Lyons Gate tb-9

by Catherine Coulter

  Jason stared at his wife. “You’re telling me that Kindred spilled his guts simply because you asked him? I can’t believe that, Hallie. I threatened Kindred several times with a long voyage to Botany Bay, but still he wouldn’t tell me a single thing, claimed over and over, he was smoking his silver pipe when a rock comes flashing through the air to strike him in the head. I can’t believe he told you.”

  “Big threats weren’t working on him, so I made a believable threat. Kindred said the ‘little bugger must believe he’s all safe’-and Kindred spit then-so I don’t think he was sorry to give up Potter’s name to me.”

  He could but stare at her, this young woman who’d broken a man’s nearly weeklong silence early this very morning. He didn’t know whether to be happy or howl because she’d done it and he hadn’t. “Hallie, what did you threaten? Not to cut off his manhood, I hope.”

  “Oh no, that’s not believable.”

  “Tell me.”

  Hallie sat forward, rested her chin on her steepled fingers.

  “I told Kindred that I would strip him naked and have him walk behind my horse, hands bound in front of him, tethered to a rope. I told him we would ride all hereabouts-visit with every soul in the village, see all his relatives, his friends, his enemies, visit Lord Grimsby and the stables, and I would tell everyone what he’d done, and this would be the punishment for anyone who ever tried to harm either our horses or jockeys. He didn’t choose to believe me. He laughed, called me a cute little girlie, and surely I couldn’t be such a bold chit.”

  Jason hadn’t realized what an excellent storyteller she was. He paused a beat, then, “And?”

  “I had him stripped to his dirty hide, his hands tied together and looped to the end of a rope. I rode Charlemagne, holding the other end. He cursed, yelled I wasn’t a cute little girlie at all, and called me unnatural, among other charming names. When we were no farther than one hundred feet beyond Lyon ’s Gate, just getting a good start toward the village, he gave it up. He screamed out Potter’s name, swore that Lord Grimsby had told Potter to visit his brother in Cranston until everyone forgot about the race. He cursed again and said it wasn’t fair that Dodger still won, that he bet Lord Grimsby wasn’t happy about that.”

  Jason didn’t want to picture Kindred naked in his mind, but he did. Not an appetizing vision. Kindred was tall, but he had thin legs and a chest that sank inward. He had hair everywhere. Even on his back? He wasn’t about to ask his wife. “So Henry and Quincy went after this Potter fellow.”

  “Yes. The key is to follow through on the threat. One must even be prepared to up the ante for repeat bad behavior. While I had him naked in the middle of the road, I told him if he personally ever tried to harm any of our horses or jockeys again, I would have his mother-in-law lead him about. The idiot said she didn’t like horses, to which I replied that she could ride in my lovely gig on a delightful sunny day, with him trotting behind her. He believed me. I told him to spread this around since it would be the official Lyon’s Gate punishment for any trouble at the racetrack.”

  “Did Kindred tell you Lord Grimsby threatened him if he ever opened his mouth?”

  “Oh yes. I simply said that a threat in the hand was worth any number of unseen threats in a bush, didn’t he think so? Then I looked him up and down, told him that the bunions on his toes were very unappealing.” She threw back her head and laughed and laughed, so pleased she was with herself.

  Jason joined her, couldn’t help himself. What she’d done was worthy of Jessie Wyndham. When she was hiccupping and sipping water, he said, “Of course he believed you, since he was bare to the hide. Well, that’s that. You’ve taken care of everything.” Was that sour grapes in his voice? Jason was appalled at himself.

  His wife was grinning at him, shaking her head. “Oh no, I merely scooped up the pawns. You’re going to flatten the black king.”

  “Calling him a black king is giving him too much gravitas.”

  “He’s only the first in a series of black kings who will know your anger.” He realized she was perfectly serious. He felt something expand deep inside him, something that made him feel grand, filled with energy and contentment. He realized it was conceit. “I haven’t yet been to confront Lord Grimsby because I wanted to know exactly why Elgin Sloane and Charles Grandison and he were so bloody close. I set inquiries in motion six days ago.”

  “But you didn’t tell me.”

  “You didn’t tell me what you were going to do with Kindred either. Don’t whine. The fact is that I would prefer to strip Lord Grimsby naked like you did Kindred. Unfortunately I don’t think I could get away with it.”

  “Talk about an appalling sight-Oh well, I think that was very smart of you, Jason.” He heard admiration in her voice and it sent warmth flooding through him.

  Petrie appeared in the doorway. “Master Jason, there is a small man here to see you. Very small in stature, not, I hope, in character. He says it is urgent.”

  Jason tossed his napkin on his plate and rose. “That sounds like Mr. Clooney. Maybe I’ll be visiting Lord Grimsby this morning after all.”

  She wanted desperately to go with him; she was his partner after all, but she knew deep in that well of knowledge she was convinced women were born with, that this was something he had to handle himself. She knew it was, simply, men dealing with men, drawing boundaries, meting out retribution for breaking rules.

  “What about Elgin and Charles Grandison?”

  “I’ll be sending a message over to Lord Grimsby, asking him to have them there when I arrive, if, that is, Mr. Clooney has answers for me.”

  Hallie said, “I wonder if all three of them paid to have Kindred and Potter shoot Lorry.”

  He smiled. “ Elgin doesn’t have any money. Would Charles do that? I wouldn’t have thought so.” She never looked away from his stern face, so beautiful in the morning sunlight streaking through the window that she wanted to weep. Or swoon, like Cook, and sing arias.

  She said, “Will you take Potter and Kindred with you to confront Lord Grimsby?”

  “No,” Jason said, “it’s not necessary.” He strode to her, leaned down to kiss her mouth, and gave her a blinding smile. “I’m going to nail his butt to the stable door.”

  “Whose?”

  Jason laughed, patted her cheek.

  “Master Jason.”

  “Yes, Petrie? You’re still here, watching everything?”

  “Certainly, it is my duty. I wished to say that your boots shine much brighter this morning than the mistress’s.”

  Jason looked at his face in his shiny boots presented to him that morning by Petrie.

  “It is my opinion, sir, that her use of anise seed is overrated.”

  Jason said to Hallie, “I told Petrie to write to Old Fudds and find out the exact measurement since I doubted you would tell him.”

  “That’s true,” Hallie said. “Still, you did well, Petrie.”

  Petrie preened.

  “Ah, listen. I hear Cook singing, and that means she’s scrambling your eggs as we speak, with just a pinch of thyme, the way you like them. Are you coming back to eat them?”

  “Hallie,” he said. “Do you know that last night I realized how simply saying your name-Oh, Petrie, are you still lurking? Go see to Mr. Clooney’s comfort. I will be along in a moment. Go. As I said-merely mentioning your name, even in passing, makes me feel warm all the way to my heels.”

  “I’m very glad about that. Oh, the devil. I’ll tell you, why not? I love you, Jason Sherbrooke, even though Cook will never scramble eggs specially for me like she does for you.”

  She loved him? It amazed him, nearly brought him to his knees, nearly pulled a shout of pleasure right out of his mouth. He said, “I don’t deserve it.”

  “Possibly not, but what am I to do? It’s there, deep inside me, this love for you, and I know it will never go away. You don’t have to say anything, Jason. Tell Cook that you’re bequeathing your lovely scrambled eggs to me this morning.”


  “It’s done.” He gave her another quick hard kiss on her mouth, and was gone.

  When Cook came into the dining room a few minutes later, Hallie said, “Master Jason said I could eat his eggs.”

  Mrs. Millsom nodded sadly. “Yes, the beautiful young master apologized to me, told me it was not to be.”

  She looked ready to burst into tears.

  “He is meeting with a man right this minute, Mrs. Millsom or I know he would be here.”

  But Cook wasn’t listening. She carried the plate of scrambled eggs in her arms like a baby, walked to the windows and looked out. When she saw the master striding toward the stables, she shouted at the top of her lungs, “Master Jason, come back before your eggs disappear down the mistress’s gullet! Bring the scrawny little man with you!”

  Hallie heard him shout back, “Mrs. Millsom, please let the mistress eat my eggs this morning. She’s very possibly with child and I want my heir to grow big and strong.”

  Mrs. Millsom whipped about to stare at her.

  Hallie shrugged. “One never knows. Give me the eggs, Mrs. Millsom. The last thing we want is a paltry heir.”

  “Eat them all mistress. Soon now you’ll be puking up your innards in the mornings.”

  “That is not a happy thought, Mrs. Millsom.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Two hours later, Jason rode Dodger up the curving, oak-canopied drive to Lord Grimsby’s manor house, Abbott Grange. He imagined lengthening the drive to Lyon ’s Gate, perhaps adding a couple of curves for interest, and planting oaks like these. In twenty years or so there would be a canopy of thick green leaves over their heads as well. His father was right. The future looked remarkably fine to him too. He wondered if Hallie was indeed carrying his child. Very possibly, he thought, very possibly indeed. He grinned like a fool and whistled one of the duchess’s ditties.

  It was a warm day, the sun bright and strong overhead, wild roses bloomed over stone fences, and sweat made his shirt stick to his back. He saw a single peacock sweeping about on the front lawn, tail feathers spread, and wondered where the recipient of all this glory was hiding. Peahens, he knew, were notoriously fickle.

  He left Dodger in the care of a stable lad he’d seen at the Beckshire race. The lad looked nervous, understandably so, given he had to know Jason held Kindred. Jason leaned close. “You must be quite shorthanded since I have both Kindred and Potter. You’ll take good care of Dodger, won’t you, lad?”

  “Oh yes, sir, yes I will. He’s a lovely boy, strong teeth he’s got, and the Devil’s eyes.”

  “You mean he’s got mean eyes?”

  “Oh no, sir, he’s got eyes that see every sin a man’s ever committed.”

  “I trust he won’t see you commit any sins.” Jason patted Dodger’s neck. He watched the lad give Dodger a carrot while he hummed at him in a lovely deep voice.

  Lord Grimsby’s butler, a droopy-eyed old man who looked ready to sink to the floor in a stupor, looked Jason up and down and said in the booming young voice, “I don’t see why my master is so afraid of you, young man. I imagine you smile and the angels sing, but who cares? Ever since the Beckshire races, you’ve fair to made him gibber like that idiot peacock.”

  “Perhaps you will soon gibber as well,” Jason said, and gave him a smile meant to intimidate, which only made the old man say, “You’re right handsome, sir, too handsome, my master says. Lady Grimsby says his jealousy is pathetic.” He paused, cocked his head a moment. “Yes, I hear angels singing right this moment. Follow me, young sir, and let’s see if his lordship will see you.”

  Jason grinned at the back of the butler’s bald head as he followed him to the drawing room. He lightly touched his hand to the old man’s arm. “You needn’t announce me. Allow me the pleasure.” Jason tapped once on the closed door and walked in.

  He hummed with pleasure at the sight of Charles Grandison and Elgin Sloane, both sprawled in chairs, listening to Lord Grimsby. All three here and accounted for. Since they’d gotten here quickly, it meant they were worried. When they turned toward him, their expressions were identical-boys caught stealing the vicar’s sacramental wine.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. I am pleased Lord Grimsby got you here so very quickly.”

  “Yes,” Lord Grimsby said, not rising from his chair. He looked wary and ill-tempered. Well, in all fairness, he had been two stable hands short for nearly a week.

  “Let me say first of all, my lord, that Kindred is fine, at least for the moment.”

  “Kindred did you say? I fired Kindred a number of months ago. I don’t know who he’s working for now. But not me. Now see here, Jason-”

  Jason smiled. “Hello, Charles. Elgin. I can see that the three of you are very intent on some project.”

  Charles said, “May I ask what your wife is doing to poor Kindred?”

  “Preparing him for a long voyage to Botany Bay?”

  “ Botany Bay! That’s bloody absurd.”

  “Who cares,” Elgin said. “The silly blighter got himself caught.”

  Charles Grandison said, “Don’t you think Botany Bay is a bit extreme, Jason?”

  Jason merely smiled.

  “You come here to threaten my former stable lad with deportation to Botany Bay? Good riddance to him. Kindred always was a troublemaker, that’s why I dismissed him. There’s nothing more to be said. You may leave us now.”

  “Oh no.”

  Lord Grimsby eyed him for a moment, then got control of himself. “What do you want, Jason? Why did you want to see all of us? It’s a damned impertinence, boy. Oliphant shouldn’t have let you in, damned mince-head.”

  “I intimidated him, my lord.”

  “That’s not possible. The old relic doesn’t see well enough anymore to be intimidated.”

  Charles said, as he lazily flicked a bit of lint off his sleeve, “Surely, Jason, one doesn’t ship a man to Botany Bay because one believes he might have planned to shoot a gun at the racetrack. Everyone has discussed it, and all agree that the fellow who shot your jockey is the one you need to find, not this poor Kindred fellow.”

  “Actually, I’m pleased to tell you that I have the man who actually shot my jockey.” He smiled at Lord Grimsby. “Potter sends his regards, my lord. He isn’t very happy at this point because Kindred told him what his punishment will be. According to my wife, it will take a good four hours to complete.”

  “Potter? That nitwit? He knows nothing, Jason, nothing at all.”

  “My men found him where Kindred said he’d be-at his brother’s cottage in Cranston, scared to his toes. He and Kindred both have told me of your instructions, my lord. At least you didn’t order them to kill any horse or jockey, merely disable the horse that looked like it would win, if, that is, any horse was ahead of Lamplighter.”

  Charles roared to his feet and advanced on Lord Grimsby. “You would have had one of your villains shoot my Ganymede?”

  “Don’t be absurd, Charles. Sit down. Jason is trying to set us against each other.”

  Jason said, “Yes, Charles, if Ganymede had been the clear leader, why then, I fancy he or your jockey would have gotten a ball of lead in him.”

  “No, that’s a lie. Elgin, tell him that’s a lie.”

  “It’s a lie, Charles. If I were to believe the lie, why then, that would mean Brutus was also at risk. My uncle would never seek to harm a horse that belonged to my heiress.”

  Jason said, “I fancy Lord Grimsby would shoot whatever needed shooting for Lamplighter to win. But, Charles, feel free to believe what you wish to believe.”

  Lord Grimsby exploded, “Now, listen here, Jason. This is racing! All sorts of things are done in racing, a bit of mischief, a bit of pain, it’s simply part of the sport, it doesn’t alarm anyone, it adds excitement and suspense.”

  Charles said, “Actually, it makes me rather rabid. You know my reputation, my lord. You surely wouldn’t be such a fool as to disregard the punishments I mete out if anyone, let me repeat, anyone tries to
harm my horses.”

  “Of course I do. I’m not a fool. That’s why this is all nonsense. Besides, you’re different, Charles, you take it all too seriously.”

  Elgin said, “Will you punish Jason, Charles? After all, his jockey kicked yours off Ganymede.”

  “That’s true enough, Charles, can I expect a visit from you?”

  “No,” Charles said.

  “Good, since your jockey started the whole business in the first place,” Jason said. He turned back to Lord Grimsby. “My lord, what if one of the other owners had shot Lamplighter?”

  “I’d kill the blighter.”

  “Just so,” Charles said and took a sip of his tea.

  “Dammit, boy, none of this makes any difference. Listen to me now. It was just a flesh wound, nothing of any importance at all. Dodger still managed to win the race, so what’s there to say?”

  “You wish me to tell my jockey that the bullet wound in his arm added nothing more than some lovely color to his racing livery?”

  “A tear through the flesh, nothing more,” Elgin Sloane said.

  “Ah, Elgin, how did you know it was only a flesh wound?”

  “Everyone from here to London knows about it. Mr. Blaystock was quite upset. He wished the bullet had been more true, that it had at least knocked your jockey off that damned Dodger, so that his Brutus would have then won.”

  Charles tsked. “Ganymede would have won if Jason’s jockey hadn’t kicked my jockey off his back. No, Elgin, Brutus wouldn’t have won no matter how many horses’ rumps he’d managed to bite, an interesting ploy, I admit, but doesn’t Mr. Blaystock find it somewhat unpredictable?” He turned to Lord Grimsby. “I find myself wondering, sir, if your Lamplighter were to run a straight race if he would beat Ganymede. I tend to doubt it, though Lamplighter is a fine animal. Had there been a straight race between Ganymede and Dodger, I am sure in my own mind that Ganymede would have taken the prize.”

  Jason said, “Dodger ran as straight a race as he could. It took Lorry time to kick back at your jockey, Charles. I wish it hadn’t been necessary, but you know it was. Listen to me, all of you. At the very least all these shenanigans distract the horses and the jockeys. I’ve always believed it would be better to let the horses run without interference.”