The Steeplechase

by Carrie Fancett Pagels

  “I confess I don’t know exactly why the militia wants a meeting with me, but I know I must see them. I conjecture they may want more horses.”

  “And since you were in Williamsburg you decided to drag me along?”

  He nodded.

  “How very romantic.” She laughed. Thankfully, the drizzle had stopped and the sun emerged from the clouds.

  In a short while, they entered The Nesting Heron. Not to raucous music, as she’d expected, but to a trio of men playing fiddle in the front right corner. One, a man with a long salt-and-pepper queue, kept time with a shoe whose stitching had failed, revealing a dark stocking beneath.

  Instead of the buxom serving wenches she’d imagined, there were several male servers. With red scarves tied around their necks and white caps atop their heads, the burly men carried trays of steaming potted pies on massive trays held high overhead. Phillip grasped her arm and tugged her forward, weaving through the mass of watermen. The scent of brackish water, mingled with sweat and fish odors, tempted Martha to pull her handkerchief from her reticule and press it to her nose.

  A waterman eyed her, then Phillip, before tipping his cocked hat and returning to his ale.

  Two uniformed militiamen occupied seats at the far wall by a window, curtains drawn closed. Neither rose when she and Phillip approached.

  “A woman! You’ve brought a lady with you?” The man with a scar across his brow frowned but stood.

  The dark-haired officer with him rose, smiled at Martha, and made a brief bow. “I’m Major Danner and this is Sergeant Williams. Please have a seat.”

  She looked to Phillip.

  He waved toward the seat that Sergeant Williams was adjusting for her. Was it her imagination or did the militiaman position the chair farther away from himself?

  Phillip turned to look at her as he settled into his own chair.

  The major waved a passing servant over. “Smuggler’s Feast for my friends. And be sure to put it on his account.” He laughed.

  Phillip chuckled, too.

  The men exchanged pleasantries and then briskly engaged in a hushed conversation about horseflesh. Martha tuned in and out as Phillip negotiated prices on sales to the army. She glanced around the room. As time went on, no one was seated at the tables that formed a half circle around them. When a small group of newcomers arrived and headed toward them, fully a dozen watermen stood and formed a wall between themselves and the militia.

  “What hey!” a man’s deep voice bellowed.

  The major, Phillip, and the sergeant continued to chat as though nothing had happened. She patted Phillip’s arm. “There’s a fracas.”

  All three men casually reached into their coat pockets, drew forth weapons, and laid them on the table.

  “Got it, Tommy?” Sergeant Williams called out as he stood and narrowed his eyes at the crowd.

  A slender man, who’d been behind the oak bar, yelled back, “It’s just Carter Williams, again claiming he’s your cousin, Sergeant!”

  The man groaned and his cheeks flushed. “Let him on then, men!”

  The crowd parted and a young, dark-haired man, attired in country gentry clothing, strolled back toward them, adjusting the lapels of his tailored great coat.

  “Carter Williams,” she whispered as a million memories flooded her mind. Her mother taking her to Shirley Plantation for fox hunting events. Her mother playing with the dogs. Her mother bringing her on her very first hunt with the Queen Anne Hunt Club.

  “Martha.” Mischief glinted in his eyes.

  Tears pooled in her eyes as Martha looked up. “It’s been so long, I feared you’d forgotten who I was.”

  Carter bent and kissed her hand. “I should no more forget so beautiful a flower as Martha Osborne as I should my own image in the mirror.”

  Heat warmed her neck and she pressed her free hand there to cover her embarrassment. Of all the young Tidewater men she’d met over the years, here was one who had never, not once, despised her because of her parents. “Carter…” She couldn’t manage any other words.

  Phillip stood and grasped her elbow. “Are you two friends?”

  Carter was many years her junior. Although they traveled in some of the same social circles, those had diminished since her mother’s death.

  Once more, Carter raised her bare hand to his lips and pressed a firm, lingering kiss there. “Indeed, I know Martha well. She and I used to bay at the hounds. Do you remember that, Speedy?”

  “Speedy?” Phillip thrust his chin upward.

  “So-called for her speed in the hunt.”

  She laughed. “Don’t call me that dreadful nickname, or I shall dump a bowl of water on your head like I did your brother.”

  “A highlight of the social season, I assure you!” He straightened, adjusted his ascot tie, and sighed. “I have missed you, Martha. Wish that old she-dragon still let you out for the hunts.”

  The two officers had also risen and now cleared their throats.

  “I’m not here to see you, my dear, but rather my faux cousin.”

  “That’s rich!” Sergeant Williams assisted Martha back into her seat and leaned in. “He’s no more my cousin than he is your twin sister, Miss Osborne.”

  If only Martha could pass for Christopher’s twin brother for the race. She looked up into the sergeant’s twinkling dark eyes. “I assure you he is not!”

  “Indeed!” Carter grabbed another Windsor chair and pulled it up between her and the sergeant, so close that his knee pressed through her skirts and bumped her leg. Startled, she jerked in Phillip’s direction at the same time that he wrapped an arm possessively around her back. Eyes widening, she turned to face him and instead of focusing on his handsome features, she was struck by the jealousy burning in his eyes.

  She averted her gaze, uneasy, but couldn’t help from smiling. He cared enough for her that he wished to stake his claim. Good. Let him.

  Carter poured himself some ale from the jug atop the table. “You still race down to Russell Plantation, Martha? To Scotch Tom’s Woods?”

  Her stomach clenched. She’d forgotten how Carter, like her brother, knew her secrets. “Do you think I would? A gentlewoman such as myself?”

  Martha hoped and prayed he did not. For if he did, might he have divulged that information to someone else?

  Chapter 9

  Beneath him, Othello shifted uneasily, as though sensing Phillip’s mission. If Carter Williams, who proved a fount of knowledge about water traffic and potential support for the militia, was correct then this was Martha’s favorite haunt on the peninsula. When the two officers escorted Martha out to their curricle, Williams privately shared more about her skill as a horsewoman. Still, was this upcoming race safe for her? Phillip would test the landscape himself in Scotch Tom’s Woods. How ironic that his beloved had ridden for years across his great-uncle’s property.

  Movement from the tree line caught his eye. Someone lurked just beyond the old Indian path that bordered the river. Casually, Phillip maneuvered his reins into one hand and felt for his pistol. The horseman emerged into the sunlight, Tarleton’s sorrel easily recognizable.

  Was Phillip yet being played the fool? Surely Martha wasn't using the race as a ruse to meet with Tarleton? He’d much rather she’d resumed her friendship with Carter Williams than was anywhere near this cad. His cousin Miranda had been taken in by the rogue’s charms, and look what had happened to her. He clenched his teeth, a muscle in his jaw pulsing. He'd promised himself he'd never be jealous of anyone again after the strain George's marriage had placed on their relationship.

  Tarleton mustn’t have noticed Phillip, for he returned to the secrecy of the woods as Galileo cantered into the sunlit clearing. Martha’s hair streamed behind her, and his heart caught in his chest. She was so beautiful, so intelligent, so wrong for Tarleton or Williams. Her form was perfection, her mount exceptional. Here was the one person in all of Tidewater, Virginia who could actually challenge him.

  As she neared the woods,
Tarleton didn’t come forth as Phillip expected. But then suddenly, his sorrel shot out and Martha’s mare reared up. Phillip kicked his feet into Othello’s side. He bent low as the horse moved from a quick walk, to a trot, and then a full out gallop. Martha remained seated as Tarleton grabbed her reins. Miscreant. Scaring both her and her mare could have had grave consequences. But by the time he neared them, Martha, face pale, had calmed her mount.

  Tarleton whirled his horse around to face Phillip. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same.”

  “I’m free to ride where I wish.” Tarleton directed his sorrel to face Martha. “What are you doing in these woods by yourself?”

  “I’ve been exercising my brother’s horse for him.” Martha glanced quickly at Tarleton and then at him, her eyes begging him to do something.

  Tarleton gave a curt laugh. “I doubt seriously that he requires your assistance.”

  This could not have been a planned meeting. And if not, then what was this? First, though, Phillip had to protect Martha and her reputation.

  The younger man began to encircle Martha. “You should be more careful being out in these woods by yourself. You never know who might be here.”

  “Mr. Tarleton, if you are trying to pretend that Miss Osborne wasn’t riding out here to meet with you, then you are doing a poor job of convincing me.” Phillip forced his face into a placid expression. Clearly, such was not Tarleton’s intention at all, but Phillip needed to find out what his game was.

  “Why would I do that? My mother has given us permission to court and has encouraged it. We have no need for secrecy.”

  From the corner of his eye, Martha’s shocked expression revealed a different truth.

  Phillip urged his gelding to move between Martha and the young cad, who’d finally brought the red horse to a halt. He cleared his throat. “In fact, Martha and I have an agreement. We do have need for privacy. And if you tell anyone that I rode out here to meet with her…”

  Martha raised her chin. “Phillip has already averted a duel with my brother once. I don’t want to chance another challenge from him.”

  “You two?” Tarleton made a disgusted face. “So my father spoke the truth. I didn’t believe it.”

  “It’s true.” Narrowing his eyes, Phillip squeezed his knees, urging Othello to move closer.

  “I’ll keep your secret.” Tarleton lifted his hat and then returned it to his head.

  When the sorrel cantered off Martha drew in a deep breath, and then exhaled loudly. “First of all, our understanding is….”

  From the scowl on Phillip’s face, she’d obviously angered him. “Martha, please tell me you had not planned on meeting Tarleton?”

  “No. Not at all.” She patted Galileo’s head and avoided looking into Phillip’s eyes. What must he think of her?

  “What were you doing out here by yourself?”

  “I can take care of myself.” She stared at him. Instead of an arrogant male attitude, his eyes appeared kind, his mouth downturned slightly. He’s disappointed in me.

  “I have no doubt you believe you can. And you’ve obviously earned the nickname Williams gave you.”

  Phillip drew in closer until his leg brushed against her riding habit and she gasped. “I’ve had no trouble until today.”

  “I always bring a friend with me when I ride alone.” He patted a bulge in his coat pocket. “I’d suggest you ask your brother to accompany you next time.”

  She hung her head as heat singed her cheeks. “This is his horse. My stepmother sold mine.”

  “I’ll get you another.” The warmth in his voice coursed through her like honeyed tea.

  Raising her chin, eyes widening, she saw that his offer seemed sincere.

  “I am all sincerity, Martha. My affianced must have her own mount for when we ride.” He winked at her.

  Martha’s heartbeat ratcheted up in excitement. She couldn’t help but tease him. “If that is your idea of a proposal, sir, it leaves much to be desired.”

  A cloud passed over his features, darkening them. “Perhaps you will reconsider later.”

  She tensed and Galileo pawed at the ground. “Oh Phillip…”

  He pierced her with his gaze. “If you hadn’t planned on meeting Tarleton, then why was he here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Phillip surveyed the area. Heavily wooded at the edges, the open meadow was traversed by a well-ridden horse path.

  “We’ll have to pray he was only here to spy on those looking for a short cut for the race.”

  There were better places to divert and gain an advantage. “Don’t forget your promise if I win.” Which she would. She had to. If only she could trust Phillip to get Johnny home for her. But with him showing up in these woods, was he spying on her? And was his finding her at the Tarletons’ home a ruse? Why had he taken her with him to meet those men at The Nesting Heron?

  “I haven’t forgotten. And I believe Johnny would be best left where he is.”

  It felt like a cold dipper of York River water had been poured down her back. “We’ll see about that.” Martha turned her mount back to face home, and they cantered off toward Williamsburg, soon leaving Phillip in their dust.

  Remorse rode with her. For if Phillip did have her best interests at heart, might he be correct? Would Johnny be safer away from home?

  Chapter 10

  Phillip hadn’t replied to Martha’s note nor had he sent any missives in a fortnight. Heart broken, Martha donned Christopher’s clothing. The day of the race arrived and with it the foreboding that winning this race wasn’t worth losing him. Perhaps she already had. In the privacy of her bedchamber she’d dressed before dawn.

  With each bit of masculine attire added, Martha’s soul weighed down further. What if something should happen to her? What of Johnny? With her brother, Christopher, so ill, how could she be sure he’d be there to help with their younger sibling?

  She slipped out to the stables, inhaling the sweet scent of fresh hay.

  “Are you ready?” Their groomsman assisted her up onto the horse. She raised her leg over the saddle, suddenly self-conscious.

  “I’ll have to be.” Foolish, headstrong girl — wasn’t that what Letitia called her? How could Martha have been so imprudent as to enter this race?

  Soon, she and Galileo arrived at Bruton. All the young men, astride their horses, circled the courtyard, warming up their horses for the race. Her brother wasn’t on close terms with many of the young men in the race, so it wasn’t difficult to avoid them. She kept her chin tucked down and avoided eye contact.

  The horses, sensing the importance of the event and the nervous energy of their riders, nickered to one another. A tall figure strode toward the cluster. Dr. Shield? What was he doing here? Was Phillip here? She’d not looked for him and had sent him a note to pay her no heed at the race lest he reveal her secret.

  The surgeon, dressed in a tailored greatcoat and buff breeches, held a pistol in his right hand. He waved it overhead, gaining everyone’s attention. Seeing the young men pulling their mounts into a line, Martha followed suit but remained slightly back and away from them.

  In less than a minute, a shot was fired and off horses and riders flew, down the streets of Williamsburg. Once they left the village for the countryside, Martha squeezed her knees and bent low over Galileo’s broad back. With much concentration, they shot past rider after rider. She saw an opening between the two front riders, Graham with his sorrel and a lean young rider, one of her friend’s brothers. She blinked in appreciation for the boy’s skill, which she’d not known until that moment. But she and Galileo maneuvered between the two front runners and galloped on through the clearing.

  Once the field opened wide, Martha gave Galileo his head. Up ahead was the secret shortcut behind Pratt’s Plantation. Martha was far enough in the lead that she could divert without anyone seeing her. She kicked Galileo’s side and laid herself out almost flat on him as they flew over the fie
ld and then rerouted through the trees on the old Indian path.

  Her heart hammered as they cantered into the woods. The tree canopy crowded together overhead, blocking out much of the sun. They slowed. Birdsong called out over Galileo’s hoof beats and the sound of Martha’s heart in her ears. She adjusted the reins as well as her seat and legs as they entered an uneven stretch of path on a curve.

  They’d rounded a corner when suddenly something fell from overhead. Martha looked up as heavy, dank-smelling netting fell over her, darkening her world. Martha struggled to keep Galileo upright as he screamed out a neigh of protest.

  Down they went into a low pit as she was slung against his massive head. The horse neighed in pain. Had his leg been broken? Oh God, dear Lord help me.

  Martha struggled to remove the damp cording that had dropped onto them, finally pulling it free as Galileo abruptly slumped down. She pushed off of his side before he could crush her leg, heart hammering. Her breath came in short bursts as she knelt on the horse’s side. She patted his head. “Poor dear.”

  Suddenly another horse cantered into the woods then came to a halt nearby. “Tut tut! Bad bit of luck, old girl.” Graham’s taunt was followed by an eerie laugh.

  How could he do this?

  “Couldn’t accept my family’s bone of offering could you?” He drew closer and peered down his patrician nose from atop his horse.

  “What?” She shook in both rage and fear.

  “You could have married me and all would have been well.”

  He was insane. “Graham, you know you don’t love me!”

  “What does love have to do with it? Your father has his head too far into his books to care about his wife and her activities, but you and your brother — well, we tried, but don’t seem to have contained you.”

  Her back ached and she tried to stand. “Help me out. I don’t know what you mean.” But she feared she might. “If you don’t want to be my husband, why marry me?”