The rest of the afternoon afforded only two races, a proposed handicap not having filed. Neither race interested him, although he noted with resignation that Conroy’s horse finished dead last in the second.
He began to wonder why he had honored the Spring Meeting with his presence. His mood improved slightly, however, as he strolled back to the center of town. He met a number of friends, for his route took him along the southern side of the High Street, past the post office, to the dignified entrance of the Jockey Club.
Originally a coffee room, the building was now much grander, having undergone several bouts of improvements and alterations in the years since 1752, when club members had acquired their first lease. A screen with an ornamental gateway enclosed the betting court, and when Justin passed into it, the old clock at the back of the yard showed the time at nearly half past five.
Handing his cloak, hat, and gloves to the porter at the members’ entrance, he asked if Sir Halifax Quigley was still on the premises.
“Yes, my lord. He is still at table with Admiral Rame, sir.”
Justin’s mood improved even more, and he made his way to the dining room with more lightness in his step. The admiral was a man he—like all members of the Jockey Club (and all Newmarket, for that matter)—much admired. Practically every man in England over the age of five knew the admiral’s history well.
A younger son of the Earl of Thruxton, the Honorable Robert Rame had attended Harrow School without remarkable achievement. Then, as was the custom of many younger sons, he had taken up a career in the navy. After seeing action in numerous locations around the world, once nearly losing his life while in charge of a prize vessel that sank, he enjoyed a six-year sojourn ashore, discovering a deep love of sporting activities before the call of the sea (and the British navy) demanded his return.
It was then that he had achieved his greatest naval triumph. Commanding a frigate of thirty-six guns called the Vandal, through difficulties of which the landbound public had small conception, Rame had brought her back from Newfoundland without a rudder and leaking badly, the menace of a watery grave constantly threatening him and his crew. His judgment and ingenuity had forcibly struck all patriotic Englishmen when, upon the Vandal’s successful return, they read in their morning papers detailed descriptions of its terrifying adventures. When he retired soon after his return, members of the Jockey Club unanimously chose him to be one of their stewards, the sole arbiters of equine matters at Newmarket.
Seeing Puck and the admiral at a table set beneath a painting of the Vandal that the admiral had recently presented to the Jockey Club, Justin made his way toward them. As he drew near he heard the admiral say in the clear tones that came from years of shouting orders on the deck of a windblown frigate, “Handicapping is quite an art, my lad. A public handicapper should be a man of independent circumstances in every sense of the word, and beyond suspicion of accepting illicit compensation for favors received. Ah, good evening, Raventhorpe,” he added, catching sight of Justin. “The lad here said we might expect to see you.”
“Good evening, sir. Don’t get up, I beg you. Hallo, Puck. Did you order enough food for me?”
“Don’t I always? Look here, sit down and tell us what you think about this. I told the admiral I thought the most interesting one of his duties must be the setting of handicaps for each horse in a race. He says it’s a dashed great responsibility.”
Sitting, Justin smiled at the older man. “A difficult and thankless task is what I should call it, sir. I don’t envy you finding yourself saddled with it. Not only must you try to satisfy the owners but you have to put up with censure from every capricious scribbler who chooses to display his opinions in the newspapers.”
“I was about to point that out,” Rame said. He reached for the wine carafe strategically placed in the center of the table, and refilled his glass. His countenance was ruddy and weathered, but his features were even and well formed. Above middle height, he had kept himself fit and trim over his fifty-some years, and was a favorite with the ladies. Even other men thought him damnably handsome.
“A fresh plate,” Justin said to the servant who materialized at his side, “and decant a new bottle for us, if you please. This carafe is down to its dregs.”
“At once, my lord.”
“A good handicapper must attach himself to no stable,” the admiral went on. “He should be a spectator of every important race in the United Kingdom, but he should never place a bet. And,” he added with a twinkling look at Puck, “he should treat all the remarks made about his handicaps with the utmost indifference.”
Justin chuckled at Puck’s grimace. His plate arrived within minutes, the food as always was excellent, and the admiral’s presence at their table drew others, who stopped briefly to chat before leaving them to return to their conversation. When the admiral drew a watch from his waistcoat pocket and opened it, Justin was surprised to realize they had been talking for nearly two hours. He would not have thought it had been half that time.
“Still early yet,” Puck said. “Hope you ain’t meaning to retire, Admiral. I wanted to ask you what you think about—”
“Damme, Justin, I’ve near turned the town upside down looking for you!”
Repressing a wince, Justin turned to greet his seemingly ubiquitous sire. “You have found me, sir. You might say good evening to Admiral Rame.”
“Aye, of course, of course. Good to see you, Rame. In fact, you’re just the man I need, damned if you’re not. Conroy’s trying to cheat me, damn his eyes!”
“I presume you mean Sir John Conroy,” the admiral said.
“I do, and it’s a measure of his wickedness that you deduced that so quickly.”
“Not really,” the admiral replied. “He is the only Conroy who presently holds a membership in the Jockey Club. That you wish to consult me must derive from my position as a steward—”
“Just so, just so,” Sellafield interrupted impatiently.
“Cut line, sir,” Justin recommended. “Clearly your displeasure springs from your wager with Sir John. I saw that race.”
“Then you know that I ought to have won!”
“I know nothing of the sort,” Justin said. “You told me you bet his horse would come in neither first nor last. I saw myself that it finished dead last.”
“Aye, it did, damn his eyes; however, just before the race began, I saw him talking to his rider. He ordered him to hold the horse in, that’s what he did. Had the gall to admit it to me afterward when I challenged him. If that ain’t cheating, I don’t know what is, so I want to lay my case before the stewards.”
The admiral said calmly, “I don’t think that will be necessary, my lord.”
Sellafield smiled triumphantly. “As plain as a pikestaff, ain’t it? Well, I don’t mind telling you that having you decide the case will suit me down to the ground, Rame. Conroy will have to heed any decision you make, for I doubt there exists another man in England more admired than you are for his steady brain, his integrity, and his judgment.”
“You flatter me, my lord, but I am very glad to know that you hold my opinion in such high esteem. If I understand you correctly, you made a wager with Conroy that his entry in the afternoon stakes would place neither first nor last. Is that substantially correct?”
“It is.”
“The horse subsequently placed last. Is that likewise correct?”
“Yes, but—”
“I understand that Conroy admits to giving his rider certain orders to that effect. However, deplorable as I personally consider his action to be, I cannot see that it affects your wager with him.”
“What? What the devil do you think you are saying? You agree that he cheated, but you say he did nothing wrong?”
“Deplorable is what I called it,” the admiral corrected gently. “The plain fact, however, is that you must pay Conroy. You laid your bet not upon the place the horse would obtain if its rider remained uninformed of the bet but upon your opinion that the horse
lacked speed enough to place first or tractability enough to be brought in last.”
“The devil you say! That’s rubbish, that is. I won’t pay the scoundrel.”
“I am sorry to hear that,” the admiral said. “You had better hope, in that case, that Conroy does not put the matter before the stewards. If he does, I shall be obliged to reveal the details of this conversation to them all. I advise you to pay up.”
Sellafield glared at him but said no more, a fact for which Justin was grateful. It was at times like this that his father showed to worst advantage and made him wish he could reverse their roles as father and son just long enough to bring the earl to his senses. After a brief but pregnant pause, Sellafield said, “I’ll think on it,” and walked away.
Rame looked ruefully at Justin. “I wish I could have served him better.”
“You can hardly throw your ethics out the window to please my father, sir.”
Puck said, in his irrepressible way, “It was worth something to see the look on his face when you said your piece, though, Admiral, after he’d talked of your steady brain, integrity, and all.”
The admiral shut his eyes in what was nearly a wince, and Justin said, “Sneck up, Puck. Let’s change the subject.”
Puck looked from one to the other. Then, with a shrug, he said, “Well, I did want to ask the admiral what he thinks about making Newmarket rules apply to other courses. I’ve heard talk of doing some such thing, you know, but I’m dashed if I can see how it would work.”
This promising topic engaged the three amiably for twenty minutes before another of the admiral’s many friends came to remind him that he had promised to play cards at eight. The admiral excused himself, and when he had gone, Puck poured himself and Justin another glass of wine, saying, “Fine chap, the admiral. Glad to see him here.”
Justin smiled. “Where else would you see him? He practically lives at Newmarket.”
“No, he don’t. Got a house in London, don’t he?”
“In Richmond, actually,” amended Justin. The admiral was a friend of his family, and he had known him since childhood. “You know what I meant, Puck.”
“Aye, I do, but if you saw him here before tonight, it’s more than I did.”
“He is not answerable to you, after all.”
Puck raised his eyebrows. “Was that a setdown? By God, I think … Now, what the devil is he looking at?”
Justin resisted the impulse to turn. “Who?”
“Devon-Poole, that’s who. Staring right at us, steely-eyed. Have you offended him somehow?”
“I don’t know. He did ask me to dine with him. I told him I was engaged.”
“That won’t do, you know, if you still have your eye on his daughter. Not,” he added when Justin frowned, “that it will make a ha’pworth’s difference in the end, of course. Not with all your filthy lucre. Or have you changed your mind?”
Justin grimaced, but his scowl did little to deter his friend.
“No use looking at me like that. Have you changed your mind?”
Sighing, Justin said, “She is no doubt still perfectly suited to my purpose, but I had failed to consider that I should also have to put up with Sir Adrian.”
“And her mother,” Puck reminded him. “Have you seen the woman?”
“Of course I have. Very haughty, but I do not see how that concerns me.”
“Lord, what a novice you are at some things,” Puck said, shaking his head. “You just listen now, because I see things, my buck. Have you never noticed how very much like their mothers girls become?”
“Do they?”
“Look at my sister. Used to be a sprightly little thing, all smiles and teasing. Got married, and overnight turned into my mama. Not a bad thing, because Mama has style and common sense, and Priss seems somehow to have acquired both, but imagine Lady Devon-Poole’s attitudes and affectations draped around your Susan.”
“A daunting vision, I’ll agree, but I don’t agree it’s inevitable. I suggest that we pursue this topic no further,” he added, giving his friend a direct look.
With a wry twist of his lips, Puck raised his wineglass. “As you wish. In any event, it brings to mind something else that I wanted to ask you. Is there any truth to the rumors I’m hearing about your interest in a certain little Tory?”
Caught off his guard, Justin nonetheless managed to reply evenly, “Certainly not. Where on earth have you heard such stuff?”
“Oh, here and about,” Puck said airily. “So you don’t like her, then.”
“On the contrary,” Justin said. “I am sure she is just the sort of young woman most men want to marry; however, her independent ways would not suit me.”
“Perhaps you could tame her,” Puck suggested with his mischievous grin.
“I doubt that she would respond to the strongest hand on her bridle,” Justin said curtly, adding, “I have to return to London tomorrow night, Puck. Douro’s wedding is Thursday morning, and I must also attend a state dinner party Thursday night. Have you picked your favorite yet for the Thousand-Guinea Stakes?”
The gambit succeeded in diverting his friend at last, and for the next half hour they discussed the topic most frequently discussed in the Jockey Club. After that, the two men retired to their favorite gaming hell to play hazard.
If Justin found his thoughts drifting less frequently to the tall, stately, and divinely beautiful Miss Devon-Poole than they did to a young woman whose description included none of those qualities, he also found that he was able to thrust away the latter thoughts when they did appear. That they returned was a nuisance, but he believed his mind would prove strong enough to ignore them.
Returning to London Wednesday evening, he dined at Brooks’s but soon found himself wondering if he would meet Lady Letitia at the Marquess of Douro’s wedding the next day. As usual, he thrust the thought aside, chiding himself for foolishness. Much of Britain’s nobility would be present, he knew, both at the ceremony and at the sumptuous déjeuner to follow later at the bride’s father’s home in Belgrave Square. Still, Lady Letitia’s parents were out of the country, and the likelihood of an unmarried young woman attending such an august occasion on her own was remote.
So thoroughly did he convince himself that she would not attend, that the next day when he entered St. George’s Church, Hanover Square, and hers was the first figure his gaze fell upon, he recognized her with near shock. She walked ahead of him, making her way up the central aisle, and although he could not see her face, he was as certain as he could be of her identity. Her companion was the dragon he had seen with her on Solicitor Clifford’s doorstep.
His mother, whom in his father’s absence he had agreed to escort, murmured quietly, “Is something wrong, Justin?”
“Nothing, ma’am. Here is our place, I believe.”
“What a crush this is,” Lady Sellafield said as they took their seats.
He agreed. Outside, the crowd in Great George Street was so dense that their coachman had found it difficult to make progress, and a strong body of police stood at the church portico to maintain order. Inside, the galleries and aisles filled with spectators desirous to witness the ceremony; and Justin soon realized that nearly anyone who wished to do so, and who looked prosperous enough to persuade the protectors outside to let him or her pass, had been allowed to enter. Perhaps, he thought, that was how the chit had gained entry.
He changed his mind when he found her at the Marquess of Tweeddale’s home in Belgrave Square, although it was some time after he arrived before he did so. The house was huge and full of people, so many that it was hard to decide where one ought to go. He and Lady Sellafield made their way at last up the stairs and into a front drawing room, where the wedding cake held pride of place. Surrounded by sugarwork baskets filled with orange flowers tied tastefully with white satin bows, it was the biggest cake Justin had ever seen. Even so, it held his attention for the shortest of moments. Just the other side of the table, he saw Lady Letitia.
Surpr
ised though he was to see her, he noted at once that something was wrong. She stood face-to-face with a young woman he recognized as the erstwhile Catherine Lennox, now wife to Lord Witherspoon, a Whig politician actively involved in the current Jamaican question.
The sight stirred his curiosity, because the tension between Letitia and Catherine was nearly tactile. Doubtless the chit stood ready to cast herself into the suds, and he ought to intervene. However, remembering Puck’s warning that others suspected he had some sort of an interest in her, he steeled himself to turn away. Lady Letitia apparently delighted in rejecting good advice. Perhaps she would learn something this time from the consequences of her actions.
EIGHT
ABSORBED IN HER CONVERSATION, Letty did not see Raventhorpe. She had enjoyed the wedding very much. When the bride arrived at the church, accompanied by her bridesmaids, the folks outside had cheered loudly, and when she entered, everyone had turned to catch a glimpse of her. She was as beautiful as a bride ought to be, and Douro, despite a beaky nose just like his famous father’s, had looked unusually handsome as he waited for her at the head of the aisle.
Letty had seen Wellington at the front, as well, and thought he seemed to be in excellent spirits. She knew she had him to thank for her invitation, but she had not expected to enjoy more than the ceremony itself. It had been a special pleasure to receive an invitation to the Tweeddale déjeuner.
The marriage ceremony was solemn and dignified. Indeed, such a stillness prevailed that even the bride’s most timid, “I will,” had carried clearly to all but the deafest ears. But at the end, cheers erupted again when the newlyweds left the church, and when Wellington followed, even louder cheers had greeted his exit.
Afterward, it took Letty and Miss Dibble more time than expected to get to Belgrave Square. Indeed, it had taken so much time that Letty had begun to worry that she might have to leave the moment she arrived, to reach Buckingham Palace in time for the state dinner party the queen was giving that evening.
She was sorry that Victoria had thought it inappropriate to attend the wedding. The young queen frequently displayed her love for gaiety, and would have enjoyed the occasion, Letty knew; but she knew, too, that Victoria had to consider factors other than her own pleasure. The crowds in the streets, as large as they had been to see Wellington’s son and the bride, would have doubled at the chance of seeing Her Majesty. The occasion then would have become a royal one, and on a wedding day, the bride and groom deserved to take center stage. In their honor, however, she had canceled her usual Thursday drawing room.
Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 04] Page 11
