by Glenna Mason
However, once she returned to the hospital emergency room, Elizabeth realized that Clancey was now in excellent hands and that she was just in the way. As they watched Clancey was being laid on a stretcher, Jane explained to her that Clancey would be sedated after his head wound was cleaned and dressed. He needed rest to revitalize. Elizabeth would not see Clancey again for some time, and, more importantly, he no longer needed her assistance. Elizabeth headed to the coffee shop for her second cup of the day.
Sitting there, finally with time to reflect, her mind swirled with the events of the last hour. How could Clancey have tripped on a rock as small as that creek stone and managed to hit his head on it too? It would take a contortionist. And why was the creek stone so far from the creek? Stranger and stranger!
Elizabeth's mystery-oriented psyche created various implausible scenarios, which while excellent for an intriguing short story, she had to veto out of hand as a true story plot. “I just need to go back to the field and see if there are more substantial clues,” Elizabeth finally decided. “Just in case,” she said to herself with a smile.
“Why not?” she queried herself. “I have canceled class already anyway. And it may not be much of a mystery, but it may be the only one I ever get.”
Elizabeth checked her watch and was a little chagrined to see that she could have made class after all, if she had gone in her riding attire, smelling of a horse. “Oh, well,” she said, “if they only knew that I might have come in my riding attire, the kids, who waited around for class today, would be really glad I canceled.” She giggled at the vision of Dr. Bennet wandering the aisles, while students held their noses.
“I am going for a little sleuthing expedition,” Elizabeth exuded, giving herself a mental high five. She headed for the parking lot.
“Uh! oh!” Elizabeth remembered, just as she reached the door, “I don't have a car.” This time she bent over double with gales of laughter.
CHAPTER TWO
Elizabeth soon discovered that nosing around in the grass, Sherlock-style, wasn't as simple or easy as it appeared to be in Conan Doyle's mysteries.
“Should have brought my magnifying glass, I guess,” she stated, smiling, but then frowned, when she noticed the beginning of a grass stain on the knees of her favorite pair of riding jodhpurs.
“No wonder the prissy Hercule prefers the 'little gray cells' approach,” she said to her horse.
Gypsy, apparently believing this activity was some new game that she found boring, kept nudging Elizabeth with her nose, off-balancing Elizabeth, as she squatted awkwardly, searching for the stone, and more than once sending her sprawling. When that failed to get her rider's undivided attention, Gypsy began to nuzzle in her pockets for the peppermint treats usually found there.
“Here, girl,” said Elizabeth, finally taking the hint and retrieving two peppermints from her shirt pocket and popping them in the equine’s mouth.
In her urgency to get Clancey to a doctor, Elizabeth had failed to mark the so-called scene of the crime. So even though she knew the general vicinity, it took Elizabeth twenty minutes to find the blood-smeared stone in the field of thick bluegrass.
Though now located, the creek stone was still a mystery. Elizabeth searched the vicinity near the rock, looking for clues that might explain Clancey’s battered skull. She had fully expected to find something definitive. There was nothing . . . just grass and more grass.
Of course Elizabeth remembered the rambling brook, which ran through the meadows of Field Thirteen, but that was on the other side of the pasture. There was no reason why a creek stone should be in the middle of the pasture, far from the creek, and no clues to explain its baffling setting.
“Some detective I’ve had turned out to be,” Elizabeth complained, looking at the rock in her hand with disgust. “I have managed to get fingerprints all over this mini-Stonehenge. The police will love that.” Elizabeth dropped the big stone back to the ground.
“We’ll just have to wait for Clancey to recover. Drat it,” Elizabeth said. “I wanted find some evidence to help solve this puzzle. It may be the only chance I ever get.” No, Elizabeth Bennet, it will not be.
Normally Elizabeth would have now ridden down to the creek bed and thrown the stone back, but the detective in her just wouldn't allow her to remove evidence from the scene of a possible crime. “I need to leave it where it is,” she said. She knew that Clancey’s mishap could be exactly that—a simple mishap. But, on the other hand, it could be a crime. The field was home to million-dollar mares, after all.
Elizabeth decided that it would be sensible to cover the evidence with her rain slicker just in case of a sudden spring shower. The bright yellow would also allow a lad to find the stone and remove it, once there was no need of it as evidence any more. Just to be safe Elizabeth constructed a barrier around the rock out of limbs from a nearby tree and a rope that she had slung over her saddle. She felt reassured that no horse or rider would meet an unfortunate accident because of the errant stone.
“Good, Gypsy. That bright yellow will lead us straight to the spot next time,” she told her mare, as she held her stirrup steady and easily remounted the jittery horse.
“Now what to do?” she said aloud. “Go home, that's what!” As she cantered back across the field toward the lane, Elizabeth noticed two of Sir William's mares and their foals grazing peacefully near a far fence. A thought abruptly stopped Elizabeth in her tracks.
“Whoa, Gypsy,” she said, pulling back on the reins.
Elizabeth discerned that the staff at the Stantonfield barn might not know of Clancey's accident. After all, Charles hadn't been home when she had brought Clancey to Jane's. Libby Bell, Millie Kay and their nanny would not call anyone. Jane was busy; she undoubtedly assumed that Elizabeth would follow up and let Sir William’s manager know that Clancey was injured.
“But no,” Elizabeth upbraided herself to her horse, “the big detective back out in the field, reconnoitering, didn't even stop to do something as simple as inform Sir William or his barn crew.” As she headed towards Stantonfield’s barns, she also thought, “I'd just better check out the field quickly to be sure all four mares and their foals are here and safe. Then when I swing by Sir William's barn on my way home, I can give a heads up on the well-being of the horses. That way the news of Clancey's accident will be less stressful.”
“Giddy up, Gypsy,” Elizabeth said, directing her mount toward the pair of mares and their babies she had already noticed in the far pasture. Elizabeth knew the Stantonfield stock almost as well as her own. She also was well aware of which mares got the preference of being placed in Mr. Clancey's expert care in Field Thirteen. Getting closer, Elizabeth immediately recognized two mares: “Purty” and “Cassie” and their issue, Barbie and Bucky. Two mares and two foals of Stantonfield's premier household accounted for. Four down and four to go.
Elizabeth and Gypsy trotted over the verdant meadows, searching for the other two mare/foal combos. Checking the well-being of mares and their foals was what Elizabeth did twice a day, year in and year out. She was now in her element. She soon forgot about her failure to solve the creek stone mystery.
The field wandered up and down slopes and into ravines. Elizabeth and Gypsy began cantering at a rapid pace. Elizabeth stayed alert as she crossed the meadows. She didn’t ride Sir William’s fields as often as her own, so didn’t know what pitfalls they might offer a rider.
“Over there, Gypsy,” Elizabeth said, having noticed a movement in a small stand of young oaks on the side of a rise.
Sure enough on arriving at the scene, Elizabeth and Gypsy located the prize brood mare Mellie and her baby Tootsie, obviously seeking a little shelter from the chilly morning breeze.
Gypsy and Mellie exchanged greeting neighs before Elizabeth turned Gypsy back toward another side of the field.
“Now all we have to do is locate Alexis and Junie, and we can head for Stantonfield's barn, Miss Gypsy,” Elizabeth said. “Let's see. Hmm! We haven't been to t
he far south or the far west corners. Let's go south first, Gyp.”
However, fifteen minutes later, after two strong gallops across Field Thirteen, Elizabeth still had not found Alexis and Junie. She was more than a little concerned. Elizabeth remembered the open gate, but she reminded herself that she had done a reconnaissance up and down the lane earlier. She was not truly alarmed.
“Let's go to Sir William's barn, Gypsy. The two renegades were probably kept in today. Perhaps Junie had a slight cold or Alexis a touch of colic. In any case we are not doing any good out here carousing with the rabbits, and we do need to report on Mr. Clancey,” Elizabeth reassured Gypsy and herself.
Once a couple of fences were cleared, Gypsy and Elizabeth saw one of Stantonfield’s formal stable yards a field away. The white-washed barns, with their brick red-striped trim and matching red roofs, were situated amid manicured greens and formal gardens. It was a barnyard that was the envy of the horse-racing world—both for the care of the grounds and for the horses it contained.
Elizabeth was seeking this particular set of barns, the grounds with the General Manager's office and the housing facility for the three north fields.
When Elizabeth and Gypsy trotted into the yard, shouts of welcome filled the air. Lads stopped their work to give a friendly wave and a cheery “Yo! Miss Elizabeth” or “Howdy, Ma'am” greeting.
As Elizabeth dismounted, a hot walker emerged and took charge of Gypsy's reins. “Come on, Gypsy,” she invited. “Let’s take a little cool-down around the premises.”
“Thank you, Frankie,” Elizabeth said gratefully.
“Mr. Fletcher,” a nearby lad shouted, “Miss Bennet is here.”
“Thanks, Todd,” Elizabeth answered, flashing him a smile. He blushed. She was very beautiful, after all.
Elizabeth's heart warmed at the camaraderie she always found at any horse barn, especially one of Sir William's. She started toward the manager's office, just as Jim Fletcher emerged with a friendly wave.
“Dr. Elizabeth. What a pleasant surprise,” Mr. Fletcher announced with a broad grin on his face, as he strode in Elizabeth's direction.
“Mr. Fletcher,” Elizabeth began, reaching to shake his outstretched hand, “I guess I could say that I was just in the neighborhood.” She tried a faint smile.
Mr. Fletcher’s smile turned into a frown, when Elizabeth continued, “But actually I stopped by to be sure that someone had given y'all the heads up about Clancey.”
“Clancey?” he asked, obviously confused. “He headed out to Field Number Thirteen this morning like he always does. Isn't he still there?” Concern rose in his voice.
“I am sorry to report, Mr. Fletcher, that Mr. Clancey is in the hospital with a possible concussion.”
“Oh, no!” he almost shrieked. “How do you know?”
“An apparent fall in Field Thirteen. I discovered him on my morning ride around and took him straight to Dr. Jane.”
“Wonderful of you, Dr. Elizabeth,” Mr. Fletcher said.
“Thank you! Thank you! We will call immediately and check on his prognosis. I'll need to send someone else out right away to monitor Field Thirteen, of course,” he planned, looking around for a candidate worthy of the task.
“Mr. Fletcher, speaking of Field Number Thirteen, there is one more thing,” Elizabeth said, in a voice so hesitant that Mr. Fletcher winced.
“Yes?” he asked. He was a man on high alert, and Elizabeth was very much afraid that the news she was about to recount would not be welcome.
“Well, I just wanted to be sure that Alexis and Junie did not go out into Field Number Thirteen this morning. You see—”
“But they did, of course,” Mr. Fletcher interrupted her.
“Mr. Fletcher, Alexis and Junie may be in the meadow, and I somehow missed them, but Gypsy and I swept the entire pasture twice.”
“Oh, no! Impossible!”
He looked like he was about to turn around and run off, so Elizabeth hastily said, “And on my first ride over today—the one in which I found Mr. Clancey—about nine—Mr. Fletcher, your gate to the lane was ajar.”
Mr. Fletcher's eyes widened in abject fear. Pandemonium of an orderly style ensued within seconds. Elizabeth was understandably forgotten, as Mr. Fletcher sent lads to the field, the lane, and, heaven forbid, Pope Road, or even worse, the busier Lancaster Road. Other workers were sent to check every other field and all the fence rows.
As a final resort, Mr. Fletcher ordered a surrogate to the hospital to wait with Clancey, since he certainly could not possibly go now himself. “Call me as soon as he awakes and, for goodness sake, let me know if Clancey has any idea where Alexis and Junie are. Now go, son,” Mr. Fletcher said. “Hurry! He may already be conscious by now.”
Fifteen minutes passed. Elizabeth was still standing passively at the side of the barn office. She didn't want to add to the confusion by trying to find Gypsy, and she also wanted to be available, if she could help in any way.
Finally Mr. Fletcher rounded the corner of the office. “Please excuse me for my discourtesy, Dr. Elizabeth, but I am afraid I must leave you. I must contact Sir William immediately of course. Oh-h-h!” Mr. Fletcher sighed in misery at the thought. “Sir William will be so-o-o upset. Alexis is his favorite, and Junie—well—Junie, you see, is a potential Derby entry. Oh, me!”
“Please, Mr. Fletcher, please go. Call Sir William. He must be advised at once of the situation. He is calm in a tempest. Sir William will know just what to do.”
“Thank you again for letting us know. It might have been hours otherwise. Thank you,” he said again, and with that Mr. Fletcher wheeled on his heel, holding his head between his hands. Elizabeth could almost feel his dread at having to report Alexis and Junie's disappearance to his august boss.
Feeling like a third-wheel, Elizabeth turned toward the barn in search of Gypsy, quickly found her, and, mounting, directed the horse towards home.
Elizabeth wished at that moment that she had someone special to confide in, someone to discuss the latent mystery with. Well, besides Gypsy. While it was true that Elizabeth was usually satisfied with her life and that she was so busy she seldom had time to contemplate that she might be missing something, today she felt very alone and tentative. Today it was obvious that somewhere deep in her was a heart that wished she had found someone—someone to share her life with. Alone! The word hurt right now. Yes, she felt an ache in her heart.
Was she living a lie? Did she persist in convincing herself that she didn't need more in life because there was quite simply no man to meet? Who'd want a woman of thirty?
Sighing, Elizabeth admonished herself, “Oh, well. If there aren't any men, there aren't any. Get over it, Elizabeth Francine Bennet.”
Back at her own stable yard, Elizabeth pulled the saddle and blanket off Gypsy and began to hose her down. Elizabeth’s thoughts ranged back over the morning's happenstances, as the water splashed rainbows before her eyes. Currying her mare, Elizabeth drifted down slowly with each long sweep of the comb from the morning’s series of highs and lows. The ordinary toil of cleaning the hoofs with a pick settled her back into her daily routine.
But no matter how hard she tried, there it was, still lingering—that aura of a mystery, missed or pending. Romance was forgotten, for now at least. Elizabeth intended to concentrate on the problem at hand. She began to wonder if there wasn't something that had eluded her. A nagging kernel of suspicion would simply not be dislodged from the back of her mind. An open gate? A missing mare and foal? A creek stone seriously far from its bank? A bashed skull of a stable manager? These were circumstances, clues even, which had to point to something more than a slip in the morning dew.
Elizabeth decided to let her mind go. “Kidnapped thoroughbreds, perchance? That was just too easy,” she thought. She had been trying to write that mystery for fifteen long years.
“Kidnapped thoroughbreds,” Elizabeth scoffed. “Move on, Elizabeth Bennet. This is real life, not mystery fiction.”
; CHAPTER THREE
Elizabeth had never quite figured out how the old axiom, “No news is good news” ever gained enough traction to elevate itself to cliché status. It was currently two on Saturday and there was still no news of the missing thoroughbreds and no news of a Clancey recovery. How could that be good news?
However, at four when she joined Jane, Sir William and Richmond Police Chief Clem at Clancey's bedside, Elizabeth had to rethink her disparagement of the old saying. It turned out that “no news” might just have been preferable to the real life version of what really happened, or at least what Clancey could remember.
Elizabeth didn’t know if she was elated or appalled that her premonitions of the morning had proved to be correct. Alexis and Junie had indeed been stolen.
The four listened in astonishment as Clancey, looking like a casualty of war with fresh bandages wrapped around his head, described for his visitors in his own inimitable vernacular how he was brutally “conked” on the “noggin” by one of the “two horse thief b . . . ” Clancey stopped himself just in time. “Excuse me Ma’am’s,” he apologized.
“I was mindin' my own bezinez in Field Thirteen as usual; the ladies and the babies turned out to graze and me a monitorin'. Don't know the exact time, but I wuz at the crick tryin' to dislodge a little blockage, when I jest happened to glance up the hill to the far fence by the lane. And damned—uh, sorry misses,—darned if two ba . . . –— uh, two men wasn't takin' off with Alexis and Junie. They had a lead chain on Alexis and a rope around the neck of the laddie. The little tyke was folllowin' right along with his momma anyhows.”
