Dick Francis - Enquiry

I leant against Tony’s car and thought about Grace. She’d left on me a fair legacy of bruises from her pinches to add to the crop grown by Oakley. Also my coat would cost a fortune at the invisible menders, and my throat felt like a well developed case of septic tonsils. I looked gloomily down at my plastered leg. The dangers of detection seemed to be twice as high as steeplechasing. With luck, I thought with a sigh, I could now go back to the usual but less frequent form of battery.

Tony came out of the house with Roberta and Jack Roxford. Jack looked dazed, and let Tony help him into the front of the estate car as if his thoughts were miles away. As indeed they probably were.

I scrunched across the gravel towards Roberta.

‘Is your neck all right?’ I asked.

‘Is yours?’

I investigated her cut more closely. It wasn’t deep. Little more than an inch long.

‘There won’t be much of a scar,’ I said.

‘No,’ she agreed.

Her face was close to mine. Her eyes were amber with dark flecks.

‘Stay here,’ she said abruptly. ‘You don’t have to go to the races.’

‘I’ve an appointment with Lord Ferth... Best to get this business thoroughly wrapped up.’

‘I suppose so.’ She looked suddenly very tired. She’d had a wearing Saturday morning.

‘If you’ve nothing better to do,’ I suggested, ‘Would you come over tomorrow... and cook me some lunch?’

A small smile tugged at her mouth and wrinkled her eyes.

‘I fell hopelessly in love with you,’ she said, ‘When I was twelve.’

‘And then it wore off?’

‘Yes.’

‘Pity,’ I said.

Her smile broadened.

‘Who is Bobbie?’ I asked.

‘Bobbie? Oh... he’s Lord Iceland’s son.’

‘He would be.’

She laughed. ‘Father wants me to marry him.’

‘That figures.’

‘But Father is going to be disappointed.’

‘Good,’ I said.

‘Kelly,’ yelled Tony. ‘Come on, for Hell’s sakes, or I’ll be late.’

‘Goodbye,’ she said calmly. ‘See you tomorrow.’

Tony drove to Reading races with due care and attention and Jack Roxford sat sunk in gloomy silence from start to finish. When we stopped in the car park he stepped out of the car and walked dazedly away towards the entrance without a word of thanks or explanation.

Tony watched him go and clicked his tongue. ‘That woman isn’t worth it.’

‘She is, to him,’ I said.

Tony hurried off to declare his horses, and I went more slowly through the gate looking out for Lord Ferth.

It felt extraordinary being back on a racecourse. Like being let out of prison. The same people who had looked sideways at me at the Jockeys’ Fund dance now slapped me familiarly on the back and said they were delighted to see me. Oh yeah, I thought ungratefully. Never kick a man once he’s up.

Lord Ferth was standing outside the weighing room in a knot of people from which he detached himself when he saw me coming.

‘Come along to the Stewards’ dining-room,’ he said. ‘We can find a quiet corner there.’

‘Can we postpone it until after the third race?’ I asked. ‘I want my cousin Tony to be there as well, and he has some runners...’

‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘Later would be best for me too, as it happens. After the third, then.’

I watched the first three races with the hunger of an exile returned. Tony’s horse, my sometime mount, finished a fast fourth, which augured well for next time out, and Byler’s horse won the third. As I hurried round to see how Jack Roxford would make out in the winner’s enclosure I almost crashed into Kessel. He looked me over, took in the plaster and crutches, and said nothing at all. I watched his cold expressionless face with one to match. After ramming home the point that he had no intention of apologising he turned brusquely on his heel and walked away.

‘Get that,’ Tony said in my ear. ‘You could sue him for defamation.’

‘He’s not worth the effort.’

From Charlie West, too, I’d had much the same reaction. Defiance, slightly sullen variety. I shrugged resignedly. That was my own fault, and only time would tell.

Tony walked with me to the winner’s enclosure. Byler was there, beaming. Jack Roxford still looked lost. We watched Byler suggest a celebration drink, and Jack shake his head vaguely as if he hadn’t understood.

‘Go and fish Jack out,’ I said to Tony. ‘Tell him you’re still looking after him.’

‘If you say so, pal.’ He obligingly edged through the crowd, took Jack by the elbow, said a few explanatory words to Byler, and steered Jack out.

I joined them and said neutrally, ‘This way,’ and led them along towards the Stewards’ dining-room. They both went through the door taking off their hats and hanging them on the pegs inside.

The long tables in the Stewards’ dining-room had been cleared from lunch and laid for tea, but there was no one in there except Lord Ferth. He shook hands with Tony and Jack and invited them to sit down around one end of a table.

‘Kelly...?’ he suggested.

‘I’ll stand,’ I said. ‘Easier.’

‘Well now,’ Ferth said, glancing curiously at Tony and Jack, ‘You told me, Kelly, that you knew who had framed you and Dexter Cranfield.’

I nodded.

Tony said regretfully, ‘Grace Roxford. Jack’s wife.’

Jack looked vaguely down at the table cloth and said nothing at all.

Tony explained to Lord Ferth just what had happened at Cranfield’s and he looked more and more upset.

‘My dear Roxford,’ he said uncomfortably, ‘I’m so sorry. So very sorry.’ He looked up at me. ‘One could never have imagined that she... that Grace Roxford of all people... could have framed you.’

‘That’s right,’ I said mildly. ‘She didn’t’

Both Tony and Jack sat up as if electrified.

Lord Ferth said, ‘But you said...’ And Tony answered, ‘I thought there was no doubt... She tried to kill Kelly... she was going to kill Cranfield too.’

‘She tried to kill me this time,’ I agreed. ‘But not the time before. It wasn’t she who fiddled with my car.’

‘Then who ?’ Lord Ferth demanded.

‘Her husband.’

Jack stood up. He looked a lot less lost.

I poked Tony on the shoulder with my crutch, and he took the hint and stood up too. He was sitting between Jack and the door.

‘Sit down, Mr Roxford,’ Ferth said authoritatively, and after a pause, slowly, he obeyed.

‘That’s nonsense,’ he said protestingly. ‘I didn’t touch Kelly’s car. No one could have arranged that accident.’

‘You couldn’t have imagined I would be hit by a train,’ I agreed. ‘But some sort of smash, yes, definitely.’

‘But Grace...’ began Tony, still bewildered.

‘Grace,’ I said prosaically, ‘Has in most respects displayed exactly opposite qualities to the person who engineered Cranfield’s and my suspension. Grace has been wild, accusing, uncontrolled and emotional. The planning which went into getting us warned off was cool, careful, efficient and brutal.’

‘Mad people are very cunning,’ Tony said doubtfully.

‘It wasn’t Grace,’ I said positively. ‘It was Jack.’

There was a pause. Then Jack said in a rising wail, ‘Why ever did she have to go to Cranfield’s this morning? Why ever couldn’t she leave things alone?’

‘It wouldn’t have done any good,’ I said. ‘I already knew it was you.’

‘That’s impossible.’

Ferth cleared his throat. ‘I think... er... you’d better tell us, Kelly, what your grounds are for making this very serious accusation.’

‘It began,’ I said, ‘When Dexter Cranfield persuaded Edwin Byler to take his horses away from Roxford and send them to him. Cranfield did no doubt persuade Byler, as Grace maintained, that he was a more highly regarded trainer socially than Roxford. Social standing means a great deal to Mr Cranfield, and he is apt to expect that it does to everyone else. And in Edwin Byler’s case, he was very likely right. But Jack had trained Byler’s horses from the day he bought his first, and as Byler’s fortune and string grew, so did Jack’s prosperity and prestige. To lose Byler was to him a total disaster. A return to obscurity. The end of everything. Jack isn’t a bad trainer, but he hasn’t the personality to make the top ranks. Not without an accident... a gift from Heaven... like Byler. And you don’t find two Bylers in your yard in one lifetime. So almost from the start I wondered about Jack; from as soon as Cranfield told me, two days after the Enquiry, that Byler had been going to transfer his horses. Because I felt such a wrench of regret, you see, that I was not going to ride them... and I realised that that was nothing compared to what Jack would have felt if he’d lost them.’