“Yes, well … actually, yes it is. I would be very excited about it if … well, you see, there is one little problem. I need £225 to enter the race.”
“Don’t you have that much?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“And you are trying to find a way to ask if you could borrow it from me,” said Gwyneth with the hint of a playful smile.
“I suppose that is about the size of it,” replied Courtenay, with an uncharacteristically sheepish expression on his own face.
“What would you say if I just gave you the money instead of loaned it to you?”
“I would be very appreciative.”
“It would be my investment in your horses.”
“I suppose that is only fair, since I wouldn’t even have them if it weren’t for you. So how big a cut of the action would you want for your investment?”
“I’m not sure what you mean. What is a cut of the action?”
“What percentage of my winnings would be yours, and what percentage would be mine?”
“I don’t want anything in return, Courtenay!” laughed Gwyneth. “Whatever you win would be yours.”
“What about the entry fee—you know, the two-twenty-five?”
“If I give it to you, Courtenay, I would not expect it back. Don’t you know what Jesus said—to do good and lend and give to others and expect nothing in return? I try to do what Jesus said, that is all. The money would be yours, Courtenay.”
“Hmm … yes, well … there is that, I suppose, though I never thought of anything He said having to do with finances or racehorses.”
“But,” Gwyneth added, “there would be one condition.”
“A condition—what kind of condition?”
“Would you be riding in the race yourself?”
Courtenay nodded.
“Then if I am going to invest in this race, I would want to give you riding lessons.”
“What!” Courtenay began in a blustering tone. “Do you think that you are actually—” He stopped abruptly and managed to control himself. This was a gift horse into whose mouth he didn’t want to look too closely! He drew in a deep breath, trying to find the wherewithal to swallow his gigantic pride—no mean feat for one like Courtenay—and put up with whatever absurdities were being hatched in Gwyneth’s brain.
“Yes, Courtenay,” said Gwyneth. “I know what you are thinking, that you are a superior horseman to me. But you are not all you could be. If you gave me two weeks with any of your horses, I would beat you in a race with you riding any of the others. I know how to talk to horses in a way you don’t, Courtenay. You are not that good in the saddle. I can teach you to race much faster.”
Momentarily Courtenay’s calm gave way.
“How dare you propose to—” he began. Again he caught himself. This was galling, but if he wanted to race, he had no choice. “What exactly did you have in mind?” he said.
“Just to teach you how to talk to your horses, how to sit in the saddle, and how to ride faster. It will take me a few days to get you the £225. I will have to speak to my father and some other people. Would you like to start your riding lessons tomorrow?”
“Whatever you say,” replied Courtenay with a supreme effort at self-control.
“Then we will take two horses to the wide sand south of the harbor tomorrow at low tide,” said Gwyneth. “You should ride the horse you plan to race, and I will show you how fast it might be.”
“I will be sure to bring my whip,” said Courtenay with a touch of sarcasm.
“You will not need your whip, Courtenay. The only use it might have would be to show you, if you tried to use it, how much faster than you I can ride without it. But I would rather you did not bring it. I don’t think you will ever need your whip again.”
“We shall see about that.”
For the next week, every day at low tide, Courtenay and Gwyneth met at the beach for Courtenay’s riding lessons. By the third day, Courtenay ceased his objections. Whether he had begun to see into Gwyneth as a person was doubtful, but he was a sufficient horseman to recognize that she knew what she was about.
From the promontory above the beach, Percy, Florilyn, and Steven watched the proceedings every day with amusement. What they would not have given to be able to hear the conversation taking place on the sand below them.
“I have to hand it to Courtenay,” said Percy. “He seems to be taking his medicine like a man.”
“You probably know everything Gwyneth is saying to him,” said Florilyn. “This is how she taught you to beat me.”
“‘High, forward, and loose in the saddle,’” nodded Percy. “‘Be one with your horse … feel the rhythm … relax and let him run.’ You’re right—I can imagine exactly what she is saying!”
“Are we witnessing the beginning of Courtenay’s transformation?” said Steven.
“I don’t think I would go that far!” laughed Florilyn. “Although,” she added in a thoughtful tone, “Gwyneth does have the power to get under the skin. If I can change, though it took me awhile, I suppose maybe Courtenay can, too. But I’m not holding my breath.”
EIGHTY
The Race
As the twelve entries in the Chester Derby entered the starting gate, few expected anything from the late entrant from the north coast of Wales, Viscount’s Pride. At twenty-five to one, neither had the three-year-old garnered much activity with the punters and bookmakers, though a few late rumors that the filly’s pedigree came from France and could surprise had aroused a mild flurry of interest. Most of the bets laid down, however, followed conventional wisdom and remained with the three favorites, the Empress, Red Heat, and Birdsong Meadow.
In the seats just above the rail about fifty yards from the finish line, however, sat a small cluster of visitors to the Cheshire city, some of whom, in the excitement of participation more than expectation of gain, held markers for the wagers they had placed on the long shot.
Katherine had invited any from the manor who desired to accompany them to watch the race. Mrs. Drynwydd and Mrs. Llewellyn, attired in their finest Sunday dresses, were beside themselves at the fun of such an adventure and behaving like two schoolgirls in the midst of the great crowd. This was the first horse race either had seen in their lives. They had speculated to the sum of ten shillings each and were now clutching their receipts as if the economy of the entire British Empire was at stake. Stuart Wyckham was more daring. He had invested a pound and now sat more nervous than excited, fearing the worst and regretting having been caught up in the prerace enthusiasm of the others. Florilyn had bet four pounds, Steven two. They had also invited Rhawn Lorimer to accompany them, and she had equaled Florilyn’s bet. Adela Muir had declined to place a wager. Beside her, however, the mother whose son would carry the hopes of Snowdonia on his shoulders had invested five pounds. Only one of the company had sufficient personal prior experience with the techniques of Viscount’s Pride’s diminutive trainer to have reason for optimism. Percy was so convinced of Gwyneth’s genius with animals that he had confidently placed a ten-pound note on the table in front of the skeptical bookie, who, he said, had no objection if the young Scotsman wanted to throw his money away, and he would be glad to take it. Gwyneth, most quietly confident of all, placed no bet. She had no desire to profit from the day’s adventure. She was thinking more of the eternal consequences of her investment and what interest might be gained from it within Courtenay’s heart.
Courtenay arranged to go ahead with the horse several days before. The contingent from the manor followed two days prior to the race, riding in two large carriages to Blaenau Ffestiniog, where they caught the train the rest of the way. A festive dinner at the hotel had capped off the adventure. Katherine and Adela treated the women to ice cream, and her housekeeper and cook thought they were in heaven. They invited Stuart Wyckham to accompany them. Glancing about at the four women, however, he declined and instead spent a boring evening in his room, wishing that Hollin Radnor had been up for the trip, or that Codnor Barrie did
not possess such a keen sense of duty that compelled him to stay behind and keep watch over affairs at the manor.
Steven and Florilyn walked through the city with Percy, Gwyneth, and Rhawn. As they made their way back toward the hotel, Gwyneth and Florilyn were engaged in conversation with Steven and gradually moved ahead. Behind them Percy and Rhawn found themselves alone together.
“What is it like being without your little Amren for so long?” asked Percy.
“I miss him,” replied Rhawn. “But it feels so good to be free of the duties of a mother for a few days. Sir Armond and Doris are like two little children in a candy store to have their grandson to themselves for three days. My parents are going to Burrenchobay Hall one evening as well. You don’t know how much I appreciate your asking me along. I know I’m sort of the odd woman out—you and Gwyneth, Steven and Florilyn, you know—but I appreciate it.”
“It was Gwyneth’s idea.”
Rhawn smiled. “Somehow, I am not surprised. She is an amazing girl,” she said. “After how I treated her all those years when we were young, now she acts as if I am her best friend. You are a very lucky man.”
“She cares for you, Rhawn. She does consider you a friend. I think she is proud of you, too, for not giving up, for growing, for becoming the person you are. I am proud of you, too.”
“You have been so good to me, Percy. Whatever I may be growing into, I owe it to you.”
“You have made your own choices, Rhawn. You’ve been strong and have grown through the adversity. Nobody’s done that for you.”
“But watching you helped me make good choices, Percy. I watched you making good choices. It had a profound impact on me. You were no saint either when you first came to Wales.”
“Don’t remind me!” laughed Percy.
“But you grew and changed. I know it seemed that I was just trying to get my hooks into you with all my flirting and conniving … but I was watching. It took awhile, but it began to get into me. I had never been around a boy who was unselfish and kind. Courtenay and Colville had no depth of character, yet all the girls for miles around swooned over them. Girls can be really stupid, Percy. They don’t look for character. So they get into bad situations, just like I did. When I met you, I began to see that character mattered. Then I began to see that it mattered within my own heart most of all. Anyway, I am very grateful. You will always be special to me. I wish you and Gwyneth all the happiness in the world.”
“Thank you, Rhawn,” said Percy. “Is there … What is going on with Colville, now that you are seeing his parents regularly?”
“He was angry at first,” answered Rhawn. “He always managed to be away when I went to visit. But we have exchanged some civil words since. I think he is getting used to the idea that Amren and I are in his life to stay.”
“Has Amren been told that Colville is his father?”
“No, it’s too soon for that.”
“Do you think … I mean, is there any chance that you and Colville will marry one day?”
Rhawn smiled sadly. “I don’t know, Percy. I suppose part of me does love him. Whether he loves me, or ever loved me—honestly, I don’t know. He is the father of my son. Of course I wish we could be a family. His parents don’t like things the way they are. But we all know that we have to give Colville time to adjust to it all. Whether he will decide he wants to become a man of character, much depends on that, too. I would not marry him unless I was convinced that I would be the only woman in his life. If by some chance he did ask me to marry him, he will have to show me that things have changed before I would accept him.”
“Well, for all your sakes, I hope he is capable of that,” said Percy. “It may be that your growth is having more of an effect on him than you realize.”
It was after ten when the five young people returned to the hotel the night before the race.
“I hardly recognize Courtenay,” said Katherine as she watched the horses lining up on the far side of the track. “I think he’s lost nearly a stone in preparation for this race.”
“He is still large for a jockey,” said Steven from the other side of his mother. “But the loss of weight should help him be more competitive.”
“Do you think he has a chance, Steven?” asked Florilyn beside him. “I just hope he isn’t last. Can you imagine how impossible he would be to live with?”
Steven glanced past Florilyn and Rhawn to Gwyneth seated beside her. Her vision was fixed on Courtenay, her eyes glowing with a strange light.
“I’m not the one you should be asking,” he replied after a moment.
Florilyn looked to her right.
Gwyneth sensed the movement and turned toward her. “Yes, he has a chance, Florilyn,” she said calmly. “He will beat most of the others. I cannot say for certain that he will win. I can see that two of the others are very fast. But I think he may win.”
Between them, Rhawn’s thoughts were not on the race but on Colville Burrenchobay and the conversation she and Percy had had on the way back to the hotel the night before. God, she said silently, I do pray that You would put within Colville’s heart the desire to grow and to become a man of character.
Her thoughts and prayers were interrupted by the starter’s bugle. All eyes turned to the opposite side of the track. As if shot from a gun, the twelve horses exploded forward out of the gate. Instantly a great roar from the crowd went up. Along the back straight the twelve competitors quickly spread out almost in single file. The light, pinkish-gray Empress led the way into the first turn.
“Where’s Courtenay!” shouted Katherine, glancing down toward Steven and Percy.
“I am afraid that’s him bringing up the rear,” said Steven. “But he has time to regroup.”
Nothing more was said as they watched the field come round the curve and into the straight. Birdsong Meadow made a move out of the curve, passing the Empress on the outside and galloping out to half a length’s lead. He was followed by the rest of the closely bunched field. Out of the curve, Courtenay swung wide and eased up on the rider in front of him.
As they came down the straight, slowly Gwyneth rose from her seat and leaned over the rail. She stared intently as they came on, as if trying to exert her will into Courtenay’s brain and into the mighty frame of Viscount’s Pride.
All around her the others were yelling frantically. “Courtenay … go, Courtenay!”
“Faster, Courtenay!”
“Courtenay, Courtenay!”
Stuart Wyckham was pounding his hat on his leg, yelling at the top of his lungs, “Move out around them, boy. No time to hold it back now!”
Mrs. Drynwydd and Mrs. Llewellyn had risen to their feet, all propriety abandoned, and were shouting in Welsh too thick for anyone around them to understand.
Only Gwyneth was silent as the field thundered past in front of them. Percy looked at her out of the corner of his eye. Her hands were together, as if clutching two imaginary reins, her elbows out, her upper body gently rocking, her lips moving with the silent words, Be one … feel her rhythm.
Percy smiled then turned his attention back to the race. “Go, Courtenay!” he cried. “Don’t wait too long! Go!” He thought he detected Courtenay’s head turn toward them for the briefest moment. Had he heard them calling his name? Or had he sensed Gwyneth’s piercing stare?
As quickly as they flew down the straight, they were gone. Seconds later the field entered the far turn. Birdsong Meadow still led, followed by Red Heat and Empress neck and neck. Around the curve, none wanted to swing wide, and all held their positions. As the track again straightened, several swung out and flailed their whips as they flew down the backstretch. Courtenay alone among the twelve jockeys held no whip in his hand. He passed one more horse. Quickly the two behind him faded back. He swung out, drawing even with a cluster of four running side by side halfway down the far straight.
Gradually he inched ahead, pulled out half a length, then a length in front of the four, then swung back into the pole. Birdsong Meadow
, Red Heat, and Empress led down the straight, no more than a half a length separating them, while two lengths back, a black stallion and a roan gelding tried desperately to hold the pace. In the gap between them and the cluster of four, rode Courtenay alone.
Into the final curve they came. The Empress appeared strong and gathering herself for another challenge. Red Heat began to fade. The roan drew even then passed him. Courtenay came alongside the stallion’s rear and held position halfway through the curve. The black swung out to pass Red Heat, brushing Courtenay’s left leg. He swung out but kept even. Red Heat faded behind them. The six who trailed fell back.
It was now a five-horse race.
They emerged into the final straight. A deafening roar from the crowd nearly drowned out the pounding hooves on the hard-packed dirt. The Empress came even with Birdsong Meadow. But the roan was gaining. Behind him the black stallion and Viscount’s Pride were coming on strong less than a length back.
Suddenly Courtenay swung wide, too wide it seemed. An audible gasp sounded from the crowd. The sudden lurch appeared to have been caused by the stallion. But now Courtenay leaned far forward, elbows out, his entire frame moving in rhythm with the powerful beast beneath him. He appeared to be speaking into her ear. No one would ever know what was said.
As the two favorites and roan and stallion thundered toward the finish beside the pole, yards to their right, in the middle of the track and alone, Viscount’s Pride came on at great speed.
Percy was on his feet and waving his hands wildly. “Courtenay … go, Courtenay!” he cried.
Steven and Florilyn and Katherine and Rhawn and Mrs. Drynwydd and Mrs. Llewellyn and Stuart Wyckham were yelling in a frenzy. “Courtenay, Courtenay! Go, Courtenay!”
Only Gwyneth stood calmly at the rail, saying nothing, a peaceful smile on her face as she watched the field thunder toward her.
As he passed them, Courtenay drew even with the Empress. He glanced briefly toward the stands. On his face was a great smile of exhilaration. Then he was gone, pounding toward the finish.
Courtenay flew across the line half a length ahead. Birdsong Meadow surged past the Empress by a nose at the line, followed by the black stallion in fourth.
Treasure of the Celtic Triangle Page 38