by Glenna Mason
“He is the most elegant gentleman I've had the pleasure to meet—well, with one or two exceptions—” Tish said, winking at Elizabeth, “—in a long lifetime of meeting elegant men.”
“Here we were, Elizabeth—not letting him get past us to his own house—and what does he do? He bounds out of his car to ask if we need assistance. I almost swooned. I really did!” Minerva said.
“He is one supremely gorgeous man,” agreed Tish. “The ladies at the Dew Drop Inn did not exaggerate one little bit.”
“Gorgeous doesn't do him justice, Tish. He’s got that movie-star aura with the flashing dimples, the twinkle in his eye—bright hazel eyes at that. Yum!”
“And . . .”
“He invited us up to his house for drinks. Of course it was too early to imbibe the bubbly and so he had us sit with him in his kitchen while he personally squeezed fresh lemonade. Can I see Mickey inviting two ladies in—no, I'd kill him. But you know what I mean,” Minerva said.
“Charm poured forth like water from a fountain.”
“And . . .”
“After the lemonade, he took us on a tour of his barn, where we met Garrard, Madison, Shelby and a slew of other incredible horse flesh,” interrupted Tish. “Then he had his lad hitch the sulky behind a grand chestnut; he climbed aboard and gave us a ten minute spectacle worthy of a Roman circus.”
“I felt like a Roman empress.”
“You know how I love the harness world and its racing. So, as you might well imagine, I was in a land of enchantment. I am not sure the spell is broken yet,” ended Tish.
“And I had to give two boring lectures,” bemoaned Elizabeth.
“Yes, life is not always fair. Here you are the beautiful princess, and yet you are the one who missed the handsome prince.”
“Those clouds look ominous. I hope they hold off. I want to get out and see the place up close and personal.”
“March in Kentucky, girls,” Minerva said, as the drops began to splatter the wind shield.
Soon torrents came flooding down, obstructing Tish's vision and creating pooling across the expressway. Large semis splashed increasing amounts across the front of the car, as they continued to fly by, apparently undeterred by the downpour. Tish was considering pulling off at the next exit, when they drove abruptly out of the rain, like opening a curtain on a bright sunny day.
“How fortunate! It isn't even cloudy down London way,” Elizabeth said, as she noticed the clear skies in front of them.
The ladies each had invented a cover story to explain their personal arrival at Twin Spirals. Elizabeth had decided to say that she and her family were looking for two things, knowledge about the enterprise so her mom and dad could promote it in their lecture tours and also a location to periodically place mares, sometime in the future. Minerva's interest would be centered on finding a tame horse for her preteen daughter. Tish, quite literally, intended in the near future to establish a similar operation at Laurel Acres. And so she would assess all aspects of the business end of the enterprise for future reference. All the stories had one thing in common; they were to some extent true. Tish was especially exhilarated to see a model she might follow in her own pursuit.
What Tish had not told Minerva or Elizabeth was that she had already commenced the process of setting up a trust fund to purchase horses, especially race horses threatened with slaughter. She proposed to have the fund buy the horses and then provide care for them in her fields and barns at the Pope estate.
“My ancestors would be proud that their legacy lives on,” Tish had decided, as she had worked through the laborious process with her lawyer.
Tish liked Fitzwilliam Darcy’s idea of providing a retreat for ex-jockeys and farm personnel, who in exchange for housing and food cared for his endangered horses. Another possibility she had started to consider was a summer camp for the underprivileged to learn to ride and care about and for horses. If she were to include the needy farm workers in her decision, they could earn extra cash for assisting with the camp. Tish was ecstatic at the potential for the whole enterprise, even though she had to admit, it might mean that she might have to miss an opera or two.
A contemplative silence fell on the trio as the ladies neared the London exit. The seriousness of the day's project loomed large; they needed to concentrate on their respective parts in their little drama.
Minerva broke the quiet with a pertinent question, “How can men with such high ideals become common horse thieves?”
Elizabeth wanted to respond, “How can men with no ideals rise to positions of power in our country?” She, however, refrained; that was a question for another time and place.
Tish answered, “I am assuming that they need the money for the altruistic endeavors, but I could be wrong of course.”
Elizabeth, not having yet met one of the possible perpetrators, complained, “It's a shortsighted approach to a very crucial issue. Because when the kidnappers are behind bars, their project will languish without them.”
“Yes, it is a shame,” said Minerva, who definitely had a revised attitude, after meeting the possibly guilty Fitzwilliam Darcy. “Since, if the money is strictly intended for the endangered horses and the out of work jockeys with nowhere to go, the end result might be further heartbreak for the men and the horses.”
“However, some will say theft is theft and must be treated as such,” Tish said.
“I assume you are no longer sure,” Elizabeth said.
“No, I am not. I reserve judgment, until I am at liberty to discuss it with Sir William,” she said. “One of the injured parties,” she added for Minerva's benefit.
“I see.”
“You do not see, Lizzy, for one very simple reason. You have not met our chief suspect, Fitzwilliam Darcy. When you do, I challenge you to be sure of anything.”
“As do I,” confirmed Minerva.
Elizabeth had a very strong humanitarian bent by virtue of birth and environment, and so she had no heart to object. She agreed in her mind and soul to reserve judgment until some future date. She also determined that within the next few days she would travel to Lancaster and meet the allegedly awesome Mr. Darcy.
The car's GPS system directed the Prius to the farm's exact location, a beautiful spot at the foot of some small tree laden hills. The property's rolling green fields were sliced into sections by black board fences. Grazing on the verdant bluegrass were dozens of multi-colored horses, apparently separated by age and gender. It was a sight that would make any horse lover proud.
The ladies parked the car on a seemingly isolated gravel pull-off, a spot which was fortunately shielded from view by a stand of small fir trees.
Binoculars out, the three surveyed the farm from afar, a prelude to their driving unannounced up to the front gate. There was obvious activity at the horse barns, with workers coming and going, leading horses in and out, some even saddling up and riding out. There were at least two very attractive houses and two bunk houses, each in a separate field, the latter two in fields adjacent to the barn lot. The main house had a tree-lined drive with what appeared to be two separate pillared and gated entrances.
The house itself was a magnificent brick two story pre-Civil War structure with porches on the front and the back and porticoes on the sides. Flower gardens bloomed at the front, back and sides. The secondary domicile was more in the cottage style, a one and a half-story stone. Movement was at a minimum in the location of both houses. However, the bunk houses bustled with residents lounging on the front porch, smoking, drinking coffee and talking animatedly.
Creeks crisscrossed the land and watering troughs were in evidence in several locations, complete with hitching posts. Also all the outlying fields appeared to have three sided shelters, designed for animals to escape the weather, if inclement. All the fields also had groupings of trees for shade on a hot day. There was a small apple orchard to the rear of the main house. They could see several fields dedicated to the growing of hay and corn. A large vegetable garden,
in the nascent stages, burgeoned in the same lot as one of the bunk houses. Outbuildings included a hen house, a smoke house and sheds of varying sizes and shapes. A large six car garage with storage above was situated behind and to the far side of the mansion, with easy access from either main house. Everything was, superficially at least, bucolic, peaceful, clean and well-maintained.
Elizabeth encouraged her companions to join her at the fence, where she leaned over the top rail and whistled to the horses in the field just below their observation vantage. Elizabeth had come well-prepared as always with apples and peppermints. Knowing the horse vernacular worked well, and soon a score of mares were peeking over the fence and munching from the hands of the three ladies.
Each mare had a halter with a brass name plate. Elizabeth jotted down several names so she could check their status later, but she knew before she checked that these were rescue horses, not stolen ones.
Not wishing to draw unnecessary attention to themselves prior to approaching the entrance gate, the ladies did not tarry with the horses as long as they would have liked. Instead they soon retreated to their tree shelter for a final look-see.
“It certainly does not appear threatening,” the three confirmed and said in unison, “Shall we?”
Back tracking down the lane, the ladies entered a two lane road which circled to a handsome, somewhat masked entrance. Twin Spirals Farm was announced on two pillars. The Prius wound along the front drive until it reached a second gate about a half mile into the property. This gate was closed by a heavy wrought iron gate and had a gatekeeper.
A small stone building was connected to this second set of stone pillars, which were themselves attached to the black board fencing, which extended around and throughout the property. A small framed gentleman emerged to greet them.
“Yes, ma'am?” he asked.
“Hi,” Elizabeth said, sticking her head out the back driver's side window. “I am Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn Farms in Claysmount. This is Letitia Pope of Laurel Acres Farm in Claysmount and beside her is Minerva Castle of Georgetown.
“We have some very important business to discuss with your manager. May we please come in and meet him?”
“Well, Miss, do you have an appointment with Mr. Smithson?”
“I am afraid not. We drove down since it is not far, so we could see the place before we committed ourselves. We are impressed and so hope to meet Mr. Smithson. Can we please come in and either visit with him today or, if he is busy, schedule an appointment for a more convenient time?”
“Well, Miss, I cannot say. I do not see why not, but I will have to call up to the office for permission to release the gate.”
“Oh, would you please, Mr.—?”
“Todd, ma'am.”
“Mr. Todd.”
“Certainly. Please wait. I'll just be back in a minute,” Mr. Todd said, before he disappeared into the gatehouse.
Within a minute Mr. Todd was unlocking the gate and the Prius was heading for the brick mansion, soon in sight through an opening in the avenue of one hundred plus year old oak trees.
“Spectacular!” exclaimed Minerva as the view presented itself in full.
“Spectacularly beautiful!” stated Elizabeth, upping the ante.
“The whole farm is spectacularly and beautifully impressive! What a gift to the world of horses!” Tish said.
“What sort of man would give something of so much value away, even for such a worthy cause?” Elizabeth thought. “No wonder Tish and Minerva and his hometown sing his praises!” She reached in her purse and drew out the full-face version Tish had drawn specifically for her, after the sojourn to Lancaster.
After parking the Prius, the three walked onto the broad porch. The door opened before they reached the bell. Mr. Smithson came forward to either greet or corner them.
It was only a matter of minutes until the ladies had made a conquest of Mr. Smithson. In the first place, as head money guru, always searching for more and improved funding, he was quite familiar with Dr. Thomas and Dr. Francine Bennet and their worldwide advocacy for the humanitarian treatment of animals, horses in specific.
“Our small charity has been blessed from time to time by their beneficence,” he happily informed Elizabeth. Even though her parents had only been traveling the world full time for a couple of years, Francine had been active in the humanitarian effort for decades.
“I am so glad,” admitted Elizabeth, hinting that perhaps more might be in the pipeline.
And when he heard of Miss Letitia Pope's plans for Laurel Acres, Mr. Smithson became a pawn in her patrician fingers, gladly agreeing to assist her in any way possible.
“Mr. Darcy and Mrs. Fitzwilliam will be so pleased, ma'am, that you are following in our simple footsteps.”
“I hope to not only emulate your grand venture, but also possibly to join in partnership with it.”
“Oh, my dear lady,” Mr. Smithson exuded, almost prostrate in his adulation for such a possibility.
“Yesterday Mrs. Castle and I were on a little antiquing expedition in Lancaster. We heard of Mr. Darcy’s Laurel County charity quite by chance. My farm is named Laurel Acres—destiny perhaps? So on reflection, I decided it fit nicely with my own dreams. So I just had to, precipitously I'm afraid, pursue it immediately. So here I am. My two friends have their own separate interests for being here. Perhaps you and I could meet and discuss the business end of the project, and someone else could introduce Lizzy to the entire farm. She has come prepared to ride, and Minerva would like to see if the farm has a potential horse for her daughter.”
“More than perhaps, my dear lady. Most assuredly!”
Soon a Mr. Carson escorted Elizabeth around the barns and fields on horseback and Tommy, a lad, took Minerva to see “our most gentle little pets.”
Elizabeth assured Mr. Carson that her family farm was always in search of a worthy charity to support. “We also occasionally have a mare we'd like to place off the farm. If you were to take one of our mares in this pristine environment, we would be so happy for her solicitude, that we would support her and say ten others as a thank you,” Elizabeth said.
“That would be incredibly generous. We would certainly make every effort to accommodate your mare. We need all the donations that we can get—animal and human welfare are expensive.”
“There must be many people interested in animal welfare.”
“Certainly, but we must compete with many needy organizations.
“I understand, Mr. Carson.” The reason Fitzwilliam Darcy needed to steal horses was becoming ever more obvious.
Meanwhile Minerva had gone from feigning an interest in getting her daughter a horse to actually considering it seriously, as she had fallen madly in love with an amazing gray mare. “Sweet and gentle,” she informed the other two on the drive home. “She would be the perfect surprise gift for Caroline's thirteenth birthday. It'll be a surprise, especially for Mickey, but Caroline will adore it, and she has Mickey wrapped securely around her little pinky,”
“I am excited about my new challenges,” Tish said. “I can see that Mr. Darcy has a pattern I can emulate. I intend to insure that there is never another Ferdinand. Oh, and Mrs. Fitzwilliam is his sister.”
The trip home was one of communal elation. The thrill of finding a place so centered on nothing but good was palpable. They appreciated the fact that horses and jockeys/workers were being saved, and not just saved, but also favored with love and care.
They were naturally conflicted. None wanted to think about Fitzwilliam Darcy going to jail, but they knew he might. They were in over their heads. Elizabeth invited Tish and Minerva and Mickey to her house for cocktails and supper with the family on Wednesday night. It was time to brainstorm this with the others.
“So it is to be tomorrow. Sir William will be there. The perfect timing to get this problem solved,” the three agreed.
In the meantime they all intended to lay very low for one whole day and think.
CHAPTER E
IGHTEEN
After a cloudburst of some magnitude, the lowering afternoon sun shone brilliantly over the Longbourn front porch, projecting rainbows across the white posts and railings, through dripping raindrops.
Elizabeth, fresh from her Mystery in Drama's oral reading of Agatha Christie's Witness for the Prosecution, and exhilarated by this evening's potential drama, picked some last minute mint from her herb garden to use in the mint juleps. The silver julep cups were newly polished. A chilled pitcher of bourbon and sugar water waited in the refrigerator. The mint was the final touch.
Amelie had several silver trays of French delicacies, including a very tempting caviar concoction ready to serve. Elizabeth had a hard time resisting testing them herself.
Francine and Mary Bennet arrived with an elaborate four-course meal, prepared by the superior staff of a Richmond restaurant. Francine soon joined Elizabeth in the garden, walking carefully on the stones in her silver heels, where she clipped a few more dripping daffodils to add to the already bulging table arrangements.
“I just saw a spot or two which could use another bloom,” she explained.
“Put some in a silver pitcher and set it on the porch too, Mother, if you would, please,” Elizabeth said, as she rinsed the mint under the water spout, knowing her mom liked to arrange as much as she.
“Love to,” said Francine happily, clipping another dozen or so and laying them in the flower basket she carried on her left arm.
Soon a silver pitcher perched prettily on the porch serving table flowed with perky daffodils, skillfully arranged for maximum effect. Peter arrived with a massive silver tray that held the julep cups, julep mixture and the crushed ice in a silver bucket. He had a small silver bowl available for the mint.
Dr. Thomas Bennet drove up, handsome in a dinner jacket and black tie. He hugged two of his favorite girls and immediately took over as bartender, fixing them all a mint julep.