Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

  Her father interrupted, patting her shoulder. “May I ask if you’ve a particular purpose to your call?”

  “Actually, I’ve come to hire your jockey, Toby. You know, Toby, the man standing over there.” A twinkle lit Hugh’s eyes.

  Ellie looked at her cousin as if he were a museum display.

  Toby stepped forward. “That’s dandy of you, my lord, but I’m not for hire. You’re forgetting, I’m family.”

  “Still, I’d like to speak with you.”

  “I’d prefer not to,” Toby answered. “If you’ll excuse us, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  • • •

  Hugh watched the dirty band turn back to shoveling ash and bones from the decimated barn. He was furious with himself. Why did I tease her now of all times? Gad, she makes me lose my senses. Dismounting, he tied Valaire to the stable yard fence, and stripped off his coat. He strode back to the group, grabbed the shovel from Ellie’s hands, and began tossing ash into a wheelbarrow.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she barked.

  “Toby,” Hugh said, ignoring her, “I’ve scratched Manifesto from the Haldon Gold Cup.”

  “You’ve done what?” cried Ellie.

  “He’s running the St. Leger in September. I’ve done my research. There’s a lot more money in flat race horses these days. I want Manifesto’s foals to be flat racers, but the stallion needs to win one first.”

  Hugh shot Ellie a meaningful look. “And everyone says in a flat race Toby Coopersmith is the best jockey in England.” He turned back to Toby. “Will you ride?”

  “No,” Toby said, not even looking up from his shoveling.

  Ellie tried to wrestle her shovel back from Hugh. “You’re a fool. Manifesto could win the Haldon Gold Cup. He can’t win a flat race — he’s not trained for it.”

  Hugh wrenched the shovel back. “He’s the fastest horse in England on the flat and over fences. I want him in the St. Leger.”

  “You won’t win it,” Toby interjected.

  “Why not?”

  “Idiot!” Ellie fumed.

  “Because there’s only one person in the world that can get that horse ready in time, and you’ve just sent her into a mighty froth.”

  Hugh stopped shoveling. He drew himself up so that he towered over Ellie and fixed a steady gaze on her. She lifted her chin in defiance, hands fisted at her sides.

  “Hmmm,” he said.

  Ellie folded her arms over her chest and glared back at him.

  “What would it take to get you to train the horse in Doncaster? You could keep the entire purse — three thousand guineas.”

  “That’s too much money to pay a trainer,” Ellie blurted. “I’ll not take advantage of any man, and there’s too much work to be done here to leave.”

  “Would you do it for a chance to catch Bergdorf Lank?”

  She gasped.

  “Chase said Lank bought a race horse. I have reason to believe he’s running the animal under an assumed name in the St. Leger at Doncaster.”

  “With our money he bought that horse,” said Ellie.

  “Very possibly, but the only way to catch him is to be there.”

  Her eyes met his, and then she turned away. Walking in an agitated circle, she kicked a burnt log, splitting it into a cloud of black charcoal.

  Steeling himself for the possibility that she wouldn’t come, he watched her carefully. Her white hair poked from a ragged ribbon. She wore her pants doubled at the waist and tied with a length of twine — all meat gone from her bones. She was dirty and wild-eyed, and by God … by God, he loved her. Maybe she had masqueraded as Toby out of love for Manifesto. Maybe the disguise wasn’t a ruse to lure him into marriage. And if that were so, it was his turn to use Manifesto as a lever to pry open her heart. “The horse misses you,” Hugh said, quietly. “He can’t be handled at all.”

  The arrow had left the bow and hit its mark. He could see the tangle of loyalties clash in her mind as she looked to him and then at her father and Toby.

  Lord Albright poked his shovel toward the sky. “We’ll be fine here. Bring Lank to heel.”

  Still the girl looked undecided.

  “Oh, la,” she said finally. “I’ll go.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  A few harried days later, Ellie stood on the quay, too thin but impeccably dressed. Never again would she appear before Hugh as anything less than a title with a talent for horses. The modiste, surrounded by a platoon of dressmakers and tailors, had created lavish riding habits of navy and forest green as well as travel costumes, walking dresses, morning dresses, and dinner garb. On this day she wore her favorite, a redingote of rose fabric trimmed in brown velvet. Her chin nestled in a frill of creamy ruched lace. Cleverly, the modiste had added dots of brown and rose embroidery to her white linen dress. If Manifesto kicked up dirt, it was less likely to show.

  Delighted with herself, she tugged at a lacy sleeve when the Davenport coach rumbled to the edge of the dock. Attended by an entourage of resplendent footmen, Lady Davenport lowered a kid-booted foot onto the boardwalk. She was attired in crimson, topped by a bonnet of white plumes and ribbon. “What a dreadful lot of bustle and fuss,” she said, observing the cursing dockworkers.

  Disdain melted from Lady Davenport’s expression, however, when she spied Ellie. “My dear, aren’t you the cleverest thing, able to train race horses, of all things. How I admire a girl with grit. You remind me of myself.

  “Aren’t you proud of her?” she asked Ellie’s mother, bussing Lady Albright’s cheek.

  “Of course.” Her mother beamed.

  “And hullo, enchanting little Snap. I promise you’ve grown since I saw you only days ago.”

  “You look like the ship,” Snap replied.

  “I do? How is that?”

  The little girl pointed toward a full-breasted figurehead on the bow of a sailing ship.

  “Oh, Snap.” Claire said, shaking her head. “That’s not polite.”

  Snap looked ashamed, but under her breath she murmured, “She does, though.”

  Quickly changing the subject, Lord Albright stepped forward and kissed Lady Davenport’s hand. “The sea air agrees with you, Madame. You look radiant.”

  “Thank you, Lord Albright,” she replied. “And you all look … ” She surveyed Toby and the family. “Happy,” she said at last.

  They were all a bit thin and brown. Their hands had become rough, and despite hard scrubbing, a hint of dirt lined Ellie’s fingernails. She’d taken off her kid gloves to install Manifesto on the ship. Now she wished she’d remembered to put them back on. “We’ve all been working so hard,” she said. “Happiness is our only luxury.”

  Just then Hugh arrived on Valaire, and all thought of dirty fingernails vanished. His eyes sought hers in the small knot on the quay. A smile swept his face. La, he makes my heart sing, Ellie thought, smiling back.

  The moment he dismounted, he came to her and kissed each hand more fervently than protocol approved. Ellie’s cheeks warmed, but the look on her parents’ faces remained merry. “Hullo, my lady horse trainer,” he said.

  “And good morning to you, my lord horse owner.”

  Snap sneaked up on him and gave his coattail a good tug. “You’ve got a scar.”

  “Oh, Snap, really you are too impolite,” chided her mother.

  “Would you like a look?” Hugh said to the little girl.

  “Hoist me,” Snap replied, holding her arms up. Hugh lifted her to his hip. With the concentration of a general studying a tactical map, Snap traced the scar with a sticky finger. Hugh shook Toby’s hand. “Thanks so much for agreeing to ride,” he said. “Manifesto can’t miss with you in the saddle.

  “By the way, where is the horse?”

  Ellie stepped forward. �
��I loaded him when we got here. The less time he had to think, the better.”

  “What a gift you have with that animal,” Hugh said, his voice brimming with admiration. “Half the dock hands would be dead right now if you hadn’t led the beast.”

  “No horse can resist her,” Lord Albright said.

  Hugh swung close to Ellie and whispered, “Nor man, either.”

  “Miss Ellie, you’ll let me know when I have to board, won’t you?” said Mrs. Gower, a distant relation to Lady Albright, who’d agreed to chaperone. The robustly formed woman sat on a nearby bench fanning her sweating face.

  “Of course,” said Ellie.

  “It’s my legs, you know. Tired old things, they despise the sea.”

  Claire dug in her reticule. “Would you like some soothing herbs?”

  “Oh no, dear — none of your pagan remedies. Ellie will be good enough to bring me my sherry on board, so my legs will ride easy enough.”

  Ellie bit her lip in annoyance. Waiting on Mrs. Gower would not enhance the voyage. The captain strode onto the dock, interrupting her thoughts. A stocky man, his face sported a set of thin, scraggly mutton chops. With a flourish, he produced an oversized gold pocket watch, squinted at it, and whispered something into Hugh’s ear.

  With a nod, Hugh said, “Snap, my little peach fuzz … ”

  “Is it time to go?” the little girl demanded.

  Hugh hoisted her from his hip to his shoulder. “That it is, lassie. Help me gather the horde. Call them.”

  “Hear ye, hear ye!” cried Snap. “Step right up and get on the boat! Hear ye, hear ye, Mrs. Gower. Time to board.”

  Hugh shifted Snap back to his hip and offered a hand to Mrs. Gower. “You are too kind,” the older woman gushed.

  He led her toward the gangplank, but her breathing became increasingly troubled. “Oh, dear,” she said, slowing. “Oh, dear, dear me.” Just as she was about to place a shoe on the ramp, her legs buckled.

  “Hold her! Hold her!” shouted Ellie’s father.

  Snap scrambled out of Hugh’s arms as he struggled to keep Mrs. Gower from falling flat on her back.

  Lady Albright hovered over the downed chaperone. “My goodness, Mrs. Gower, are you all right?”

  “Ach, it’s my legs. The wretched things baulk at the wet.”

  “Tell them they’re not going in the water,” Snap said.

  “They won’t listen,” Mrs. Gower wailed.

  “Well then, up we go.” Hugh supported one of the chaperone’s arms while Lord Albright took the other.

  Feebly, Mrs. Gower rose from the dock. But the instant her toe touched the gangplank, she backed away again. “No, no! The legs won’t go. They just can’t do it!”

  “Nonsense,” barked Lady Davenport. “You can’t leave Miss Ellie to make this trip un-chaperoned.”

  Puffed with wounded pride, Mrs. Gower turned on her ladyship. “I will not have the condition of my legs dismissed as nonsense! They are as bad a pair of appendages as can be found when it comes to seawater and the like. But they’ve stood me in good stead all these years, and I’ll not have them lessened by the likes of you.”

  “Of all the ridiculous excuses,” Lady Davenport retorted. “Your legs indeed.”

  From the ship the captain shouted, “We cannot miss the tide. All on deck immediately.”

  “I’ll not go with this sort of punishing attention,” Mrs. Gower cried, near tears. “Nay, I’ll not go at all.”

  The large woman started toward the coach.

  “Mrs. Gower, what about my daughter?” Lady Albright cried in alarm. But the elderly woman pretended not to hear, she strode away stiff with determination.

  “Please, Mrs. Gower!” Claire said. “Try your legs one last time.”

  “Yes, come back,” Ellie shouted. But in the next moment, Mrs. Gower stepped into the coach and slammed the door.

  “Miss Ellie cannot travel alone with my son,” said Lady Davenport.

  Toby stepped up. “I’ll be at her side.”

  Lady Davenport shook her head and glowered at Toby until he moved back. “Lord Albright, this is completely inappropriate. The young man is but Sebastian’s bastard. You can’t send your daughter off with such an escort.”

  Ellie’s mind scrambled for a solution. Without the trip, Lank wouldn’t be caught in time to spare her family Wadsworth’s accursed debt collection, and Manifesto would have to wait another season to be shown for the champion he was. She looked down at her pretty traveling dress and ran a finger up the smooth brown velvet. Her throat felt tight. “It doesn’t matter,” she said hoarsely.

  “On the contrary, dear,” Lady Davenport scolded, “for a young lady’s reputation it matters a great deal.”

  “I won’t travel as a young lady.”

  Joyless and resolute, Ellie turned to Toby. “Would you be so kind as to lend me an outfit for the sea voyage of a male horse trainer?”

  • • •

  The day grew increasingly blue and bright as they sailed along the southern coast. Tired as she was, Ellie hadn’t yet visited her berth. Manifesto was too unnerved at sea to leave alone. He whinnied pitifully the moment she closed the half door to the special stall built for him on deck.

  “I’m exhausted, ol’ thing,” she cooed. “Are you going to let me rest on this voyage, or are you going to fuss the whole way?”

  As if in answer, Manifesto shied when a sail snapped in the wind, bolting to the far side of his stall.

  With a sigh, she went back and patted the horse’s sweating neck. When he’d calmed a bit, she took out a curry comb and brushed his dappled coat. The scent of salt and brine blew through the half door. Seagulls cawed and a lazy sun filtered through slats in the walls. Ellie’s mind emptied like sand in an hourglass. Peace lulled her as she ran the curry comb over Manifesto’s muscled haunches. She watched her hands stroke the horse’s coat over and over until she fell into a trance.

  A tiny noise brought her back to reality. Hugh sat on a cask lashed to the deck, watching her.

  She smiled. “How long have you been there?”

  “A while,” he replied, getting up and coming to the stall. “I’d like to hold his head while you finish with the curry comb.”

  “He’s quiet, Lord Davenport. There’s no need.”

  “It would be good if the horse learned to feel safe with me.”

  He’s right, she thought. It’s time to let Manifesto go to his rightful owner. No more deception, no more plotting, no more lies. “Pat him here,” she told Hugh, indicating the horse’s neck.

  Hugh entered the stall. Manifesto flicked his ears and moved back a step.

  “It’s all right, good horse,” Ellie soothed. A tingle of excitement zigged through her as Hugh drew near. He doesn’t seem angry with me, she thought, her cheeks heating with pleasure.

  “You’ve got him nicely settled.”

  “He’s a smart horse. He stops fussing when he realizes what’s happening.”

  “We tried to make him comfortable at Cowick Hill but he’d have none of it.”

  “Oh, he would have stopped fretting soon enough, I’m sure of it.”

  “I’m not. Such a large, despondent animal. Very sad to see.”

  “Poor horse … poor … Lord Davenport. And here I am back in pants.”

  Hugh looked at her. “Indeed.”

  “But in a professional capacity.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m sorry I … ”

  “It’s all right, you’ve already apologized.”

  “I did?”

  “At the fountain and again at Fairland.”

  “Oh.” Ellie ran the curry comb down Manifesto’s side. She didn’t know what else to say.

  “Are you tired?” Hugh
said. “There’s a spot in the stern. Sunny and quiet. You could take a little nap.”

  “Oh, I don’t need a nap.”

  “No? Ah, well … there’s a sort of platform you could sit on and watch the coast. I’ll take care of Manifesto.”

  “If you insist.”

  “I don’t insist. But I’d like to show you the spot. Maybe when you do feel like closing your eyes a bit … ”

  She stiffened, afraid of leaving Manifesto, afraid of what Hugh thought of her and how she’d treated him. But she was tired – exhausted, in fact. The weeks of toil at Fairland had turned her hair to straw. Her hipbones jutted under the cloth of the breeches Toby’d lent her and her hands were cracked and calloused. Sleep. She had no responsibilities except Manifesto, and the horse was calm now. “Thank you. The stern sounds … pleasant.”

  Hugh took her to the spot and settled her comfortably in the curl of a rope tucked in the protected V of the boat. The sun shone high and hot, but a feathery breeze cooled the deck. Waves lapped against the wood, drowning all sound aboard. Watching the sparkle of light on water, Ellie’s eyes grew heavy. She closed them experimentally.

  Hours later she woke to the soft gray of dusk and the dinner gong clanging. She unraveled her legs from the bed of rope. Sometime during her nap, Hugh’s jacket had been tucked around her. She put her arms in the sleeves, reveling in the scent of him and the jacket’s warmth.

  • • •

  Ellie joined Hugh and Toby in the captain’s dining room. A young sailor plunked a plate of fish, sauerkraut, peas, and biscuit in front of her, all to be washed down with a tankard of beer. She couldn’t abide fish, the peas were rubbery, and the biscuit was so hard minutes of gnawing produced only a few crumbs. She watched the captain tap his bread on the table edge. A weevil crawled out. Her stomach lurched and she put the biscuit aside. One look at the film of green scum on her beer made her decide to forego it as well, even if she did long to wash the biscuit down.

  “Mr. Albright, are you unaccustomed to sea fare?” Hugh asked.

  “This would be my first night on the water, Lord Davenport,” Ellie replied, lowering her voice to sound as manly as possible. “My stomach is a bit put out by the experience.”