He looked at Charlotte, his eyes full of drunken meaning.
But Charlotte said nothing. She was watching the crowd retreating like the tide as the royal party came down from the royal box towards the winner’s enclosure. There was the Prince of Wales’s homburg and at his side the Empress wreathed in sable. There was a dais covered in bunting in the winner’s enclosure, with chairs and a stand bearing the silver trophy. The royal party arranged themselves on the dais, the Prince of Wales and the Empress in the middle.
There was a huge cheer as Bay and Tipsy came into the ring. People surged forward to touch the horse and rider, a few holding up their betting slips and kissing them.
Charlotte watched as Bay and Tipsy approached the dais. She watched as the Prince of Wales handed the trophy to the Empress. She watched as Bay was helped to dismount and carried on the shoulders of the crowd towards the Empress. And then she felt she could watch no more. She turned her back on the scene and touched her maid’s arm.
‘I want to go.’
Grace turned round reluctantly. As the two women began to fight their way out of the stand, Hartopp touched Charlotte on the shoulder.
‘You are leaving without saying goodbye?’
Charlotte, still moving, said, ‘Goodbye, Captain Hartopp. Thank you for the glasses.’ She thrust them at him.
‘But hang on! You might need me. It’s a bit busy down there.’
Charlotte did not stop, but she looked back over her shoulder.
‘I am going back to my hotel. If you would be kind enough to escort us to somewhere we can find a carriage that would be helpful.’ She was grateful for Hartopp’s bulk as he cleared a path for her through the teeming crowd of racegoers.
‘What about your American friend? Would you like me to find him for you?’ Hartopp asked Charlotte as they reached the gates.
Charlotte shook her head. She did not want to be there for another second. There was a line of carriages waiting for hire on the road that led back to Liverpool. She signalled to the driver at the front of the queue and he drove up to where they stood.
As Hartopp closed the carriage door, she remembered the betting slip in her pocket. ‘I would be very grateful, Captain Hartopp, if you could find Mr Hewes and give him this.’ She held out the slip.
Hartopp looked at it. ‘By Jove, he will be glad. A monkey at twenty to one, that’s a thousand smackers.’
Charlotte tried to smile. ‘Then be sure you give it to him.’
Hartopp saw the effort on her face. ‘You have my word. And what about Middleton? Do you have a message for him?’
Charlotte put her chin up. ‘You may give him my congratulations if you like, Captain Hartopp. My sincere congratulations.’ Then she put her hands up over her face to stop him seeing her cry, and Chicken, tactful for once in his blundering life, closed the carriage door and told the man to drive on.
* * *
The thing that surprised Bay as he slowly became aware of his victory, was that he felt no elation. All he could think of were the last few minutes of the race when he had known for certain that he was going to lose, and what’s more that he deserved to. The pain in his shoulder was intense, but worse was the knowledge that even this, the greatest victory of his life, could not make him happy. As he rode into the winner’s enclosure, he saw Sisi standing on the dais, her face lit up with joy. But he could not find the answering emotion in himself.
Hands were picking him up now and carrying him across to where Sisi was standing holding out the trophy to him.
‘A splendid victory, Captain Middleton,’ boomed the Prince of Wales.
Bay collected himself. ‘I was lucky, sir.’
‘Nonsense, nonsense, you rode a brilliant race. Now the Empress is going to present you with the trophy.’
Sisi held out the heavy silver cup with both hands. ‘It is with the greatest pleasure that I give you this, Captain Middleton.’ Her smile was so genuine that she showed all her teeth.
Instinctively Bay put out his hands to take his prize and then realised that he could not move his right arm. He took the cup awkwardly with his left and the weight of it, taking him by surprise, made him stagger slightly. Sisi saw him wince and cried out, ‘Bay!’ as she put her arm out to stop him falling over.
To the spectators of the scene on the dais and in the crowd it was proof – if any was needed – that the relationship between the Empress and her pilot, the man who had just won the Grand National, was a close one. Even the Princess of Wales, who generally remained aloof from the cross currents of life around her, opened her large blue eyes a little wider and murmured to herself, ‘Careful.’
Bay got his balance back and found himself looking directly into Sisi’s dark eyes.
‘My Bay,’ she said silently.
For a moment Bay thought he was going to be happy.
The Prince of Wales turned towards them, ‘You kept us guessing right up until the finishing post, Middleton. The Empress and I didn’t know where to look. Both of us had placed our shirts on you to win. But you did us proud in the end.’
The Empress smiled. ‘I just wish that you had got my colours in time, Captain Middleton. I had them made up in London. It would have been so much easier to pick you out in the field.’
Bay shivered involuntarily. ‘Perhaps, but I always race in these.’
The Prince looked at him with something like sympathy and said, ‘Regimental colours of the Eleventh Hussars, aren’t they? I am proud to wear them myself as your Colonel in Chief.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The Prince turned to Sisi. ‘An officer always rides under his regimental colours, unless of course, it’s not his horse.’
Sisi laughed. ‘You English and your rules. Well then, I shall buy your horse, Captain Middleton, and then the next time you win the Grand National, you will be wearing my colours.’
Bay said, ‘I would never sell Tipsy.’
‘Not even to me?’ asked Sisi.
But before Bay could answer, Major Topham appeared at the dais.
‘Captain Middleton, I wonder if you would consent to having your photograph taken with your horse. I am sorry to interrupt your celebrations, but I have been told that the light is failing and if we are to take a picture it must be done at once.’
The Empress looked at the Major with distaste. ‘I believe that Captain Middleton is otherwise engaged.’
But Bay put his good hand up. ‘Actually, if you will excuse me, Ma’am, I would like a photograph of the occasion. These things don’t happen very often. But you will have to hold the cup, Major. My shoulder is a bit crook.’
Before Sisi could protest again, Bay followed the Major to where Tipsy was standing. He leant against his horse’s flank and closed his eyes, trying to collect his thoughts. Just for a second he had felt Sisi’s spell again and he would have surrendered if it hadn’t been for the thought of the colours she had sent him. They had been a perfect fit, but he had been unable to put them on.
When Bay opened his eyes, Caspar was standing in front of him.
‘May I add my congratulations to those of the entire racecourse, Captain Middleton. It was a thrilling victory. When you are ready, I would like very much to take your picture. I think perhaps you should be on your magnificent horse, do you agree?’
Bay looked at him in astonishment. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘Taking photographs, Captain. That is, I like to think, my calling.’
‘But how did you get here? And how can you even think of taking my picture?’
Caspar smiled. ‘Because I have been asked by the good major to record your triumph.’
Major Topham came round to where they stood to help Bay up onto Tipsy. ‘Are you acquainted with Captain Middleton, Mr Hewes? What a happy coincidence.’
Caspar picked up his camera and tripod and put them at a forty-five-degree angle to Bay and Tipsy. ‘Captain Middleton and I have met before in London. I am very familiar with his image.’ He fiddled with
the camera. ‘Now if you would turn your head towards me, Captain. You don’t have to smile, unless you want to, of course.’
‘I don’t,’ said Bay.
The Major laughed nervously. ‘But perhaps you could look a little happier. After all, you have just won the National.’
Bay turned to look at Caspar, his eyes blazing.
‘Splendid. You really are a great photographic subject, Captain Middleton. If you could hold it like that just for a moment.’
Caspar disappeared under his velvet cloth, came out and squeezed the bulb. ‘Excellent. That, I can promise you, will be a splendid picture.’
Bay slid down from Tipsy, advanced towards Caspar and used his good hand to shove the other man. ‘Where is Charlotte? What have you done with her?’
Caspar, who was a couple of inches taller than Bay, did not flinch. ‘Charlotte is where she wants to be, Captain Middleton.’
Bay drew back his fist, but Caspar was too quick for him and caught his wrist. ‘You have your prize, Captain Middleton. Remember that.’
Major Topham, who was watching this scene in alarm, came bustling over. ‘Captain Middleton, perhaps you would like to come with me. There is a reception laid on for you in the members’ enclosure. After all your exertions I am sure you need a drink.’
Bay felt a profound weariness come over him and allowed the Major to lead him to a room full of cheerful strangers who clapped him on his sore shoulder and gave him glass after glass of champagne. As he had not eaten that day, Bay got swiftly and comprehensively drunk.
He was sitting between Major Crombie and Lord Sholto Douglas, one man celebrating his enormous win, the other drowning his sorrows, when Chicken Hartopp swam into view.
‘Well done, Bay. Wish I had put money on you. Can’t think why I didn’t. You always were a lucky fellow.’
Bay squinted at him.
‘Yes, that’s me. I’m rich now too. Put a hundred guineas on myself to win. So I’m damn rich and damn lucky.’
But Bay looked so miserable that even Chicken felt curiosity rather than envy.
‘What’s up, old man? No reason for a long face. You should be on top of the world. What more could you possibly want?’
Bay looked at his boots.
Sholto Douglas nudged him. ‘Cheer up, Middleton, you’ve won the bloody Grand National and the Empress of bloody Austria can’t keep her bloody hands off you.’
Bay lunged towards him, fists outstretched, but Sholto ducked easily.
‘Steady on, old man, I meant it as a compliment.’
Bay subsided. ‘Sorry, Sholto, not quite the thing.’
Sholto got up. ‘If you will excuse me, I must go and wring the neck of Glasnevin’s jockey.’
Hartopp took his place next to Bay. ‘Do you know who I watched you race with, Bay?’
‘I don’t know, Chicken. Queen Victoria?’
Chicken leant closer and said in his ear, ‘Charlotte Baird.’
Bay pulled away from him. ‘Of course you did.’
‘No really, old man, I did. She told me to give you her congratulations. Her sincere congratulations.’
‘She said that?’
‘Yes, sincere congratulations, those were her words exactly. But it was damned odd. She came to watch you race but she had her hands over her eyes at the end. I don’t think she saw a bloody thing.’
‘’Spect she was thinking of her mother,’ said Bay.
‘Her mother?’
‘Broke her neck huntin’. That’s why she doesn’t ride.’
‘Oh, is that the reason?’
‘That’s it precisely.’
There was a silence. Then Bay said, ‘Is she still here?’
‘No. She went pretty sharpish after the race. Back to Liverpool. Sailing tomorrow.’
‘To America?’
‘Yes.’
‘With that American?’
‘Well, he’s going with her, but just as her travelling companion. She was pretty clear about that. Says she is going to take photographs and he’s going to help her.’
‘So they ain’t eloping?’
‘She says not. No ring, she showed me her hand. No ring.’
Bay went back to contemplating his boots. ‘Why’d she tell you that, do you suppose?’ he asked.
‘Didn’t want me to think that she was marrying him. Doesn’t make any difference, mind you. The girl is finished. Even the Lennox fortune won’t be enough. No one will marry her now.’
‘Is that what you think, Chicken?’
‘Yes, that’s what I think.’
‘So you wouldn’t marry her, even supposing she would have you?’
‘No, not now. The girl’s not respectable. Don’t know what Fred and Augusta will say when they come back from their wedding trip. Terrible blow. Newlyweds trying to make a home with a scandal like that in the background. Better really if she had eloped with the fellow.’ Hartopp started to tug at his whiskers. ‘At least she would be married then. All this nonsense about taking photographs. Trouble with Charlotte is that she has been indulged.’ He pulled on both whiskers at once so that he looked like a discontented haddock.
‘Lady Dunwoody has a lot to answer for, putting ridiculous notions into her head. Photography isn’t even a proper accomplishment. It doesn’t require any skill, just a lot of equipment.’
Bay tried to consult his watch, and then he remembered that he was still wearing his racing silks and his watch was with his other clothes.
‘So let’s get this absolutely straight, Chicken, so there is no room for doubt. There is no circumstance in which you would marry Charlotte Baird?’
‘None whatsoever, no chance at all.’
‘Then, Chicken, you are an even bigger bloody fool than I thought.’
Bay got up and, clutching his bad shoulder to protect it from pats of congratulation from well-meaning racegoers, he stumbled towards the jockeys’ enclosure. He needed to get back into his civilian clothes.
* * *
The royal party was winding up. The Prince was taking one last draw on his cigar as he looked out over the racecourse, secure in the knowledge that the royal train could not leave without him. His wife was pretending to listen to Major Topham’s plans for bringing the railway to Aintree. Sisi was talking to Earl Spencer about her estate in Hungary, Gödöllő. ‘You must come and stay with me in the summer, I don’t want Bay to feel too lonely with nobody but Magyars for company.’
‘I would be delighted, Ma’am. So Middleton is to set up your stable? What a splendid opportunity for him.’
‘And then we can come back here in the winter to hunt. It is perfect, no? I must say, Earl Spencer, that I am most grateful to you for giving me my pilot. He has shown me so many things.’
The Earl avoided her gaze. The Empress’s passion for Middleton was becoming rather unseemly.
‘But where is Captain Middleton, actually? I have not seen him since a man took him away to take his photograph. Why hasn’t he come back?’
‘He can hardly come in here, Ma’am, without an invitation.’
‘Then I shall invite him!’
Spencer coughed. ‘I think you might want to consult the Prince. It is after all, his box.’
Sisi smiled. ‘Of course, I must not forget that this is not my country.’
She turned to the Prince of Wales. ‘I should like to see Captain Middleton before we leave. Would it be possible to bring him in here?’
The Prince blew out a perfect ring of cigar smoke. ‘Certainly, Empress. To the victor, the spoils, eh Spencer?’
He waved his free hand at the hapless Major Topham. ‘Can you ask Captain Middleton to come up here?’
As Topham set out on his errand, Countess Festetics followed him out onto the racecourse. ‘If you please, I should like to come with you. Captain Middleton is my friend.’
The Major shrugged. The royal party was good for business, but he had had enough of being treated like a messenger boy.
They walked across t
he course, which was scattered with discarded betting slips, chestnut shells and spent cheroots. Now that the racing had finished, the prevailing current of the crowd was towards the gates and the road to Liverpool. Most people were quiet, intent only on getting home, but every so often a little eddy of clamour would erupt. Someone would burst into a snatch of song, or once, loud sobs. Nobody made a sound as two men in white aprons walked through the crowd and onto the course, one of them carrying a stretcher, the other a saw. A woman with drooping orange feathers in her hat, her face shiny with gin, screamed after them, ‘Butchers!’
Topham walked fast and the Countess had almost to run to keep up. They went first to the members’ enclosure but there was no sign of Bay there, and no one sober enough to know where he had gone. The jockeys’ changing room was deserted, too. Major Topham made the Countess wait outside as he looked around, but he could see that Bay had taken his things.
He came out and shook his head. ‘Don’t know where the feller’s got to.’
The Countess said, ‘Do you think perhaps he might be with his horse?’
‘Anything’s possible.’ Topham set off grimly towards the stables, but the Countess caught him by the arm.
‘The stables are over there, no? You must have so many things to be doing, Major. I think you are too busy to be running everywhere for my mistress, so let me help you. I will go to the stables and find the Captain.’
‘If he’s there.’
‘Yes, but I think he will be.’
The Major looked irresolute for a moment and then said, ‘If you are quite sure, then I will leave you. Thank you.’
The Countess set off towards the stables. Nopsca had told her what had happened when he had given Bay the Empress’s colours, and she was worried.
She found him with his arms around Tipsy’s neck. He had changed into tweeds. The Countess noticed that his waistcoat was buttoned wrongly, his eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks were pink.
He was singing something into the horse’s ear and Tipsy was nuzzling his tweed shoulder. The Countess waited for him to notice her and when he did he looked at her warily.
The Fortune Hunter Page 40
