The Lady

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Left it a bit late, m’dear, haven’t you?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “If Healey gives you any sort of trouble, you will let me know, won’t you?” Generations of aristocracy rang through the amiable query.

  “Of course,” she agreed.

  Her father’s support, coupled with Sybil’s comfort and Michael’s concern, cheered Selina considerably, and she rang off a few minutes later, promising her father she’d keep in touch.

  Eithne had informed her friends and the rest of her family—her Carradyne nieces and nephews and her sister-in-law, Margaret Coyne—of her impending nuptials, and on Wednesday all the women arrived for tea. Eithne was in a fine fluster making sure everything was prepared.

  “Not that I need to worry with Mrs. Comyn in charge,” she told Catriona and Patricia, “but you will change, won’t you, girls?”

  Both girls agreed to behave for the entire afternoon. Patricia, teasing that no one was going to notice them no matter how they looked, put on a pretty summer frock in a teal blue that accented her eyes and coloring. It was rather more mature than anything Catriona possessed, but Pat always looked more grown-up than she did in any sort of clothes.

  Catriona washed and plaited her hair, and put on her best dress, but she felt very gauche suddenly, especially when she realized the hem was much too short. She looked longingly at her bridesmaid’s dress, hanging in the wardrobe. That made her look ever so much more grown-up.

  It was not a boring afternoon for Catriona, because everyone was really delighted about Eithne’s getting married, but it served to emphasize the changes in Cornanagh. Catriona didn’t want anyone to think she wasn’t happy for Auntie Eithne, or glad to see Owen go, or sorry that Philip was leaving, too, so she smiled a great deal and remembered to ask her sister-in-law Susan about her nieces and nephews and Auntie Margaret about her cousins.

  But when she heard Tory creating a stink in the courtyard, she had to look out the window. And because it was Johnny Cash’s van, she forgot everything else and dashed out to see if he really had gotten the rest of the tack.

  He had, and nearly everything was either dried mud or soggy with slime. Her father told her to change out of her good clothes and ask Bridie for something from the kitchen to feed Johnny and his kids.

  Catriona told Patricia, and together they changed into work clothes and raided the kitchen without asking Bridie. They spirited the food out to the yard, where Johnny and his kids, Mick, Artie, and her father were carefully checking over the returned tack. All the saddles were there, even Pat’s, and only one was damaged beyond repair. Then, when Johnny and his lot had been duly fed and thanked, the girls got buckets of warm water, and everyone pitched in to clean and soap the abused leather.

  One hour later, Margaret, Susan, and Sybil found everyone muddy, soapy, and too involved with tack cleaning to remember their social graces. The younger women had the sense to realize how important the return was, but Michael’s sister was less understanding.

  “Michael, Eithne will be leaving, and you spend your time mucking about with dirty leather?” Margaret scolded. “Really, you may be my brother, but you are a . . . a . . . ”

  “Male chauvinist pig?” Patricia suggested, wringing out a sponge.

  “Patricia!” cried her aunt, appalled.

  “Once Eithne sees all our tack back in place, Meg, she’ll feel a lot less guilty, so it’ll have been worth the social lapse.” Michael dried his hands off enough to give his sister a quick embrace. “Have a safe ride home, and give my regards to Tom.”

  Margaret’s exit served to speed the other women, which allowed Cornanagh’s diligent workers to get back to the important work at hand. By teatime everything had been cleaned and hung back in its usual place, and the tack room looked proper again.

  “Well, we’ll check against the inventory tomorrow,” Michael said as he walked with Mick to the Ride gate. “I think we’ve got almost everything back.”

  “No small mercy that, Captain. I’ll nivver say a word against Johnny Cash, no matter what sort of crock he brings us,” Mick promised fervently, and said good night.

  Thursday and Friday found Cornanagh back to a more normal working routine. Selina arrived early, joining them at the breakfast table and hearing all the news. Although Michael let her school Charlie for half an hour and had her sit briefly on Wicket, he was relieved when she went off with Eithne and the girls in the afternoon to shop.

  Friday was more of the same, but Selina joined them for tea.

  “Trina is showing Tulip’s Son with you tomorrow at Castletown, isn’t she?” she asked him before she left.

  “Yes, she manages him better than anyone else.”

  “Much like your father and the Tulip?”

  He was rather surprised at the analogy and had to think a moment before he agreed that yes, they were. The smile she gave him was so warm, so filled with understanding and humor, that he felt relieved of some of the anxiety her situation had been causing him. He ventured to ask about her progress with the solicitor, and she could only say that the matter had been set in progress.

  “I haven’t heard from David at all. He may be trying to give me enough rope to hang myself,” she concluded as she settled herself in the Lancia. “But it may just hang him.”

  Michael slept badly that night, hearing in every night sound the ring of the phone or a strange noise in the yard. Dawn found him wide awake, so he got up, showered, and shaved. Mrs. Comyn was already in the kitchen, neatly dressed and brewing the coffee, when he walked in.

  “Now, this isn’t necessary, Mrs. Comyn,” he protested.

  “These long summer days are too beautiful to waste, Captain,” she replied, and actually gave him a smile. “And there’s rather a lot to organize for next Tuesday.”

  “We’ve thrown you in at the deep end, haven’t we?”

  “I like to keep busy. In a happy house, it’s no chore.” She left him to enjoy his first cup and reflect on their brief exchange.

  Then he heard Mick’s morning whistle and went out to help with the morning feeds, keeping himself busy until he saw Selina’s Lancia pull into the courtyard. Contented, he watched Catriona and Patricia haul her into the dining room for a second breakfast.

  Everything proceeded according to plan that morning, loading all the horses and the clean, recovered tack, and setting off for the Castletown show in their miniature convoy. In his rearview mirror, he saw the gray Ford sedan pull in behind the lorry and cursed. Then grinned.

  “What’s funny, Dad?” Philip asked.

  “Nothing, Pip, nothing at all.”

  Castletown was a popular show, with many spectators enjoying the summer weather. The Cornanagh contingent managed to park well back in the field reserved for lorries and horseboxes. Michael, keeping watch, saw that the gray Ford was shunted into another field.

  Selina went off with the girls to collect numbers and get programs. When she returned it was to find out that they would have to scurry to make all the various classes.

  The mare and foal class was first, and when he and Trina came away with red ribbons, Michael began to feel better about the day. Philip had some stiff competition, but Cornanagh’s quality and presentation won out in the end as both Emmett and Minister came away with firsts in their respective classes.

  In the 13.2 jump-off, Catriona and Conker, next to last in the third round, carved three seconds off the best score to win. Selina gave her a big hug and kiss while Patricia did a war dance.

  “Oh, Lord, here’s trouble,” Selina said, breaking off her congratulations as she watched an odd trio coming down the field toward the pony ring.

  “Oh, Gawd!” echoed Patricia. “Just what my nerves need!”

  Catriona looked around and recognized the Doherty contingent, Sean still in plaster, with his father on one side and an unknown man on the other.

  The unknown was introduced as Barry Sweeney. In a slight northern accent, he congratulated Catriona politely on the red
first-prize ribbon in her hand and glanced out at the ring where the course was being walked for the 14.2 class.

  “C’mon, Pat, Trina says that the turn from the double to the stile could cause the Prince trouble. Trina, give him a few pops while we’re walking the course, will you?” said Michael.

  Catriona tried to suppress her anxiety as she and Selina walked Conker back to the box. Mick was tacking up the Prince, who was, as usual, affected by the excitement of a show and crowds.

  “Now, Trina, you’re not upset at seeing the Dohertys, are you?” Selina asked, peering at her.

  “Pat’s been riding him ever so much better. She’s a far better rider than Sean ever was—the Prince doesn’t get away with half as much with her up.” Catriona knew she sounded scared, but she had no way of expressing her true anxiety.

  “Up you get, now, Cat,” Mick said, “and don’t you worry about a thing. Miz Healey’s right: your cousin’s turning into a good little rider, though she’s not up to your standard, not by a long chalk.”

  Selina walked beside the Prince on the way to the practice fence, smiling up at Catriona so encouragingly that it made everything much worse. If Selina ever knew . . .

  Then, the magic of being in the saddle of a nervy horse claimed her, and she began to work the Prince in, curbing his excitement firmly and easily until he began to settle. She put him over the jump three times and then saw her father waving her over, Patricia at his side.

  “Now that he’s warmed up for me,” Pat said in an outrageously posh voice, “I’ll take over, dear.” She gave Catriona a sly dig in the ribs and a wicked grin.

  Catriona could see the Dohertys and Mr. Sweeney watching as the change was made. The Prince fussed a bit as her father took the stirrups down for the longer-legged Patricia, but when she let him move out, he went smoothly. Twice Pat popped him neatly over the practice jump, and then it was time for him to enter the ring for the first round.

  Catriona was aware that she held her breath the entire time. She had spots in front of her eyes when the Prince and Patricia cantered out with a clear round. Then she saw that Mr. Doherty did not appear pleased and was talking to Mr. Sweeney. Sean looked unhappy and uncomfortable and wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  In the second round Patricia provided a couple of nervous moments. The Prince had done a scrabbling turn to the stile and taken it at an angle, almost overshooting the next fence. But Patricia checked and corrected him, and he took the next four fences flawlessly until he was headed for the pocket and out. Then he picked up speed and began to flatten, coming up to the wall. Patricia was seen to lift him up and over, and the brick he displaced remained on the wall until they were past the finish marker.

  “Well ridden,” Michael said, coming up to put a hand on the sidling pony.

  “Yeah, I did that right, didn’t I? I asked the question, and he gave me the right answer.” Pat was excited, her face bright with exertion and triumph. She slapped the Prince’s sweating neck as the Dohertys came up.

  “Carradyne, a word with you!” Bob Doherty looked odd; his eyes were narrowed, and his jaw sort of jutted out as he beckoned to the Captain. Catriona felt a stab of pure terror. She stared at Sean, who was avoiding her—had, she realized, avoided her all morning. Guiltily!

  She saw her father listening intently to what Mr. Doherty was saying; then he leaned back and half-smiled, glanced over at Catriona, and shook his head. Mr. Doherty did not look pleased at that, but her father merely bowed slightly to both Doherty and Sweeney and left them. Next he had a word with Mick, who shrugged off what her father said with a grin and a quick phrase. Only then did Michael come back to her.

  He knew about the Spring Show! Sean had told his father. Catriona wanted to die. Why hadn’t she confessed when she had a chance? Why had she let him find out, here, in the most public spot?

  “What was that all about, Michael?” Selina asked when he reached them. “Doherty can’t be displeased with Pat’s ride. She lifted him over that wall like Iris Kellett.”

  “He wants me to put Trina up for the final round,” her father said, a funny grin on his face as he glanced down at Catriona, “just as we did in the Spring Show.”

  “What?” Selina stared at Catriona, stunned. Catriona bit her lip and closed her eyes. “Well, I’m glad that mystery’s been solved. I couldn’t imagine how on earth Sean did it. Why, Catriona, how clever of you to save the day!”

  Startled, Catriona opened her eyes to stare first at Selina and then at her father. She couldn’t believe it, but he didn’t seem angry, only sad.

  “Is that what’s been tormenting you, Trina?” he asked, slipping an arm about her shoulders.

  Wanting to sob out her relief that he didn’t hate her, she clung to his belt loop and hid her face against him. Then she felt Selina’s hand on her head, stroking her hair.

  “Trina, it’s all right,” her father said, and tilted her head up. “It’s not something I ever want you to do again, mind, but Mick said it had been all his idea, with the boy sicking up his guts in the pocket. But I think this is Pat’s last round on the Prince.”

  “Why?” Catriona could barely get the question out.

  “Well, Bob Doherty didn’t take kindly to my refusal, although I pointed out that such a substitution was not only inadvisable but illegal. He was stuck with Pat as the rider today. So, since he wants the pony to win no matter what rules are bent or fractured, I told him that I’d drop the Prince off at his stable on the way back tonight.”

  “But Pat’s qualified him for the horse show!” Catriona was appalled.

  “True enough, and the qualification holds. But for another rider.”

  Selina put an arm around her waist, and her father gave her a little squeeze before he released her. Pat’s cheerful voice warned them of her approach.

  “We’ll say nothing right now before the speed round,” her father said, and walked over to give his niece a final word of advice.

  “Pat’s going to hate me,” Catriona murmured.

  “I doubt it,” Selina said with a laugh. “She much prefers Annie, you know. And I must say, I’ll be glad to see the last of the Dohertys.”

  “But what if—”

  “Catriona Carradyne,” Selina said, giving her a little shake, “do you enjoy being miserable?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then stop it. There’s so much to be happy about today. Don’t spoil it. And if there’s anything bothering you, tell us. Don’t fret yourself.”

  Selina tipped Catriona’s head up, and she could see the sadness and anxiety in the lovely blue eyes, so candid in their gaze, so trusting, and so very, very young.

  “But I know Daddy’s disappointed in me . . . ”

  “Not a bit of it, Catriona. Oh, c’mon, Pat’s started!”

  Selina took Catriona’s hand and raced with her to the sidelines, where Michael, Philip, and Mick watched Pat going flat out with the Prince’s full cooperation. If only they could go clear, she prayed. That’d show Bob Doherty! She caught her breath as Pat hauled the Prince around a standard; it set him to a jump at an angle but gave her a good line for the next obstacle. She checked the pony and for an instant seemed to hang above the saddle, losing both stirrups. Catriona gave a little moan, but by some miracle of balance, horse and rider remained together. Pat retrieved one iron, banging both heels against the pony’s sides as she approached the triple. One stride between, over, then two more strides and out over the parallel. The pony executed a turn on his off fore and somehow lost neither balance nor impulsion heading for the final wall. The Prince took off a long way from the hurdle, but he soared over it neatly and sped past the electric eye. Pat dropped the reins to link both arms about the galloping pony’s neck in her enthusiasm. She hadn’t needed the announcer’s confirmation of their winning time. Spectators gave way, applauding her as she collected her reins to pull the blowing Prince to a walk. Her face was flushed with triumph, and she was beaming with satisfaction as she came to a halt by the
Cornanagh contingent.

  “Well, that was a spectacular round, Patricia,” Michael said heartily, giving the Prince an approving slap on the rump.

  Selina and Mick rushed up to add their congratulations, and even Catriona put aside her worries to offer her cousin the praise she deserved.

  33

  EXCEPT for Bob Doherty, the first day of the Castletown show was an unqualified success. Lady Madeline and her filly foal, whom Pat had nicknamed the Bridesmaid, were again second in their class, and the yearlings had been first and third. Charlie got the blue second in the three-year-old in-hand, but as Selina told the disappointed Catriona, he’d been in excellent company.

  Pat, of course, had to be told that the Prince was being returned to the Dohertys at Foxrock.

  “What’d I do wrong? I won, didn’t I? Whadda they want out of a free rider?” she demanded, more surprised than insulted.

  “Owners are capricious, Pat,” her uncle told her. “Frankly, I’ll be glad to see the last of Ballymore Prince.”

  “Me, too,” Mick said, scowling. “Little sod!”

  Michael put the Prince and his tack in the horsebox with Charlie and detoured from the homeward-bound Cornanagh convoy to drop the pony off at the Foxrock residence. There was no one there, so he put the pony in the first clean stable, gave him hay and water. Then he and Philip put the tack box in an empty stable and left.

  By Monday, Selina was finally comfortable enough in saddle to go on a long hack with Michael and the girls. When they returned to Cornanagh, the atmosphere was close to frantic with preparations for Eithne’s wedding and reception, and the riders escaped gratefully to school the second lot of horses, leaving Susan, Sybil, Margaret, and Mrs. Comyn to cope with Eithne and all the arrangements.