The Last Virginia Gentleman

by Michael Kilian

  He tugged his web belt into place, adjusting the highly polished brass buckle into proper line, and checking the shine of his combat boots. As a civilian in the horse country, he dressed casually and a little carelessly, as was the mode. On active duty, he was a spit and polish officer—not a martinet, but very correct.

  Placing his neatly folded dress uniforms atop the gear already in his duffel, he closed the bag, snapping the carrying strap in place. He was bringing no civilian clothes on this sojourn. He had no intention of leaving military jurisdiction—unless there was an emergency.

  Shouldering the bag, he went downstairs. Alixe was on his porch, about to come inside. She’d been over in Middleburg and he hadn’t talked to her in more than a day. He stepped outside to join her, setting down his bag.

  “I was afraid I was going to miss you.”

  “So was I.”

  “All packed?” she asked.

  “Yes. I don’t bring much.”

  “Would you like to stop over for a stirrup cup?”

  He smiled. “No thanks. I think that’s an infraction of regulations. I’m on active duty the minute I get in my car.”

  “Well, David, we’ll be glad to see you back.”

  “I’m worried about leaving you here alone.”

  “It won’t be any different than when you’re away in Washington. But, hell, don’t worry. I have my boys here. The horse is safe. You’ll be gone. Nothing here really to interest anyone. Cooke sends a sheriff’s car around every night. And Billy’s still down in Charlottesville, last I heard. If anything happens, you can rush back home with all your soldier boys, just like Jeb Stuart.”

  “I left numbers in the kitchen where I can be reached, even if I’m out in the field.”

  “Just don’t tarry down there after your two weeks are done.”

  “You’ve talked to Selma?”

  “Every day. She’s a weird one, but she’s doing her job. Says everything’s fine. Lynwood’s friends in England have nothing useful to report yet?”

  He shook his head. “There’ve been a few notable thefts over there, but no bay stallion. No horse of enough value to merit all this.”

  “Any word from those interesting New Jersey folks?”

  “I talked to Ned Haney this morning. They sent him a rather stiff letter, saying they’ll look into the matter, but it may take some time. They have a busy race schedule this summer.”

  “The bastards. Shouldn’t we go ahead and file suit now? We have the horse and the bad Coggins. What more do we need?”

  “We need May Moody.”

  “Not if we name her in the suit.”

  “Let’s talk about it when I get back.” He had set down his bag. He reached to pick it up again. “I’d better saddle up.”

  She followed him to the Cherokee. “Have you given any thought to what you want to do after you get back? You don’t have a job, David.”

  “I mean to keep the farm.”

  “Do you mean to work it? Full time?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

  She leaned back against the hood of his Jeep, scuffing at the dirt with the heel of her boot.

  “Well, think hard, Captain. We count you as one of us out here, but you’re not really, not completely. You know, I’ve been mucking around in horse shit and foaling mares and schooling hot-tempered colts since I was a little girl. Even Lynwood Fairbrother spends time in his barn every day. It takes that. We’re not here just to enjoy the fine country air. We’re trying to maintain something, the way our daddies and granddaddies did before us. I know you’ve spent every free minute you’ve had out here. But you’ve given a hell of a lot more time to the goddamn government, for all the thanks it’s gotten you. A lot of people are amazed you’ve kept the farm going as long as you have.”

  She took a sip of her drink, then gestured with her glass.

  “What do you have here? The house, a few outbuildings. A stable with only three of your own horses in it. What the hell would your granddaddy say? I mean it, David. If you had put your mind to it, if you’d really worked this place, it would be one of the finest in the county. That’s what your grandfather would have wanted. That’s what your father wanted when he made you promise not to let the farm go.”

  “It’s still here.”

  “As what? The Showers family museum? And how long will you be able to keep it up without some money coming in? You won’t take a penny from me or anyone else in Banastre County. What would happen if you had to put this place up for auction? How would you like it if Bernie Bloch put in the high bid?”

  “I’d never let that happen.”

  “The bastard probably cost you your job, David. All sorts of things are possible for a man with that much money. We’ve seen some of them. Why God lets people like that become rich is beyond me.”

  “It’s going to end, Alixe. You know why I’m doing this. It’s not simply because any of us might have been cheated, or because a horse may or may not have been stolen. I’m doing it because they’re trying to use the Queen Tashamore name. They’re involving our breed in a counterfeit. I’m not going to let them. I swear it.”

  “Do you suppose Vicky knew what was going on?”

  “She knew something.”

  “David, do you think that’s why she’s dead?”

  “I hope not. But we’re going to try to find out.”

  “We?”

  “If my cousin, Jack Spencer, comes around, help him out—whatever he needs. He’s not a stranger.”

  “I’m familiar with his lineage, Captain. Better than yours, except he’s not from Virginia. But he’s a reporter. There are things that go on around here that perhaps ought not ever appear in a newspaper.”

  “He understands that. He’s family. Treat him accordingly.”

  Showers put his duffel in the back seat of the Jeep. “About the farm, Alixe, I think about it all the time. I’ll do some more thinking while I’m down at Fort Hill.” He looked around. “I should say goodbye to Becky. I don’t know where she went.”

  “She’s in the cottage. She doesn’t want to talk to you. She doesn’t want you to go.”

  He glanced down at his fatigue uniform. “She knows I have no choice.”

  “She’s not exactly herself.” Alixe took another sip. “I didn’t want to bring this up, with you having to go off and soldier, but I’m afraid that girl’s giving us something else to worry about. I know I’m a hell of a person to talk, but I think she’s been taking more than the occasional nip. And I fear she might be into something else, some of that fun stuff that Vicky used to make life so interesting.”

  “She wouldn’t do that.”

  “I’ll send her on some errand, and take a look around the cottage.”

  “Let me know.”

  “Call me in a day or two.”

  “I will. I’ve got to go.”

  She gave him a kiss on the cheek, then a manly slap on the shoulder.

  “Give ’em hell, Captain.”

  The Shakespeare company had finished casting, down to the last understudy, and May was free until rehearsals began in earnest a few weeks later. The respite was not entirely welcome. She had come to Washington earlier than was really necessary in an almost frantic desire to escape California, without stopping to think long upon what might await her. Now she felt a desire to escape the capital, to go anywhere—perhaps to New York to visit with theater friends, or take some time by herself at the seashore in Rehoboth, Delaware, where she had vacationed as a child. She loved the Washington area. She had drawn up a long list of remembered places she wanted to revisit, and new ones she’d like to explore, but, except for her unfortunate foray out to Dandytown, she had seldom ventured far from her apartment, except to go to the rehearsal hall over by Eastern Market, or to a nearby restaurant to eat. A Washington with her father in it was too small a place.

  Her banker friend had promised to do what he could to buy the horse back from David Showers, but had m
ade little progress. He’d called the night before to report that Showers had gone out of town for two weeks. She was on the brink of saying to hell with the entire business, and let these stubborn men settle their own quarrel. She was perplexed and not a little angered by Showers’ intractability. But, for all her lovely good intentions, she had brought this trouble upon him. She owed it to her guilty conscience, if not to him, to try to prevent things from getting any worse. Damn her father and his greedy friends anyway.

  This morning, her destination was less than a block away—the Folger Shakespeare Library building that housed the replicated Shakespearean theater where her acting company had performed until its recent move to a larger auditorium. The library staff had offered her a tour of the facility and its world-famous collection, including a visit to the underground vaults, with their treasure of original Shakespeare folios and such rare books as the Bible Queen Elizabeth I kept in her private chapel at the time she was anguishing over the fate she would ultimately bestow upon her unfortunate kinswoman, Mary Queen of Scots.

  May was looking forward to it. The library was air conditioned, as her apartment was not. It was charming enough, one of four dividing up an old Victorian townhouse, but quite small—a bedroom, living room, kitchenette, and tiny bath. Kelly McGillis, among other major actors and actresses who had played the theater, had endured such quarters for two months or more, and so would May. But during the long, hot days it became oppressive.

  She put on a light summer dress and sandals, breakfasting quickly on three Oreo cookies and a cup of instant coffee. The morning paper was uninteresting, filled with government news about some obscure crisis in a Central American country she knew nothing about, as well as endless columns of reportage and commentary on the federal budget and some arms control and environmental treaties before the Congress. Her father was doubtless fascinated by every word, but May found it all very boring. In California, she had read Variety far more religiously than the Los Angeles Times.

  May had gone only a short ways down the shady street when she was halted by insistent soundings of a nearby automobile horn.

  She looked about uncertainly, then saw the long Mercedes-Benz—and the bright blond hair. She would have preferred giving everything up and going back to California to facing this.

  She stood her ground. She didn’t approach the car, despite the urgings of the woman behind the steering wheel to do so. Finally, the woman got out and came up to her.

  “Hello, May,” she said, with Southern softness.

  “Hello, Mrs. Atkinson,” she said, using Deena’s previous married name. “Why are you bothering me on the public streets?”

  “I was going to ring your bell, but I wasn’t sure you were home—or if I’d be welcome.”

  “You wouldn’t be. How long have you been lurking out here?”

  “I just want to talk to you, May. It’s important.”

  “No thank you.” She turned to walk away.

  “It’s about your friend, Captain Showers.”

  May halted. “What about him? And he’s not my friend. I hardly know him.”

  Deena smiled. “You have seen him, haven’t you? Out at his farm?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Can we sit in the car?”

  “No!”

  “Well, May, darlin’, this is really important. You know what’s happened to him.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Why, he’s lost his job.”

  “What? My father fired him?”

  “Oh no. Certainly not. Your friend made some kind of mistake. It was so bad he had to resign.”

  May simply stared.

  “But I’m afraid,” Deena continued, “that he may try to get back at your father for what happened to him, even though your father had nothing to do with it. He’s already gone after your father’s best friend—Mr. Bloch. Stirring up all that ruckus about that stupid horse you bought for him. Your father’s a very important man now, May. He’s involved in very important matters. He shouldn’t have to put up with this childish nonsense. And he won’t. If your friend keeps this up, he’s only going to get himself into some really big trouble.”

  “What the hell does that horse have to do with my father or Bernie Bloch? I bought it at an open auction. I decided I made a mistake and I sold it. Showers ended up with it. So what? Why in hell should my father give a damn? Especially if he’s so busy running the world?”

  “You made a mistake. That’s just it. A little mistake, in the beginning. But now it could grow into a great big mistake. You have to understand that.”

  She took a step closer. The lapels of the red suit she was wearing were cut very low. May could see sweat gathering in her cleavage.

  “That doesn’t have to happen, darlin’. You’ve come here to do a play, and I’m sure you’re going to be just wonderful. You don’t want to be caught up in some investigation or lawsuit way out in Virginia. Your friend Captain Showers wants a horse. He can have one. I understand Mr. Bloch is willing to pay him a great deal of money for the one he got from you—enough to buy a dozen horses. If he’ll do that, and stop this foolishness, I’m sure your father would do everything in his power to get your friend reinstated. Your father can make a lot of things happen in this town.”

  “Did he send you to tell me this?”

  “Oh no, May. You know he respects your privacy. I came to see you all on my own—because I want to help. I don’t want this nasty little business to interfere with the big work he’s doing, not in any way.”

  “If my father had the slightest shred of respect for me—I won’t bring up love—he would have turned on his heel the minute he first laid eyes on you.”

  Deena’s face flushed. “I’ve always hoped that you and I might become friends someday,” she said, moving even closer. “And I still hope that. But you seem bent on making an awful mess of everything. And it will be awful, May, I promise you that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For your sake, May, for our sake, for everyone’s sake, talk to Showers. Get some sense into him. You’re a very charming and very beautiful girl—a great star. I’m sure he has some fondness for you. I’m sure, if you put your mind to it, you could be very persuasive.”

  Inside, May was boiling. She clenched her fists.

  “You could solve everything right now, honey,” Deena said, “if you’d just tell me where that handsome ‘captain’ of yours has taken that horse.”

  May hit her as hard as she could, hurting her wrist, her hand stinging afterward.

  “You little shit,” said Deena. Her cheek was a violent crimson.

  May walked quickly away, hurrying across the street. When at last in the coolness of the Folger Library, the great brass-fronted doors closed behind her like protective castle gates.

  Her hand was still bothering her when, a good half hour later, she was taken to the underground room where the Queen Elizabeth Bible was kept. She declined the invitation to look through the chemically preserved, four-century-old pages, for fear of somehow injuring them, but she did press her hand against its cover, touching the finely crafted surface as the queen herself must have done.

  She now understood perfectly how that troubled woman could have brought herself to having her kinswoman beheaded.

  Bernie Bloch sat in his huge leather chair, staring out the window at a coal ship that had left the docks and was steaming slowly out toward Chesapeake Bay. He wished he were on it.

  He was in his office in a shiny new building he owned, which overlooked Baltimore Harbor. He had kept to it and his upstairs apartment suite the better part of several days, staying out of the Virginia and Maryland horse country, staying away from Washington, lying low while his lawyers and hired men worked at finding him a way out of his jam. They’d come up with nothing. The hired men had only made things worse.

  And now the source of the worst of his worries had once again hunted him down.

  “Mr. Bloch,” said his secretary, from t
he small intercom speaker in his telephone console. “He’s still on the line.”

  “Yeah, all right.” Taking a deep breath, he picked up the receiver. “This is Bloch,” he said quietly.

  The other party paused, as though for effect.

  “You said you’d call me,” the man said, finally.

  “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. Got a lot going on. And this is taking a little longer than I thought. But don’t worry. Everything’s under control.”

  “Bullshit.” Another pause. “We don’t understand why there’s a problem.”

  “There’s no real problem. Honest. I just want to be a little careful about how I do this.”

  “You haven’t been careful enough. We don’t like the kind of mail we’ve been getting.”

  “I’m sorry about that. It’s just paperwork. I’ve got lawyers dealing with it. We can tie it up for months.”

  “We don’t want it tied up. We want it in the shitcan. We don’t want no more mail. What we want is our merchandise.”

  “I understand. I—”

  “If we don’t get our merchandise, we’re going to want a refund. Not just a refund, but a return on our investment. You know how much we figured the merchandise is worth. We may want twice that much. Maybe three times. Just for our trouble.”

  “That’s no problem. If it’s just money—”

  “It’s not just money. We had a little talk up here. We decided something. If we can’t get our merchandise back, we don’t want anybody else to have it. We don’t want it on the market anymore. We don’t want it around. We want it to disappear. We don’t want more mail. We don’t want any chitchat with the racing commission. We’re sportsmen, outdoor guys. We don’t like it inside, not in places like Virginia courtrooms.”

  “What’re you saying?”

  “What am I saying? I’m saying, they shoot horses, don’t they? I’m saying dogs gotta eat, and you know what goes into dog food. I’m saying that, with things so far out of hand, maybe that’s the best place for our merchandise—if you can’t get it back for us.”