Рита Браун - Probable Claws

Elizabetta put down twenty dollars on Nestor, a horse in whom Sam also had a small interest. Twenty dollars, a good sum, impressed others, but for Maureen it was an amount large enough to demonstrate her support but not large enough to be taken seriously.

Off they shot, rope dropped; the dark bay, King Baldwin, raced past Nestor, but Nestor found his stride, catching up. King Baldwin’s jockey made the mistake of asking for too much too soon and King, not an easy horse, stood up then let out a huge buck behind, and the jockey was launched, not into eternity but launched. The doctor rushed out onto the racecourse while Nestor easily crossed the finish line to Sam’s delight.

A stretcher—three had been brought, just in case—carried out by two burly men, was flopped on the ground. They picked up the hapless jockey dumping him on the canvas to a scream of pain as he clutched his ribcage.

“Refreshments,” a child called out, pushing a wagon of cakes and cider.

“Boy,” Georgina called out. “Come here.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He smiled in anticipation, plus though just a twelve-year-old, he thought the women so pretty.

“I’ll take ten of your cakes.” Georgina reached under her seat for a small purse. “Tell me, do you know any of these spectators?”

“Some.”

“Mrs. Holloway?”

“No, Ma’am. I know some of those people like the Garths.”

“Ah, would you point them out to me?”

He handed her the cakes on a little tray, which she had the girls pass around. The tray was returned.

“Over there is Ewing Garth. The horseman is his daughter, Catherine. She’s back in the paddocks, what passes for paddocks. She’s uncommonly beautiful. Selects and trains the horses. You can see her sister, Rachel, over there.” He pointed to Rachel and Charles, in earnest conversation with Jeffrey Holloway. “She looks much like her sister.”

“Ah” was all Georgina said, as she handed him money plus a tip.

“Oh, thank you, Madam. Luck on your horses.”

The girls smiled as he moved to the other patrons.

“Deborah, Sarah, take a few of the girls, those with good conversational skills and sharp eyes. Talk to the slaves, as though a brief repass, you know how to do it. Find out if they know of anyone, anyone female, wishing to improve her condition. Young and pretty. I will, of course, assist in a quiet manner.”

“What about the freedmen?” Sarah inquired.

Georgina waved her hand. “They wouldn’t know.”

As the girls walked off, Yancy came up, tipped his hat. “The course is being rolled again. We’ll start up promptly. Best to keep the ground as level and tight as we can.”

“Whose idea was the barrels filled with rocks or whatever you’ve got in there?” She offered him a cake, which he refused.

“Mine.”

“You have a practical turn of mind.”

“I do.”

“And you know so many people, including Maureen Holloway.”

“I do, although Mrs. Holloway and I are on speaking terms but little more, as you know. After all, I was challenged by her husband in your tavern.”

“So you were.”

“Strange to say I get along better with her husband, even though we tried to kill each other.” He laughed.

“Fortunately you both proved unsuccessful.”

This provoked greater laughter.

He saw the two draft horses pulling the heavy barrels turn at mile’s end, coming back. “Excuse me, Georgina. I must see if all is as it should be.”

“One more thing. Have you and Sam made money?”

“Without the tally from the races we are at eight thousand dollars.”

Georgina smiled broadly. “Excellent. Few things in life are as uplifting as profit.” As he started to go, she asked, “Yancy, is it true that Maureen Holloway has lent you a jockey?”

“Yes. Most obliging of her.” He touched his hat and turned to check the course.

Georgina watched him walk, limp pronounced, but he wouldn’t use a cane. She found it unusual that a woman whose husband faced Yancy in a duel would allow him the use of one of her horse boys, as Georgina thought of them. Her opinion of Maureen rose upward. Surely the lady would not countenance such an arrangement were there not a sizable profit to flow her way.

Catherine, walking toward her father as he sat high now, next to Barker O. on the coach, placed her hand over her eyes to shield them from the glare. Without hesitation, with strength and grace, she swung up to squeeze next to her father and Barker O.

“Soon be time for us,” she remarked.

“My dear, I do wish you would not engage in such strenuous activities,” her father chided her.

As it was her father she was direct. “Father, women have lost children for thousands of years. I am fine. It would have been worse had the baby been born in his time and not lived but a few days or been stillborn. This is easier to bear.” She waited a moment. “But your tenderness toward me”—she leaned over her father—“and you, too, Barker O. Everyone at Cloverfields has been solicitous of me. I am fine. I am strong. I pray for that little soul.” She took a deep breath. “I find as I go along in life that I pray for many souls.”

Ewing picked up her hand, kissing it. “Ah, my dear. It comes with time, does it not, Barker O.?”

Barker O. mid-forties, nodded. “We must trust in the Lord.”

Changing the subject, Catherine looked out at the entire mile-long course, which could be clearly seen from the top of the magnificent coach. “When John, Jeddie, and I took two days last month to come down here and look, it was coming along, but I must say Yancy and his partner—What is his name?”

“Sam Udall, a financier. He is overtaking the Tidewater financiers. An uncommonly prescient man.”

“Why so?” She leaned on her father, the solidness of him comforting.

“He foresaw the diminution of the power of the Tidewater families. After the war power has shifted. He has made all the right connections, nurturing what I perceive as a new man, a man motivated by profit alone, not overthrowing a king and starting a new nation.”

“Do you not think there are still patriots even among the new men?”

“I hope so just as I hope John Adams can be usefully directed.” He shrugged. “Politics and lending are dirty businesses. Yes, I have had to avail myself in the past of both financing others, seeking partners, especially for my western timber purchase, but lately I am losing my appetite. I wish only to deal with friends.”

“Ah” was all she could say, then added, “I should like to meet this Sam Udall.”

“Why?” came the swift query.

“We can never have enough friends, even if they differ from us in many ways.” She noticed the two heavily muscled plow horses finish rolling the course. “What time is it?”

Ewing pulled out the gold, inscribed, birthday pocket watch.

“One-thirty. I see the horses being brought up.”

“Mmm. The light chestnut is the Skipwith horse. Small but well made. I’d like to take one of our mares to this stallion. Of course, let’s see how he does. The other horse, Maryland people. I only know them by reputation. Finsters. Well, we’ll see.”

Ewing blinked as she stood up. “You aren’t leaving now?”

“I need to get back to Reynaldo and Jeddie. He’s so nervous he can’t speak.”

Ewing patted the seat. “Watch the race. It won’t last long. Gives you the opportunity to observe the Skipwith horse.”

She sat back down. “You’re right.”

The two horses lined up, fractious, but the Skipwith horse, Orb, settled first. Two grooms finally lined up Shadows, the Finster horse, then quickly stepped back, and the two men holding the rope dropped it, knowing if they didn’t the Maryland horse would act up again.