Joan Smith (19 page)

“I won’t be here next year,” Norman said sullenly. “I shouldn’t be here now, if I had any sense.”

Trudie cast one long, accusing stare at Luten. “Thank you so much for your
help,”
she said, and strode angrily to the carriage.

Mrs. Harrington and Trudie felt bad when Mr. O’Kelly didn’t show up for luncheon the next day. They feared Norman had hinted him away, and Trudie at least knew it was Luten who had put him up to it. A further strain was put on family relations by Norman’s morose mood. He wasn’t surly or authoritative—he was much worse. He turned solicitous on them. With True Lady incapacitated, he was around the house more than was quite comfortable, and finding a fault with everything. The house was a shambles; he must have been mad to bring them there, when they had a fine home at Walbeck Park.

“Nonsense, it is much better than our rooms in London,” Mrs. Harrington assured him. “And with us all staying together, it is cheaper too.”

“I am a selfish fiend,” Norman mourned. “You should have told me what a jackanapes I was. I don’t know the first thing about racing, and after seeing those bloods at Cheveley Park, I am convinced there’s no hope of winning anything with a filly who toes in. Mind you, she’s a beauty for all that. Maybe the groom from Danebury will come up with something.”

“I thought you had no opinion of the Danebury method,” his aunt reminded him.

“I won’t let them do anything that will hurt True Lady. I believe I’ll go down now and make sure that bandage we put on this morning isn’t too tight.”

Mrs. Harrington looked at her niece and said, “You know what this fit of the dismals is about?”

“It’s waking up to reality, I suppose. We were stupid to go along with this idea.”

“Reality—aye, there’s the culprit, but it’s not True Lady that worries him. It is that untrue chit of a Georgiana Halley. I had a letter from her mother this morning. She made two mentions of Georgiana’s going out with Harold Rampling.”

“Good!” Trudie exclaimed.

“Rubbish. If she had any notion of accepting him, she wouldn’t have told Norman. She’s only trying to frighten him back home.”

“You shouldn’t have showed him the letter.”

“He grabbed it out of my hand before I had a chance to read it myself. It was addressed to the family. I have no objection to Georgiana—she is very eligible and docile.”

“And a barnacle,” Trudie added.

The mood lightened somewhat when Norman sent word upstairs that he was taking a ride over to the tracks to see Peter and Nick. It brightened further when O’Kelly came prancing to the door a quarter of an hour before lunch and was persuaded to take his mutton with them.

“We’ve
missed you, Mr. O’Kelly,” Trudie said.

“As to that, you may as well get accustomed to my absence, ma’am,” he informed her. There was an air of gravity about him that was very becoming. His blue eyes, usually dancing, were clouded with sorrow. She felt he had come to tell them he was
persona non grata
at Northfield and was squirming in embarrassment.

When Mrs. Harrington declared firmly, “You are always welcome here, Mr. O’Kelly,” she knew her aunt felt the same thing.

“You have always made me feel so.” He smiled forlornly. “But I shall be leaving the neighborhood entirely, and unless I can convince you to visit me at Doneraile, I fear this may be the last time we meet.”

“Going home! Why, what has happened?” Mrs. Harrington demanded as she piled the cold mutton on his plate, and he looked around the table for hot mustard.

“It is a family matter,” he said reluctantly. “I shan’t trouble you ladies with a litany of my problems.”

His genteel reluctance was soon overborne, and the sad tale came pouring out. “It’s my sister,” he said. His lowered eyes rested on his plate, a set of infamously long lashes making a curled crescent below. “I don’t know whether I told you about Maureen. She’s a widow—three children to clothe and feed. I’ve been giving her what help I can–financial help, that is. In fact, just last month I had to send her rather a large sum of money to pay her mortgage. It left me short myself, but I don’t mind that. Now it seems she owes a few debts back home, and the bailiff is after her. I must abandon racing this year and go home to help her. Even Sheba, I fear, must go.” He drew a long sigh and slowly picked up his fork.

“What a pity!” Trudie said. “Norman says she has the fastest time of any blood he’s checked on the track. Couldn’t you borrow
...
”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to fall into debt. And I doubt anyone would lend me money in any case. Luten has been bruiting my business about town. I blush to confess it, but I have been asked to either pay my bill or leave the Golden Lion. I’ve been living on tick till my monies arrive from Ireland, you see. They have become rather peremptory about it. I plan to sell Sheba and pay my bills with the proceeds. That will leave me plenty to get home and see what I can do about Maureen.”

“I don’t see what business it is of Luten’s!” Trudie exclaimed.

O’Kelly just shook his head at her naiveté. “He wants to win the Triple Crown himself. He knows he hasn’t a chance while Sheba is running, and this is the ruse he’s used to be rid of the competition.”

“But won’t whoever buys her win, and still defeat Luten?” Mrs. Harrington asked.

O’Kelly disliked such reasonable questions from a lady. He expected better of her and had to do some quick thinking. “He’ll be after her himself, if I know anything. I’ve had a very good offer from a fellow who I happen to know hasn’t a sou to his name. He offered cash. He’s a very close friend of Lord Luten,” he added significantly, and looked to see if Mrs. Harrington was clever enough to interpret this as he wished.

She didn’t disappoint him. “You mean he’s acting for Luten—buying Sheba for him!”

“Precisely. Of course, he didn’t admit it, but I don’t know who else would be in a position to offer me seven hundred guineas for her.”

“That is shocking connivance. I am surprised at Luten,” she said.

“Well, I am not,” O’Kelly stated solemnly, “Badly as I need the money, however, I shan’t sell to Luten, not even indirectly. Luten runs his horses into the ground. They seldom last longer than two seasons under his training. Someone like Norman, who feels as I do that racers have feelings
...
”

“Norman isn’t in a position to buy such an expensive filly,” Trudie said quickly.

Mrs. Harrington nodded her head in agreement. “Kind of you to offer, Mr. O’Kelly, but it just isn’t possible.”

“Naturally I wouldn’t charge Norman such a sum! The half of that would see me out of my trouble. My first consideration isn’t recouping the sum I paid for her but seeing she is handed over to someone who will take proper care of her.”

“Even three fifty is quite impossible,” Trudie said.

Mr. O’Kelly accepted it without any ill-bred insisting or any further haggling. “I just thought I might be able to do him a favor, since you have been so very kind to me.”

Mrs. Harrington smiled indulgently at his thoughtfulness and bethought herself of that hint of seeing them at Doneraile. “Your sister, Maureen, she is entirely your responsibility, is she, Mr. O’Kelly?”

“Naturally I plan to take care of her. Family after all! But I shan’t have that pleasure for long. She is extremely attractive. Some fortunate gentleman will marry her up when her half mourning is finished. It wouldn’t be nice to mention names, but a certain Lord Someone has already made overtures in that direction.”

“I see.” The ladies exchanged a look across the table. “I hope Doneraile is doing well?” Mrs. Harrington inquired idly.

“Excellent. Couldn’t be better. I may have to cut down a few acres of hard wood that I hadn’t planned to, to provide Maureen a little dot, but I shall make that up in no time. My dairy herd promises excellent increase this spring. I wish I could show you Doneraile. My place is just on the north shore of Dingle Bay. You haven’t seen green till you’ve come to Ireland. I’d like to take you out in my yacht one day too. Is there any chance I might convince you to hop across the Channel and spend a little time with me before you return to Walbeck Park?”

“That would take a little planning,” Mrs. Harrington said, but her tone was by no means repressive.

Over an apple tart, Mr. O’Kelly’s favorite dessert, a time was discussed. Nothing definite was settled, but the ladies rather thought that after the Triple Crown, and before their year’s exile from Walbeck Park was over, seemed the most appropriate. Norman too was invited
in absentia,
and promised a pleasant visit, for Mr. O’Kelly’s breeding stables were always busy.

He took his leave, not promising to return, but there was a possibility that he’d drop around to say good-bye, and in any case he would write. “To you, Mrs. Harrington. I know you wouldn’t approve of my writing lo your niece—yet.” That tantalizing “yet” implied the fiancé’s privilege.

“Indeed the invitation has no point unless that is what he has in mind,” she explained after he left. Trudie already knew it very well, and wasn’t displeased with the prospect of an offer.

“But Luten says he is not at all the thing,” she countered, a frown worrying her brow.

“Of course he does! He’s jealous as a green cow of Sheba. Trying to arrange a deal to buy her, using a friend as an intermediary to trick Mr. O’Kelly. But then he was always odd. You remember his coming to us under the guise of Mr. Mandeville in London, my dear. And he never did pay for that Latin lesson either. That shows a certain lack in his scruples.”

“It’s odd Mr. O’Kelly only has one filly here, when he has a whole breeding farm at home. Do you think he might be bamming us, Auntie?”

“I had a little suspicion of it, to tell the truth. But a man who interrupts his own business to take care of his widowed sister—that shows his true nature. She will be no bother in future either, with her three children, I could not like to see you sharing a house with so many, but she will soon marry and clear out. All that might have been invented as well, of course, but when he invited us to Doneraile—well, there is no way he could pull a fine estate and a yacht out of his pocket, is there? It must be true, or he wouldn’t have invited us.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

A very motherly smile settled on Mrs. Harrington’s face. “Thoughtful of him to give Norman first bid on Sheba, and at such a bargain too! Not that I am suggesting Norman be encouraged to accept! In fact, I don’t mean to mention a word of the offer to him, but there will be no difficulty selling her. Mr. O’Kelly will have enough money to pay off the inn and get home in style. That will be an exciting trip–Ireland. I wonder how much it will cost to get there. And of course we’ll come home for the wedding at Walbeck Park.”

“It’s a bit premature to start planning the trousseau, Auntie!” Trudie laughed. It wasn’t too early for a little daydreaming, though. She pictured herself in a creamy white satin gown, with a long veil nearly touching the floor. She also pictured Lord Luten in the congregation, looking daggers at her.

Norman returned early to keep an eye on True Lady’s injured leg. At five, he went to the stables to talk to Peter and Nick when they brought their racers home, and Trudie went with him. She thought Lord Luten might be there, for he had said he’d come back, but he had seen Norman at the tracks and had fallen into bad aroma again.

“He had a fellow from Danebury with him, and you’ll never guess what he suggested. A restraining brace on True Lady’s fetlock, pulled so tight it changes the direction of her kick! It sounded a demmed awkward contraption. Can you imagine how it would hurt the poor girl?” he said, tenderly rubbing the bandaged fetlock.

“How’s Fandango working out?” Trudie asked Peter.

“He’s so full of splintered wood he couldn’t keep up the pace. I wish I had a filly like Sheba.”

Trudie saw a means of doing both Peter and O’Kelly a favor. She found a moment to speak to Peter in private and told him the filly was for sale.

Peter’s eyes grew with shock and hope. “You don’t mean it! Why on earth would he sell her when she’s the finest bit of blood at Newmarket? And a Newmarket nag too—bound to win the Oaks at Epsom. The Boy’s Grave is covered with wildflowers.”

“Ask your uncle,” Trudie said tartly.

“What has Luten got to do with it?”

“He caused some trouble at the Golden Lion. They’ve asked O’Kelly to settle his account, and his pockets are empty. He had to send his sister money for her mortgage.”

“What’s he asking for Sheba?”

“The price he mentioned was seven hundred guineas.”

“Oh, lord, I could never raise the half of that.”

“That’s a pity, then, for he offered to let Norman have her for half price, to keep her out of Luten’s hands. Your uncle was trying to buy her, using some go-between so O’Kelly wouldn’t find it out.”

“He’d have stuck Luten for a thousand,” Peter laughed. “And worth it too—but why would he sell her so cheap to Norman?”

Trudie blushed prettily. “He’s a good friend of the family,” she said.

“He’d never let
me
have her for that price.”

“He’d give you some kind of a bargain, Peter. Why don’t you speak to him?”

“I will,” Peter said at once. “Wouldn’t I like to see the look on Luten’s face when I step up to take the prizes.”

“But don’t tell Norman!” Trudie cautioned.

“And don’t
you
tell Luten. I shall consult with Nick, though. He’s a knowing ‘un.”

Sir Charles strolled over to chat to the others. There was a whispered conversation about Sheba’s being up for sale. Nick was shocked, and soon found it suspicious.

“She’s a goer, no denying, but she always races alone. Who’s to say she ain’t gate-shy? Luten thinks so.”

Trudie and Peter exchanged a knowing look. “If that’s  what you think, why don’t you insist on racing her with your own nags before you buy?” Trudie suggested.

Sir Charles saw nothing wrong with this idea. He was by no means averse to outwitting Luten.

“I want to be there,” Trudie said. “Let me know when the race is to be held, and Auntie and I will go.”