by Mary Nichols
Once in Warburton, she bade goodbye to the men and went into the shop, back to the world of work and printer’s ink, which was where she belonged. She must not let herself forget that.
* * *
It rained most of Friday night. Helen could hear it spattering against the window of her bedroom as she lay sleepless. The wind was howling in the chimney, too. It did not bode well for the Fair. Never had there been such a bad summer; some days it hardly grew light at all. Usually the weather could be relied on for the Midsummer Fair and rarely had it been necessary to curtail or cancel the events, all of which took place out of doors. There was bowling for the pig, which was always hotly contested, running races, trials of strength, boxing matches and horse racing, as well as stalls selling everything from fruit and vegetables, ribbons and buttons, sweetmeats and pies, cheap ornaments and second-hand clothes, religious tracts and quack medicines. The Warburton Fair was renowned for its racing and its prizes, not to mention the gambling that went on when large sums changed hands. The labourers and domestic servants also relied on it to help them find new jobs when their contracts came to an end, because that was where employers went to find staff.
Employment prospects were not good and that set her thinking about the men of the Co-operative. They were enthusiastic and working hard, grateful to whoever it was who was financing the project. Was it Mr Mottram or Viscount Cavenham? Who were that pair deceiving? The men? Or her? How many times must she remind herself that the Viscount was his father’s son and heir and way above her touch? Just because he was kind to her, just because he liked talking to her and had flattered her into disclosing more about herself and her family than she meant to, did not mean he saw her as anything more than what she was: the proprietor of a country newspaper and one who seemed to have a talent for getting into scrapes. It amused him to tease her and kiss her. The truth was hard to bear, but she had never been one to deny the truth or she would not publish the things she did, so now was the time to face up to reality. But when she remembered what it was like to have his arms about her, to hear his soft voice paying her compliments and his lips on hers, she was ready to burst into tears.
This will not do, she told herself sternly. You are not a delicate flower, which can only bloom in the hothouse of a man’s love and attention, you are stronger than that. You are a sapling, strong enough to bend with an ill wind and not break. The wind will die down and so will the ache inside you.
It was nearly dawn. She lit a candle, washed and dressed and went into the kitchen to make herself a dish of chocolate and spread some butter on a hunk of bread by way of breakfast. She did not disturb Betty, who was a heavy sleeper. Then she went down to the shop and checked the piles of newspapers waiting to be delivered. Tom had done it the night before when he had finished printing it and it did not need doing again, but she had to keep busy.
* * *
As soon as it was fully light, she wrapped a cloak about her and went up to the common. The rain had ceased and a watery sun was trying to break through. It was going to be fine after all.
Already there were men setting up stalls and others marking out the track for the races. The handyman from Ravens Park was there helping to construct the dais from which the Countess would declare the Fair open and on which she and the Earl would be seated to watch the events. Others came, bringing chickens, eggs and produce to sell. The sun rose as Helen wandered round, making notes, and more people arrived to wander about and see what the stalls had to offer and to listen the banter of the stall holders as well as look over the horses and place their bets.
Helen went to the enclosure where the horses were being groomed and talked to their owners, noting the names of the runners. It was here she saw Viscount Cavenham. He was standing watching his groom brushing Caesar until his already glossy coat shone like ebony. She was about to leave without speaking when Miles turned and saw her.
He bowed. ‘Miss Wayland, good morning. You are here early.’
‘Good morning, my lord.’ She acknowledged his bow with one of her own. ‘I did not want to miss anything. It looks as though it might stay fine.’
‘Yes, thank heavens. If it had been raining, my mother could not come and open it. She has not been well lately.’
‘I am sorry to hear that.’
‘Thank you. She is well looked after, but I worry about her.’
‘Of course you do.’ She paused. ‘Are you entering Caesar for the races?’
‘Yes. Do you think he will win?’
‘I could not even hazard a guess,’ she said. ‘I know nothing of horses. But if being handsome is a guide, then he most certainly should. He looks magnificent.’
He laughed and addressed his groom. ‘Did you hear that, Burrows?’
‘Yes, my lord. Handsome is as handsome does. He is becoming a little restive—shall I walk him round?’
‘Yes, do that. I will meet you here again at noon, in good time to prepare for the first race.’ He turned to Helen. ‘Come, Miss Wayland, let us see what is on offer.’
She ought to have made an excuse that she had other things to do, but instead she fell into step beside him.
They strolled round all the stalls; though some were open for business, others were waiting for the official opening at eleven o’clock. The men in charge of the running races were taking the names of contestants. ‘I used to enter the races when I was a boy,’ he said. ‘Before I joined my regiment.’
‘And did you win?’
‘Sometimes. It was often between me and Ralph Somerfield in the end. We were great rivals.’
‘Is he related to Miss Verity Somerfield?’
‘He was her brother. He died in Spain in one of the bloodiest battles of the campaign.’
‘How dreadful. So many good men died and were injured and it is sad to see how the survivors are treated now they are home again.’
‘I agree, which is why I am determined to do what I can to help them. I was lucky. I might not be able to run races again, but I can ride and in all other ways I have a good life…’ He stopped as a cheer went up as the Cavenham carriage turned in at the gate. ‘I must go,’ he said. ‘Cheer me on this afternoon.’
She watched him limp over to where the carriage had stopped next to the dais. He opened the door and let down the step before helping his mother to alight. When she was standing beside him, he turned back to the carriage and offered his hand to a second lady. Helen’s heart plummeted when she saw it was Miss Somerfield, elegant in a blue silk gown and dark velvet pelisse. Her bonnet was bedecked with artificial flowers and ribbon bows. The Earl and another gentleman emerged behind the ladies and all five made their way to the platform and took their seats.
Helen, comparing her drab brown walking dress and plain chip bonnet with Miss Somerfield’s finery, wanted to flee, but was rooted to the spot as if watching Miles making sure Verity was comfortable, speaking to her and smiling at her, would be enough to set her free from her obsession. All it did was make her miserable.
A bugler blew a few notes to gain everyone’s attention and then the Master of Ceremonies climbed the steps to the dais and made a speech of welcome, praising the Earl for his generosity in sponsoring the event and the Countess for graciously agreeing to open it.
The Countess looked frail as she rose to declare the Warburton Midsummer Fair open, but she smiled and spoke in a clear voice before sitting down again between her husband and son. The cheer that followed was the signal for proceedings to begin and every one of the stall holders began shouting their wares. Miles rose and helped his mother down; taking her arm, he conducted her round a few of the stalls with Verity on his other side. Helen turned away.
She was immediately caught up in everyone else’s excitement and thrust her unhappiness to one side as she took her turn at pinning the tail on the large drawing of a pig while blindfolded, throwing quoits over pegs stuck in the ground, neither of which won her anything. Leaving those, she wandered round the rest of the stalls. She bought
a pin cushion and a length of ribbon and exchanged banter with the stall holders, pretending to enjoy herself and stopping every now and again to take out her notebook and jot down details she might otherwise forget. When the first of the running races was announced she went to the winning line so that she could record the winner. This was her life and yearning for another would not make it come about.
* * *
The Countess was too frail to walk round all the stalls and soon tired. ‘You have done as much as can be expected of you,’ Miles told her, looking round for his father, who had disappeared. ‘I will take you home.’
‘Would you, dear? I am afraid your father has found some of his friends and will not be ready to leave yet. No doubt he wants to see the horse racing.’
‘No doubt,’ he agreed. ‘What about you, Miss Somerfield? Shall you return to Ravens Park with my mother? I have to come back because I have entered Caesar in the races and he has a good chance of winning.’
She considered this, looking down at the mud on her dainty shoes and spattered along the hem of her gown. ‘I think I will stay with the Countess. We can have a comfortable coze over the tea cups until you come back.’
‘Very well. I will find my father and tell him I am taking the carriage and will bring it back for him.’ He escorted them to where the carriage waited, saw them comfortably ensconced and went in search of the Earl. He found him in a tent that had been set up to dispense beer and spirits. He had a glass in his hand and was talking to Captain Fitch of the Warburton Militia and his lieutenant who had led the charge against the gathering on the common. He stopped speaking as Miles approached ‘Mama is not feeling up to the mark,’ Miles told his father, after he had nodded a greeting to the others. ‘I am going to take her and Miss Somerfield home. I will bring the carriage back for you.’
‘Yes, yes, do that,’ his father said impatiently. ‘I have business here. Will you be back in time to race Caesar?’
‘Yes, I shall come straight back.’
‘Good, because I have a considerable sum on him winning.’
Miles left him and returned to his mother, wondering what the men had been talking about. His father had stopped speaking very abruptly and they had all looked slightly uncomfortable. He supposed it had something to do with the wager he had put on Caesar. He hoped it was not too much; he could not be certain of winning and, for all his appearance of wealth, he did not think his father could afford to lose a vast amount. It might be one of the reasons he was so keen for him to marry Verity. The running races were just beginning as he made his way back to the carriage and he caught a glimpse of Helen standing against the ropes at the finishing line. She had flung back the hood of her cape and her curls were blowing about her face. He saw her lift a hand to brush them out of her eyes and was filled with regret that he had been so foolish as to spoil the rapport they had established by kissing her. For spoil it he had.
He ordered the driver to go back to Ravens Park and climbed in the carriage with the ladies.
* * *
Miles had seen them safely indoors and set off back to the Common. With luck he might see and speak to Helen. He could not understand why he kept thinking about her. He told himself it was the mystery that surrounded her past which had intrigued him. Something dreadful must have happened for her mother’s parents to have cut off all contact with the family. But it was more than the mystery; it was the woman herself. In his mind’s eye he pictured her with her windblown curls, her expressive hazel eyes and lips inviting to be kissed. And he had kissed her. And been surprised by her response. She should have been outraged, but instead she had simply looked bemused. He should not have done it; it had spoiled everything. He had never been tempted to kiss Verity like that. He smiled to himself as he imagined her reaction. She would be outraged and no doubt her father would insist on him marrying her at once. Helen did not have anyone to protect her in that way, which made his behaviour all the more reprehensible.
* * *
The carriage had rolled to a stop close to the dais and he left it with Greaves, their coachman, to go to the horses’ enclosure to prepare for the first of the races. There were so many entrants the organisers had arranged eight heats with eight horses in each. The first two in each would race again in two more heats and the first two in those would race again to determine the finalists. Spread over a mile and a half, the course was a test of stamina as well as speed and energy, which had to be conserved if the horse was to qualify for the finals and win. On the other hand, for a rider to hold too much in reserve risked him being knocked out in the heats. It needed fine judgement and an exceptional horse. He thought he had one in Caesar, who had carried him on many a gruelling campaign. He wanted to win for all sorts of reasons: to please his parents, to prove to one and all his disability meant nothing when he was on a horse, to show the men he was one of them, but most of all because he loved the thrill of competition.
* * *
Helen was standing on a knoll where she could see the start and the finish. It was a popular viewing platform and she was being jostled by other people eager to see as much as they could. They were noisy and good-natured, picking out their favourite. ‘I’ve backed the Viscount’s Caesar,’ someone said behind her. ‘Stands to reason his lordship can afford the best mount and I hear he won many a race on the stallion in Spain.’
‘You’ll lose yer money, then,’ another voice growled. ‘I’ll wager he don’ even finish.’
Helen recognised that voice. She was sure it was Blakestone, but she dared not turn and look.
‘What make’s you think he won’t?’ the first man asked.
‘I knows what I know,’ Blakestone said. ‘If you don’t believe me, take my wager.’
‘Right, I will. Ten shillin’ say he finish.’
‘Easiest ten shillin’ I ever earned.’ Blakestone laughed, a sound that chilled Helen to the bone. She wriggled her way out of the crowd and sped across the enclosure where the horses were being held.
Miles was standing at Caesar’s head, stroking the horse’s nose. ‘Keep calm, me beauty. That noise is no worse that the clash of battle and you didn’t mind that, did you?’
Helen approached carefully. It was not that she was afraid of the stallion, but he seemed a little restless and she did not wish to startle him. ‘My lord.’
He turned at the sound of her voice. She seemed agitated; her eyes were bright and her breathing erratic. ‘Helen. What is the matter? You are breathless.’
‘I had to run and find you before the racing started.’
‘You have found me. What can I do for you?’
‘Nothing for me. I came to tell you Blakestone is in the crowd and boasting that you and Caesar will not finish the race. He is taking wagers on it.’
He seemed unperturbed. ‘That is foolish of him. I have every intention of finishing. And winning.’
‘I am sure he has some evil plan in mind to prevent it. He was laughing. He said, “I know what I know”.’
‘What do you think he means to do?’
‘I do not know. Could he get at Caesar and harm him in some way?’
‘No. My groom has been with him since we brought him this morning and I have been with him while Burrows has some refreshment.’ He smiled. ‘Blakestone was probably trying to lengthen the odds. If he backed Caesar himself and persuaded other people not to, he could win a great deal of money…’
‘I cannot help worrying about his threats.’
‘He will do nothing in a crowd, my dear, there would be too many witnesses.’
The first heats were called as he spoke. He reached out and put his finger under her chin to raise her face to his. ‘Come, wish me luck.’
‘Oh, I do, I do.’
He flung himself into the saddle and trotted out to the start line. Helen watched him go and went to find another vantage point. The knoll was too crowded and she did not want Blakestone to see her. She prayed she was wrong and Blakestone was being his usual arrogant self
and nothing bad would happen. But she would not be easy until she saw Miles and Caesar at the finishing line. She pushed her way to the ropes that marked out the course just as the starter’s flag fell and they were off.
The runners could be seen for a hundred yards or so and then they disappeared into a small copse of trees and were out of sight for some minutes. They came out of the wood and galloped across the far end of the common, which was heavy going where the ground was always soft but which was now saturated and boggy. Then they turned for home. Some of the spectators dashed after them to see them emerge from the wood and others moved from the start to the finishing line. Helen was with the latter and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Miles and Caesar reappear, easily in the lead. He reined in and dismounted, handing the horse over to Burrows to rub him down and prepare him for the next heat, and walked over to Helen, who was coming towards him.
‘I am back safe and sound.’
‘Thank goodness. But there are still two more heats and the final.’
He smiled. ‘I do believe you are worried about me.’
‘Of course I am. I do not trust Blakestone. Oh, how I wish you had never gone to that meeting on the common. It is all because of the way you intervened.’
‘If I had not been there, the militia would have done a great deal more damage. And I would have missed talking to you and getting to know you.’ He looked closely at her. ‘Do you wish that had never happened?’
