly dowered viscount’s daughter to smile upon me. Hyperia hasn’t any sense of adventure, but then, we don’t expect that of ladies , do we?”
Thrashing was too good for this dimwit. “She’s engaged to marry me. That took some courage, I’m sure you’ll admit. When shall we get around to discussing settlements, by the by?”
Healy took a sip of his tea. He pushed his eggs around on his plate. He shot me a sidelong glance and took another sip of tea.
“Is there any reason those discussions need to take place immediately?” The question was frosty with fraternal authority, and I took no offense. A brother was entitled to know if scandal was afoot, even this brother.
“None that I know of, but if the lady should take a notion to set a date, the preliminaries had best be dealt with sooner rather than later.”
“I thought you weren’t to set a date until Waltham returns, and he’s off somewhere in the Peloponnese, last I heard.”
“My brother left Greece some time ago and should soon be touring southern France.” The very notion of France, any particle of its accursed terrain, made me shudder.
“Then he won’t be home for quite some time, will he?” Asked with far too much good cheer.
“I am prepared to be very generous regarding the Caldicott contribution to Hyperia’s settlements. I have property of my own, considerable means, and every intention of seeing the lady honored in the particulars of her dower estate. The discussions should not take long, West.”
“Good to know, but I’ll be having those discussions with Waltham. He’s the head of your family, and that’s how these things are done.”
That Healy West, gentry, should dictate to me, a ducal heir, how these things were done was so far beyond ill-mannered as to be proof positive of imbecility.
“His Grace might decide to settle in France, West. Your solicitors will negotiate with the Caldicott family solicitors under my direction—I have His Grace’s written delegation of authority. Unless you’d rather risk an elopement? If Hyperia attempted to kidnap me, I’d capitulate to her scheme willingly.”
I would not consent to an elopement all that happily, in truth. The whole business usually had a hole-and-corner aroma and hinted of unsteady motives and anticipated vows.
Healy should have exploded with indignation. Instead, he shoved the last bite of eggs into his mouth, chewed, and patted his lips with his table napkin.
“You’d elope? Truly?”
“I’d rather not, but the manner and timing of the wedding lie within the lady’s marital purlieus.” Would he like to see us elope? Whyever…?
Ah, because a bride who eloped forfeited any claim on her family’s obligation to contribute to her settlements. If she eloped, she came to her husband as a pauper—shame upon Healy for ignoring that fact—but the family wealth would be undiminished by her marrying.
“I try to avoid marital purlieus myself,” Healy said, finishing his tea. “Though, to be honest, Hyperia is not the most tolerant of sisters. She’s all up in the boughs about St. George, for example. You’d think I’d taken to printing seditious pamphlets.”
He’d probably consider that scheme, too, if it made money. “She worries about you.” I did, too, in my more patient and forgiving moments.
“She needn’t. St. George will slay all my dragons, and Hyperia should for once have some faith in me. I’ll bid you good day. Let me know when Waltham is expected back on Albion’s shores, there’s a good fellow.”
He rose and strolled across the terrace, quite the young man in charity with the world.
I was out of charity with him, and not only because of the casual slights he’d tossed at Hyperia’s character and judgment. She wasn’t merely up in the boughs about Healy’s acquisition of St. George, she was livid.
Healy’s refusal to negotiate settlements with me and his sanguine consideration of an elopement all but howled that Hyperia’s rage was justified.
I finished my eggs—cold now—and my toast and bun. Finished my tea and was less hungry but still unsatisfied. Hyperia was angry with Healy, justifiably so.
But I could not resolve her difficulties with her brother without also provoking her ire at myself, and that, I was loath to do.
* * *
“Wickley’s not a bad sort,” Hyperia said. “If he were a horse, I’d say he’s overfaced. Scrambling to get over jumps he lacks the strength or coordination to manage, but galloping gamely on.”
We were finishing a round of cribbage in the early afternoon shade beneath an octagonal stone folly by the river. A picnic basket had been duly raided. The river at low water sang over shallows, and a slight breeze stirred the branches of the oaks above us.
The moment should have been pleasant, but I was burdened with the knowledge that I owed Hyperia a report, and the news regarding St. George was not good.
“You are doubtless trying to gently steer Lord Wickley onto a steadier course,” I said, collecting the cards.
Hyperia was as softhearted as she was fierce, and I loved that about her. Mostly. I also haunted myself with the notion that our engagement was the result of pity on her part rather than true esteem. She would one day soon admit the error of her decision to marry me, and I’d be bereft of her company for all the rest of my days.
“‘Gently’ being the operative word,” she said, rising from the bench and shaking out her skirts. “To little avail. He seems to think that if nobody is laughing or gossiping, the conversation is a failure. Shall we walk awhile? The path is shady, and I’ve played enough cribbage.”
As had I. “What of Wickley’s credentials as an owner of racehorses?” I asked as I got to my feet. “Does he know what he’s about?”
Because we had taken a meal and played cards, our hands were bare. When I offered Hyperia my hand to assist her down the steps, she took it and laced her fingers through mine. I ought to have stolen a kiss, but St. George’s poor prospects dulled romantic inclinations considerably.
Drat Healy West and his deuced horse, anyway.
Hyperia set us on a trail that meandered by the river. “I cannot tell if Wickley is truly turf mad, or if he’s simply doing what he thinks is expected of him, Julian. He’s also mentioned that he wanted to get back a bit of the family’s own by besting Lord Temmington’s heir.”
“What could that allude to?” My friend the nightingale was in good form, though he was singing at an unusual hour. Perhaps the dry spring was upending his courtship schedule.
“Pierpont whispered something about the earl and Wickley’s father having a parting of the ways years ago. They’d been great friends, but something went amiss—a wager was involved or possibly a lady’s honor—and they stopped speaking to each other.”
“Was there a duel?” Dueling was falling out of fashion, but in Temmington’s day, it would have been nothing remarkable between hotheaded young men.
“If there was, Pierpont didn’t say, but then, he wouldn’t, would he?”
Because Hyperia was a lady. “You are uncovering motives, Perry dearest. If Wickley’s family came out badly in the elders’ day, Wickley has the basis for a grudge, and that grudge might be behind last night’s unscheduled gallops.”
We strolled hand in hand, and my resentment for the investigation grew with each step. I wanted to marry Hyperia, to devote myself to her happiness, and here we were, discussing cheaters and schemers on a pretty spring day.
Best get it over with. “St. Just had a discussion with Healy about St. George. The report is mixed.”
“Tell me.”
“The horse has speed and ability—a great deal of speed and ability, apparently.”
“But?”
Let’s go wading. Let’s find some fishing poles. Let’s shed our clothes and feel the cool water on our bare skin.
“St. George is what’s called a morning glory. He’ll run like the devil on a dawn gallop, all the speed in the world. Put him in an afternoon match, and he’s a different and much less motivated horse.”
Hyperia walked half a dozen yards in silence. “I suppose it could be worse,” she said. “He could be a mudder. Not much chance of a muddy track at this meet.”
I could feel the stoicism in her words, the self-discipline that set disappointment at a remove from speech and action.
“There’s more. St. George is a serial joke among those in the know at Newmarket. He’s sold for a hefty sum based on his obvious talents, then bought back for half the price after somebody has paid his shot for a few months of inexplicably slow going.”
“Healy has been taken for a fool?” She might have been inquiring about the offerings on the sweets table at tonight’s buffet.
“By experts, but yes. The probability of St. George doing well at this meet is small.”
Hyperia stopped walking and dropped my hand. “Wickley put Healy onto this little gathering. I don’t know if Wickley obtained an invitation for Healy, or if Healy wrangled that for himself. Perhaps my brother has deduced that St. George would not do well against serious competition at Newmarket.”
“Healy is not without brains, Hyperia. We know that.” He could write clever satire and do basic sums. He’d have to take notice of a series of lost wagers, one after the other after the other.
“But my darling brother can also be exceedingly lacking in sense.” She blinked at the river, though I doubted it was the afternoon sunshine putting a sheen on her eyes. “Damn him, Jules. Damn him for a selfish, shortsighted, ungrateful, impulsive… I wish I had slapped him harder.”
I took Hyperia in my arms, though she did not reciprocate the embrace. She leaned against me, her forehead against my shoulder, her posture conveying a bewildered weariness of spirit.
“Tell me,” I said, rubbing her shoulders slowly. “You often say to me, ‘What are you thinking, Jules?’ Or, ‘What has put that look on your face?’ and I want to put the same questions to you. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and I am willing to move mountains to bring that happy occasion about.”
“Unfair, Jules, to use my own tactics against me.” She pushed away and scooped up a handful of pebbles.
“Unfair, but effective, I hope. I know he’s in over his head, Hyperia. I can bail him out, if you like, but I don’t see any point in supporting the myth that he’ll recover his fortunes at this race meet.”
One by one, she tossed the pebbles into the water. We’d come to one of the few places where the river still had some depth, and each stone created concentric ripples on the quiet surface.
“He has the rest of his life to recover his fortunes. The fate of my fortune concerns me more. Until I’ve taken care of that detail, I cannot marry you.”
If she had kicked me in the jewel box, I could not have been more shocked. “ Cannot marry me?”
She nodded, her gaze so impassive that I would not have given tuppence for Healy’s old age in that moment. Insight befell me like another blow to sensitive regions.
“ He spent your settlements . He abused his authority over your funds and squandered them.” A modest fortune, but that wasn’t the point, at least not to Hyperia. I could replace the funds. We could manage splendidly without them.
Though the pragmatic half of my brain begged to make that very point, the suitor in me knew better. Healy had robbed Hyperia of dignity as well as coin. Setting matters to rights would take more than bank drafts or economies.
“You must not call him out, Jules. I forbid it. I’ve forbidden him to call you out as well, not that he’ll listen to me. You will respect my wishes, of all the ironies, while I can’t trust my only brother as far as I could throw him.”
The enormity of Healy’s transgression subsided under the weight of my concern for Hyperia. “How have you not murdered him? He has stolen the sum designated by your parents to guarantee your security in this life. The only means you have for ensuring a roof over your head should matrimony not appeal to you. He has pillaged your contented old age, forced you to consider marriage on terms abhorrent to you, and disrespected you as the sole female for which he has any responsibility. This is… God in heaven, he needs a thrashing, Hyperia. At least allow me that.”
She was, of all the inexplicable things, smiling. “You understand.”
“Of course I understand.” Reluctantly, but I did. “This is why horse thieves are hanged, for pity’s sake. You take a man’s horse, you steal his livelihood, his safety on the road, his greatest asset, his companion on the battlefield, or his sole legacy from the only uncle who had any blunt. It’s not done , to steal a horse. What possible excuse could Healy put forth for this heinous behavior?”
My rage, for that’s what it was, seemed to comfort Hyperia. “He went to Newmarket. That’s all it took, Jules. All the best fellows have a runner or two, and that crowd has informal match races by the dozen. I gather wagering is like drinking tea for them, and Healy was very, very thirsty.”
“He was dodging the Season in Mayfair, just like most of those other best fellows . Hyperia, I commend your restraint. You are doubtless Healy’s heir. If sending him to his Maker hasn’t occurred to you yet, it surely should.”
She threw the last of the pebbles into the water. “I suspect, Julian, I would inherit a pile of debts, some heavily mortgaged properties, and one boring little scandal. Another spinster who should have married when she had the chance. Such a pity. I will bring Healy day-old bread when he’s rotting away in the Marshalsea debtors’ prison. I don’t mind the thought of poverty for myself, up to a point, but I mind very much that I am not in the situation you thought me to be when you offered to marry me.”
And without settlements, Miss Hyperia West would not marry anybody. Her sense of honor, which I also loved her for, precluded a marriage on those terms.
I wasn’t so keen on her sense of honor at the moment. “This is why Healy refused to embark on settlement negotiations with me. He said only Waltham has the authority to handle those discussions, but I have Arthur’s written delegation to deal with all matters personal, ducal, or familial.”
Hyperia nodded once. “Healy has nothing to bring to the negotiation table, except that blasted horse and a fine wardrobe. He hasn’t even tried to sell his play, Julian. That was just a passing distraction, according to Healy, though it’s a good work, and writing for the stage is work a gentleman can do.”
The question burning in my soul was too fraught to ask: Are we still engaged?
“I do love you,” Hyperia went on. “Madly, even when I’m vexed with you. I hoped I could sort Healy out this time, as I have on several previous occasions, but he’s not a boy with an essay to write before morning. His messes have grown messier and more serious, and this one… He never means to cause me any difficulties, but he never stops to think about the consequences of his actions.”
“It’s not the money, is it? That’s not why you feel you cannot marry me now.”
“Oh, the money matters, Julian. For the sake of my pride, if nothing else. I cannot so much as hire a scullery maid without my brother’s permission, though he’s never set a booted foot in the scullery himself. This is money my parents meant for me to control, though perhaps not until great old age. If nothing else, I could direct that the sums be shared among my daughters, but Healy has taken all that away. I have nothing of my own, and that is not how any lady seeks to begin a marriage.”
“The worse problem, though,” I said, “is Healy himself. You are ashamed of him and loath to burden any husband with Healy for a brother-in-law. You are concerned that he will be a plague on the marriage.”
I’d surprised her, and her impersonation of the serene lady faltered. “Jules, he’s been a blight on our courtship . Deny that if you can.”
Having only the one sibling, Hyperia apparently did not know, as I knew, that family was in part meant to blight our existence, to challenge our capacity for compassion, to force us to develop some self-respect. Harry had done that much for me, both by leading me into trouble and helping get me out of it. Family—good family as well as the other kind—was a crucible for building character.
“Healy has been a challenge, Hyperia, but I have hope for him yet. His road has not been easy, though I make no excuses for this latest stunt. At the rate he’s going, I won’t have to call him out. Half of polite society will beat me to it.”
Hyperia put her arms around my waist. “No duels, Julian. Not with Healy, not with anybody. You didn’t survive the worst-imaginable horrors of war to lose your life over stupid male pride.”
What about intelligent male pride? Where would Society be if honor was lightly held by the gender wielding most of the money and power?
I kept those arguments to myself and hugged Hyperia gently. “We are still engaged, Miss West. You will not jilt me before all these peacocks and popinjays. Such behavior is firmly under the heading of Not Done. Worse than stealing a horse, in fact. A man’s pride matters, even his stupid pride, and I see no reason for hasty measures in any case. Promise me we will remain engaged for the nonce.”
She gave me a squeeze and stepped back. Letting her go cost me more gentlemanly restraint than the Bank of England had coin.
“I won’t jilt you, Jules, I promise. We might quietly decide we don’t suit, but not yet. Certainly not here in the middle of an investigation. You must promise me not to get up to any duels.”
She was truly concerned for her brother, despite the grief Healy had caused her. “I give you that assurance easily, and if he’s to be thrashed, I will leave you to finish the job you so ably started yesterday.”
“I did wallop him soundly, didn’t I?”
“St. Just was impressed, and he has five sisters.”
Hyperia slipped her hand into mine, kissed me soundly on the lips, and returned with me in silence to the gazebo.
We were still engaged, and she had confided in me the worst of her situation. That much was encouraging.
That Healy West had stolen her entire fortune, and behaved like a ninnyhammer, jackanapes, highwayman, and fool all under one top hat, was more than a bit daunting.
* * *
“Why wait until the day is almost gone to tell me this?” Tenneby whipped his cravat into a simple mathematical and surveyed his reflection in the cheval mirror. “Didn’t you agree to report to me after breakfast, my lord?”
“You were not in your apartment after breakfast, and a meeting before supper also figured in our agreements.”
Earlier in the day, Tenneby might have been napping in this tidy little dressing closet. Unlike many chambers of its kind, this one had a window that overlooked the back terrace. The other appointments were predictable: two sizable wardrobes, a vanity with dressing stool, a cheval mirror, and a clothespress. Shelves boasting hatboxes, boots, and slippers rose above the clothespress, and a wicker hamper sat by the door.
The space was tidy, predictable, and unremarkable, much like Tenneby appeared to be.
“After breakfast? I was out and about, you’re right. You might have found me sooner, though. This is a bad business, somebody larking about by moonlight on my best horse.” He dragged a brush through his hair, though no amount of styling would turn his red locks into a fashionable coiffure.
“Somebody was larking about on three promising colts, Tenneby, not only yours.” Though Excalibur was no longer a colt in racing parlance. “For all I know, more runners were galloped last night, but I could not take up surveillance until nearly midnight.” I thought it prudent to keep any mention of Atticus, St. Just, or Joe Corrie to myself.
“You could not stay up all night, could you? I suppose I’ll have to post guards. Every owner on the premises will be insulted.”
My befuddlement with the racing crowd grew by the hour. “They should be grateful that you take the integrity of the races seriously, though if you put a stop to the extra gallops, then the next tactic might be to tamper with the feed or something even worse. I propose that you allow me to continue keeping a quiet watch instead.”
He spritzed the air above his head with the scent of bergamot. “My lord, at the risk of pointing out the obvious, it’s dark at night. You, with all your experience under Wellington, could not tell who was riding those horses. Last night was dark . Tonight will also be dark . This falls under the heading of eternal verities. Nighttime is dark , and you have poor eyesight, unless I miss the mark. You are not the ideal fellow for the job.”
“Which makes me the ideal fellow for the job. I have no horse in the race, literally, and I am not betting on any horse. My night vision is actually quite good. You asked me to keep the races honest, and I cannot do that if you dictate means and details, Tenneby.”
“Well, you haven’t managed the one job you’re assigned, have you? Blinken was tampered with. Three horses were run ragged by moonlight. At least three. This is not how I foresaw matters unfolding.”
I wanted to kick him, because this was exactly how I’d seen matters unfolding. Mischief on every hand, suspects lining up twelve deep before the punchbowls. Tenneby had had more than an inkling such mayhem might ensue—to wit, he’d dragooned me into attending.
“Tenneby, did you honestly think you could parade me around and your race meet would magically escape all the tricks that are apparently perennial ploys when the turf set gather around a course?”
He set the brush down and turned his profile to the mirror. “I had hoped so, yes, and the earl agreed with me. He’s sensible, for all his faults. Do you expect me to say nothing about what amounted to temporary horse thievery last night? Somebody takes out my stallion, runs him over badger holes and heavens know what else out on the Downs, tires him thoroughly, and may be preparing to do the same again and again. I’m supposed to say nothing?”
“You are supposed to say nothing. You may, however, post torches in the stable yard as a courtesy to all the grooms who, unlike your own staff, can’t be expected to find their way to the river and back after dark. That water is their only bathing option, and bathing must take place at night if we aren’t to risk scandalizing the ladies.”
I paced the length of the room. “You may swap around where you stable each of your horses on any pretext you please, assuming anybody notices—a rathole that needs plugging, a horse who prefers afternoon light. You may make late-night calls upon your colts and fillies, as a sentimental owner will. Wind straw around the latches on the stall doors so you’ll know if they were taken out, and let those same horses miss the morning gallop, again on any pretext you please. You can take all the evasive maneuvers in the world, but do not—pray heaven, do not —inform your enemies that they need to employ yet another race-fixing tactic.”
Tenneby pocketed a gold watch and threaded the chain through a buttonhole on his waistcoat. “I can’t think like you do, in pretexts and evasions. I haven’t a devious mind, and I do not want to develop one. I hate that my race meet is disgraced by these goings-on.”
“But you anticipated that it might be. Could somebody have been galloping Excalibur to exhaustion at Epsom three years ago?”
He patted his watch pocket. “Yes, blast the notion. Yes, they could, though the facts don’t exactly conform to that theory. I did not post any guards on my string. Why should I? The grooms slept above the stalls, for the most part, and the lads are devoted to their charges.”
The lads, like soldiers on campaign, like my own Atticus, were also doubtless exhausted at the end of their days and in need of every moment of slumber they could snatch.
“Was Excalibur’s defeat consistent with a horse who’d been overtrained?”
“Possibly.” Tenneby took a yellow iris from a bouquet on the windowsill and extracted from his jewelry box a minute vase resembling a pewter lapel pin. The vase he filled with water from the washstand, and the iris he inserted into the tiny opening of the vase.
“Would you mind?” He gestured with the iris assembly. “One can’t get the angle just so if one’s hands are raised. Spoils the lines of the jacket.”
I affixed the pin on his lapel, though I would have chosen a purple iris rather than yellow for a man of his coloring.
“You know,” he said, surveying his reflection, “Excalibur might have been overtrained at Epsom, meaning galloped hard when my back was turned, but he came out at the start like he’d been shot from a cannon. Full of fire, exactly as I’d hoped he would. He went around most of the course in fine style, but then, when he should have been giving his all into the finish, he simply… ran out of puff. I have never seen anything quite like it. If a horse is tired, he’s tired all the way around, you know?”
Well… yes. Nervous energy could make for a lively start to any ride, but it didn’t last for a flat-out three-mile-long gallop. Terror could inspire a horse to heroic feats of speed, but equine high spirits alone couldn’t overcome fatigue indefinitely.
“We can’t undo the past,” I said, “but you can prevent any more clandestine training outings, or allow them to go on, but then give the horse back his morning rest. That’s up to you. Please do not put a word in Woglemuth’s ear, either way.”
If I’d taken away a toddler’s puppy, I could not have earned a more intense scowl of dismay. “Not tell Woglemuth? My lord, you blaspheme . He is my stable master . He is responsible for the stable and all the horses in it. I might conceal a delicate matter from my sister or the earl, but not from my stable master. ”
The world was not meant for hearts as pure as Tenneby’s. “Precisely because he is the stable master, the grooms keep a close eye on him. He holds their livelihoods in his hands. If he’s seen conferring with you, the grooms and jockeys will all know it. They will watch the whole exchange, while pretending to curry horses or clean bridles. If Woglemuth is summoned to the house, they’ll take note of his mood when he returns. He is their commanding officer, more or less. They will ply him subtly for information. He already spread the word about the metal tacks, and that has made him a greater object of scrutiny going forward.”
“I don’t like this.” Tenneby picked up a pair of gloves from the vanity. “I do not like this at all , my lord. I will explain to Woglemuth that I’ve heard some rumors over the cards, and a few torches in the stable yard will quiet gossip. Is that oblique enough for you?”
“Have him move Excalibur to a stall that catches a better night breeze, but ask that he see to it personally and deliver the request with a wink or two.”
“Winking is for pantomime charlatans.”
“If you say so, Tenneby. I’ll see you at supper.” I had yet to change for dinner myself, and my interview had accomplished its purpose. Tenneby was warned, countermeasures had been agreed to. That was progress for the nonce.
“Caldicott!” he called as I was halfway across his bedroom. “A moment.” Tenneby emerged from the dressing closet looking exactly as an earl’s heir ought—except for the color of the iris at his lapel. “If I do have the torches lit, and move Excalibur to a different stall, and wander around the yard myself at midnight, then you won’t have to keep watch yourself, will you?”
My first thought was, He knows who took the three horses for gallops and doesn’t want the guilty party caught. But no, Tenneby lacked the guile for such measures, and he’d been genuinely surprised and horrified that Excalibur had been among the runners taken for an outing.
He was concerned with appearances . Spying was bad form all around. On that score, polite society had ever been in agreement. Just as Wickley was trying to live up to some Drury Lane impersonation of a bachelor peer, Tenneby had his own standards to uphold.
“As you’ve noted, Tenneby, I cannot remain vigilant all night every night. I am in the habit of looking in on my own mount at the end of the evening, though. I have also been known to hack out at dawn, particularly if the weather is warm.”
“One expects that much. Very well. No more skulking about, then. I’ll see you at supper.”
I nodded and decamped without agreeing to anything. I was damned good at skulking about, and that skill had already yielded valuable information that might well see Excalibur best his rivals in a lucrative fashion.
I’d skulk about however I pleased to, and Tenneby’s delicate sensibilities would just have to deal with the results.