The Nightingale Sings

by Charlotte Bingham

  ‘Well?’ Mattie raised his eyebrows. ‘So? You have, have you not?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Cassie said levelly. ‘Yes, Mattie, I have been very lucky. All my life I have had nothing but good luck.’ Yes, she thought to herself. You bet I’ve been lucky. I had the good luck to be born illegitimate, never to know my father, to be raised by a sadist who pretended to be my grandmother but was in fact my mother, had to run away from home, lost my second child—

  ‘Yes, all right, all right—’ Mattie said, as if reading his mother’s thoughts.

  ‘This whole place has been built on luck,’ she continued. ‘At least that’s what you and your sister seem to think – that all it took was luck to build Claremore—’

  ‘No we don’t.’

  ‘You do. Of course you do. I overheard you talking and of course you’re right.’ It was luck pure and simple that killed your father after only six years of marriage. Luck that got me running up those hills out there every damned morning come rain, shine, fog, frost or snow. Luck that got me fit enough to ride out like a professional every morning—

  ‘When did you overhear us?’ Mattie asked, his face furrowed by a frown meant to cover his guilt. ‘If you mean the first day Jose was back home, that wasn’t what we were talking about at all. At least that wasn’t what we meant.’

  ‘Of course it was,’ Cassie countered. ‘Mostly you believe the golden apples have just dropped off the tree and fallen in my lap.’ But luck had nothing to do with it, do you hear? Luck played no part in learning how to train horses and how to get them to win so that you and your sister would have a home with a warm bed, plenty of food and a roof over your heads. Luck had nothing to do with surviving what Leonora put me through, or with trying to find enough strength to believe what she was telling me was lies and nothing but lies. With nearly losing my mind when I lost a baby, with producing Nightie to win his Derby. You remember yourself how that had nothing to do with luck, Mattie. How he was damn’ near lame on the morning of the race and how you and I saved having to withdraw him by icing his leg – you think that was to do with luck? You think how Dexter rode him was to do with luck? Just as it was luck that made him win all his other races? And get kidnapped? And mutilated? Luck that’s seen us through standing up to the bully boys? Through not paying attention to their threats? Luck nearly losing the horse on the operating table – or Josephine throwing herself at some adulterous, sadistic son-of-a-bitch and losing her first baby because of it? Or having you now betray me by setting yourself up in competition? You bet it is. Every goddam inch of the way has been a cakewalk, it’s been oh so easy every goddam inch of the way. ‘Well,’ she concluded, ‘if you think it’s all only been due to luck, I just hope you don’t have quite as much of the sort of luck I’ve had in my life in yours.’

  Having said it all, albeit only for her inner ear, Cassie found she was no longer mad and angry, just tired and saddened, and a little heartbroken as looking on the face of her son she saw only the child Tyrone had sung to as a babe, the toddler over whom Erin and Tyrone had happily quarrelled every evening as to who should bath him, the little boy in his double-breasted blue coat being handed up by her to sit in front of his father on Old Flurry, the child lying sick in her bed with asthma, the young man bringing home his first girl, the growing man leading up his first winner. She looked at him and saw every part of his younger life and all she could do was shake her head slowly before turning and taking herself off to shut herself away in the library.

  ‘Luck indeed,’ another voice added from behind Mattie and he turned to see Erin at another door, come to tend the fires. ‘There’s precious little luck that your poor mother’s had, I can tell you. Lucky, indeed. I have to say that if you and your sister were still in my charge, I know exactly what I’d do to the pair of yous.’

  * * *

  Cassie was just sitting staring into the dying fire when the house phone beside her rang. It was Joel.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘What I want, Mrs Rosse, is a drink,’ Joel replied.

  ‘Sorry,’ Cassie said as firmly as she could, still staring into the fire. ‘But if you want a drink, you’ll have to go elsewhere.’

  ‘I didn’t say I was going to drink,’ Joel said. ‘I just said I wanted one.’

  ‘So why are you ringing? Do you want me to come over?’

  ‘Of course I do. But you’re not to because if you did I’d never let you go.’

  ‘So what do you want?’

  ‘Just to hear your voice.’

  ‘Are you going to be all right, Joel?’

  ‘No. Not for a while. But just give me time.’

  ‘You can have all the time in the world. And ring me any time you want to talk.’

  ‘No,’ Joel said. ‘No, I think this is something I have to work through on my own. I just wanted to hear your voice once more before – before I face the demons.’

  ‘I’ll pray for you.’

  ‘I shall need you to. I love you, Mrs Rosse.’

  ‘I love you too, Joel.’

  Cassie replaced the phone.

  Eighteen

  She rang him on the house telephone as soon as she’d returned from morning stables. There was no answer. She must have let it ring well over twenty times and was just about to hang up and go over to the cottage to see for herself when he answered.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Cassie asked.

  ‘I’ve heard more sensible questions,’ Joel replied in a voice like gravel.

  ‘Do you want me to come over?’

  ‘No. One look from those spaniel eyes of yours and I’d be out of here in a flash and then I’d have to start this all over again – and I don’t think I’m man enough. Just send Erin over with some coffee. And a pair of fresh pyjamas.’

  Cassie relayed to her housekeeper what was required, instructing her to fetch a fresh pair of Mattie’s pyjamas from the airing cupboard on her way upstairs.

  ‘Ah they’ll never fit Mr Benson,’ Erin said. ‘Mr Benson’s more Mr Rosse’s size than Mr Mattie’s.’

  Cassie hesitated and sensing it Erin made her employer’s mind up for her.

  ‘There’s several pairs in the chest on the landing,’ she said. ‘And if you’re still prevaricating, don’t. They’re only pyjamas, not holy relics.’

  Cassie waited until Erin returned from her mission, even though she was already running late for The Nightingale’s daily inspection and exercise.

  ‘Well?’ she asked anxiously as her housekeeper bustled back into the kitchen bearing an armful of linen. ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘The poor soul,’ Erin sighed, heading for the washroom with the laundry. ‘He must have perspired half of himself away.’

  ‘Did you go in?’ Cassie enquired, following Erin into the washroom.

  ‘I did not,’ Erin replied. ‘And even had I been asked I still would not have – for you should have seen the state of the room. I saw it through his half-open door. ’Twas as if an army of drunken derelicts had spent the night in there such was the state of it. Bedclothing all over the shop and the furniture everywhere, let alone books and shoes and all manner of other things.’

  ‘But was Mr Benson all right in himself?’ Cassie pressed, as Erin loaded the washing machine. ‘I mean – oh, I don’t know what in heck I mean.’

  ‘You’re getting into one of your states now,’ Erin warned. ‘And you’re not to. So by far and away the best thing is for you to leave poor Mr Benson to me, do you see? You just leave that poor wretched creature to me and if you do that’ll stop your worrying.’

  Cassie agreed, and then having made sure there was nothing else Joel wanted she collected her windcheater and hat to go down to the top yard where Niall and Liam were already waiting for her, stamping their cold feet and blowing on their hands. Cassie apologized for being late and then looked round for Mattie, only to learn that Mattie had left the yard the moment he’d finished riding out. Nor had he left any word as to where he had gone or when he might be
expected to return.

  ‘OK, so what’s the news on Nightie?’ Cassie said, switching subjects. She and her vet were now walking towards the loose school where the horse had been running out daily as part of his recovery programme. ‘Is it really all systems go?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ Niall replied. ‘He really seems to have mended one hundred per cent so I don’t see why we can’t start his riding programme straight away.’

  ‘Which is why I have his tack!’ Liam called happily from behind as he caught them up.

  Niall opened the side door in the loose school to let Cassie in ahead of him. ‘You wouldn’t have thought we’d have come this far three months ago,’ he said. ‘I know I didn’t.’

  Inside the school Bridie was lungeing the horse who was showing himself off freely and easily, nicely bent and throwing his forelegs out at the trot with precisely the right amount of extravagance.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Cassie said, after watching him for a while. ‘Maybe I should just send him eventing straight away. He’s always made such a good shape. Look at him.’

  ‘Now first things first, guv’nor, if I may say so,’ Liam said, inclining his head sideways as he too watched the horse. ‘First let’s see how he likes being under saddle again and then if all goes well we’ll see how he takes to leaving the ground.’

  ‘I thought the idea was for Bridie to ride him?’ Cassie wondered, seeing Liam pulling on his hard hat.

  ‘And so it was,’ Liam replied, buckling up his chin strap. ‘But seeing how full of himself the old boy is I thought better of it. He’s had Bridie on the floor once or twice, if you remember. When he’s in the mood, Nightie can be a right old divil.’

  So saying he called Bridie to bring the horse over to him now that she had finished saddling him up and then asked Niall to leg him up, only for the horse to kick out with his near hind and spin round the moment he took hold of the reins, knocking Bridie to the ground and sending both Liam and Niall flying.

  ‘Whoa, boy! Whoa!’ Liam called after the horse who had started to bolt off round the loose school. He picked himself up off the ground and called out again, but The Nightingale had got himself into the far corner of the school by now where he was busy flyjumping up into the air while kicking out viciously with both hind feet.

  ‘You were saying?’ Cassie asked her head lad now he was back on his feet.

  ‘Ah he’s just a wee bit full of himself, guvnor,’ Liam said, brushing the shavings off his jacket and breeches. ‘And I don’t think Bridie had a proper hold of him.’

  ‘Oh indeed I had!’ Bridie contradicted him, wiping a thin stream of blood from her nose where the bolting horse had caught her. ‘Just as I told yous, I was the one who should be riding him.’

  Mick, another of the lads who had been helping Bridie, had run across the school to try to catch the horse, but as soon as The Nightingale had him in his sights he swung round and aimed a kick at the approaching lad who saw what was happening only just in time to duck back and down out of the way of the flying hooves.

  ‘’Tis as well Mick’s a good boxer,’ Liam said, watching the incident. ‘That was a neat enough weave, so it was.’

  But despite their skilful and careful approaches neither Liam nor Mick could get near the enraged animal, so finally, signalling for Bridie to follow her over, Cassie jumped down from the observation platform and made her way over to her horse.

  ‘The old fella’s as foxy out of his box as he was in it,’ Liam said, standing well back from the horse who was eyeing him with a lot of white showing. ‘When you think what a Christian he used to be. You could put a child on him.’

  ‘I’d say he’s taken a not unreasonable dislike to your sex,’ Bridie said. ‘And after what happened him, sure who can blame him?’

  ‘Oh, is that what you think, madam?’ Liam asked, raising his beetle black eyebrows at the diminutive figure of Bridie beside him. ‘Well let’s see you put your money where your mouth is. You get on him and stay on him and you can pick up me pay packet from the guv’nor on Friday.’

  ‘I was about to suggest the very same thing, Liam, albeit without the side bet,’ Cassie said. ‘I reckon Bridie’s absolutely right. I don’t think Nightie likes men any more in or out of his box. So why don’t you and Mick – and you, Niall – all of you get over to the other side of the school and I’ll leg Bridie up.’

  After a moment’s hesitation, Liam with a nod of his head signalled the retreat to Mick and the three men ambled back to watch proceedings from the observation platform as bidden. As they moved, the horse gave another nervous squeal and whipped tight round, knocking Bridie this time into the side wall.

  ‘The bet stands!’ Liam called when he saw what had happened. ‘A week’s money says you end up where you’d most like to be!’

  ‘And where would that be, Liam Nolan?’ Bridie called back in return, never having let go of the horse’s bridle for a moment.

  ‘Why – flat on yer back, of course!’ Liam replied, hooting with laughter. ‘Good luck now, Bridie Moore! God knows you’ll need it!’

  ‘Pay no attention to him, Bridie,’ Cassie advised, getting ready to leg Bridie up. ‘He’s just talking through his manhood. One, two, three – hup!’

  The moment Bridie was in the saddle the big horse’s mood changed, visibly relaxing from total aggression to complete docility, no more the prancing, bucking, kicking animal but back to the Christian saint upon whom so many had indeed put their children to sit.

  ‘What now, guv’nor?’ Bridie asked Cassie.

  ‘That’s rather up to you, Bridie,’ Cassie replied with one hand still on the horse’s bridle. ‘But I don’t see why you shouldn’t just school him as you wish. I guess if he was going to have you on the floor he’d have done so by now.’

  The big black horse obviously nursed no such intentions, for as soon as Bridie asked him to move off he walked as sedately and obediently as a riding school horse around the perimeter of the school. Five minutes later he and his rider were cantering in complete harmony, as if competing in a dressage phase at a three day event.

  ‘Good on you, Bridie Moore!’ a delighted Liam called out. ‘Sure if I wasn’t married already I’d make an honest woman of ye!’

  ‘You have the ride,’ Cassie told Bridie after she’d dismounted and walked the horse to have a pull of grass outside the school. ‘You and you alone. Liam?’ Her head lad came jogging over, his leather face still puckered up with a grin. ‘I’m making Nightie Bridie’s ride, Liam,’ Cassie said, ‘and I’m sure you understand why.’

  ‘If I didn’t, I’d have no place here, guv’nor,’ Liam replied. ‘So what’s the plan? Are we to try and get the sausage race fit or what?’

  ‘Let’s just call it fit, shall we?’ Cassie replied. ‘Nightie won’t go racing again unless he’s completely his old self. And somehow as far as that goes, I have my doubts.’

  With a fond pat on her beloved horse’s neck and a pull at his big floppy ears Cassie headed back up to the house to see precisely what the rest of her delinquent brood were doing.

  For the next few days Joel remained in his room, communicating only via the house telephone. Having taken Erin’s advice, Cassie left him entirely alone, realizing how much better it would be for Joel’s recuperation to be looked after by someone who would not fuss rather than by someone who would fuss and worry him because she was emotionally involved. All she ensured was that Erin provided him with whatever foods he requested and kept him supplied with seemingly endless pots of coffee and tea and with a fresh supply of clean linen. Over the days the reports Erin made on her return to the house became less dramatic as the patient appeared to be pulling himself through his self-ordained cold turkey treatment.

  Not so healthy was the behaviour of the other man in her house, however, for although Mattie still dutifully rode out his alloted horses each morning and attended whatever race meetings Cassie ordained he was absent from Claremore at most other times. Whenever he did spend some time
at home it seemed it was only to pick fights with his mother because she remained totally opposed to the idea of him being set up in direct competition to her as a trainer. For his own part Mattie did not seem unduly upset by these constant domestic ructions, treating them as if they were sparring contests rather than serious confrontations, the reason for this being – as Cassie soon came to realize – that his mind was already made up. So no matter how hard Cassie might fight, and whatever arguments she might propose, it seemed her son was already up and running against her.

  ‘Why do you want this, Mattie?’ Cassie asked him when at last she realized the full score. ‘You know Claremore will be yours one day and if you want more say in the running of it now then so be it. You might not like playing second fiddle but I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all taking the seat behind you. I might even quite like it.’

  ‘That isn’t it. That isn’t it at all.’

  ‘Meaning you don’t want ready made.’

  ‘Meaning you don’t know what it’s like. If I stay here working for you or if I go somewhere else as an assistant, that is somewhere you approve of, then I shall always be Mattie Rosse, Cassie Rosse’s son. I’ll always be OK because I’m a Rosse. Jose felt the same, you know. She thought she was only ever getting decent parts because of the famous family name. Because of strings being pulled and connections being worked. I don’t want that, you see. Even if it means not getting this place, I want to do it all myself.’

  ‘But why Tom McMahon?’ Cassie wondered. ‘Why Tom McMahon of all people? He can barely afford to run his own outfit.’

  ‘Tom McMahon has a very good reason, don’t you worry,’ Erin informed her later that evening when she and Cassie were discussing the problem over a mug of hot chocolate. ‘Tom McMahon is willing to set up young Mr Mattie because young Mr Mattie is walking out with his daughter.’

  Cassie looked at her housekeeper in astonishment. ‘Mattie is going out with Phoebe McMahon, Erin?’