Flight of a Maori Goddess

by Lark, Sarah

Rosie and Dream did not disappoint their most ardent admirer. The black stallion was in the best of spirits and ran the race of his life. He crossed the finish line a whole horse’s length ahead of a horse from Joe’s stables.

  Bulldog screamed and cheered like a little boy but then recalled his other duties.

  “Oh man, I have to get back to the stables. If Rosie catches me here, she’ll be mad. And I have to pretend I didn’t know about his win. Don’t squeal on me, Roberta.”

  Roberta watched him go with a smile and raised her arms in victory as Rosie trotted past her for the lap of honor. She could not resist waving to Joe, too, who looked chagrined. He waved gruffly. Dream’s victory was no doubt a slap in the face. But the most important race of the day still lay ahead.

  Vincent turned up around midday and once again apologized verbosely.

  “This was supposed to be our weekend together, Robbie. I was so looking forward to it. But today nearly every horse scheduled to race seems to have gotten a minor injury. Joe alone has called me three times, and Rosie just had to show me Dream’s trot once more right before the race, as if she could not see for herself whether he limped. But tomorrow I’ll have time for you for sure, and before that, hopefully—”

  “Doc? Fence is asking for you again. Colic.” The stableboy made a regretful face. “Sorry, Doc.”

  Vincent sighed. “Well, then I’d better hurry. I want to see the qualifying race no matter what. Save me a seat, Robbie.”

  He kissed her quickly, at which the stableboy grinned cheerfully and went on his way.

  “Something’s not right, Bulldog. She’s got that look in her eye again.”

  Rosie had harnessed Trotting Diamond, which had not been easy. The mare was nervous, unhappy to part from her stable mates, and she seemed to fidget as Rosie led her in front of the sulky.

  Bulldog looked at Diamond probingly. “But she’s not sweating. It’s not colic or anything like that. I’m sure she’s just excited again.”

  Indeed, the mare’s body was hot but dry. Even her mouth seemed to be dry.

  “Maybe she needs something to drink.” Bulldog ran to fetch a bucket, and Diamond did, in fact, drink greedily. “See, she’s in such a hurry, it’s running out of her mouth,” he said. “That was the problem.”

  “But she had water in her stall,” said Rosie, glancing at the bucket in the stall. “Though I suppose it could be dirty. When did you last change it?”

  Bulldog gave her a pained look. “Am I supposed to haul water or not take my eyes off this treasure? Doesn’t matter, she’s had a drink. Now, she can run.” He stroked Trotting Diamond’s broad forehead. “Good luck, cutie. And even more luck, my cutier.” He wanted to kiss Rosie, but she pushed him away nervously.

  “Tom, I know I’m being crazy. But if you can find the veterinarian—it would just be better if he took another look at her. So we don’t take any chances. We—”

  Resigned, Bulldog nodded. “I’ll look for him. But if I can’t find him, don’t wait here, Rosie. Run the race, and this time, don’t hold the horse back.”

  “But what if someone poisoned her?” Rosie reached for the reins uncertainly.

  “Dear Lord, we haven’t taken our eyes off her for more than three minutes. Go on and take her out. I’ll look for the vet. Good luck, Rosie.”

  Rosie nodded. Diamond pranced as she began to trot. The mare did not seem to feel weak, at least.

  Chapter 11

  Vincent did not join Roberta in the stands until the horses were already assuming their starting positions.

  “Phew, just in time. A false alarm. Which is new coming from Fence; usually he likes to scrimp on the veterinarian. And it isn’t that easy to misdiagnose colic. In any case, the horse was in tip-top shape. Is Rosie at the starting line?”

  At that very moment, Bulldog hastened to the stands.

  “There you are, Doc. But you weren’t here the whole time, were you? Harry”—he gestured to the stableboy at the entrance—“said you were seeing to some colic?”

  Vincent nodded. “Just got here. What’s the matter?”

  Bulldog raised his hands apologetically. “The usual: Trotting Diamond’s nervous, has strangely shiny eyes, feels hot to the touch.”

  “But doesn’t have a fever,” Vincent continued. “I’m sorry, Tom. I’d love to comfort Rosie, but—”

  “Shiny eyes?” Roberta asked, smiling. “Is she using belladonna drops? I was just reading about how ladies used to put them in their eyes to look impassioned.”

  Bulldog laughed, but Vincent grew serious. “God in heaven, atropine. Belladonna extract. Everything fits: the hot, dry skin, the shaking, and the apparent swaying. Did she have trouble swallowing, Tibbs?”

  “She was thirsty. And the water ran out of her mouth a bit. She—”

  Vincent leaped to his feet. “A low dose, otherwise she’d be dead. Come on, Tibbs, quick, we have to stop the race. If she falls over in the middle of the race—”

  Vincent and Bulldog hurried down the grandstand, Roberta following.

  “But we watched her all day,” Bulldog objected. “We—”

  “Who was watching her during your horse’s race?” asked Roberta. “Was she alone?”

  Bulldog shook his head. “Of course not. One of his lordship’s stable hands. That Finney fellow. I asked him to keep an eye on her.”

  Vincent stopped a moment. “That sleazy fellow he hired to replace Rosie? The one Rosie always said was a lousy worker?”

  Bulldog shrugged. “I never noticed. Really, he was rather active, even at night.”

  Vincent slapped his forehead. “Listen, Tibbs. Go down now and try to stop the race. And I’ll see about the stable hand. We have to know how much he gave her.”

  “You really think she might die?” Bulldog looked desperately at the track. The horses were already beginning to trot. It would not be easy to stop now.

  “Get going,” Vincent insisted. “Until I know how much she received, I can’t say. But there’s grave danger. So, go already.”

  Bulldog ran toward the race directors, but then seemed to change his mind and took a different way. Vincent and Roberta charged into the stables.

  Indeed, Finney was there, working with Barrington’s racehorses. None of them were harness racers, though, making it all the stranger that the fellow was fooling about there.

  Roberta was startled when Vincent seized the man by the jacket, spun him around, and punched him in the face.

  “I hereby apologize if I’ve got the wrong man,” he said curtly, “but if I’ve got the right one, take that for preamble. What did you give the mare and how much?”

  “What mare? And how—”

  Vincent struck him a second blow. “Maybe you’d also like to tell us who’s paying you. But first: What and how much?”

  Vincent held the man fast, so he could strike again if he did not talk. Roberta looked at him, stunned. Had she really thought just the day before that he was a bit weak?

  “I—I don’t know, five drops. I don’t know what’s in it. Some tonic.” The stable hand wheezed the words from his bloody lips.

  “Tonic. Of course. Where are the drops? And don’t you dare run away.” Vincent let the man go, and he stumbled into a grooming box.

  “No tricks.” Vincent followed him, pressing protectively in front of Roberta. “If you come at me with a weapon—”

  The man raised his hands anxiously. “Hey, I surrender. Don’t have any weapons. Just the dropper with the bottle there.” He pointed to a shelf behind them.

  “Bring it to me, Roberta.” Vincent fixed his eyes mercilessly on his victim. “Does it say anything?”

  “Atropine,” Roberta read.

  Vincent clenched his jaw. “Did you always give her five drops?”

  The man shook his head. “Usually three. But this time, Mr. Fence said—”

  Vincent gave him a closing uppercut. “Get lost. Really you ought to be locked up, but I have more important things to do. So, get going. But
if I find out you’ve lied—”

  Vincent rushed out of the stable. Roberta ran after him, wheezing.

  “Will she die of it?” she asked.

  “Hopefully not. But she needs to rest. The strain on her circulatory system from running—damn it, I should have figured this out earlier. Fence is a gaming man. He didn’t want to kill her, just to make her show poorly. And he chose the perfect means. In small doses, it makes animals euphoric. That explains her tempestuousness. And it affects vision—her shying in Auckland. Oh God, what’s that?”

  During the races, a roar always came from the stands. Vincent and Roberta had not paid it any mind. But now, it sounded like a collective scream or an expression of amazement.

  “Something’s happened.”

  Roberta ran behind Vincent as fast as her corset allowed. She swore to herself never to wear one again.

  A terrible accident was not spread out before them when they finally reached the track. The field was even then rushing onward. The horses were coming around the curve and toward the finish line. The first lap had been run.

  “Well, no one seems to have fallen,” Vincent panted, looking at the horses.

  But Roberta was looking in the opposite direction. “Vincent, there.”

  Bulldog was climbing the barrier in front of the stands and was about to throw himself in the path of the horses.

  “He’s trying to stop them.”

  Vincent ran in Bulldog’s direction. “Tibbs, Tibbs, are you mad? They’ll never stop.”

  Vincent roared his warning, but neither could Bulldog hear him, nor could he reach Bulldog in time to pull him away. A few men in the audience were already trying that, but the freight entrepreneur was strong as a bear and flung them off like annoying insects.

  Roberta could not watch—if he threw himself in the horses’ path, he would be run over without a doubt. But then Bulldog suddenly stopped and looked at the lawn in the center of the track. Rosie was steering her mare at a walking pace across it, though she did speed up, alarmed, when she saw her fiancé climbing over the barriers. The track was not divided within. Rosie and her horse must have left it unimpeded at some point between the starting line and the second curve.

  Bulldog looked as if he wanted to run across the track to her, but then he came to his senses and leaned heavily against the barrier until the field thundered past. Only then did he storm toward Rosie and Trotting Diamond, laughing and crying at the same time.

  Vincent and Roberta followed.

  “You’re not mad, are you?” Rosie asked her fiancé anxiously, although she should really have been able to tell from his exuberant embrace that he felt anything but anger. “Trotting Diamond, she was running fast, but something wasn’t quite right. Doc?”

  Vincent had already taken out his stethoscope and was listening to the mare’s heart. Diamond seemed to sway a bit.

  “It’s all right, Rosie. You did the smartest thing you could have. Now, let’s unharness, take her to the stable, and give her some charcoal. Don’t cry, Rosie. She won’t die. She’ll recover. But it’s—”

  “Who was it?” Bulldog asked through clenched teeth. “Who was the swine? When I get my hands on him—”

  Vincent pointed at the field of horses, which had begun trotting again.

  “If you hurry, you’ll catch him right when he’s getting his prize. Don’t hold back. But don’t kill him just yet either. It was Joe Fence.”

  “So, what’s going to happen to him?” Rosie could not stop crying.

  Three hours after the race, Trotting Diamond’s condition had improved markedly. The dose hadn’t been terribly high. Theoretically, she could have run her race and maybe even have won. But she could just as easily have swayed, stumbled, and pulled Rosie and the sulky down with her. That was dangerous enough when only one horse was involved. But in such a big qualifying race, other horses would most likely have run into the crashed equipage. Fence had been risking the lives of numerous people and animals.

  “Happen to whom?” asked Vincent. “Tibbs or Fence? Tibbs they’ll probably let out of his cell soon. Sean Coltrane’s already taken his case, and there’s no fear of him running riot any further. But Fence’ll have to carry that busted jaw of his around for a few weeks. His nose took a beating, too, didn’t it? Regardless, he won’t be enjoying his victory today.”

  “And he’ll be going to jail, won’t he?” asked Roberta.

  She had accompanied Vincent and Rosie into the stables and had missed Bulldog’s appearance during the award ceremony. According to Heather and Chloe, however, it had been ferocious. The powerful freight entrepreneur had taught Fence a lesson in front of all of the spectators, the race management, and the other drivers.

  “Well, Bulldog’s more likely to face punishment,” Chloe observed realistically. “It’ll be hard to prove anything against Joe. You shouldn’t have let that stableboy get away. Couldn’t you have tied him up with your garters, Robbie?”

  “It seemed more important to us to save the horse,” Vincent said. “But I sent little Harry out to check all the pubs around here. With a little luck, the bloke’s not gone yet but washing his wounds out with whiskey first.” He laughed grimly. “If Fence denies it, there won’t be a case to prosecute against him. Here on the racetrack, however, he won’t have a leg to stand on anymore. The trainers and drivers will believe me—and they ought to be quite furious. The bastard didn’t just risk Rosie’s life, after all, but theirs too.”

  “So, they’re going to lock up Bulldog and not Joe?” Rosie asked. “But that’s not fair.”

  “In the face of this realization, maybe you’ve finally had enough of racing?”

  Violet’s energetic voice came from the entrance to the stables, and Rosie threw herself sobbing into her older sister’s arms. Her concern for Trotting Diamond had already been significant, but if Bulldog ended up in prison on top of it . . .

  Violet gently stroked her hair, and Sean, arriving close behind her, shook his head.

  “Now, don’t scare her, Violet,” he said. “Tom Tibbs is already out of police custody, Rosie. He’s waiting for you ‘at home,’ he said. He was a bit too worked up to come here with us.” It had taken three strong men to pull Bulldog off Joe, and the police had not treated him especially gently during his arrest. “He wanted you to take Diamond to his stables when she’s doing better. He’s also expecting Roberta and Vincent—something to do with a surprise. It arrived earlier.” Sean winked at Vincent. “Oh yes, and in case anyone’s hungry—Tom’s ordering fish-and-chips again.”

  Everyone exchanged looks when Rosie entrusted Vincent and the stable master with the task of taking Diamond to Bulldog’s stables—she wanted to look after her fiancé first.

  “Chloe and I will meet you all there,” Heather said. “We’re happy to have fish-and-chips again, but this time let’s wash it down with champagne. I’ll never get used to beer in this life. I’m sure the White Hart will sell us a couple bottles.”

  Sean held Violet back when she started to follow Roberta and Vincent into Bulldog’s stables. “Now, let them enjoy their surprise alone,” he said. “The whole thing’s flowing into the next engagement. With all these joyful events, you won’t need to look for reasons to drink champagne with us.”

  Violet was about to begin a lecture about how the discovery of Joe’s cheating was anything but joyful. In her heart, she felt she’d lost her son again that day—and for good.

  But Sean, who sensed her sorrow, put his arm around her. “Now, now, forget the past. You saved your sister, you saved your daughter—and most of all, you saved yourself. You couldn’t save Joe, but you gave him every chance in the world. And that one will land on his feet. He’ll probably just go to the North Island and start all over.”

  The cold-blooded horses and cobs in Bulldog’s stables greeted their Trotting Diamond with loud, deep whinnying as Vincent led the mare inside. But beneath all that, Roberta picked up a high, soft blubbering. Amazed, she followed the familiar sou
nd while Vincent gave the stable master feeding instructions for Diamond—and did not believe her eyes when she recognized the white Basuto pony in the farthest stall. Lucie recognized Roberta and whinnied at her, just as she had in South Africa.

  “Vincent, is this the surprise? But how can it—you fetched my horse?” Incredulous, she stroked Lucie’s soft nostrils.

  Vincent beamed as he approached her. “I wanted to make a big to-do about the surprise, at least tie a ribbon around her neck, but you already found each other. Do you like it?”

  “Oh, I do. But how did that work? Bringing a horse all the way from Africa—that must have been expensive.”

  Vincent smiled. “I just put a few connections to work. She traveled here with the cavalry regiment from Christchurch.”

  Roberta leaned against her boyfriend. “I never said so, but I was worried about her. I wondered what had become of her back there.”

  Vincent pulled her close. “See, you do like horses. And I thought, if you had a living one, you’d finally part from this one here.”

  He pointed to her handbag, and Roberta blushed. She still hadn’t been able to part from the stuffed horse Kevin had won for her years before. Now, it was dangling from her leather bag. She had finally decided to throw it away before the journey, but then she could not bring herself to do so.

  “It’s a lucky charm,” she whispered.

  Vincent looked stern. “It was a fetish, dearest. Don’t deny it. I know where you got it. Kevin told me.”

  Roberta thought she would die of embarrassment.

  “Kevin knew?”

  “Everyone knew, Robbie. But I thought, with a little patience . . . You’ll have to tell me sometime what made you finally change your mind. So, will you throw it away now?”

  Roberta shook her head. “No. It doesn’t deserve that. Maybe I just misinterpreted it. Because, in the end, it did bring me luck, didn’t it?”

  She raised her face to Vincent’s, and he saw the light in her eyes when he kissed her.

  And as he did, Lucie the pony chewed on the little leather band with which Roberta had attached the stuffed horse to her bag, until it ripped.