Page 46

Eliza returned to wish goodnight to the friends.

She put her head round the door to a scene of fraternal merriment.

The men had pushed their chairs back from the table, loosened their neck cloths and were settling down for a night of friendly banter and scurrilous gossip, lubricated by countless glasses of Mr Shilton’s finest alcohol.

They looked up, their expressions sparkling with delight in their own company. Ferdinand Shilton waved. ‘What a charming flower is come amongst us!’

‘Goodnight, gentlemen. I will see you in the morning.’

Lord Purfoy looked more relaxed than usual, his eyes glittering and cheekbones flushed. He met her eyes and murmured to the puzzlement of his friends:

She bowed her head, and turned her to depart,

And noiseless as a lovely dream is gone.

And was she here? And is he now alone?

Eliza felt her heart leap in recognition of their private understanding, for this was Byron’s corsair addressing his saviour, Gulnare, prepared to risk her life for his.

Then Eliza did in fact bow her head, but it was in shameful acknowledgement that she was risking her life not for the man she loved, but to fulfil another man’s ambitions, and in the process she was betraying her own hero’s trust and belief in her.

She too turned to depart, her eyelids stinging with tears.

As Eliza was climbing wearily to her room, Polly emerged through the door.

‘Oh Miss Gray, I’ve just left you a pitcher of water.

Do you need help with undressing?’ She nodded and Polly returned to unbutton her dress and unlace her stays.

‘Polly, please accompany me to the Epsom races tomorrow. We’ll go with Mr Wolfe. ’

Polly’s face lit up. She had a liking for Davey, the Wolfes’ groom, and an outing to the races was well known as a time of jollity and bacchanalian revelry; they would be able to grasp a short time together to visit the stalls selling gewgaws and various drinks and foodstuffs.

After a quick wash, Eliza slipped into her nightdress and climbed into bed, so tired she hoped to fall asleep without delay.

But her mind was filled with contradictory emotions and fear.

Not even Mr Fox could settle her unease.

He sat on the table by her bed and in the moonlight, one of his beady eyes glinted as if he were watching over her, but admonishing her for what she had agreed to do; for once his guardianship did not soothe her qualms as it had through the years.

As sleep came at last, her waking fears became a series of fragmentary dreams; she was the girl who was prepared to kill to save a corsair from death but he seemed to have assumed the dark good looks of her own lord; she was falling under the hooves of galloping horses, one black like Horatio, one white like Davenport’s Eros.

She was caught in a vortex of faces and voices with no way out.

Eliza was dragged from troubled sleep by Polly’s knock on the door.

Struggling to sit up, she looked towards the window where the early sun was slanting through the curtains, promising a fine day.

As Polly walked to the dressing room to sort out her clothes, Eliza felt it was time to confide in her. ‘Polly, can you keep a secret?’

‘Oh yes, miss.’ The young maid’s blue eyes opened wide with excited anticipation.

‘I’ve agreed to be the jockey on Mr Flynn’s horse for the main race today.’

Polly’s cheeks flushed at the mention of such scandalous derring-do. ‘That’s a brave lark, miss!’

Eliza told her firmly, ‘No one knows but you and me and Mr Flynn. You have to keep it to yourself, Polly. I am not proud of deceiving others but I had promised to help Mr Flynn’s new mare race to third or fourth place so he can take her to America to establish a new bloodstock line.

’ These treacherous words sounded to Eliza quite reasonable in her desperation to minimise the plan’s potential for disaster.

As Polly picked up a day dress, Eliza said, ‘I’m going to have to change discreetly in a stable so luckily that gown has buttons I can reach.’ Eliza also determined she would abandon her stays and just wear a spencer over her dress to disguise her lack of support.

‘How to hide your hair, Miss Gray?’ Polly asked as she brushed out the fine waves.

‘Perhaps plait it and then I can pile it under Mr Shilton’s old Eton hat I’ve brought with me.’ She picked up the hat and also her cloak, even though it was going to be a warm day.

When she arrived in the dining room for breakfast, the men who were racing had already departed for the Downs.

Only Alick Wolfe remained, relaxed, his legs crossed, reading yesterday’s newspaper.

He put down The Times when Eliza entered and poured her a cup of coffee.

‘Good morning, Miss Gray. As you see, we’re the last to leave for the races.

’ He smiled. ‘Is Polly ready to join us? It’s a festive place on race day and we should set off soon. ’

They climbed into the spare Shilton chaise with a team of four glossy bays, with one of their host’s grooms driving.

Alick Wolfe sat with his back to the horses and seemed as relaxed as a cat in the sun.

‘There’ll be so many deep wagers today. I cannot bet on anyone other than Rav winning, he’d never forgive me otherwise.

’ He laughed and with his gaze turned on the lush green hills that marked the approach to the racecourse, he did not see Eliza wince.

There was so much greater significance attached to this one race than she had ever considered possible.

How naive and foolish she had been! She reproached herself for impulsiveness and misplaced loyalties; into what trouble had they led her?

She sat on the edge of her seat, unable to relax.

The chaise turned a corner and there before them was laid out a panoramic scene of the Epsom Downs seething with the most motley crowd of people Eliza had ever seen.

Every type of person, from the tinkers shouting out their wares to the working men and women for whom this was a yearly festival, to the grandest noblemen with their open barouches filled with guests quaffing champagne, their grooms handling their horses and house staff serving grand picnics on the greensward.

Young men had drawn up their carriages and some sat on the roof for a better view of the course.

The Shilton groom parked the chaise alongside another of the Shilton carriages and Alick Wolfe, Eliza and Polly climbed out.

Proud racing steeds were led around the paddock by their grooms with gamblers eyeing them, weighing up the odds.

There were pennant flags flying from wooden sheds where the horses were saddled and jockeys could help themselves to jugs of ale.

Everywhere was gaiety and laughter as people milled about the Downs, intent on pleasure.

Men and women were dressed in their festive finery; Mr Shilton’s sunshine-yellow coat would be entirely unremarkable and Lord Purfoy’s habitual immaculately tailored coat and trousers in black superfine would stand out as incongruously urban and austere.

The air was filled with the aroma of food being cooked on braziers in small tents, boiling cockles and fried onions and roasting almonds and sweet chestnuts.

Alick Wolfe led the way towards a knot of his friends, huddled discussing what money they would bet on each rider.

Eliza took Polly’s hand. ‘Mr Wolfe, I wish to find Mr Flynn. Don’t be concerned, Polly will chaperone me.

I’ll seek you out later.’ She didn’t wait for any demur and walked speedily towards the sheds where the horses were being prepared for the important next event, the Owners’ Race.

The first shed was filled with restless horses and their owners with their grooms. Eliza was alarmed at the prospect of bumping into Lord Purfoy and Horatio and was relieved that he was nowhere to be seen.

Neither was Mr Flynn, but the moment she walked into the second shed, he was unmistakeable by his bulk.

He met Eliza’s eyes with a smile of relief.

‘Miss Gray, come with me.’ He led the way into a small room at the back.

‘Your clothes are here. We’ve got half an hour to make it to the starting post.’ Eliza quickly whisked off her gown and chemise while Polly guarded the door.

Although Mr Shilton’s schoolboy breeches and jacket were a little too large, his boots fitted well and were beautifully made and comfortable.

Eliza coiled her thick plait into the crown of Ferdy’s curly-brimmed hat and then crammed it on her head.

She emerged to face Polly’s scrutiny. ‘How do I look?’

Polly could not hide her astonishment. ‘You look very… fine, miss.’

‘No, I mean do I look like a jockey? Will I pass as a man?’

‘Well, Miss Gray, I suppose you might, but a rather pretty young man.’ She looked unconvinced.

‘Well, it’s as good as I can make it, so we’d better go and find Mr Flynn.’

Together they left the shed and found Zadoc Flynn standing with Ohio’s reins in his hands.

His wide-eyed glance seemed to suggest he agreed with Polly, that she was not entirely plausible as a male jockey.

However, she leapt into the saddle without his help and he began to shorten her stirrups.

‘You’re athletic enough to ride like our best American jockeys, with your weight out of the saddle. ’

‘Is this cheating, Mr Flynn?’