by Lark, Sarah
Matariki was dismayed when Doortje did not laugh. Rather, her fingers cramped around the washcloth, and her body seemed to shake.
“For your people, damnation can be taken away?” she asked, her voice quavering.
At that moment, it became clear to Matariki that dinner with Michael and Lizzie would have to wait. She got up, marched into the hall, and locked the apartment door. Let Kevin knock once he had cooled off. She heard Atamarie singing to herself in the bath—her spoiled daughter seemed to be enjoying her return to civilization. All the better.
Matariki returned to the bedroom and sat back down on the bed. Doortje was distractedly running the washcloth over her face.
“So, and now, just between us princesses: Why do you think your God has damned you?”
The women were to remain undisturbed a long time because Kevin, too, forgot about dinner with his parents. While Doortje poured out her heart to his sister, one floor below, he was satisfying Juliet Drury.
Chapter 3
“I’m sorry, Rosie, but you’re imagining it. There isn’t a thing wrong with this horse. Don’t be hysterical.”
Vincent was sorry for his harsh words as soon as he had spoken them. There was no reason to take out his bad mood on Rosie, even if she’d just had him examine her horse for the fourth time in three days.
Rosie pressed her lips together tightly. “I’m not hysterical, Dr. Taylor. Trotting Diamond has something. She was shaking again earlier. And this morning she looked, well, she looked at me as if she had a fever.”
Vincent pointed his flashlight once more at Diamond’s eyes and checked the pupil reaction. Completely normal.
“Did she?”
“No,” Rosie confessed. “And she ran really well. Though she was a little wild during training. She broke into a gallop twice. She never does that. And afterward, she shook, and I got the feeling she was dizzy.”
Vincent smiled. “I think both you and your horse have a case of nerves. Totally understandable. The Auckland Cup is a big deal. And the voyage by ship, an unaccustomed racetrack—that can get to your stomach. Take a look at Lord Barrington’s horses.” Vincent had just treated the second one in three days for colic. “Your Trotting Diamond just has weak nerves.”
“She’s never had weak nerves before,” Rosie declared, “and her heart isn’t racing because she’s afraid of your stethoscope either, as you said last time. Trotting Diamond’s not afraid of anything.”
This business was starting to get on Vincent’s nerves, but he could not dismiss Rosie’s argument out of hand. Trotting Diamond was usually calmness itself. She trusted Rosie entirely and had dutifully boarded the ferry first. She had not found her new box at the racetrack in Ellerslie any more frightening than the somewhat different track. She had been eating well from the beginning and looked unperturbed during Vincent’s examinations.
“Then maybe you’re the one with weak nerves, Rosie,” Vincent concluded. “And it’s carrying over to Trotting Diamond. That does happen. It also explains why she’s always better when I arrive. You calm down because the veterinarian’s here, so Diamond calms down too. She will run wonderfully tomorrow, believe me.”
Although Rosie did not seem completely satisfied, she let him go.
“I’m still going to sleep by her.”
Vincent nodded. “By all means, as long as I don’t have to. I’m taking the train to Auckland to look around the city. You should, too. You’ve never traveled so far before, have you?”
Rosie didn’t answer, just thanked the veterinarian again and said good-bye. As a child, she had traveled from Wales to London and from London to New Zealand, then to the West Coast and again back to the fjord lands. Really, she had only liked it in the stables where everything was safe, warm, and orderly. She most certainly would not give up this security just to look at a harbor or some buildings.
On his way from the stables, Vincent thought morosely of how he had dreamed of seeing Auckland with Roberta. There were so many romantic places and secluded beaches. Roberta, however, had not come to see him in Christchurch since that Juliet woman had returned to Dunedin. Vincent did not understand the connection, but something was clearly amiss. Even Kevin’s letters had become strange and evasive. He mostly just listed events and festivities he attended with Doortje. From Roberta’s letters, too, it was evident the woman was assimilating with great success. Even the society section of the Otago Daily Times had repeatedly mentioned Kevin’s beautiful wife. He ought to have been happy, but when his letters mentioned Doortje at all, it was only to complain about her bad relationship with his brother, Patrick, and his wife.
Vincent was inclined to put two and two together. Was Kevin cheating on Doortje with the femme fatale? Vincent hoped not. He recalled his own failed marriage only too well. Divorce was terribly unpleasant, and he saw no chance of Kevin being happy with a woman like Juliet. His own wife had been similar: stunning, scintillating, droll, but unstable and unfaithful. Vincent had learned his lesson. Now, he only dreamed of a woman like Roberta. Kind, patient, and absolutely loyal—even to a childhood crush on a man she’d never so much as kissed. But what could she possibly hope for with Kevin?
Now Vincent was determined to force a decision. Roberta would come to Christchurch for the New Zealand Trotting Cup. Then, Vincent would ask for her hand.
If only Roberta would say yes and finally leave her childish dream behind.
Rosie’s next visitor at the stables was Bulldog. The transportation entrepreneur was deeply disappointed when Rosie declined to go out with him that evening.
“Don’t you think that Trotting Diamond might like a bit of alone time before tomorrow’s race, Miss Paisley?” he suggested. “She is in very good company here.”
Indeed, Trotting Diamond got along well with her stablemate, a bay gelding she knew from Barrington’s racing stable.
“I have to look after Triangle too,” Rosie replied seriously. “He had colic before. And his trainer doesn’t even take care of him. I don’t want to tattle, but I’ve been thinking about telling his lordship. Finney only does the bare minimum.”
Finney, a short, haggard Irishman, had been hired after Rosie, shaking with nervousness, had asked Lord Barrington to release her from her job as caretaker. After Trotting Diamond and Spirit’s Dream had both run successfully in harness races, three more horse owners had overcome their objection to hiring a female trainer. She could live well off the money, and Bulldog had even suggested renting his own stables in Addington. But so far, Rosie was undecided, and his lordship hesitant.
“If you stay here, Rosie, no harm can come to you or the horses. The stable master is reliable, and the security arrangements are good,” Barrington had said. “But if you’re off on your own—”
Bulldog would have gladly taken over the role of Rosie’s protector, but for that, the relationship between them would have to deepen. Rosie was cautious, however. And besides, both Lord Barrington and Chloe thought Bulldog too guileless in his dealings with people like Joseph Fence and the other trainers. Bulldog could only laugh at that. He had gotten the best of much harder blokes. And, just as tenaciously as he had fought his way through London, mastered steerage on the ship to New Zealand, and built up his transportation enterprise, he now wooed Rosie Paisley.
“I admire your dedication to the horses, but you have to eat something, Miss Paisley,” he argued. “Wait a minute; I have an idea. I’ll fetch us fish-and-chips from the nearest pub, and we’ll have a picnic right here in the stables!”
Rosie nodded—she really was hungry. Bulldog returned with a feast, as well as a beer for each of them. Rosie was in quite high spirits when Finney stopped by late that evening. The Irishman smirked at the two of them after glancing briefly at the horses, and then made a comment about alcohol in the stables.
“We stableboys ought to try that sometime. But our grand trainer ‘Ross’ seems to be able to do as ‘he’ pleases.”
Bulldog wanted to reply, but Rosie put a finger to
her lips as the surly man stomped off. “No, he’s right. Maybe you should go now, Bulldog.” She smiled. “Did you know I always still think of you that way? I can’t bring myself to say Mr. Tibbs.”
“You could call me Tom. But of course, I answer to Bulldog as well. Only, then you can’t say Mister. And I could call you Rosie?”
Bulldog inducted her into the ritual of toasting, drinking to their new familiarity. He only kissed her on the cheek, though, after she warmly consented. After that, Rosie rolled herself up contentedly in her sleeping bag.
“Now, it really does need to be quiet here,” she said. “Trotting Diamond needs her sleep before the big race.”
Bulldog smiled and retreated to a storage space on the other side of the stable. There, he spread out a blanket in the straw for himself.
She peered over nervously at him.
“We can go to sleep, Rosie, but I can’t leave you alone here,” he declared. “The stable grounds are too big, too many blokes running around.”
Indeed, Finney reappeared hardly an hour later.
“The man doesn’t seem so neglectful if you ask me,” said Bulldog when Finney woke them by coming by a third time. “Just the opposite. Maybe he should stop fussing over poor Triangle every five minutes and let the animal sleep.”
“But he’s not,” Rosie answered. “He barely glances at Triangle. He can’t see anything in the dark.”
That was true. Finney had not even made the effort of bringing a lamp. Probably he was only reluctantly fulfilling a task assigned by the stable master.
In the morning, both Trotting Diamond and Triangle were in good health, and Bulldog stole Rosie away for a hearty breakfast in the racetrack’s café. Afterward, she met Vincent in the stables. Lord Barrington was likewise inspecting his horses. Rosie exercised Diamond lightly, as it was almost time for the race. Vincent watched from the edge of the track while Lord Barrington withdrew to the elegant owner’s box. Harness races did not interest him nearly as much as normal races at a gallop, but he was not going to let the Auckland Trotting Cup pass him by. Bulldog let himself be talked into going along for a glass of champagne during the first race. However, just before the final race, he returned to Rosie. She had already changed into her racing outfit, and he helped her harness Diamond.
To his surprise, Rosie was a mess. “She has that look again,” she explained, pointing to Trotting Diamond who pranced with unusual nervousness toward the sulky. “Don’t you think her eyes have gone funny?”
Bulldog looked skeptically at the mare. “She has beautiful eyes,” he declared. “Just like yours. It’s just the excitement.”
“And she’s shaking a bit.” Rosie wound the lines carefully around the sulky’s poles.
“She’s nervous, Rosie,” Bulldog soothed her. “She’ll get past it as soon as she’s on the track. Or should I call Dr. Taylor again? I saw him earlier.”
Rosie cringed. Dr. Taylor had called her hysterical just the day before. If she dragged him to the stables for another imagined malady—
“No, you’re right, it must be the excitement. Are you going to accompany us to the paddock?”
Rosie swung up into her seat, and Bulldog walked alongside Trotting Diamond to the starting line. They were both surprised when the mare pulled reluctantly and trotted in place instead of waiting well-manneredly until the starting gate was cleared. Moreover, she was coughing. Bulldog saw Rosie struggling with herself once again.
“If she caught a cold—”
“Just let her trot this mile and a half, and then Dr. Taylor can take another look.”
It would have been too late to call the veterinarian anyway. The bell sounded, and the race began.
For this race, Bulldog joined Vincent in the grandstand. True, it was loud and crowded there, but he didn’t feel comfortable in the aristocratic owner’s box.
“I completely forgot to bet on her,” Bulldog muttered as Trotting Diamond pressed straight into the middle of the pack.
Rosie had her trot the first half mile very loosely. But Trotting Diamond pulled on the reins, wanting to rush forward. For the first time that Vincent had seen the mare race, she seemed to run the risk of galloping. She also coughed again, but then seemed to overflow with energy as Rosie let her go on the final stretch. Trotting Diamond pressed ahead of all the horses from Fence’s racing stables before also passing the stallion Joe was riding himself. Ultimately, only one horse remained ahead of her—Rebel Boy, an elegant black horse from Auckland.
An infernal noise now dominated the stands. Bulldog roared along, rooting for Rosie and Trotting Diamond. Vincent held his ears closed, laughing happily—he had no doubt Trotting Diamond would pull past Rebel Boy. But then something happened. Diamond shied slightly from Rebel Boy’s sulky but did not stop trotting. Rosie could easily have closed the gap, but she did not move to do so. Instead, she kept her horse behind Rebel Boy—and did not speed up when Joe Fence brought his horse level with Trotting Diamond or even when he passed her by a nose.
“The winner is Rebel Boy, followed by Sundawner, and Dancing Rose’s Trotting Diamond!”
Vincent and Bulldog were already running down the stairs to the finish line. Rosie stood next to her horse, stroking Trotting Diamond and crying.
“Whatever’s the matter, Rosie?” Vincent asked. “You did marvelously. But why did you let them leave you behind? She could easily have won this.”
Rosie shook her head. Next to her, Joe Fence was triumphantly accepting the ribbon for second place. But when he saw the veterinarian, his face clouded over.
“Come, come, little Rosie, you don’t mean to contest the outcome, do you? Crying about it. Such a woman.”
Rosie paid him no mind. She soothed Diamond, who now shied from the man trying to place the third-place wreath around her neck.
“She couldn’t see,” Rosie told Vincent in tears. “She was startled by the other sulky. It was as if something blinded her, but there wasn’t anything there. And suddenly I had the feeling she was going to stumble. So, I thought it best to go slowly.”
“We didn’t see anything like that,” Bulldog said. “Take a look. She didn’t even work up a sweat.”
Trotting Diamond’s skin was hot but dry. The mare drank thirstily when Rosie held water out, but most of it ran right back out of her mouth.
“Look, Dr. Taylor!” Rosie called to the veterinarian, but the horses were already lining up for the lap of honor, and she could hardly hold Diamond back.
“I’ll take a look in a moment, Rosie,” Vincent assured her.
“That really was strange,” Bulldog mused. “As if she were choking on something.”
After the lap of honor, Diamond seemed calmer. Rosie washed her and took her to the stables, where she drank normally.
Vincent set aside his stethoscope. “Right as rain, Rosie. Her heartbeat is markedly faster, but that’s no wonder after the race.”
“Could it be something she ate that didn’t agree with her?” Bulldog asked helplessly.
Vincent and Rosie shook their heads.
“If she had eaten something bad, she would have colic,” they said in unison.
Bulldog squinted anxiously. “I just mean, well, maybe poison?”
“But if someone had poisoned the horse, it would be dead,” Lord Barrington observed later.
He had sought out Rosie in the stables to congratulate her on third place—but in contrast to Vincent and Bulldog, he had also noticed the mare’s odd swaying after she had shied from Rebel Boy’s sulky. The view from the owner’s box was much better.
“Maybe the devil didn’t know how much to give her,” Bulldog mused.
“Nonsense, Mr. Tibbs. These trainers know every trick in the book. They wouldn’t make such a rookie mistake.”
“Maybe they didn’t want to kill her?” Rosie offered. “Just prevent her from winning.”
“Now, that amount of poison wouldn’t be easy to calculate,” Lord Barrington declared categorically. “Though, I’v
e never encountered something like it. What does our vet say?”
“Your vet can only repeat that I don’t see any evidence. It’s true that Diamond was uncharacteristically keyed up. But you’d expect poisoning to weaken a horse. It would be counterproductive for a competitor to make it want to go faster.”
“Not if it starts galloping,” Rosie noted.
His lordship arched his eyebrows. “Come now, you can’t seriously believe someone would try to make your horse misbehave in hopes it would be disqualified? Besides, you did manage to control it. If you hadn’t gotten scared when Diamond shied, she would have gone on trotting to victory.”
Rosie opened the stall door and snuggled against Diamond.
“Exactly, it didn’t quite work,” she said softly. “So, he’ll give her more of whatever it is next time. We need to keep a closer eye on her, Bulldog. But how?”
Chapter 4
The Drury family reunion was ill-fated. Lizzie, at least, was already thinking as much when she and Michael were still sharing the table in the hotel restaurant a half hour past the agreed-upon time with no one but an anxious Patrick, his eyes fixed on the clock. He apologized repeatedly for Juliet’s delay, although she was the last person Lizzie was missing.
