by Archer, Kate
Had not many a lady thrown over a fiancé before the banns? Or, if not many, then some? Or if not some, then at least one?
It could not be unheard of! He should take his chance, for if he did not, it would always weigh upon him. A man should not live his life wondering what might have happened if he’d tried something.
No, a man could not live with such a notion.
“I will do it,” he said softly. “I will do it tonight at the club’s ball.”
“Celebrate your victory, my lord?” Jarvis asked.
“Yes, let us hope to be victorious.” Henry answered. “Even if it results in another gentleman’s loss.”
“Does it not always, my lord?” Jarvis asked, beginning to look at him strangely. “Only one horse can cross the finish first.”
“Then let it be me,” Henry said.
*
Doom reached the edge of the woods. Far ahead, he saw a brief glimpse of Freddy. The boy was following the only path visible, he should not be hard to catch. Doom set off as fast as his legs could carry him.
Had he been any other groom, he might not have had a very good chance of catching up to the scoundrel. After all, a person guilty of a crime and desperate for escape usually had the advantage—fear would propel him faster than his pursuer. Fear made one quick and nimble. Doom had firsthand experience of it, having spent a deal of time running for his life through the streets of London.
Every time he stole something for his supper, he led his pursuers on a merry chase. At times, he might be forced to elude a dozen men, as there was nothing people liked more than to chase down a thief. He’d become expert at dodging and weaving, jumping over fences, running through back gardens, pulling himself up drainpipes, and making wild jumps between roofs. Now, he had only to jump over tree roots and stones and duck under branches.
Freddy glanced over his shoulder and Doom saw him throw the sack into the brush and head for a farmer’s fence at the far side of the woods. He pumped his legs ever faster.
Freddy was nearly over the fence when Doom caught up to him. They struggled, Freddy trying to go forward and Doom just as hard pulling him back.
“Get off me if you know what’s good for ya!” Freddy yelled.
“I ain’t never, you sinner,” Doom yelled back.
“I ain’t done nothin.’”
“You have, I know it.”
As they wrestled atop the rough wood fencing, Freddy forced Doom’s forearm across the top rail. Doom fought against it, but the boy was strong and as determined as a badger. Freddy maneuvered himself above Doom and put his foot atop Doom’s outstretched arm. He threw his weight upon it.
A sickening crack reverberated in Doom’s ears and a searing pain shot through his arm, a few inches above the wrist.
Freddy wrestled out of the grasp of Doom’s good arm and leapt down from the fence. He ran across the farmer’s field as Doom collapsed to the ground. His arm was broken. He knew it well enough from the feeling of it, though looking at it would have told him too. His forearm hung at an odd angle, as if it had grown another joint.
The devil had broken his arm! He’d never fared so badly in a combat.
He must get back. He must get back to the stable and to Miss Darlington. She would know what to do for him, and for Bella too. He’d had every intention of beating the truth out of Freddy, but the scoundrel had got away.
The sack. It was in the woods. If he could somehow find it and make his way back to the stables quickly, Miss Darlington would know what to do.
Doom took a deep breath and stood, holding his arm. Every step would be awful, but he must find the sack and get himself back. If he collapsed in the woods he’d be on his way to the gangrene before anybody was to find him.
Despite his name, Doom had never been in the habit of thinking the worst might happen. Though, he could not stop his thoughts from settling on the idea that his arm might not be saved. It was not an unusual thing. How many fellas had he seen on a London street with something missing on them? One never knew if it were the war or an accident, but they could not work. Nobody hired a man without all four working appendages. Nobody raced a horse without two working arms. If he viewed the doctor coming at him with a saw, would he not rather die in the woods?
He pushed those thoughts away. Whatever was to happen to him, he could not let down Miss Darlington. He could not let down the house. They had taken him in and made his life comfortable, short though it might turn out to be. Zephyrus was a fine horse and Bella was the apple of Miss Darlington’s eye—if they could be saved from whatever trickery was in the works, he would do it. He would not let Miss Darlington down.
He put one foot in front of the other, doing his best to ignore the shooting pain that came with every step. He must just keep his mind on two things—find the bag and get back to the stable.
*
Penny had driven herself to the stables. There had been some clucking from Mrs. Payne over it, that lady certain that nobody in the house knew she meant to set off alone. Mrs. Payne had been right, as it happened. Her aunt would not like the idea at all. However, Doom would have gone over two hours before and he was the only groom she ever took as a tiger.
She had not run into any trouble on the road, nor had she expected to despite Mrs. Payne’s head shaking and tsking as she departed. She well knew there would be two kinds of gentlemen in Newmarket at the moment—those sober-minded individuals who took race day seriously and were no danger to anybody, and those rogues who might be a danger, but who had stayed with their gin in a tavern far into the night and were still abed with heavy heads.
As she pulled the phaeton into the yard, she could not quite believe her eyes. She stood up to get a better view in case she’d been mistaken.
There was no mistake. Zephyrus and Bella were still out in the field! It was far too late for them to be out.
She leapt down from the vehicle, trusting that her horses would not wander off. No groom was in sight to unhitch them and she would not stay to wait for them. She picked up her skirts and ran down to the field.
Her horses came to the gate willingly. She had brought no lead, but she knew they would follow her back to the stable with high hopes that they were to be fed some oats when they returned to their stalls.
Zephyrus seemed in fine form, but how much grass had he eaten? The time grew late, was it even safe to enter him? She had a sinking feeling that it was not safe.
She could kill Doom for his inattention! The boy had no doubt fallen asleep in a hayloft and now he may have cost her the race!
She glanced behind her and noticed Bella lagged behind. “Come on, girl,” Penny said, careful to keep her voice pleasant. She did not wish for either of the horses to suspect her mood just now.
Bella did as she was asked, but Penny stopped and looked at her critically. The filly seemed not herself. She was tentative in her steps. Penny could not imagine what had discomposed the creature.
“Come now, Bella, we are almost back. You will be safe and sound in your own stall soon enough.”
Bella walked forward and Penny kept talking to her.
“I imagine you feel something is in the air today and you fear you may be asked to be a part of it,” Penny said soothingly, as they reached the stable’s back doors. “You are not to worry over any such thing. I decided long ago that you are not yet ready, so you will just have to satisfy yourself by staying here and then hearing all about it later.”
She opened Zephyrus’ stall and the horse went dutifully in. She closed his gate and turned to Bella.
The filly was close behind her and pushed her head against Penny’s arm. “There girl, all is well.”
Bella raised her head and Penny took a step back. She peered into Bella’s eyes. Her pupils were as saucers.
She shouted, “Grooms! I need grooms!”
One of the boys poked his head around a corner. “Miss Darlington?” he asked, no doubt surprised. Penny was not in the habit of asking for their help on any
matter. Seeing the look on her face, the groom threw away the hay stalk he’d been chewing and ran down the line of stalls to her.
“Look at her eyes,” Penny commanded.
The boy looked, then quietly whistled.
“There is deadly nightshade in your fields!” Penny said. “Clearly, that is what it is, there is nothing else that could account for her pupils so large. As well, her gait was unsteady.”
“It canna be,” the groom said, “we walk them fields every week.”
“Then you have missed it,” Penny said. “Find the other grooms. I will need a charcoal slurry. Quickly!”
The groom ran off and Penny spoke softly to Bella, walking her into her stall. She closed the door and ran to her tack room. She took Zephyrus’ bit, which would be far too large and cause Bella to open and close her mouth to get away from it. Then, she unlocked her cabinet and took out one of the specially made plungers that had been oft used to dose horses in her father’s stables. Its barrel was thick tapered glass, with a sturdy leather cap and a plunger of polished wood.
Bella would not like it, but charcoal must reach the stomach to stop any further ill effects of the nightshade.
Penny paused and looked into Zephyrus’ stall. That horse’s pupils were normal and he was alert. Penny very much doubted he’d eaten any of the berries. Deadly nightshade was a young horse’s mistake. He would be too clever for it. Still, the enormity of what had happened settled upon her. There could be no debate, she did not dare race him with only two hours to spare. There was too great a risk for colic and she had no notion of what had occurred in that field before she arrived. She would never do anything that might harm one of her horses.
As she resigned herself to sitting out the races this year, Penny could not help that her blood boiled over the cause of it. There should never have been nightshade allowed to grow in those fields! And where was Doom? Had Zephyrus been brought in on time as he should have been, Zephyrus would be racing yet. How could he have been so reckless and imprudent!
Doom had convinced her that he was ready for such responsibility. She should have known he was too young.
*
Doom had staggered back down the forest path to the spot where he’d been sure he’d seen Freddy throw the sack. The ground was riddled with tree roots, diabolically disguised under ferns and fallen leaves. He ranged round the area, tripping his way through. He fell once, but had the presence of mind to turn himself to avoid falling on the arm that was already broken. He ignored the fact that the fingertips of that arm had grown numb and how that was surely a very bad sign.
Finally, he spotted the sack at the base of a tree. He picked it up and peered in. A pile of berries coated in white sat at the bottom, along with a vial of brownish liquid. He could guess the berries to be nightshade, but as for the vial, he had no idea. Miss Darlington would know, though. She knew just about everything.
He must just get back to her.
Doom looked up to the sky and his heart sank. He should have had the horses in well before now.
Were they even still alive? Had Freddy been able to get to them both? He thought not; he thought it had just been Bella. Poor, sweet Bella.
As he trudged through the forest, one foot painfully in front of the other, he could not help but speculate on why Freddy had done such a thing. He knew very well that all sorts of underhanded schemes went on around a horse race, but poison? Would somebody really dare it nowadays?
Meddling with horses had fallen very out of vogue after Mr. Rampart’s hanging the year before. The fellow had been deep in debt and concocted a rash plan to put himself right again. He’d stolen a fine horse from somewhere up north and cleverly dyed the beast to appear nothing like itself. Then, he attempted to injure the horse who was favored to win. He’d planned to cut the horse’s tendon and then pound a nail through a board in the stall and leave it sticking out as if the nail had caused the damage. He’d been caught at all of it.
Somehow, when he’d crept into the stables in the middle of the night to injure the favorite, he knocked over his own lamp. A fire broke out. The grooms in the apartments above were alerted fast enough and got the horses out while throwing buckets of water willy-nilly. Mr. Rampart had been caught running from the scene badly burned and his horse had conveniently begun to shed its dye from the buckets of water that hit him. He’d known the game was up and confessed to all.
Rampart might have supposed he could confess without trading his life. After all, not that many horse thieves were executed anymore. He should have realized that adding in an attempt to fix a race, injure another horse, lay the blame on Lord Hasselby’s stable, and then burning down the stable was rather more than any judge might find sympathy for.
Nobody involved with horseracing would forget the man’s screams as he was hauled up to the gallows. And, had they been lucky enough to avoid witnessing the spectacle, the newspaper had provided a lurid description. Criminals, as Doom well knew, liked to keep risks low and rewards high. Mr. Rampart had taken too big a risk and paid too big a price.
It seemed impossible that Freddy would attempt such a thing. And if he did, who did he work for? Who was this mysterious Mr. Cumberbald anyway?
Doom reached the edge of the tree line, the stables just ahead. He limped gratefully toward it.
Chapter Twelve
It had been one of the most unpleasant half hours that Penny had ever spent in her life. The charcoal slurry had been brought and loaded again and again into the syringe.
Bella, despite her hazy state, had been irate about it. Each time the plunger had been refilled and Penny gripped her cheek to shoot it to the back of her tongue, Bella had yanked her head in a fury.
She was certain Bella’s thoughts ran along the lines of: “I would trample you if I had the means.”
Penny had worked as quickly and efficiently as she was able so that Bella need not suffer overlong. Finally, the last dose of it was in. Now, all they could do was wait. Penny was hopeful. After all, Bella had been able to walk back to the stables on her own. There was every chance that she’d eaten some of the berries and then quickly lost interest in them.
She laid her cheek against Bella’s and whispered, “I am so sorry, but it was for your own good.”
As she said it, she remembered all those times as a child that she’d been told something was for her own good. She’d not ever seen the sense in it, and often thought she was being lied to. She suspected Bella felt just the same.
“Miss. Miss!” one of the grooms said, tugging on her sleeve. She let go of Bella and turned. He was pointing to the stable doors. Doom staggered toward her.
She saw in an instant that he’d been injured.
“Doom! What has happened? Where have you been?”
He held his hand out, clutching a brown sack, as he made his way unsteadily toward her. “Freddy, the grocer’s boy. He fed this to the horses, Bella at least. Nightshade, I think. And there’s something else in there, but I don’t know what it is.”
As Penny took in his words, she just as quickly noted his opposite arm hanging at an odd angle.
“Your arm!” she cried.
“It’s done broke,” Doom said. “I chased that hooligan and he broke it over a fence rail.”
Penny stood there in momentary shock. The grocer’s boy had poisoned her horse and broke her rider’s arm? Why?
Her commonsense took over just as fast. There was no time for why. She had done what she could for Bella, now she must do what she could for Doom.
She turned to the grooms, who were white-faced. To the oldest, whom she knew as Johnny, she said, “You must take Doom to Mendbridge Cottage in my phaeton. It stands just outside. Fold up a horse blanket to prop up the injured arm, it must not be jostled about. Send someone for Doctor Prentiss. Take Doom to the front doors and tell the butler, Mr. Montrose, that I have directed he be put in a bedchamber in the house. He will do as you say.”
Penny took the sack from Doom’s good hand. “Yo
u have been very brave, Doom, and I am ashamed of what I have thought in discovering you missing.”
Doom smiled weakly. “You thought I be shirking. Not a chance.”
“I should have known better.”
“I can’t ride Zephyrus, though,” Doom said regretfully. “I was all set to put on the colors and take him to victory.”
“Never mind the race,” Penny said. “There will be other races. Now, you will go carefully to the phaeton and Johnny will take you back. I will see to the horses.”
“I done interrupted that jackanapes afore he got far with it,” Doom said proudly.
“I believe you have,” Penny said. “Bella is not happy just now, but I have every confidence in her recovery and it will be due to your good efforts. Do go with Johnny, the doctor will be there as soon as he is found. Mrs. Wiggins and Mr. Montrose will take care of you until he arrives.”
Johnny led Doom out of the stables. Penny opened the sack. As she did so, both Zephyrus and Bella backed in their stalls, as if they knew its contents were the author of the morning’s disaster.
The berries were indeed nightshade and appeared to have been dusted with sugar. She grasped the vial and pulled it out. It was a quarter filled with a brownish liquid. She wrestled the cap off and smelled it. It had an unpleasant odor. Penny put a drop on her finger and tasted it. It was bitter. She recognized it instantly. It was laudanum.
Laudanum? Had that boy planned to dose her horses with nightshade and laudanum? She did not see how he thought he might accomplish it, no horse would willingly take it. Perhaps he meant to smear it on the horse’s gums? It would have been a dangerous gambit and one that might have resulted in the loss of a few fingers.
She peered at Zephyrus. His pupils were quite regular. Unlike the nightshade, if the horse had taken laudanum his pupils would have constricted.
Perhaps the boy had the laudanum with him as his own habit? Many a person had been treated with the medicine for some complaint or other and then found themselves loath to part with it. Though, for a grocer’s boy, one might have thought ale or gin the more likely vices.
