Do You Dare? The Last Horse Race

by James Moloney

  That made sense to Toby. But could he do it? The excitement had him wriggling in the saddle as he rode Lottie away from the box, but when he turned to face it, thrill became fear. The box looked twice as high. Only now did Toby see the ground around it was hard and sun-parched with very little grass to cushion a fall. This wasn’t at all like the butcher’s paddock across the river.

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing, girl,’ he whispered to the horse, then remembered Sprout’s words from months ago. ‘You must tell her what to do.’

  So he dug in his heels and forced Lottie into a canter. Horse and rider together, then – a team, he spoke silently inside his head.

  ‘Time it just right,’ he told himself and when the moment came, he threw himself upwards. No matter how much he had prepared himself, the lurch into the air came as a shock. But his feet stayed in the stirrups and his knees pressed into Lottie’s flanks to help him keep his balance. For a few moments, he felt as though he weighed nothing at all. But when the horse’s body tilted downward, Toby worried he weighed far too much.

  Thump! Toby landed back in the saddle as Lottie hit the ground. He held on, more through a horseman’s instinct than anything else and then he heard Sprout and Robert cheering.

  Not so hard, Toby thought. He went round twice more, feeling more confident over the box each time. Afterwards, though, he asked himself how on earth did a horse and rider make it over the top rail of a fence?

  Robert had done well, too. He wasn’t even close to guiding Lottie over a jump, but he had managed a steady canter and smiled in delight when he’d relaxed enough to enjoy it. Sprout had started calling him Bob, which he enjoyed just as much. ‘If you want to see my mother blow steam out of her ears, just call me that in front of her,’ he laughed.

  Later, as they headed towards the punt, Robert spoke again. ‘This has been the best day.’

  Toby opened his mouth to agree, then remembered why he’d come to the south side of the river in the first place.

  ‘Beckman,’ he whispered. He ran ahead to the tent where the man had been sleeping off last night’s rum. He was gone.

  ‘I have to get home.’

  Robert shrugged. They were going home anyway.

  That meant a trip on the Time Killer and that afternoon especially, Toby almost died of impatience before it finally grounded on the muddy riverbank.

  ‘You’re worried about Beckman, aren’t you?’ said Robert.

  Toby couldn’t tell him why. He simply waved to Robert and broke into a run, made awkward by Mr Poole’s oversized shoes.

  The moment he saw her slumped at the table, he knew something was wrong. At this time of day she was always on her feet, busy with dinner for the Ballows and the last of her chores before the light faded.

  ‘He’s been here, hasn’t he?’ said Toby.

  His mother glanced towards him long enough for him to see the tears. ‘Oh, Toby, what are we going to do? He wants money, or he’ll go straight to the constables.’

  ‘You’ve got some saved. I know you have. Can’t we buy him off?’

  Despite the misery of her situation, Mrs Thompson smiled. ‘You’re growing up so quickly, Toby, but you’ve still got a lot to learn. I gave Beckman everything I had – twelve shillings – and all he did was ask for more.’

  ‘I’ve got two shilling saved up. It’s hidden in the wall.’

  ‘Yes, in the little recess behind the pots and pans. I know where you keep your money, Toby. Your two shillings were part of the twelve I gave Beckman. He laughed in my face and said he expects pounds, Toby, three, five, ten pounds.’

  ‘He’s a fool. Where can you get that much?’

  ‘Oh, he knows what a servant earns. But servants have masters, he said, they handle their masters’ things.’

  Toby’s mother stayed silent while Toby worked out what she was saying.

  ‘He wants you to steal it!’

  ‘The silverware, Mrs Ballow’s jewellery, anything Beckman can sell.’

  ‘But Mrs Ballow would notice if something was missing. She’d know you’d taken it, too.’

  His mother nodded. ‘Of course they would, and much as they’ve been good to us, the doctor would call in the police.’

  ‘You’ll end up in prison whatever you do,’ said Toby.

  ‘Yes and God knows what would happen to you, especially if Beckman forced you to work for him on the Downs,’ his mother said, taking hold of his hands.

  ‘I hope you’ll forgive me, Toby, but I can’t stop thinking about another thing in all this too.’ She began to cry and through sobs that almost broke Toby’s heart she said, ‘Harry will marry someone else.’

  Whether Beckman’s delays were deliberate or unplanned, the torment they caused Toby and his mother was the same. Not knowing what would become of them stole Toby’s sleep and darkened his mood.

  On the second afternoon, he slipped across the river to jump Lottie as a way to try to keep his mind off their troubles. He was becoming more daring and built the obstacles even higher until they rose above his waist. This was still a long way short of the fences that stood level with his nose, however.

  When he returned home, he surprised his mother in the kitchen. She had something in her hands that she tried to hide from him, but he’d seen what it was.

  ‘Dr Ballow’s watch chain,’ he said in a shocked whisper.

  Mrs Thompson went to the door to be sure her mistress wasn’t near by, then she took the chain from where she had bundled it. She couldn’t look Toby in the eye.

  ‘It’s his spare one. I think it’s gold. The master only wears it on special occasions so he won’t miss it for a few days, even weeks. Beckman will be gone by then.’

  ‘How could you? After he’s been so good to us.’

  ‘No, that’s just it, Toby. Something like this . . . he’ll think he mislaid it, lost it at . . .’

  She stopped speaking because Toby was staring at her, his eyes hard and his face heavy with dismay. His mother fell into a chair and began to weep.

  Toby felt awful. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. If he’d stared, it was because he needed time to adjust. His mother had suddenly become someone he didn’t recognise. This wasn’t like stealing a bit of bread from the baker or cheating a rider out of a pound or two.

  Then his mother straightened up and put the watch chain down on the table in front of her. ‘You don’t need to tell me, Toby. This is wrong. Once I stole purses to feed my little sisters, which is why I find myself so far away from them. Here in Moreton Bay I have a second chance but Beckman has made me a thief again, and this time it is you I will lose. I’ll return it to his dresser drawer the first chance I get.’

  She hid the chain in the same nook Toby had used for his secret hoard of pennies. ‘There has to be another way to get Beckman off our backs,’ she said, when it was done. ‘I won’t steal for him and I won’t marry him either. Another way, Toby – we must think.’

  That night Toby bedded down beside his mother feeling both angry and helpless. He didn’t know which was worse. At least anger was something that fired you up instead of beating you down, he decided. In the morning he helped his mother with the daily routine and barely noticed what his hands were doing. When he couldn’t stand it any longer, he went looking for Beckman.

  But what was he going to do? If he were a grown man, he could call Beckman out into the street. A fist fight wouldn’t solve their problems, but it would make Toby feel ten times better.

  Toby wasn’t even close to Beckman’s size, though. He wasn’t even old enough to enter the bar. He watched from the doorway as Beckman ordered a round of rum with the shillings he’d forced from them already. Glass in hand, he turned back to the bearded bloke he was drinking with.

  ‘You claim your horse is fast, then,’ he said in a drunken slur. ‘A fine filly who can jump fences and beat others on the flat, as well?’

  The man nodded confidently. ‘You’ll see what she can do next time there’s a race.’
r />   ‘A race!’ cried Beckman. ‘And where do you race horses in a godforsaken outpost like this?’

  ‘There’s no track, if that’s what you’re asking.’

  ‘I’m not asking whether there’s a track,’ Beckman snapped at him. ‘I want to know where you have a race.’

  Toby noticed Stan at a table near the bar. As always, he listened carefully and said nothing, letting others set the trap. Stan would join in later to take the prize. On any other day, Toby would have hoped for a prize of his own, but not today, and especially if Beckman was the victim.

  That was how things went, though. Beckman listened with growing interest as others explained about the unofficial course. He was taking the bait. ‘You’ve never seen my horse at full gallop, have you? You wouldn’t be claiming yours as such a champion if you had.’

  ‘Well, then, perhaps you might appreciate a chance to prove it,’ said Beckman’s companion at the bar.

  This was when Stan stood up to join them. ‘If you’re going to test your horses, I’ll put mine up against you both. I’ve got three pounds says I’ll come out the winner.’

  The bar became a babble of voices after that and Toby couldn’t follow what was said. There was going to be a race, that much was certain, and when the arguing and the bragging died down, it seemed there were four horses in the running.

  A dark thought came to Toby. Beckman’s horse might trip at the first fence, maybe he’d break his neck. Instantly he felt ashamed of himself, but his mind couldn’t quite make the deadly wish go away.

  Suddenly, Beckman shouted above the voices to every man in the bar. ‘Here’s all I have in the world,’ he said, pulling his pockets inside out to show he was serious. ‘Match it if you dare. Winner takes all.’

  Soon after, Stan left the noisy huddle and came out into the street where Toby was waiting.

  ‘When will you hold the race?’ Toby asked.

  ‘This afternoon, if we can keep it quiet. You won’t tell the constables, will you, Toby?’

  They both grinned because Toby was the last soul on earth who would stop a horse race.

  ‘Do you fancy earning some for yourself?’ said Stan. ‘Not just pennies this time. What about five shillings?’

  Toby had never dreamed of so much.

  ‘I’m sorry. I can’t . . . I . . .’ He turned away before he had to explain and Stan walked off without another word.

  The truth had slammed into Toby. Beckman had bet everything he had. If he lost this race, he’d be round to see Toby’s mother before the dust had settled, demanding more.

  ‘Well, look who’s hanging around where a young lad shouldn’t be,’ said a deep voice from behind Toby.

  He turned in surprise to find Mr Mackenzie smiling down at him. Beside him stood his son who really was sprouting rapidly towards his father’s height.

  ‘You two wait here. I’ll bring some barley water out for you,’ said Mr Mackenzie as he headed inside.

  ‘I expected you to come and visit me yesterday or this morning. What’s the matter? We’re leaving in a couple of days,’ said Sprout.

  ‘I’m sorry. Beckman’s been causing more trouble for my mother,’ he answered.

  A vague memory stirred in Toby’s mind. ‘The other day, when you told me his name, you said something about his horse.’

  ‘It’s a gelding like the horse that belongs to that friend of yours. Beautiful animal,’ said Sprout.

  ‘Is it fast?’

  Sprout rocked back on his heels, chuckling to himself. ‘Fast! I’ve never seen anything faster. It’s just a shame Beckman doesn’t treat the poor thing better. You’ve seen his dog. The horse is much the same, nervous and downright dangerous sometimes.’

  Toby Thompson didn’t hear the rest of what Sprout had said. The word ‘fast’ drowned out everything else.

  ‘What’s going on, Toby?’ Sprout’s voice was serious, dragging him back to reality.

  Before either boy could say anything more, Mr Mackenzie appeared with a glass of barley water in each hand. Toby could see that the delay only made Sprout more eager to find out what was going on.

  ‘This could work out really well,’ said Toby, more to himself than in answer to Sprout’s questions. ‘If Beckman wins, then . . .’

  ‘If Beckman wins what?’

  ‘The horse race.’

  ‘Why the heck do you want Beckman to win? You just told me he’s being a menace.’

  But he might not be for much longer, thought Toby. There was twenty pounds at stake on this afternoon’s race and if Beckman won the lot then surely he wouldn’t bother about a few more from Toby’s mother.

  Movement from across the rutted street caught Toby’s eye. ‘Hey, that’s Robert waving at us.’

  They drained the last of their barley waters and went to join him.

  ‘How’s school, Bob?’ asked Sprout.

  ‘Boring, like always. You should pray every night you never set foot in a classroom.’ Robert had drawn them into the gap between the old convict barracks and the druggist shop. ‘Sorry,’ he said as furrows creased his forehead to betray his worry. ‘I don’t want our servant to see me. I’m supposed to be on my way back to school after lunch.’

  ‘I’ve got something else you can do instead if you want to help,’ said Toby. ‘You too, Sprout. There’s a race this afternoon; four horses and only one winner. We’re going to try to make sure it’s Beckman.’

  For Toby it was a simple matter. He’d helped Stan win races in the past. He expected the boys to fall in quickly behind him. He could see they were excited by the daring of it all. But his friends continued to stare at him as though they were waiting for something.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ said Toby. ‘You’re not scared of getting caught, are you?’

  Sprout and Robert glanced at one another. ‘We want to know, what’s going on with Beckman.’ Sprout folded his arms to show that this time he expected an answer.

  Robert backed him up. ‘Yes, Toby, why is it so important he beats the other horses?’

  ‘It’s not about the other horses,’ said Toby. ‘It’s the money.’

  That didn’t tell them much and Toby knew it. Could he trust them?

  No amount of weighing up one argument against another would help him choose. He already knew; they were his friends, his gang. ‘It’s because Beckman knows about my mother. She doesn’t have a Ticket of Leave, you see,’ and after that blunt beginning, Toby told them the whole story.

  ‘How are we going to do it?’ Robert asked.

  The three mates had slipped away from the main street in case Robert was seen and ordered back to Mr Wallace. Behind the old convict barracks Toby knew of a spot in the shade and here they were getting down to business.

  ‘We could give the other horses a long drink of water. I’ve done that before,’ said Toby.

  Sprout knew horses better than the others. ‘Or we could loosen their girths.’

  Robert’s face showed he didn’t understand.

  ‘The wide strap under the horse’s belly is called the girth,’ Sprout explained. ‘It holds the saddle in place. If it’s too loose, the rider slips around and he can’t control the horse.’

  They came up with half a dozen ideas and set off from their hiding place hoping that one of them would work. The race was hours away, but the riders were already preparing their horses – some of them, at least. Beckman was still in Bow’s Hotel.

  They faced a problem, though, which Sprout put into words once they’d located each of the competitors. ‘We need the horses to be left alone for a while, so we can get to them. I don’t think there’s going to be a chance.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ said Toby. He was battling another problem that he didn’t share with his friends. One of the riders was Stan. Toby had done a little cheating for Stan in the past, but that wasn’t why Toby suddenly felt disloyal. The man had taught him to take his first jump and when he’d fallen off, he’d urged Toby straight back into the saddle. Stan was a friend.
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  ‘Doesn’t feel right, helping out a man like Beckman,’ he muttered to himself. What could he do, though? He was desperate to keep his mother out of prison and himself from a life of thankless work and misery. Whether he liked it or not, this was the only way.

  ‘Why don’t we walk the course?’ Sprout suggested. ‘Might give us an idea. Or maybe we’ll find something to give Beckman an advantage.’

  Toby led the way as they began to trace the route. The course followed a track behind Mr Fraser’s house and other buildings that faced the main street. After a quarter mile, the horses had to jump a fence.

  Toby inspected the top rail and how it fitted into a v-shaped groove on top of each post. ‘Sturdy,’ he commented. He didn’t say what impressed him most, however. The fence was even higher than he remembered. ‘Beckman better not have a faint heart,’ he said grimly.

  ‘Easier to go through instead of over,’ said Sprout, who had walked a few paces along the fence to a gate that had recently been built. Despite the seriousness of Toby’s problems, they each took a turn swinging on it for fun.

  When the game was over, they left the gate closed and walked on a short way to where the course crossed a drainage channel. Water rose to their knees as they waded to the other side. Galloping horses could splash through the water in the same way, or they could take it in a single leap.

  ‘If you jump your horse across the creek, you don’t have to slow down,’ said Toby, who had watched Stan gain an advantage that way in earlier races.

  After the channel, the route took them uphill and left towards the gardens. No sign of the gardener. Most of the commissioner’s plot from the convict days was overgrown now. A house had been built near the abandoned tool shed that overlooked the river, not far away from where the three boys had bought bread off Mr Smollet.

  The course turned again after another quarter mile, taking them back to meet the fence for a second time. Because they had travelled in a loop, Toby saw they weren’t far from where they’d swung on the gate earlier.

  ‘From here it’s round behind the Catholic church and back to the starting line,’ said Toby.