by Glenna Mason
Elizabeth then proceeded to do a preliminary assessment of JUUUMP, which it turned out was a charity dedicated to the support of and improvement of the conditions on and off the track of personnel involved in the racing business, including jockeys, hot walkers, stable lads, seeking both health benefits and pensions for these workers, as well as improved conditions in their daily work atmosphere.
Fitz Darcy actually sounded like quite a gentleman, respected, dedicated and involved; they already knew that the horseman was quite handsome.
“What more could a girl, looking for a little romance in her life for a change, want?” Elizabeth asked Tish and Minerva when the trio met for a late lunch Sunday afternoon in Tish's garden. “Too bad he is a horse thief.”
“I say we investigate JUUUMP more actively. Perhaps there are more likeable kidnappers in their membership,” Tish suggested to Elizabeth. “Dues? Requirements to join? Can we join? Expectations of members? You get the idea.”
“Right! I'll obviously take that on since you two are off to check out Garrard County tomorrow,” Elizabeth said with a sigh, wishing she could join them.
*****
Bright and early Monday morning Minerva arrived at Tish's, driving her son's souped up, noisy jalopy.
“My son Dan is in Florida for Spring Break and so I'm borrowing his wheels,” Minerva joked, albeit somewhat flush with embarrassment.
“Let's drive mine to Lancaster,” Tish suggested, winking, as she climbed behind the wheel of her navy blue Prius and pointed Minerva to the passenger seat. “We do want to be as unremarkable as possible, of course.”
Traveling the curvy two lane road between Richmond and Lancaster was a lovely experience, filled with rolling fields dotted with grazing horses and cattle, white board fences, red brick Victorian mansions, Southern colonials with Greek columned porches, country lanes leading into wooded vistas, and the occasional country store with coke tables and chairs, inviting guests to stop and have a soda pop. Despite the frequency with which these two ladies observed these very same types of settings around their own byways, they could not help but be charmed. Kentucky and its myriad of beautiful landscapes were the continual topics of their conversation. And before they knew it, they were in mid-town Lancaster.
“Let's find a local coffee shop or an ice cream parlor. I'm in need of some good old fashioned local gossip. How about you?” Tish said, as they scanned for possibilities.
“There,” Minerva pointed. “The Dew Drop Inn looks bustling.”
Tish nodded her approval and found an available parking spot.
Inside heads swiveled as the strangers entered, but conversations barely took a breather. Tish and Minerva maneuvered for a table in the center of the crowd of ladies and were soon right in the middle of a group of moms and their morning chat. Minerva and Tish explained that they were on an antiquing expedition; they learned that it was also Spring Break in Lancaster.
The cafe was next to a sizable vacant lot. The moms pointed out the windows, where they identified their own kids among a large number of children of varying ages, kicking a soccer ball around the space. A younger group was playing hopscotch on the main sidewalk. Passersby just ignored the inconvenience and walked around them into the street. On the floor of the restaurant two youngsters were playing jacks, and two others were intent on a game of marbles.
“Nice day for play,” observed Tish to the moms at the table next to theirs.
“Yes, ma'am. Hi, I'm Gina Smith,” welcomed a brown haired, brown eyed beauty.
“Hello, Gina. Tish Pope from Claysmount, Minerva Castle from Georgetown,” Tish said, as she offered her hand.
“So nice to meet y'all. You wouldn't be related to Mickey Castle, would you?” asked her pretty red-headed companion.
“Well, kinda. He's my husband.”
“Well, for heaven’s sake. Your husband's teams make mincemeat of my husband's every year. Carol Lansdowne here,” she introduced herself, extending her hand. “I know Mr. Castle will recognize the name Tim Lansdowne, if you mention it to him. Please meet Jane Parsons and Betty Barnes,” Carol continued, indicating the other two mothers at the table.
“I certainly will do that, Carol. Hi, y'all.”
That set the stage, of course. Small-town high school football ruled central Kentucky. By the second cup of coffee, the girls had scooted over and made a place at the table for Tish and Minerva.
“Whatcha all doin' all the way over here in Lancaster?” inquired Betty.
“I'm from close by—just up the road in Claysmount. That's a little burg outside Richmond,” Tish said.
“Oh, we know Claysmount. Whenever we go up to EKU football games, we drive down Pope Road just for fun. It is so beautiful. Oh, did you say your name is Tish Pope?”
“I did.”
“For heaven’s sake. I just can't wait to tell Timmy. He just loves horses,” said Carol Lansdowne.
“We're here on an antiquin' excursion—and, by the way, we just love horses too,” said Minerva, as a way of finishing Tish's original thought.
“Wow! Have you come to the right county! We seem to have antique establishments on every corner.”
“We heard maybe we should look up Paint Lick way or Three Forks!” suggested Tish, planting a seed to get the conversation around to Fitz Darcy.
“Both places have incredible finds,” Jane Parsons said. “I am into antiquin' myself, and I always find something I love at Junior's Antiques over near Paint Lick—also Creighton's. At Three Forks, you should try Mrs. Coy's. She is expensive, but she has truly authentic English antiques. There are also stores along the way, nestled here and there.”
“Would that be near the Darcy standard bred farm? I understand it is open to the public and worth a look see.”
“Oh my, yes. Is it ever!” Gina said. “Fitzwilliam has famous champions just feastin' away on his little ole bluegrass. If you like horses, it's the place to go down here. It's just up the lane a bit from Creighton's. He can give you directions.”
“Fitz Darcy is a fairly successful harness rider, we understand,” added Minerva to keep the line of talk alive.
“Oh, yes,” Gina said. “One of the most distinguished men in the county.”
“He has a thousand acre farm with its own practice ring, large fancy barn and a house to die for,” Betty Barnes said. “Wish I'd been five years older when he was growing up,” she concluded with a wistful grin.
“And they don't come any purtier than Fitz,” Jane said. “He has a movie star appearance, face and physique. In fact, everyone thinks he could double for Colin Firth, if he had been born twenty years earlier.”
Tish smiled; she agreed.
“And, Mr. Darcy is as pleasant, as he is beautiful,” Betty informed them. “In fact Lancaster loves Fitzwilliam Darcy. He is our most committed citizen.”
“I don't suppose he's in town,” queried Tish. “I'd love to see those horses fly around his ring. I'm a big fan of harness racing.”
“He's in town now. I saw him at church last night at choir practice; he'd just flown back earlier in the day from Newark,” said Carol. “He'd been racing in New Jersey, but he told me last night he'd be hanging around now that spring is here. Everyone just loves springtime in Kentucky. Fitzwilliam is our lead tenor, so we were glad to hear he'd be in town for Easter.”
“My guess is that he'll be here until January—he only races up North in the winter—January and February mostly,” Betty said.
“Now, Betty, you know Fitzwilliam sometimes goes back in July and August when it is so hot here,” corrected Gina. “After the Red Mile, of course,” she added.
“Yes, sometimes.”
“In any case, he's in town now. Go on out there. If he's practicing, he'll put on a show for you.”
“Yes, ma'am, and he'll love doing it. Fitzwilliam doesn't know a stranger. To my mind he is the paragon of a perfect gentleman. And he is the most beautiful man alive!” They all giggled.
When Tish and Minerva got
back into Tish's car, they broke into torrents of laughter.
“Incredible!” said Tish. “A whole morning of information in forty-five minutes.”
“Those ladies have a real buzz on for Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy,” Minerva said.
“I just love small town women folk. They know everything, and they like to share what they know, openly and jovially,” Tish said, quite jovial herself.
“Let's drive out into the countryside and stop at a couple of antique shops on the way to the Darcy estate and—hmm—a country store or two also. No telling how much more data we can accrue before we take a look at Mr. Darcy and/or his parade ground,” Tish continued.
“Good plan,” Minerva said. “I don't know when I've had so much fun.”
More pay dirt was definitely available at Junior Smithy's Antiques and Memorabilia.
“Look, Minerva,” Tish said. “I just love these little miniature trophies. Reminds me of the ones they give out at the trots.”
“That's right, ma'am,” said Junior Smithy. “We keep a supply of them as sort of souvenirs for tourists passing by who might want to remember the famous show horse and pacer farms in the area. We have miniature blue ribbons too, you see.”
“So you do. I'll take one of each.”
Then Minerva inquired, “Do you see much of Mr. Darcy? I understand his farm is close by and that he is an accomplished rider and sulky driver.”
“Mr. Darcy is much more than a rider. He is a very great man, generous with his home and money.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, ma'am,” continued the owner. “He devotes hours upon hours of his time to charities, which benefit the horse industry. He has fund raising events, for example, at his spectacular home, sometimes for disabled jockeys, but especially for groups which find homes for horses that are no longer wanted. He doesn't want a single horse ending up in the glue factory.”
“Oh no, heaven forbid.” Tish cringed, truly aghast at such a hideous thought.
“Mr. Darcy is so completely committed to these two enterprises that the rumor is that he has donated his lovely farm in Laurel County, as a place of refuge for jockeys and other stable personnel, who agree to care for the unwanted horses he has begun to board there.”
“My, my!”
“It is only talk. Mr. Darcy is a very private person, when it comes to his own accomplishments. If he has done something so magnanimous, he will be the last person to admit it publicly.
“He and a few other interested investors have formed a society called JUUUMP, which is dedicated to gathering resources for the stable lads, jockeys, etc. who work around horses. Many of them already live at the farm in Laurel Country, virtually free. That much is common knowledge. The question is whether he has formally donated the farm to the organization. But in any case, he is providing horses and men a new life in bucolic surroundings.”
The next stop, Creighton's Fine Antiques, supplied an owner equally effusive in his praise of Fitz Darcy. “Mr. Darcy has contributed an entire property of thousand acres as a place of refuge for horses and men. My admiration for Mr. Darcy exceeds my ability to express it,” volunteered Mr. Creighton with the most minimal of prompting.
Back in the car, Minerva said, “What accolades! I almost feel sorry for the whole community of Garrard County. Their hero is about to be exposed as the mastermind of the biggest horse kidnapping in modern history.”
“Hmm. I'm wondering,” Tish said softly and thoughtfully, “if maybe he will become an international hero instead.” She mulled a bit longer, absorbing carefully the information they'd garnered. “I'm beginning to think Fitz Darcy may just be a modern day Robin Hood.”
“What do you mean?” Minerva asked, startled, a frown creasing her brow, as she shaded her eyes from the late morning sun that glared through the windshield.
“Suppose the ransom money is not for self-aggrandizement, but is rather to provide additional finances for the charity work for horses and ex-jockeys.
“All the horses are safely home; no one is harmed except some well-to-do owners, who should probably be doing more in this line anyway, and their insurance companies. In return hundreds, maybe thousands benefit.”
“Interesting thesis!”
“Let's run this by Elizabeth,” Tish said, as she dialed on her cell phone after gliding into the open gate of a sumptuous farm named Pemberley of Garrard County.
Back in Richmond at her office at EKU, Elizabeth, with lumpy cottage cheese and a sad looking pear going untouched and barely noticed on her desk, was outlining notes for her next lecture. When her throw away cell phone rang, she answered immediately, with a loud, exuberant “Hello.”
Listening she answered, “Yes, yes, I can do that. See you all this afternoon at four at your house, Tish.”
Her assignment was to locate the Laurel County farm of Fitzwilliam Darcy. She was to find out everything she could about its current status. Was it a harbor for unwanted horses? A place for disabled jockeys? Down and out stable lads? Size? Buildings? Anything?
“Where to begin?” Elizabeth wondered. “Call the city halls, first Corbin and if that doesn't work, then London and Barbourville. Ask about land owned or formerly owned by Fitzwilliam Darcy. Then get on the computer, where I should be able to get an aerial view of the buildings, land etc. But first I need the address—”
At four on the dot, Elizabeth arrived ready to report to her co-conspirator-sleuths-in-action.
“I have nailed down JUUUMP. It stands for Jockeys: Underpaid, Under-insured, Under-appreciated Mad People. I also, by the miracle of the phone and the computer, got a print out of the exact location of the farm you requested. Twin Spirals Farm is its name.
“It is ten miles off the expressway between London and Corbin. According to townspeople, it is a lovely farm of approximately nine-hundred acres, with several barns and out buildings, a gorgeous manor house and a smaller cottage style abode.
“Building has been going on in which a two dormitory bunk houses have been added for jockey retirement housing, as well as a care facility with a nurse or two on staff.
“It is no secret, but it is also not publicized outside the racing community and is very private. That is, when jockeys or stable hands want to see their families, they leave the grounds. They do not bring them in. No one is expressly forbidden to do so, but such visitation is not encouraged or indeed even welcomed, for the privacy of the others, who live there and for their rest and rehabilitation. Makes sense. It could turn into a madhouse.
“It appears that the house, which is apparently an antebellum mansion, is a sort of dining facility and club house, with outdoor pool, giant televisions, stereos, and stocked library. There are also reportedly riding facilities, rings, jumps, etc. A very nice idea. Horses are also given a home there when ready to be destroyed. The personnel, who care for the horses and the facility itself, are the residents. However, even so, it sounds like an expensive venture to maintain,” Elizabeth said.
“Are y'all thinking what I'm thinking?” Tish asked.
“Yes, we are!” the other two said simultaneously.
“Well, girls, we know what our next expedition entails, don't we?” Minerva said.
“Now what will I do with my class, Shakespeare in Love, tomorrow?” Elizabeth wondered.
“I know. They can read Pride and Prejudice and Much Ado About Nothing instead of coming to class. I'll post it on their e-mails tonight and see you for a late breakfast at my house tomorrow. I do have to check the barn. I can't cancel that, but I'll skimp. Shall we say nine sharp?”
“So be it!” exclaimed Minerva, raising her wine glass in toast.
“Dress comfortably, ladies. We may be climbing fences and crossing fields,” Tish said, as she poured another round of cabernet.
“Till tomorrow then!” she toasted.
*****
At the Monday night family supper, Elizabeth did not report the findings of Tish and Minerva, or their Tuesday plans. She did not want anyone to try to dissuade
her from going. It would be better for them to know after the fact, and most especially after the three had formulated a presentation of their findings. She did, however, invite them over for drinks on the porch on Wednesday evening. She informed them that she and Tish Pope had a new friend they wanted everyone to meet.
All, including Sir William, accepted the invitation for a six sharp gathering for cocktails and canapés. Elizabeth promised to order in a light dinner for after cocktail hour. Francine Bennet, still home from her trips abroad, offered to take on the organizing of the dinner portion, including getting it to Elizabeth's from a local dining establishment.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tuesday morning portended a dreary day as the clouds hung low. The three ladies convened at nine at Elizabeth's and, after a light breakfast of coffee, juice, eggs and fruit, sped off for the Darcy farm in Laurel County.
They had dressed casually. Elizabeth wore jeans and riding boots, but Tish chose to dress in slacks and a silk blouse. She understood that her assignment today would be the business end of the enterprise at Twin Spirals and, therefore, she would not have the pleasure of riding a horse. Minerva, no rider, nonetheless, had on jeans and boots.
The ladies were anything but subdued, as they drove south on I-75. They formulated final plans, as Elizabeth answered any remaining questions and concerns she could field about today's destination: Twin Spirals Farm. Minerva and Tish caught Elizabeth up on the little amusements of their jaunt to Lancaster on Monday, describing in detail the delightful new acquaintances they met there. They had covered the more substantive issues yesterday afternoon, but now in a buoyant mood of adventure the more charming elements emerged.
“The most thrilling part of the day was sitting blocking Mr. Fitz Darcy's driveway, when the lord of the manor himself came roaring around the corner and swung cheerfully into his own drive to find us there,” Tish recalled.
“Oh, I know I was beet red,” Minerva said with a laugh, knowing that with her red hair she always turned florid on the occasions when most people barely showed a blush. “Guilty conscience! Mr. Darcy certainly didn’t have a clue we were checking on him.”
