CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dawn brought a sultry, unpleasant heat. The horses came back from their early morning gallops, heads low, coats matted with sweat. I waited in the shade of the stable’s overhang, more than a little anxious on Atticus’s behalf.
I spotted him on Atlas near the end of a returning string. Atlas’s coat was damp as well, but not wringing wet. The boy was chattering and gesturing, despite the reins held loosely in his hands, while Piggott, mounted on a cob beside him, listened with seeming patience.
Several yards behind them, Wickley rode the elegant dapple-gray Cleopatra while Denton walked at his side. They, too, were engaged in conversation, or Wickley was holding forth while Denton periodically nodded.
“Guv! We watched the gallops. Piggott says Atlas could whup half of ’em if the distance was more than two miles.” That announcement, bellowed for all of creation to hear, inspired smiles from the sweaty jockeys and a scowl from Wickley.
“Mind your manners, boy,” Wickley snapped, “and stop bleating your ignorance about for half the countryside to hear. Your nag hasn’t the breeding for proper racing.”
“He ain’t got no breedin’ a’tall,” Atticus retorted. “Like me. But he can run like the wind for miles, and he’ll jump anything. My Atlas served under Wellington , and if there’s bad manners on display, they ain’t comin’ from me or my horse , who is a perfect gentleman.”
Pierpont, atop a chestnut gelding, was grinning outright.
I strode forth from the cool of the shadows. “Hush, lad. We all know you love that horse. Down you go and get him to the river once you’ve walked him out.”
“Aye, guv.” Atticus slid to the ground as gracefully as an otter and patted Atlas’s shoulder audibly. “Good boy, Atlas. Very good boy.” With a chin raised to royal heights, he led the horse into the stable yard and to another patch of shade.
Wickley swung down by virtue of lifting his leg over the mare’s crest. “A lad that cheeky would make a good jockey, once somebody beat some respect into him. I don’t suppose you’d give him up?”
Denton loosened the mare’s girth and led her away, though the remark had to have offended him.
“I would not part with that child for all the colts at Newmarket, Wickley, though where he earns his coin is his decision. Aren’t you a bit tall for that mare?” Cleopatra, rising four, still had growing to do, and Wickley was no sylph.
“Builds strength for her to carry the occasional full-sized rider. Pierpont is appalled that I’d ride any sort of mare, and Denton disapproves because a female mount for one of my standing is infra dig . Annoys the hell out of them both. Doubly satisfying for me.”
Infra dignitatem . Beneath his dignity. I wanted to spank his rubbishing dignity. A horse’s back, especially the back of a young horse, was easily injured and slow to heal.
“Do you mind if I have a word with Denton, Wickley?”
“As long as you don’t interfere with his duties, have all the words you please. I’m famished and looking forward to Miss West’s lovely presence at the breakfast table.”
He strode off, swinging his crop at a patch of lavender growing along the barn wall, and I went in search of Denton. I found my quarry walking the mare along the lane that led to the racecourse.
“How is she going?” I asked, falling in step beside him.
“She’d go better if his lout-ship kept out of her saddle. Says he’s building up her strength. He’s keeping his fancy boots dry. Doesn’t want the morning dew spoiling the leather.”
That reasoning sounded credible where Wickley was concerned. “And he won’t ride a hack up to the Downs because he likes forcing you to walk? Why put up with that? Woglemuth would lend you a mount.”
Denton strode along with the sweaty mare. “It’s the besetting sin of the Irish that we will insist on eating from time to time. We’re happy to sleep in the hedges, as is known to all, and we’re not too fancy about our dress, nor do we set great store by footwear or hygiene. We do, however, relish the occasional crust of bread to go with our insatiable appetite for ale. If I have to walk while the great man rides, I’ll walk to earn my pay packet.”
The Irish and Welsh, with their lilting intonations, could deliver a scold more bitter than any conveyed by the most articulate Oxford don. The majority of Denton’s pay packet was doubtless sent home to aging parents or younger siblings.
Perhaps even to a wife.
While Wickley worried about keeping his boots dry.
“Somebody took Excalibur out for an unscheduled gallop last night. Tenneby did not authorize the extra exercise and is taking measures to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”
Denton eyed the mare, whose respiration was gradually slowing. “You expect me to peach on a mate?”
“I hope to see anybody who thinks to throw a race held accountable, though I doubt last night’s jockey is the responsible party. Had he been caught on the Downs riding a horse he’d no business riding, he could have been charged with stealing that horse.”
“Aye. Same thought occurred to me. Sir Albertus’s brother-in-law is the magistrate, according to Woglemuth. Cut from the same cloth as Sir Albie. He’d go spare with any mischief involving horses.”
“Then you knew somebody was absent without leave from the dormitory?”
Denton led the mare to a patch of shade along the hedgerow, where she proceeded to crop at the spindly green grass at her feet.
“Somebody is always leavin’ the dormitory, milord. Out to take a piss, to canoodle with the cook’s assistant, to smoke, to check on his horses. The younger lads will leave under darkness to sit under the stars and weep for home. We’re all going down to the river after dark of late, too, and not just to water the horses. This weather is gettin’ oppressive, and as thee and me learned in Spain, heat takes a toll on a body.”
Heat could be deadly. A single day was bearable, but day after day, marching under a blazing sun in wool uniforms, many a man had succumbed.
“Whoever went abroad on horseback last night took out Excalibur, Sovereign Remedy, and Dasher.”
Denton rubbed a hand across his chin. “Are you asking me if I’m the culprit? If I’m so put out with Lord Witless that I’d tire his own colt on purpose and go for a romp on a couple others because I’m that keen to hang? Don’t you know the Irish are almost as fond of lying as they are of their drink?”
Denton’s bitterness was excusable. England had been alternately oppressing, exploiting, and slaughtering the Irish for centuries. The Glorious Revolution of 1688 that had seen William and Mary put on the throne to replace the papist James VII was taught to schoolchildren as a peaceful transition, politely arranged by Parliament for the good of the realm.
Peaceful in Ireland had meant thirty thousand deaths and the decimation of the Catholic portion of the Irish peerage.
Then too, like the Scots, the Irish had paid a high price in the fight to defeat the Corsican, only to find no jobs, no places to dwell, and no appreciation from the crown upon returning home. The wounded veteran begging on a London street corner was a common sight.
“I don’t know about Irish people generally,” I said. “I know you served loyally and marched at all times with honor. I know your family had reason to mourn, as did mine.”
Denton’s smile was wry. “Now you trot out the fife and drums. My lord is ruthless. I knew your brother. Very democratic fellow and played merry hell with the ladies. Democratic in that regard too. Lord Harry hadn’t your seat, but he could give a good account of himself in the saddle.”
Denton played Long-Lost Lord Harry to my fife and drums. He’d have made a very competent officer.
“Who went out last night, Denton? A second sortie like that could see them hanged or transported.”
If Denton was my culprit, I was duly warning him, one soldier to another, of the consequences to be paid. Wickley would not protect him, and Pierpont would call for Denton’s blood out of sheer spite. If Denton was not my culprit, he’d likely keep his mouth shut—the denizens of the dormitory were his mates anywhere but on the racecourse, apparently—as long as Wickley’s horses won.
“Somebody went out,” Denton said, moving a few steps to keep pace with the grazing mare. “The door opens and closes all night, for reasons stated, and sometimes we prop it open for the sake of a breeze. Gets a bit close up there on a warm night. I woke up maybe halfway through the middle watch. Moon was setting but not down. I don’t know who it was, don’t want to know, but he smelled of sweaty horse and the wind on the Downs when he came in. I noticed mud on Remedy’s left hind fetlock this morning. The only place you’ll find mud these days is along the riverbank, and I hadn’t taken him there since his last grooming.”
“You’re hauling buckets to his stall?”
“Most of us are, for the runners kept in at night anyway. Your lad makes sure that big gelding of yours always has a full bucket too.”
Effort expended simply out of respect for the horses. “Whoever took out three horses apparently rode them hard. He’s a jockey or a very competent groom.”
The mare raised her head and gave Denton an impatient look. The grass was doubtless not up to her standards, for all it was as good a patch as she’d find anywhere outside the garden walls.
“Come along, then,” Denton said, leading her back to the lane. “I can ask Hercules Smith if he knows anything. He’s Lord Pierpont’s head lad and a decent sort, despite his lamentable taste in employers. We get on as best we can, and he’s a notoriously light sleeper. I don’t know who your midnight rider was, my lord, but I suspect he knows you.”
I fell in step on the opposite side of the mare. “What makes you think that?” I was certainly in evidence in the stable yard, and Atticus would make no secret of my identity.
“’Cause there was talk yesterday at the river suggestin’ your lordship were slouching about in the stable yard by moonlight. The tone was not flatterin’ to one o’ your consequence.”
A warning for a warning. Whoever was attempting to fix the races was taking countermeasures of his own, maintaining surveillance and guarding his flank.
For even a portion of twenty-eight thousand pounds, such measures were warranted.
“Do you ever think about giving it all up, the race riding and meets?” I asked as we approached the stable yard.
“Every day, but a jockey makes a bit extra if he wins, and I’m a good jockey. One of the best, still. Soon enough, I’ll take a fall or get knocked off, and then the bit extra will be beyond my reach.”
“Make hay while the sun shines?”
“If you try it on the wet days, you can kill your whole stable with the moldy results. I’ll bid your lordship good morning.” He led the filly to the ladies’ side of the stable, her hoof falls echoing on the cobbles.
“Same to you, Denton, and thanks.”
He waved a hand without turning.
“He’s an excellent jockey,” Sir Albertus said, coming up on my elbow. “I’d hire him away from Wickley, except that Wickley would make my life hell if I were successful. Pierpont has doubtless offered him the moon, despite having a very competent man of his own. If your lordship has a moment, I’d appreciate a word.”
Sir Albertus’s brother-in-law was the magistrate, and his colt had been among those taken for a hard gallop without permission. What could it hurt to hear him out?
* * *
“Tenneby took me aside this morning,” Sir Albertus began, “and informed me that owing to the building heat, Excalibur would be given a very light ride this morning, and he suggested I take the same measure with Dasher. He apparently had a similar conversation with Wickley, who said he’d been given the same advice by Denton.”
“Let’s find some shade, shall we?” I strolled off without waiting for the baronet’s reply. He came along readily enough and marched for the path to the river.
“Not that way,” I said. “Let’s have a look at the racecourse, shall we?”
“I have seen that damned racecourse in my nightmares, young man.” And yet, he changed tack and accompanied me along the lane. “I wish I’d never agreed to bring my horses to this meeting. Even the weather is conspiring against me.”
“Then the weather is conspiring against every competitor equally, no?”
His pace slowed. “No, no, it is not. Just as a mudder loves the sloppy going, or a morning glory shines in an early match, some horses thrive in the heat. Larger horses have a harder time with it, and I tend to breed mine for some size. If they go on to race over fences or into the hands of the hunt crowd, size is an asset.”
“Dasher isn’t particularly big.”
“Give him time, my lord. His line tends to mature slowly, which is a disadvantage if they’re over-raced. They can break down if too much is asked too soon, and hard ground is particularly difficult for them.” Now that Sir Albertus was holding forth about his runners, his demeanor was almost chatty.
“You are careful not to overtax them, I take it?”
“I am obsessively careful. You’ve doubtless had to put down a mount or two, and it is a horrible business when you can blame the necessity on an accident. When your own avarice is responsible, when you think only of the purse and not of the horse, firing that bullet is intolerable.”
He loved his horses, and I respected him for that. “Is somebody trying to overtax your horses?”
He came to a halt. Such was the heat that when he took off his top hat and swiped a sleeve across his brow, his white hair bore a damp ring of sweat.
“You tell me, my lord. You were in the stable yard last night, according to sources I trust. Your military reputation is dubious, for want of a more delicate term, and left you well-versed in the art of sneaking about. I apologize for the insult implied, but the appearances want an explanation.”
We were about halfway to the racecourse, still in full view of the stable yard and also visible from the eastern facade of the manor house.
Eyes everywhere, in other words. “I could not sleep. Many a former soldier will tell you he’s similarly afflicted. I came to the stables to visit my horse, whose company is a comfort. While I was paying my call, I heard somebody taking a horse out, and because of my military experience, I easily recognized the sound of hooves muffled with cloth boots. I remained to observe what I could, which turned out to be precious little.”
Sir Albertus considered his hat, then considered me. “Plausible. Just. I’d rather pressing business demanded your immediate departure, my lord.”
Fair enough. “Would you rather Blinken’s poor performance had gone unexplained?”
He shook his head. “But that’s the trouble, you see? If you wanted to ensure that I trusted you, that I placed you above every suspicion, that’s exactly the sort of device you’d employ. Sabotage my horse, then reveal the sabotage.”
Also plausible, dammit. “I wasn’t at the starting line when the mischief was done.”
“You could have delegated the deed.”
“To whom? I brought only the boy, and he wasn’t near the starting line either.”
Sir Albertus whacked his hat against his thigh. “I don’t know who might be desperate enough to accept coin for such a deed. Racing attracts all sorts, and the stakes are high. It didn’t used to be like this, so, so… fraught. We raced for the pleasure of good sport, toasted the winners, consoled the losers, and called it a fine day. Now…”
“Now, Tenneby recruits the likes of my dubious, lurking self to keep the races honest, and I’m having a devil of a time accomplishing my stated mission. Tell me about Dasher, Sovereign Remedy, and Excalibur.”
Sir Albertus put his hat back on his head and turned for the stable yard. “Dasher is coming into his own, my lord, and I say that not as the man who bred and raised him, but as a good judge of horseflesh. That colt will sire winners before it’s all over, and he will be a winner. He’s the best colt to grace my stables, ever, and that is saying a great deal. I hope to breed him to my Juliet, who is his equivalent among the fillies.”
“Speed and stamina, both?”
“Dasher and Juliet have much more than just speed and stamina. You can breed for speed and train for stamina, but Dash in particular is also a sensible lad. Knows the job on race day and loves his work. The jockeys adore riding him because he works with them, not against them. We’ve put him to a few fences over the winter, just for variety, and by God, he’s as nimble as a deer and as brave as a lion. I’ll not see his like again.”
This was not mere paternal fondness for a bright child. This was the doting devotion of a new grandpapa for his first grandson. All things bright and beautiful lay before that child, and the wonders of the universe shone from his eyes.
“How does Dasher stack up against, say, Sovereign Remedy?”
“Give Wickley credit—he has an eye for horseflesh. Sovereign Remedy looks like a champion, while my Dasher wouldn’t appear much out of place at the local hunt meet. Wickley’s animal has perfect conformation, my lord, perfect. I’ve heard it said Remedy could have hired out as a model to the late George Stubbs, had their seasons overlapped. Remedy is fast, he has heart, and he looks the part. A bit short of stamina, but that’s Wickley’s problem to solve. The horse is more than capable.”
“And Excalibur?”
Sir Albertus paused again. “Excalibur is… He doesn’t simply look the part of a champion, he knows himself to be one. If he isn’t the best horse here, if not the best horse over fences in my lifetime, I will eat this dusty hat.”
“But he’s not raced in several years, from what I understood.”
“Exactly what that horse needed to develop his full potential. Was the same with Eclipse, more or less.”
Not this again. “In what way?”
“Good heavens, everybody knows the story. The colt was fractious and difficult. Should have been gelded, but his owner at the time, Wildman, decided on a different tack. He turned the horse over to a fellow who tried to ride the temper out of the beast, but Eclipse loved the hard work. He’d spend hours under saddle and be happier for the exertion. Another horse would have broken down. Eclipse settled down. His jockeys always let him decide the pace of the race, and the result was an undefeated record followed by very lucrative years at stud. That’s what can come from rejecting the received wisdom of the experts, you see.”
“Tenneby rejected received wisdom regarding Excalibur?”
“Not exactly.” Sir Albertus resumed walking. “Good Lord, this heat is miserable. One expects this in July. One is accustomed to it by then.”
Accustomed or not, I’d never grown comfortable with the heat in Spain, and that had been dry heat, for the most part.
“Excalibur has benefited from his years at home. Is that what you’re saying?”
“That is exactly what I’m saying. I’m a neighbor. I frequently run into Tenneby’s string on the Downs. We all mill about up there, watching each other’s runners go, sometimes pacing them against each other in a spirit of good sportsmanship.”
“Excalibur is good?”
“He’s fast, he’s nimble, he can go forever, and he’ll jump anything. The Eclipse of racing over fences, mark me on that, but Tenneby has acquired some shrewdness. He wants and deserves decent odds on the horse after what happened at Epsom. He’s being very casual about Excalibur’s chances, though I know better. I’ll be backing Dasher on the flat, of course, but over fences, my money will be on Excalibur.”
“Good to know, though I am not making any wagers.”
The old fellow gave me a sidewise perusal. “Best you don’t, my lord. I still wish you’d leave the gathering, and not just because your nosing about implies an insult to every honest owner with runners on the cards. If you did not take those horses out last night, then somebody else did, and they are busily casting suspicion in your direction.”
“Suspicion and I are long acquainted. I don’t care for the company, but neither does it intimidate me.”
“Then you’re as much a young fool as the rest of ’em, sir. They get to drinking and declaring and vowing and swearing… Pierpont and Wickley are both said to bring their dueling pistols with them everywhere, and a rumor like that doesn’t get started without some basis in fact. As if the Creator, with the entire universe to oversee, can be bothered sorting out strutting dunces who think playing with loaded guns can settle a matter of honor. Since when has honor ever been confused with sheer, lethal inanity?”
He stomped off, his gait slightly uneven but quite brisk.
If I was very lucky, and that same Creator was kind, I might grow up to be just like Sir Albertus. Fierce, honest, nobody’s fool, and very fond of his horses.
Before that happy fate could befall me, I’d have to expose the party, or parties, trying to ruin Tenneby’s race meet. Three promising prospects all interfered with—four, counting Blinken—and the only suspicious activity anybody had noticed in the stable yard last night was my humble self, who’d kept expressly to the shadows.
Very curious indeed.