by Kate Archer
Sybil turned away from Betty and said softly, “I am certain Poppy’s maid will be kind to the boy.”
Chapter Sixteen
Richard surveyed the buoys after having been handed a chart for the course and a list of rules. It appeared they were to set off east, round that buoy and go west to the second, then head north for the final buoy, before heading south. The wind came from the north, and it was a brisk and steady wind at that.
The rules were not extensive, but it would be well to know them. All boats would have sails up, and luffing, whatever that was, before the start. The race was to begin at the firing of a shotgun. If a dinghy came between another and a buoy, the inside boat might call “mark room” and the outside boat must give quarter. If a vessel were in distress, they were to lower their sail to half-mast—local men in row boats would come out to assist. The winner would be the first boat rounding all three buoys and returning to the beach on the left-hand side of the pier. Failure to round a buoy would result in a disqualification. The winner would be presented with a trophy at the ball.
Charlie inventoried the supplies, calling them out one by one. Along with the usual items, they had been sure to add the bucket and rags, just as Richard’s Navy friend had advised.
Lord Blanding charged over to Richard’s boat. “You have a boy helping you? Nobody else has a boy.”
“He’s my crew, Lord Blanding,” Richard said cheerfully. “Of course, one as experienced as yourself would have no need of one.”
“Burke!” Lord Blanding cried. “I call a protest!”
Lord Burke hurried over, carrying a ledger, while a footman ran behind him with quill and ink.
Lord Blanding said, “He’s got a crew! Nobody ever takes a crew. That boy might have served on a ship in the Navy for all we know. He might have picked up tips. I call an unfair advantage.”
“I ain’t never picked up tips,” Charlie said defiantly.
As Lord Burke flipped through his ledger, looking for the appropriate rule, Kingston hit Charlie over the head with his own cork jacket for daring to speak to Lord Blanding in such a flippant manner.
“Ah, here it is,” Lord Burke said. “A gentleman may, if he wishes, take another party on board. However, there is to be no advantage given, no early start, to compensate for the extra weight and natural slowing of the vessel.”
Lord Blanding’s features underwent a variety of changes, finally settling on glee. “That’s right, the weight will slow your boat and you cannot start early on account of it. Good luck to you, Lockwood!”
Lord Blanding strolled away, supremely satisfied. Lord Burke followed after him, seeming to understand that if there were to be any other protests to rule on, they would inevitably involve Lord Blanding.
“The two of us together don’t top the size of that old boy’s stomach. I can’t think why he’s so jubilant over the idea of weight slowing us down,” Charlie said.
“Silence!” Kingston shouted.
Charlie grinned, as if he’d just been bestowed a compliment, and said, “Anyway, this here race should go down easy as fresh milk.”
“Should it?” Richard said, laughing.
“It’ll be exactly as it was on the lake. We go back and forth to that buoy,” Charlie said, pointing to the right, “then a straight shot to that one on the left, then a sideways turn to the furthest one, then centerboard up and we coast home.”
“Be sure to do as you’re told,” Kingston said, shaking a finger at Charlie. “And be sure to fasten that cork jacket securely. A drowned boy will not help the festivities this evening.”
Charlie eyed Kingston and then threw his arms around the valet’s waist. “You’re worried for me. I’m touched over it.”
Kingston peeled Charlie out of his embrace. “I am not worried,” he said huffily. “You have no cause to be touched.”
Charlie winked at Richard and went back to his work.
*
Sybil and Lady Blanding had chosen to walk to the lake, it being a fine morning. They both brought their reticules to carry their opera glasses. Lady Blanding said the glasses would be of little use once the boats reached the far side of the lake but were particularly helpful in viewing the dash to the finish.
They stayed to the walking path as horses and carriages filed by them, the event being one of the biggest of the year in the neighborhood. Anybody who could get there would be sure not to miss it.
“Sybil,” Lady Blanding said, “you do seem out of sorts these past few days and I feel I do not know how to account for it. It cannot be Lord Lockwood’s absurd wagers, that is too insignificant to put you out. Has something else happened that you wish to tell me?”
Sybil would wish to tell her mother all her troubles. Except not this particular trouble. It shamed her to think of her mother and father beginning to worry over her prospects or viewing her as someone who had been passed over. For all that, though, she did wish her mama to understand some of her general feelings, if not the whole of it and certainly not the details.
“It is only my own foolishness,” Sybil said. “I have discovered myself guilty of the sin of pride.”
“Goodness,” Lady Blanding said. “Nobody would ever accuse you of it.”
“I accuse me of it. You see, mama, when we were in London, I thought a great deal of myself. Too great a deal of myself, as it happens.”
Lady Blanding sighed. “I see you return to the idea that you do not measure up against Poppy. My dear darling girl, you must not take such things to heart. Yes, Poppy Mapleton is unusually pretty, but that does not mean you are any lesser for it.”
“I do not say I am a pariah, I only say I have been taught my proper place,” Sybil said.
Lady Blanding wrapped her arm around Sybil’s shoulders. “Well, I do not think this discomfiture will hold. We will go back to Cornwall, you will be surrounded by the people you have known all your life, and you will regain your spirits.”
“That is just what I hope,” Sybil admitted.
“Now, you are not the only one likely to be out of sorts this day,” Lady Blanding said. “We must support your father in his travails. If this regatta is to be as every other one has been, he will come out of it deeply disappointed. I can only pray he soundly routs Lord Lockwood. Even if he were to lose to everybody else, beating that particular gentleman would soothe his spirits quite a bit.”
“Yes,” Sybil said quietly. “Lord Lockwood must be defeated on all fronts.”
*
The lakeside had been transformed. To the left, tables had been set up with all manner of food and drink, footmen standing by to serve. To the right, chairs had been set up on a gently rising bank. Sybil instantly saw the sense in it, each person would be easily able to see over the hats and bonnets ranged in front of them.
Though the crowd was large and people milled about and strolled along the piers to examine the boats, Jiminy spotted them in a trice and hurried over. “Just this way, Lady Blanding, Lady Sybil.”
The butler led them to the first row of seats, those reserved for the families of the competitors.
As they settled themselves, Lady Blanding said to Sybil, “They will sail to that buoy on the right, then they go to the one on the left, and then to the far side of the lake, before turning directly toward us to the finish. We will have an excellent view.”
“Dear papa,” Sybil said, watching her father do all manner of fussing with his equipment. He held his centerboard aloft and stared hard at it before inserting it into its slot. He stretched a rope out and examined it minutely. He finally put hands on hips and surveyed the whole of his vessel, appearing supremely satisfied with what he saw.
“Indeed,” Lady Blanding said softly.
Sybil’s eyes drifted toward Lord Lockwood, though she really wished they had not.
He seemed in high spirits, as well he might. A hundred pounds to be lost on a wager would not dampen his enthusiasm over gaining Poppy Mapleton.
His boy, the orphan named Charlie that
Betty had grown so fond of, allowed Lord Lockwood’s valet to give a last check on his cork jacket. He turned the boy around and examined it from all sides, seeming satisfied with it. The three then turned toward the lake, with Lord Lockwood pointing this way and that.
Sybil turned and gazed around the crowd, and then averted her eyes when she spotted Lady Montague and her gentlemen guests—the lords Dalton, Ashworth, Grayson, and Cabot.
She had no wish to speak to any of them and presumed she would not. They were not to be seated in front; they had no competitor in the race.
Dalton suddenly crossed her field of vision. He marched toward Lord Lockwood’s boat.
The lord had remained facing the lake, until his attention was called to Lord Dalton, who now stood in front of his boat.
Sybil could not hear what was said, but it did not appear to be a friendly exchange. At least, not from Lord Dalton’s side. He did an inordinate amount of pointing and hand gesticulations. She supposed Lord Dalton was just now discovering that his errand to rescue his friend from the perils of matrimony had been in vain.
She was not sorry for it, anything that could irritate Lord Dalton was welcome. She was further diverted by that scamp, Charlie, who had sidled behind Lord Dalton and had begun to imitate his handwaving in the most amusing fashion.
A gunshot startled Sybil’s attention away from Lord Lockwood’s boat.
“That is the two-minute warning,” Lady Blanding said.
The shot seemed to galvanize the competitors. Sails were hoisted, and lines were untied from the pier, with each man holding his boat there and ready to race.
The crowd that had gathered at the waterside turned en masse, as a school of fish, and made their way toward the seating area.
Sybil watched her dear papa wrestle with his sail. She prayed he would not come out of it badly. He did look forward to the event every year, always convinced that his moment had arrived. And then, he had spent half the winter studying that book about the wind.
Just at the back of her bonnet, Sybil heard a deep voice say, “Lady Blanding, Lady Sybil.”
She slowly turned to find Lord Dalton directly behind her, Lord Ashworth behind her mama, and the Lords Grayson and Cabot in the next two seats.
Sybil nodded curtly and turned back around. Why must they sit so close? Did they not comprehend that she found them irritating in the extreme? There was no end of people who might wish to fawn over the lords, no end of locals who would marvel at their very greatness. She was not one of them, however.
At least Lady Montague had taken herself elsewhere.
Her attention was diverted from the irritation behind her to what was in front of her. Lord Burke ran this way and that with his ledger, checking that all the competitors were ready for the start.
Lord Hugh waved to the crowd, they roared in response. He turned and signaled to a gentleman standing high on a ridge.
Lady Blanding gripped Sybil’s hand.
The man on the ridge raised his gun in the air and fired.
The race had begun.
Sybil watched the competitors push off from their docks and turn their boats to the wind. At first, it seemed a clumsy thing, with various boats bumping into each other. Then, the boats drifted further apart and one by one the sails caught the wind.
They were off.
*
Richard pulled the tiller hard toward him, his boat turned to the east and the sail snapped full of wind.
“That’s right, my lord,” Charlie said, scrambling to sit up on the high side of the boat and winching in the sheet line. “Keep turnin’ into the wind until you see the sail start to flutter, then ease back until the flutter is gone.”
Richard smiled and aimed the boat as far into the wind as he could manage. When they’d practiced on the lake, they’d figured out that if one went just to the tip of a sail flutter, one had less back and forths to do to get where one was going.
“Keep me apprised of where he is,” Richard said.
Charlie locked the sheet line and stood up, holding onto the side of the boat. They both understood he to be Lord Blanding. Richard did not hold out any real hope of winning the race, he was only intent on not losing another hundred pounds to that gentleman.
“He’s about six yards behind you,” Charlie said, with a wide grin.
It was a good start, he’d just have to keep ahead of the old fellow.
Richard scanned the lake for the location of the first buoy. It was still too far to the north to round it on this go, he’d have to come about and do another zig and zag to get close to it.
“Get ready to come about,” Richard yelled.
Charlie ducked—having once missed the call and been flung over the side while they practiced on the lake, he was not likely to do so again.
The boat swung round and began to head in the opposite direction, Richard pushing the tiller to sail as close to the wind as possible. Both Lord Hugh and Lord Niemore had taken the same tack and were ahead of them.
Richard’s boat flew by Lord Blanding still heading east, and Sir Jeffrey trailing far behind and seeming to be working out the mechanics of his vessel with a slightly panicked expression. Lord Blanding did not look at all panicked, but he looked to be in a fury. Richard supposed it could not be helped, he’d have to heap compliments on the fellow later to soothe his ruffled feathers.
Suddenly, it seemed that both Lord Hugh and Lord Niemore surged ahead.
“How are they going so much faster than us?” Richard asked.
“Look there!” Charlie shouted.
Charlie pointed at a hole the size of a teacup that had appeared just above the waterline in the side of his boat.
“Rags!” Richard shouted, turning into the wind to right the boat and bring the hole above the waterline.
Charlie dove down to the bottom of the boat and gathered up the heap of rags bundled up near the bow. He worked them into the hole until they were secure.
“That ought to hold it,” Charlie said, grabbing the bucket and bailing out the water that had flooded the bottom of the boat.
Richard turned the boat back west and caught the wind. His boat picked up speed, though Lord Hugh and Lord Niemore had increased their lead and had already come about. He glanced behind him. Lord Blanding had closed some of the gap between them.
“Get ready to go about!” Richard called. Charlie ducked and the boat swung around.
As Richard headed east, Lord Blanding passed him, still heading west. The gentleman stared at the rags sticking out of the side of his boat. Richard could not quite make out his expression—it seemed to be one mixed of disappointment and ire.
Lord Niemore had pulled ahead of Lord Hugh and Richard instantly comprehended how he’d done it. He’d kept his boat on the windward side, thereby temporarily blocking the wind to Lord Hugh’s sails.
Richard pulled on the tiller, inching as close to the wind as he could. Lord Niemore had just rounded the buoy. Richard angled his boat to the windward side of Lord Hugh.
As they approached the buoy, Charlie said, “Mark room, call mark room!”
“Mark room,” Richard called, grateful his young crew had remembered the rule.
Lord Hugh cursed, and rather loudly, but the gentleman gave way. As he was forced to go wide, Richard surged ahead of him around the turn.
He aimed his boat toward the next buoy. Lord Niemore was further ahead than ever. It was unlikely the lord could be caught. Richard did not much care, he only must stay ahead of Lord Blanding, which was proving to be easy enough.
Behind him, as Lord Blanding and Lord Hugh passed each other, he heard Lord Blanding call, “Rags.”
Both Richard and Charlie glanced at each other, and then the rags stuffed into the hole in the side of the boat.
Richard wondered if he would find himself in the middle of a protest when he reached shore again, though he could not recall any rule that said he could not have rags stop up a hole.
Charlie said, “Got it.”
<
br /> “Got what?” Richard asked.
“I’ll tell you all about it later,” Charlie said, laughing and winching in the sheet line.
They headed to the third buoy, the one set farthest north. Once that one was got round, they could let the sail all the way out, pull the centerboard up, and coast to the finish. This blasted regatta would finally come to an end. Richard would not win, there was not a chance of it, but he might well come in a respectable second.
Whatever happened, he certainly would not be last. Poor Sir Jeffrey had just managed to round the first buoy and wore an expression of terror and deep regret. No doubt he had recognized his folly in entering himself in the race, though it had been far too late to do anything about it.
*
Sybil had raised her opera glasses to better see how the sailors got on. She blushed for her father, who just now was only ahead of Sir Jeffrey. That could not be a feather in anybody’s cap, poor Sir Jeffrey appeared to have just been introduced to watercraft and it did not seem to be a smooth or happy introduction.
“God help us,” Lady Blanding muttered.
Sybil squinted at Lord Lockwood’s boat. Mercifully, it appeared to slow. Her father was steadily gaining ground.
She could not quite make out why Lord Lockwood’s boat had slowed, she could only see the sail flapping and Charlie scrambling around.
Oh, he was bailing water out. And oh! It appeared there was a hole in Lord Lockwood’s boat, just now stuffed with rags. With any luck, a few more holes would spring up, they’d eventually run out of rags, and her father would fly past the disabled vessel.
At this point, Sybil did not much care how her father beat Lord Lockwood, only that he did.
Suddenly, Lord Lockwood’s boat picked up speed again.