The Swan was close to the house now, and Jane could see the servants gazing down in astonishment. They seemed to be pointing beyond the coach. She turned on the box to look back, and she couldn’t help laughing, because everyone was following the Swan! Lord Sefton’s curricle was close behind, and then the lively company of sporting gentlemen, while beyond them were the private carriages, all of them driving for all they were worth in the wake of the stagecoach. The freshly-raked surface of the drive had already been ruined, and the head groundsman was standing watching with the utmost dismay as the work he and his men had completed only an hour before was undone in a moment.
Lewis eased the team past the front of the house, the noise it made echoing from the mellow stonework, and then they were approaching the kennels. The hounds were almost frantic with excitement now, setting up such a clamor that it was as if they were in full cry after a fox. Men emerged from the stables to watch as their master tooled the stagecoach swiftly by, the fresh team moving easily and with a firm rhythm which spoke volumes of their strength and fitness.
Jane’s eyes were shining with excitement and the new feeling of anticipation began to quiver through her again. In Lewis’s hands, the Swan was a different coach. She watched how he drove, his grip firm without seeming to be, his commands so light that she could hardly believe the team was conscious of them.
The kitchen gardens were to the left now, and the faces of the startled cooks and scullery maids peeped over the wicket gate to see what all the noise was about. Then the drive turned southward again, passing the great terrace and the magnificent parterre, where the gardeners straightened from their work to gape as the noisy cavalcade swept down toward the south lodge.
Jane could smell the roses in the formal beds, and see how the sunlight sparkled through the dancing waters of the fountains for which Maywood’s parterre was renowned. It was all so peaceful, but the thunder of hooves and wheels, and the crack of whips made it all seem so unreal, as if she was asleep and in the middle of a wild dream.
The open park was in front of them now, the long ribbon of the drive stretching toward the great copper beech which marked the position of the south lodge. She glanced along the stone wall guarding the estate, wondering if at any moment she would catch a glimpse of the Nonpareil on the highway beyond, but there was nothing. Maybe it had already passed! Maybe the wall was too high and that was why she couldn’t see.
Closer and closer to the lodge the Swan drove, moving at such a pace that she didn’t think it would be possible to negotiate the turn onto the road in safety. Then, to her horror, she saw that the gates ahead were closed! ‘Lewis! The gates!’
Lewis grinned at the alarm on her face. ‘Have faith now, Jane.’
‘But….’
He urged the galloping team even faster, as if the gates weren’t there! Jane stared at him and then at the gates. She heard him laugh then, before he shouted out at the top of his voice. ‘Hallo! The gates! Get a move on Tom Martin, or I’ll have your damned hide!’
A startled face appeared at one of the lodge windows and then disappeared again. Jane felt as if her heart had stopped. The man could never open the gates in time! They were going to hurtle straight into them!
The lodgekeeper was struggling to push the heavy gates, and then she heard another sound – a whip cracking somewhere beyond the wall on the highway. The Nonpareil!
Lewis’s control was complete. He didn’t check the team’s headlong speed at all, and the Swan swept through the opened gates onto the road just in front of the oncoming Nonpareil. Jane clung onto her seat as the coach lurched sharply, and she heard the furious shouts of Chapman and Sewell as they were pipped for the lead by a rival they thought they’d long since seen off.
As the Swan straightened and Lewis once again urged the team to full pace, she looked back, just in time to see Sewell have to swerve the Nonpareil in order to avoid Lord Sefton’s curricle, which had hurtled out of the gates as unexpectedly as the Swan. Chapman had been standing on the box, waving his fist after the Swan, and the sudden swerve almost catapaulted him over the wall into Maywood. He sat down again quickly, cursing Sewell for being a ham-fisted Johnny Raw who’d be better employed on a brewer’s dray!
Lewis grinned at Jane again. ‘There now, that wasn’t too bad, was it?’
‘I think I left my stomach somewhere back there!’
‘Have you lost your liking for ribbons, my lady?’
She smiled. ‘No.’
‘Stubborn to the bitter end, eh?’
‘Derwent leopards don’t change their spots, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s something I’ve come to realize,’ he replied, laughing as he sprang the willing team toward the hill rising sharply ahead of them.
Her breath caught as the coach seemed to leap forward, and she found herself laughing aloud with the sheer exhilaration and excitement of the moment. She looked back again, to see the Nonpareil close behind, George Sewell having recovered his aplomb and driving with gritted teeth as he sought to close the gap. Behind the Nonpareil the cloud of dust marked the progress of the race followers, some of who were traveling so sedately that they’d barely half-crossed Maywood. She wondered where Blanche’s landau was, and Alicia’s. She glanced at Lewis again. Was it really over between him and his mistress?
The team’s sheer impulsion carried them up the hill, and at the top they stretched out almost joyfully, as if they exulted in the wild pace. Bolney was only a few miles in front of them now, and then would come the final change of horses. It was the one place where precious time might be lost and the Nonpareil be able to snatch the lead again. The other coach was very close, she could hear it above the noise of the Swan.
On they dashed, over a windy common where gorse and heather bloomed beneath the warm summer sun, and then the cherry orchards of Bolney were in front of them; in the distance she could see the hump-backed curves of the South Downs, beyond which lay their destination, Brighton.
The people of Bolney had gathered to watch the race, and they cheered as the Swan swept at full pelt along the village street, the team flecked with lather now they were almost at the end of the stage. Jane could smell the purple thyme in the cottage gardens, a sweet, heady perfume which she knew would in future always remind her of this day, just as lilies-of-the-valley would always make her think of danger.
They passed the inn where the grooms had the Nonpareil’s final team ready and waiting, and she laughed to see their open-mouthed astonishment that the unfancied Swan had not only survived Chapman’s tactics, but had snatched the lead!
The Maywood grooms were waiting beneath the overhanging boughs of an ancient oak tree, not visible until the last moment because of a sharp bend in the road as it went around a farm with a huge stone barn. As Lewis drew the coach to a standstill for the change, the grooms gave a loud cheer to see their master in the lead, then they went quickly about their work. Lewis sat back, tipping his hat further back on his head before looking almost lazily at Jane. ‘Well, madam? What is your opinion now of the noble art of ribbon-tooling?’
‘Well, I suppose I have to admit that I can understand its fascination.’
‘Good God, you mean you actually relent that much?’
She smiled. ‘Yes.’
‘What about the leopard’s spots?’
‘I’m afraid they’ve become a little washy.’
‘They have indeed. So, you’re enjoying this little caper?’
‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘I find it exhilarating.’
There was a strange light in his gray eyes as he reached out to put his hand to her hot, dusty cheek. ‘Oh, Jane,’ he said softly, ‘I can think of something much more exhilarating….’
‘Lewis, I—’
But she got no further, for at that moment the groom in charge called out to him. ‘My lord?’
‘Yes?’
‘This trace doesn’t look too healthy.’
The trace! She’d forgotten all about it!
; Lewis sat forward to look at the heavy metal chain. ‘Will it stand the miles to Brighton?’
‘I don’t know, my lord. Under any other circumstances I’d say no, but when it’s a race….’ The man shook his head helplessly. ‘It’s the devil of a choice, my lord.’
‘Well, Beelzebub and I have an understanding, so I’m sure he’ll waive his rights upon my eternal damnation just for this one day. Now then, for God’s sake get those fresh horses harnessed so we can be on our way before the Nonpareil gets here!’
‘Yes, sir!’ The man touched his hat and beckoned to the man waiting with the last horse, but even as the animal was at last in position, the Nonpareil came seemingly out of nowhere, erupting from behind the stone barn which had muffled the sound of its approach. It was moving at such a reckless pace that Jane could only stare in horror. Surely it would overturn, it couldn’t possibly hold the corner!
A low whistle escaped Lewis. ‘Great God above,’ he breathed, ‘has Sewell taken leave of his senses?’
Jane clutched his arm as the other coach swayed alarmingly. ‘Oh, Lewis….’
His hand was over hers. ‘It’s all right,’ he murmured.
The Nonpareil seemed on the very point of capsizing, but the low, wide design saved it, just as Sewell had gambled it would. The straining, frightened team heaved themselves into their collars as the whip cracked over their heads, and with another alarming lurch, the Nonpareil righted itself and was thundering past the stationary Swan. She saw Sewell’s delighted grin and heard Chapman’s derisive, triumphant shout.
It had only been a second or so since the Nonpareil had appeared from behind the barn, but to Jane it seemed like more than a minute. She grabbed at her seat as Lewis galvanized their own team into action, willing them up to a pace to match that of the other coach, but already she could taste the Nonpareil’s dust on her lips, and as the Swan came swiftly up behind, Sewell kept his coach in the center of the road, weaving it from side to side to make absolutely certain there was no chance of passing.
Lewis’s mouth was pressed in a thin, determined line, and there was a steely glint in his eyes as he tooled the Swan easily along. He glanced briefly at Jane and smiled. ‘I’ll get him,’ he said, ‘on the Steyne itself if need be, but I’m damned if he’s going to cross the line in front of me. Keep your eye on the trace,’ he added. ‘We don’t want to do an Iron Duke into the next ditch.’
She stared down at the trace, its heavy links taut now as the team drew swiftly along the road. She could see the suspect link, but it didn’t seem to have changed.
‘Sefton’s keeping up!’ said Lewis.
She turned and saw the yellow curricle moving through the dust kicked up by the battling stagecoaches. Of his companions and the other followers there wasn’t a sign, and she could imagine them pausing to take refreshment at leisure in the inn at Bolney. Looking to the front again, she watched the dust being kicked up from the Nonpareil as it wove from side to side. ‘If he does that all the way, we’ll never get past!’ she cried.
‘If he does that all the way, he’ll have a spent team by the time he gets to Brighton. Let him get on with it, I’ll bide my time.’ His voice was almost drowned by the noise of the coach.
‘As you did at the south lodge gates?’
‘We got through, didn’t we?’
‘Just.’
‘I like to live dangerously.’
‘I believe you, sir.’
He laughed then, and she found herself laughing with him.
The laughter seemed to release the pent-up emotion inside her, making her sharply aware of the sheer stimulation of the race. Excitement began to spill through her in time to the motion of the coach and the thunder of the hooves. Sunlight gleamed on the harness and the team’s coats, and on the ring Lewis wore. She watched his hands, so strong and confident and so completely in control of all the power generated by the galloping horses. It was that strength that had attracted her to him in the first place, for in those few moments when they’d been introduced, she’d sensed that as well as physical strength, he had strength of character as well. Everything about him had drawn her like a pin to a magnet, and it drew her still. She was conscious of the whiplike tension in his body as he concentrated on what he was doing, manipulating the horses with deceptive ease, making it seem that he was doing so little, when the very opposite was the case.
He felt her gaze upon him. ‘Apply your close scrutiny to that trace, madam, not admiration of my lily-white paws.’
She looked hastily at the trace, a quick flush leaping to her cheeks at having been perceived studying him in such a way.
On and on they drove, over the South Downs where the gulls soared and the tang of salt was in the air, and then they breasted the final hill and the white elegance of Brighton stretched away before them. She willed Lewis on, unable to tear her eyes away from the coach in front as George Sewell flung his team down the incline. Lewis didn’t fling the Swan, he held the team back gently, giving them their heads when they’d almost reached the bottom. But the Nonpareil was still in front. She stared after it in dismay.
Lewis grinned. ‘We’ll give him the go-by, you wait and see! His cattle must be almost on their knees after all that needlework on the road. He wove enough to darn his grandfather’s stockings!’
In spite of her dismay, she had to laugh.
There were carriages and gigs along the roadside now, waiting to see the race. Ladies and gentlemen stood up to cheer as the coaches thundered past, their cheers redoubling as they recognized Lewis and Jane. The closer to the town they came, the more people lined the wayside. Noise and excitement filled the air and Jane’s pulse was rushing almost unbearably as the first villas loomed on either side. They must get past, they must!
Beside her, Lewis sat quietly, his whip untouched, whereas Sewell’s could frequently be heard as he discarded style in favor of an absolute desperation to hurl his coach over the line first.
The Steyne lay ahead now and the road widened. Lewis picked up his whip and cracked it just once. The Swan sprang forward as the team threw themselves into their collars, instantly gaining on the other coach. Sewell couldn’t weave now, not in such a very public place, and so he had no option but to watch the Swan creeping inexorably up on him.
Jane could hardly bear to watch. The finish seemed so very near. There wasn’t time! They’d never do it! The team’s ears were pricked, they had energy in hand, but the Nonpareil’s skewbalds didn’t have any more to give. As Lewis had predicted, all that weaving had used them up. Gradually the Swan was drawing alongside so that the leaders were neck-and-neck, but then something made her remember the trace. Her eyes fled toward it and her heart leapt with panic – the damaged link was slowly giving way! She stared at the exposed metal, too frozen with fear to do anything but whisper a warning. ‘Lewis, the trace is breaking!’
He didn’t hear her above the crescendo of noise all around as the race neared its climax and the two stagecoaches flew head-long toward the streamers and bunting marking the finish.
She heard the sickening snap as the link finally parted company, the broken trace striking sparks from the cobbles as it dangled loose. The team checked perceptibly, swerving to one side, but Lewis caught them back, cracking his whip again so that they made a final effort to keep going, sheer impetus carrying them over the line half a length in front of the Nonpareil.
Jane hardly knew that they’d won, she was too rigid with fear as the coach careened on, the horses unnerved by the broken trace and consequent lack of tension on one side. Screams of alarm rose from the crowd as it parted hastily to let the coach through, and an orange girl dropped her tray of fruit so that it rolled in all directions. The off-side wheel struck a gingerbread stall, bringing it crashing to the ground, and all the time Lewis struggled to bring the team back to hand, applying the brakes and calling out soothingly. Jane stared at the royal pavilion which was coming up fast now right ahead. Surely they must drive straight across its grounds! But
then Lewis regained full control, easing the sweating horses to a surprisingly gentle halt right at the entrance to the royal drive.
She remained where she was, still too taut with fright to move. He looked at her, smiling a little. ‘Are you at a loss for words, madam?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s a dire length a man has to go to to achieve that satisfactory state of affairs,’ he said lightly.
The crowds were pressing around the coach now, cheering enthusiastically because the outsider had won, and because the finish had been so very exciting. Lewis paused only long enough to be sure Jane was all right; then he vaulted down to push his way through the press toward the Nonpareil.
Chapman had already alighted and had his back toward the Swan, but he span around in an instant on hearing Lewis’s cold voice. ‘Chapman! I want you!’
A hush fell on the gathering as everyone craned to see what was happening. From her vantage point on the Swan, Jane could see quite clearly.
Chapman’s face was ashen as Lewis strode up to him and without warning flattened him with a deadly blow to the chin. The coachmaster sprawled motionless on the ground, knocked out completely by the force of the punch. The crowd gasped, and Sewell looked down in fear as he in turn received Lewis’s lethal attention. The coachman was jerked down bodily from the safety of the box, and shaken like a rat, his head wobbling so much that his pristine white hat fell off and rolled under the hooves of the nearest wheeler.
‘P-please, my l-lord!’ stammered the unfortunate man.
‘If you ever cross my path again, Sewell, I’ll ram your nasty little head down the nearest gutter, is that clear? Tread the straight and narrow, my laddo, like a good boy.’ Lewis flung the terrified man away so that he stumbled over Chapman, who had just begun to sit up. The two sprawled back again, much to the mirth of the onlookers, and then Lewis turned on his heel to come back to the Swan. He smiled up at Jane. ‘That was a little unfinished business, but I’m sure you understand its urgency.’
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