Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

  Lank had moved into the stall and closed the door to protect himself. “You have five minutes,” he hissed, his eyes light with the pleasure of her pain.

  Heart in a knot, Ellie wanted to run, not lure her horse to the auction block. Baron Wadsworth is a dangerous man, she remembered her mother saying. Her family was in danger.

  Voice shaking, Ellie croaked, “Beautiful boy, come to me.” She rattled the grain in the bottom of the bucket. “Come, sweeting.”

  Manifesto’s ears swiveled, and pricked forward as she walked toward him. “You’re a greedy boots, aren’t you, poor horse?” she said. “Come for a treat.” The stallion stretched his neck cautiously then dove his nose into the bucket. Hands trembling, Ellie attached the lead. “Please forgive me,” she whispered as she led him to the side of a wagon in the barnyard. “You must not be whipped anymore.”

  Lank’s muffled voice came from the barn. “Is he secured?”

  “You better go, Miss Ellie,” Jimmy James said. “Ol’ Lank, he won’t like seeing you here, and it might be worse for the horse.” The groom took the lead from her. “Maybe this auction ain’t the worst thing wot could happen to Manifesto. Get him out of here clean, before Lank does his worst wit him.”

  Ellie nodded, unable to speak. The lead slipped from her fingers, and like a wayfarer in the dark, she sensed, rather than saw, her way back home.

  • • •

  “Wake up and don’t yell. It’s me.”

  Claire rolled over. The kitty sleeping on her back slid to the bed. “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m going to rescue Manifesto,” Ellie told her.

  Claire sat up. “You’re not going to do something impetuous, are you? Nothing you haven’t thought through very carefully?”

  “No, no,” Ellie told her.

  “Because you remember what happened when you went after Mr. Hollingsworth for that filly … ”

  “Well, a man can’t dock a sensitive horse’s tail. It drives them mad, unable to swat away flies.”

  “Uncle Sebastian paid one-and-a-half times as much as Hollingsworth paid him to get her back.”

  “And she’s a valuable carriage horse to this day.”

  “Yes, but only months ago you chased Vicar Smith from the parlor when he tried to divert me from Satan’s path; you told Lank you’d shoot him if you caught him near Manifesto, you … ”

  “Claire, I need your help.”

  “Oh, I just know this is going to be rash.”

  “I’m going to sell the Fitzcarry pearls and buy Manifesto with the money.”

  Claire gasped and clutched her chest. “But you mustn’t. They’re Mama’s prized possession.”

  “We must keep that stallion. The only way we’re going to stay in this house is to preserve the Albright pedigree. That’s our income, and it’s far more valuable than pearls. Mama let me wear the necklace to the Mortimers’. I feel certain she was trying to tell me to do something with them.”

  “What did she say exactly?”

  “Well, she didn’t use words. It was more of a feeling. Anyway, are you going to help me or not?”

  “Oh, Ellie, when you get going, a charging bull couldn’t stop you, but I’m begging … ”

  Ellie sprang off the bed. “Well, I need you to tell Mama and Papa that I left for Aunt May’s early this morning. I’ll probably be gone for a few days. Could you do that for me?”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Thank you,” said Ellie, patting her sister’s shoulder, “and don’t forget to tell them. I don’t want them to worry.”

  Claire shook her head in despair. “Oh dear.”

  • • •

  Ellie hurled a fistful of pebbles at Toby Coopersmith’s window. The majority fell short, but one or two pinged on the pane. After a minute the window opened and Toby’s sleepy voice called out, “What?”

  “Let me up, Toby, quick!”

  Moments later Toby opened the door, still dressed in his nightshirt. The two slipped upstairs to his room.

  Best friends with Ellie since toddlerhood, Toby carried the unmistakable mark of an Albright — white blond hair, blue eyes, and a pale complexion. Ellie had exploited Toby’s nearly identical looks. Expected to ride sidesaddle — a societal norm she had no intention of following — she’d robbed Toby’s wardrobe, pretending to be him when she galloped into Exeter.

  Toby was Uncle Sebastian’s illegitimate son. Though the former earl had a reputation as a rake, he’d truly loved Toby’s mother, Celia Coopersmith, but the girl’s father bellowed so many objections during the wedding ceremony, the clergyman stopped in embarrassment. Celia moved into the Tudor mansion all the same, and then along came Toby. He’d make it up to her, Uncle Sebastian said, especially when Celia could travel again. And of course, no one guessed the life of a horseman like Sebastian Albright would end with him being dragged by a boot in the stirrup as his mount took a stone wall. The plans for Celia and Sebastian to wed in Gretna Green ended that day, as did Toby’s chance of becoming heir apparent. But being an earl had never been Toby’s ambition. He, like his father, was a horseman, and he intended someday to be the finest jockey in England.

  “I’m taking Papa’s gelding for a few days,” Ellie told Toby. “Papa won’t miss him, and I can’t bear to be here without Manifesto.”

  “Can’t blame you for that. It’s a grim future for me without him. I was going to ride that horse to victory in the Haldon Gold Cup. Nice whopping purse with it, too. Would have done the farm a world of good. My breeches are on the chair,” he added, throwing a shirt and jacket to Ellie.

  “Turn your back,” she said, before slipping on the garments. She secured the Fitzcarry pearls deep in a pocket, then stuffed her dress into the bottom of Toby’s closet.

  “Now I need a hat,” she said.

  Toby fetched a tweed cap.

  “No, something big, I have to hide my hair completely.”

  Toby eyed her suspiciously. “Why?”

  “I’m riding the public streets to Aunt May’s.”

  He grabbed a broken down tri-corn from a nail. It flopped over her cheeks like the wings of a crow, effectively hiding her hair. She secured the hat with a black pin through her gathered coiffeur.

  He scratched his chin and eyed her suspiciously. “When are you leaving? I’ll go with you.”

  “No, Toby.”

  “The hedges are filled with starving soldiers. I should come.”

  “I’ll ride over the moors.”

  “Well then, you won’t need a hat.”

  “Toby, I don’t have time for all this. Now, if you’ll be kind enough to step out of the way, I’ll go saddle up.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this … ” he said, moving to block her from leaving the room.

  “Step out of the door before I punish you with my fists,” she commanded.

  Toby laughed, but Ellie fixed him with her most dangerous look. It had been a while since they’d tussled, but she could hurt him and he couldn’t hit back. He humphed, and slid one foot over, shifting out of the doorframe.

  “I’ll look for you in a few days,” he said.

  “That would be just dandy,” she replied, and bolted past him.

  • • •

  A light touch of the spurs and Ellie had the gelding headed at a gallop across the moors toward Exeter. Jimmy James would insist on walking Manifesto so he wouldn’t be in a lather by the time they got him to the fair. With luck, she could beat Lank to town, sell the jewels, and get to the auction before the bidding started.

  At the next gate, Ellie didn’t bother to dismount and open it; she aimed the gelding straight for the center and felt his muscles bunch and release as he soared over the fence. Exaltation rose in her heart with him. A girl could do wondrous things as a boy.<
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  Trotting down Exeter’s cobblestone streets, Ellie pulled the gelding to a stop a few doors down from a jewelry shop.

  She wanted to double secure her hair under the floppy hat before entering the store, but a plump wench swept the walk nearby. Ellie waited for the girl to go inside, but each time she looked the chit stared at her and smiled.

  Oh, be gone with you, Ellie thought, growing impatient. But the lass followed Ellie’s every move. Time ticked on.

  Finally, Ellie dismounted on the far side of the gelding and peeked over his withers. The girl’s broom now swept so slowly the dust stopped rising. She fluttered her lashes at Ellie and blushed. A handkerchief fluttered to the ground. “Oh dear me,” she said, bashfully tucking her chin to her chest.

  By God, she’s flirting with me! Ellie’s face burned. Keeping the gelding between them, Ellie stuffed stray hairs under the hat, then, head down, raced into the jewelers.

  “I’ve come for my mistress to sell a bit of her fancy wares,” she told a skeletal man.

  He elevated a monocle to the socket of one eye “Well then, let’s see them, lad.”

  Ellie dug in her pocket and produced the necklace. The shopkeeper let out a long, slow whistle. “Lord have mercy, son, that is a piece of finery. Do you know what your mistress is asking for them?”

  “She wants a solid ten thousand pounds.”

  “My, my, my. Well, those pearls are certainly worth that. When would she require payment?”

  “She’ll be needing it right away.”

  “We can accommodate that. The end of next week I’ll bring it to her myself.”

  “Oh no, governor, that won’t do. She needs the cash today.”

  The shopkeeper looked startled. “No one has ten-thousand pounds at a moment’s notice,” he said. “I doubt even the bank has that much.” He leaned close and examined her through the thick lens of the monocle. “Who did you say your mistress was?”

  “I didn’t, sir. She don’t want to reveal her identity.”

  “Then how am I to know you didn’t steal these pearls from her?”

  “I wouldn’t steal them, sir!”

  “You expect me to believe your mistress would trust a scrawny little thing like you?”

  “All’s I know is she asked me to sell them … ”

  “And you were going to carry all that money, how? Stuffed in your grimy pocket?”

  “Ay, sir, and why not?”

  “You little thief, I’ll have the runners after you!” The shopkeeper lunged to grab the pearls off the counter, but Ellie was too quick for him. She snatched them away, and darted out the door in a flash, nearly knocking the wench over.

  Without bothering to put her foot in the stirrup, Ellie leaped onto the gelding. The jeweler dashed into the street screaming, “Thief, thief! Get him! Don’t let him get away!”

  “Don’t harm him!” cried the wench, hurling herself in front of the jeweler.

  Other shopkeepers darted into the street. They raced to catch the gelding’s bridle. Some flapped their aprons to scare the horse.

  “Run, my love. Run,” the wench bellowed, hurling herself at a baker who blocked the lane. Ellie took advantage of the opening. Putting spurs to her mount, she thundered past the crowd, leaving nothing but a rain of sparks from the horse’s steel-clad hooves and the wide-eyed wench blowing kisses at the wind.

  • • •

  A cloud of dust mixed with the roar of men, carriage wheels, and neighing horses led Ellie to the fairgrounds. She handed off the gelding to one of the fair’s stable boys, and then plunged into the crush of hooves and rumps and sweating farmers.

  In the outer rim of the auction ring, small boys held the heads of horses as men circled the beasts studying them for flaws. Vendors of sweet meats tempted the boys, calling out the names of their wares — bargaining with the ruffians for the few ha’ pennies they possessed.

  Closer to the ring, the crowd tightened into a wall of humanity. Ellie squeezed between the packed tailcoats and coveralls to a spot against the rope surrounding the auction block.

  A gigantic draft horse stood in the ring, its handler feeding out lead as the horse tossed its enormous head. “Thirteen. Do I hear fourteen?” barked the auctioneer. “We have fourteen. I’d like to hear fifteen. How ’bout fifteen, anyone? All right, going once, going twice, sold to the chap in the blue cap for fifteen pounds.”

  A slender bay trembled as she entered the ring. “Gents, we’ve got a nice little mare here, bred from some fine stock at the Croyden stables. She’s Lillyfair out of King Solomon. We’re going to start the bidding at twenty. Twenty, do I hear twenty-five … ”

  A familiar whinny rang imperiously over the auctioneer’s patter. Manifesto was up next. Jimmy James struggled to calm the horse, who circled the groom, muscles taught beneath his dappled coat. God, how she loved that horse. From his intelligent black eyes to the ovals decorating his rump, no other animal was half as beautiful. Her chest ached with pride.

  The bay left the ring and Manifesto pranced in, each step loaded with such power and grace he seemed to float on air.

  “Gentlemen, we have a very special animal here today: Manifesto, from the late Sebastian Albright’s stables. He’s a direct descendant of Eclipse. His dam is Epsom Oaks winner Annette and his sire was Saltram, winner of the Epsom Derby. He’s the finest piece of horseflesh I’ve yet to auction.”

  Men surged to the ring shoving Ellie hard against the ropes. On the other side of the auction block she saw Hugh Davenport. The determined look of him made her blood boil.

  “We’re going to start the bidding at five hundred pounds, gentlemen. Do I hear five hundred for this magnificent animal?”

  Clasping her hands and praying, Ellie wished for something to stop the sale. A whirlwind, a cyclone, anything, but within minutes a cadre of men had the bidding up to four thousand pounds. The crowd murmured with excitement. No one had heard of a horse selling for so much.

  “Do I hear four thousand fifty?” the auctioneer asked. Hugh raised his hand.

  “How about four thousand one hundred?” continued the auctioneer.

  Silence. No one moved. Ellie thought she’d explode. Her limbs went numb.

  A smile lit Hugh’s face as the last competitor shook his head and walked away.

  “We have four thousand one hundred pounds!” the auctioneer shouted triumphantly. “Going once. Going twice … ” Then Lank bullied a path through the crowd, followed by a small, pale man in immaculate dress. Waving a white gloved hand, the man raised a gold-tipped cane, bidding four thousand and two.

  “Who’s that bloke?” Ellie asked a tweedy looking fellow standing next to her.

  “He’s that wealthy gent what just got the fifty-thousand acres down here from the Prince Regent. Wadsworth is the name. Baron Wadsworth.”

  A sheath of ice encased her heart. Lank was working for the baron, and now the worst and the worst of all were bidding against each other for her horse.

  “Can I hear four thousand three?” sang the auctioneer. There were a few indignant cries. The assembly wanted local boy Hugh Davenport to win the steed.

  Hugh raised his hand.

  “Four thousand three, gentlemen!” the auctioneer cried. “Will you give me four thousand four?” Wadworth’s hand went up again.

  A rumble of displeasure passed through the men. All eyes fixed on Hugh. Even across the ring, Ellie saw sweat bead on his brow. His hand went up. “I bid four thousand four fifty,” he said.

  “If we can make it four thousand five, it will be the highest price ever paid for a horse in England,” the auctioneer urged.

  As if it were a trifle, Baron Wadsworth lifted his gloved fingers. “I’ve always enjoyed breaking records.” He smiled at the crowd. No one smiled back.

  Hugh closed his e
yes and lifted his hand as the auctioneer sang, “Do I hear four thousand six?”

  Ellie shivered. Give me a miracle, she prayed. Don’t let Davenport or Wadsworth get my Manifesto, please.

  But the tips of Baron Wadsworth’s fingers waggled, and with a delighted cry the auctioneer registered the bid at four thousand six hundred pounds. The crowd grumbled — a sound laced with menace.

  “How about four thousand seven? Lord Davenport, are you willing to go to four thousand seven?”

  Use the Fitzcarry pearls and bid! Before Ellie knew what she was doing, her hand waved in the air.

  “Eh, auctioneer!” the tweedy man yelled. “The wee lad wants to buy the horse!” A shout of laughter erupted from the crowd. Her neighbor gave Ellie a kick on the rump that sent her sprawling into the ring. She grabbed her hat just in time, but got a mouthful of dust for her trouble. Humiliated and angry, she dove back into the crowd. Men cuffed her ears, and called her “the forty-seven-hundred-pound lad.” She fought to keep her place ringside, but they pushed her back. “Go on, out with ye,” they said. “This is serious business.”

  On the outskirts of the gathering, Ellie heard Hugh shout, “I bid four thousand seven!” The assembly forgot the forty-seven-hundred-pound lad and applauded like wild things.

  Ellie pressed her temples, worry pounding her brain. Circling the crush of men, her mind thrummed with one question: What can I do? What can I do? She dove back into the throng and prayed no one would notice her.

  All eyes were on Wadsworth now. Men coiled close around him. Wadsworth stumbled forward. Someone must have shoved him from behind. The baron whirled, brandishing the gold-tipped cane. He shook with a series of twitches. “How dare you!”

  A threatening chuckle answered from a few farmers standing nearby. “‘E’s all spastic,” one of them said.

  Lank rushed the crowd with his whip. Dangerous and resentful, the farmers stepped back.

  “Going to Lord Davenport for four thousand seven hundred pounds — once, twice … ”

  “Not today, Davenport,” shouted Wadsworth. “I raise my bid to four thousand eight.”