The Enchanted

by Charlotte Bingham

  ‘Georgina darling, it is my money. And yes, I have bet a thousand pounds on our horse.’

  ‘And you want me to have the voucher – for safe keeping.’

  ‘No, you silly daft girl!’ Alice found herself suddenly laughing at the ludicrousness of the situation. Here she was having given her daughter the chance – albeit an outside one – of making a lot of money without raising a finger, and here was her daughter criticising her for it. ‘No, I want you to have the voucher! It’s for you – for what you’re always so worried about. School fees. But look, if you don’t want it—’

  ‘No, hang on.’ Georgina stopped her. ‘It says here – it says one thousand pounds bet at odds of one hundred and fifty to one.’

  ‘Sounds about right.’

  ‘So if the horse won—’

  ‘If,’ Alice interrupted. ‘And you must understand it’s a very big if we’re talking about here. That’s why the odds are so very long, apparently. Anyway, the point is I haven’t got enough money to give you anywhere near the amount you say you need to educate your children – my grandchildren – but this at least gives you an outside chance. And before you say anything else I’ve done exactly the same for your brother. For Christian. Not for school fees, obviously, but to help him out. But you’re not to tell anybody. Not a soul. It’s bad luck, right? And chances of its happening are not only extremely slim but probably non-existent. Anyway.’

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Yes?’ Alice asked carefully, wondering what the objection might be this time.

  ‘Mum, I really don’t know what to say,’ Georgina said, her voice dropping almost to a whisper. ‘Except – except sorry.’

  ‘Sorry? What on earth for, Georgie darling?’

  ‘For being such an A1 prat.’

  ‘You have been nothing of the sort. Nonsense. Now all we have to do is hope he runs. And if he does run, I understand he won’t start at anything like that price. I’ll keep you posted.’

  ‘You’d jolly well better, Mum. And Mum?’

  ‘Georgie?’

  ‘Love you.’

  ‘I know, darling. The feeling is entirely reciprocated. ’Bye, darling.’

  Dear old Mum, Georgina thought to herself as she put down the telephone. Still can’t say it. Oh well …

  While as she was putting down the phone her end Alice was thinking And now all we can do is get out the prayer mats, light the votive candles, keep everything crossed and not walk under any ladders. In other words, just hope and pray the little horse stays in one piece and gets to the races.

  Different hopes and desires entirely were entertained by a certain other person who, as Alice was busy praying and hoping, was equally busy scheming and plotting, trying to imagine every single possible way she could thwart the aspirations of all her rivals, real and imagined.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Creeping Murmur and the Poring Dark

  It was Kathleen who saved the day.

  With the big race now only a week away and the owners in full agreement about running The Enchanted and the horse going from strength to strength in his work, the security blanket round Fulford Farm was pulled even tighter than before, particularly after a couple of alarms and excursions when both Teddy and Kathleen had sworn they had heard the sound of would-be intruders late at night when they were on watch. Dunkum gave chase on both occasions, only for the prowlers to escape over the perimeter fencing. Kathleen then came up with a plan with which Rory immediately agreed and put in motion at once.

  The horse was due to have only one more piece of fast work before the big day so what was proposed was eminently feasible, relying only on the discretion of the staff at Fulford Farm and the assistance of Rory’s friend Henry Carmichael, a keen horseman who trained his point to pointers and hunter chasers from a yard on a farm less than five miles away. Oddly enough, despite its risks, the very simplicity of the plan was its strength.

  ‘I thought we were going to have to hire some muscle, p-p-perhaps,’ Rory told Kathleen the first night the plan was put into effect, when he came down at midnight to take over her watch. ‘Yet here we are, quiet and safe as can be, and it’s all really th-thanks to you.’

  ‘Not a bit of it,’ Kathleen replied, getting up from her seat at Rory’s desk from where she had been keeping an eagle eye on the yard and on the all-important stable directly in front of her. ‘Anyway – your shift.’

  ‘My shift,’ Rory agreed. ‘Ab-ab-absolutely.’

  ‘Might I ask you something now?’ Kathleen enquired. ‘Without upsetting you, that is.’

  ‘From what I know of life, when a w-woman asks you that sort of question – you know – ther-ther-the would-you-mind-if-I sort of question – they’re going to anyhow. So yes – f-f-fire ahead.’

  ‘It’s just I was wondering,’ Kathleen said, hesitating by the door. ‘I was just wondering if I – do I make you nervous?’

  ‘N-n-nervous?’ Rory returned, doing his best to laugh lightly. ‘Y-you? M-make me nervous? Why on earth – wh-what on earth would make you ther-ther-ther-think ther-that? H-heavens above.’

  ‘It’s just that I couldn’t help noticing you only seem to have trouble when I’m around,’ Kathleen persisted. ‘You know – you don’t seem to stammer so much with other people. If at all. Not as much as you do when I’m around.’

  ‘I don’t know what you m-mean,’ Rory lied, pinching the fleshy part of one of his thumbs between thumb and index fingernails to try to control his speech. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, actually.’

  ‘That’s all right then,’ Kathleen said with a polite smile. ‘I best be getting along now.’

  ‘Did you see the l-latest ratings?’ Rory said, calling her back with a wave of a sheet of print. ‘They arrived this morning.’ Unable to resist getting an update, Kathleen came back and stood just behind Rory’s shoulder while he pored over the figures. ‘Better than you might think,’ Rory continued, glad of her return. ‘They put County Gent top obviously, with a rating of 156, but our horse has gone right up and n-now they rate him 132. With a plus mark, d-denoting his improvement.’

  ‘If racing were all done be ratings, Mr Rawlins—’

  ‘Yes I know, Kathleen,’ Rory interrupted her, turning round and finding her face considerably closer to his than he had been expecting, a sight that stopped him midstream. He swallowed hard and frowned at her.

  ‘Yes? Something the matter?’

  ‘Yes – no. No,’ Rory corrected himself again. ‘Form also notices his jumping, is what I was about to say. They make special – you know. They remark on his j-jumping.’

  ‘And so they should, too,’ Kathleen replied, now standing away from Rory. ‘He’s more than earned the right to be in the line-up. None of the others jump like him.’

  ‘You’re not alone in th-thinking that,’ Rory added. ‘There’s been money for him.’

  ‘That wouldn’t surprise me a bit, Mr Rawlins.’

  ‘The first shows had him at a hundred and fifty to one, if you remember. He’s now a sixty-six to one chance, which one would h-have to say – ther-ther-that’s quite a reduction.’

  ‘He won’t start at that on the day either, you can be sure of that,’ Kathleen said, with a stretch and a yawn. ‘I’d say you won’t be able to get better than twenties on him for a starting price.’

  ‘Who am I to argue with the Oracle of Cronagh?’ Rory replied. ‘Anyway – th-thanks. I’ll take over now.’

  ‘Have you had a stammer all your life?’ Kathleen asked out of the air. ‘If you don’t mind my asking, that is.’

  ‘I thought the Irish axed rather than asked,’ Rory replied, trying to work around the question.

  ‘Have you?’

  Rory drummed his fingers lightly on the desk as he tried to prepare his answer. No one had ever asked him directly about his stammer, no one except his therapist, the woman who had taught him the coping mechanisms that had gradually fallen out of use as his control had increased, to the point where he
had thought he was completely cured – until Kathleen came into his life.

  She put a hand on his shoulder, making him start. ‘That was very tactless of me. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It wasn’t at all tactless, as it happens, Kathleen,’ Rory said, sitting back in his chair and closing his eyes while Kathleen’s hand remained still on his shoulder. It took all his emotional strength not to reach up and hold it in return. ‘Actually I wish more people had asked rather than pretend it wasn’t happening. Might have helped me cope with it better. I haven’t stammered for years, not really. Not since I played Henry the Fifth – at school, of course. Of all things – I mean, I was still stammering fit to bust then – but I had this great English teacher who’d sussed that I hardly stuttered at all when I was reading and took this huge risk of getting me to play Henry Five.’

  ‘End of stammer, was it? Being onstage? I’d have thought that would have made it worse.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rory agreed. ‘Me too. But it didn’t, believe it or not. Soon as I started being someone else, that was it.’

  ‘And after the play was over?’

  ‘Yes – well, it came a bit, but not nearly so badly. Course, when my therapist heard – and saw – when she realised this could be a key she changed her treatment and besides giving me key words and finger clicks and all that, she suggested that when I hit a bad patch I pretended to be someone else. Sounds a bit facile, but it worked.’

  ‘So why do you think you—’ Kathleen began, then stopped.

  ‘Go on,’ Rory said.

  ‘It’s none of my business.’

  ‘I think it is actually, Kathleen.’

  ‘Not a bit of it,’ Kathleen said crisply. ‘Now I must to bed – leave you in peace.’

  ‘Kathleen—’

  ‘If I’m to be of any use in the morning, which it is now, I have to get some sleep,’ she insisted. ‘Now if you’re OK? I rather enjoy this, don’t you? Sitting up on watch.’

  ‘Yes, I do actually,’ Rory agreed. ‘As it happens it always makes me think of the play – of Henry the Fifth. It’s a bit like the night before Agincourt. Now entertain conjecture of a time when creeping murmur and the poring dark fills the wide vessel of the universe. From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night, the hum of either army stilly sounds, that the fix’d sentinels almost receive the secret whispers of each other’s watch.’

  ‘What was that?’ Kathleen suddenly asked, looking out of the window in front of them. ‘Didn’t I hear something just then? I could swear I did.’

  Rory was on his feet and at the office door. Whistling for Dunkum, he picked up the heavy knobkerrie he kept in his office as a precaution and went out into the yard. With one hand on his dog’s collar and his stick in the other, and Kathleen carrying a searchlight torch, the two of them made a tour of inspection, but found nothing amiss. All the horses were either fast asleep or idly munching at their hay, while all the gates and doors were shut and locked. Happy there had been no intrusion, Kathleen finally took herself off to her bed, leaving Rory to settle down in his office to his own spell of duty.

  Rather than read, Rory sat and drew, something that allowed him to keep an ear out and also helped him keep his eyes open. The first night watch he had ended up reading, only finally to fall fast asleep, so he decided he would use the time instead to do some sketching. He had started a series of horse studies and the concentration needed to work on these kept the adrenalin flowing enough for him to stay on full alert. Two hours later, when it was time for Teddy to come and take over, Rory had no idea of where the time had gone.

  Each night up to the eve of the race the procedure was the same, and each night – nothing. Two nights before the big day, however, when Rory came down to take over from Kathleen he found her closely studying the sketchbooks he had left on his desk.

  ‘I take it these are yours?’ she asked, apparently unashamed to have been caught in the act. ‘They’re wonderful. Really. I hope you don’t mind – I’m a dreadful snooper.’

  ‘It’d be a bit late if I did,’ Rory replied. ‘Mind, that is. Of course I don’t. Mind that is.’

  ‘They are wonderful,’ Kathleen said once more. ‘They are really beautiful.’

  ‘They’re only sketches,’ Rory insisted, suddenly feeling shy. ‘It’s only work in progress, as they say. Which is a terrible expression. Sounds as if you’re digging a road up.’

  ‘You have an amazing talent,’ Kathleen said, taking no notice of his protestations. ‘And surely isn’t this something you should be doing seriously?’

  ‘You mean rather than falling about laughing?’

  ‘I mean seriously,’ Kathleen chided him. ‘You know what I mean. People who can draw like this—’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Rory said, wanting to dismiss the subject, and trying to close the sketchbook. ‘It’s just something I do.’

  ‘This isn’t something anyone just does. This is a gift.’

  Kathleen looked round at him with something in her eyes Rory didn’t think he’d ever seen before. Then she returned her attention to the next and largest sketchbook, opening it carefully at the page on which Rory had last been working.

  ‘Look at this now,’ she said. ‘This one of Boyo. It catches everything about him, including—’ She stopped, and frowned.

  ‘Including? What? Yes? Including what?’

  ‘The special thing he has,’ Kathleen said slowly and quietly. ‘His magic.’

  ‘Do you really like it?’

  ‘Like it? This is just brilliant.’

  ‘OK,’ Rory decided. ‘Then it’s yours.’

  He took a small penknife from the desk and carefully cut the drawing out of the sketchbook.

  ‘No,’ Kathleen protested. ‘No, please. Please. What are you doing?’

  ‘I want you to have it.’

  ‘I couldn’t. I couldn’t take it – I simply couldn’t.’

  ‘If you don’t …’ Rory said, holding the drawing up. ‘If you don’t …’ He moved as if to tear it in two.

  ‘Are you crazy?’ Kathleen said, grabbing hold of his hands to stop him. As she held them in hers, they both fell silent and looked at each other. This time Kathleen was the first to drop her eyes.

  ‘Good,’ Rory said finally, setting the drawing down and covering it with a sheet of tissue paper. ‘It isn’t fixed. I’ll do that in the morning.’

  ‘Fixed?’

  ‘Stuff you spray on to stop smudging. A fixative.’

  ‘I don’t think you should give this to me at all,’ Kathleen muttered behind his back as he finished covering the drawing. ‘I really don’t.’

  ‘Why not?’ Rory shook his head in bewilderment. ‘I want you to have it. Because of the horse. Because of everything you’ve done here with him. Because I just – look, I just want you to have it. Knowing that you have it, that you love it – well.’ Rory stopped and swallowed. ‘That’s great.’

  ‘Rory?’ Kathleen said after a moment.

  ‘Rory?’ Rory repeated, genuinely astonished. ‘I can’t have heard right.’

  ‘The thing is, Rory,’ Kathleen began, lowering her eyes. ‘I really don’t feel right – not you giving me this, but me taking it. I really don’t.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘I’d rather not say.’

  ‘Oh, and why would that be?’ Rory wondered with an exaggerated sigh. ‘Let me guess. Could this be something to do with Blaze Molloy, I wonder?’

  ‘Well – yes. Yes and no. Both really. Yes and no.’

  ‘What a surprise,’ Rory said, giving his head a quick scratch. ‘Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m not taking the drawing back. I still want you to have it – in spite of Mr Blaze Molloy.’

  ‘In spite of—’

  ‘Yes. In spite of. In spite of Mr Blazes Molloy.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Of course.’ Kathleen sighed all of a sudden. ‘What an idiot. What a total idiot.’

  ‘Who – me?’

  ‘No, you fool – me!’ Kathleen returned, her
eyes flashing. ‘Why didn’t I see? Of course there was you thinking—’

  ‘What am I meant to think?’ Rory demanded. ‘Every time I look he has his arm round you, or you’re holding hands – or you’re in his arms at the railway station, or you’re … oh, I don’t know – so I really don’t see what else I’m meant to think.’

  ‘But it isn’t like that, Rory,’ Kathleen assured him. ‘I know that’s what it must look like—’

  ‘That’s exactly what it looks like.’

  ‘OK,’ Kathleen said, changing her tone. ‘So suppose it did. So what? I mean, so why should it matter? Why should it matter to you?’

  Rory said nothing. He just stood looking at her, scratching the side of his head.

  ‘Rory?’

  ‘Did I say it mattered?’ he asked all but inaudibly.

  ‘You started pulling it-matters faces as soon as you mentioned Blaze. Oh, I suppose this is all to do with Mr Blaze Molloy. Remember?’

  ‘So?’ Rory shrugged, feeling the rug being pulled slowly but surely from under his feet.

  ‘And you know something else?’ Kathleen started to smile. ‘You haven’t stammered or stuttered for a while. Not since you got all hot under the collar about you-know-who.’

  ‘Of course I have,’ Rory protested. ‘Don’t be silly. Of course I – I must have done.’

  ‘Well, you haven’t so.’

  ‘Look – Kathleen,’ Rory began again, wondering how best to regain the lost ground. ‘What you feel about Blaze really – it’s really no skin off my nose.’

  ‘I’ve never known what that meant exactly.’

  ‘Does it matter? Anyway, it isn’t – whatever it may mean. Whatever you and Blaze are – whatever you feel about each other—’

  ‘Blaze is my half-brother,’ Kathleen interrupted quietly, putting a hand on his. ‘I know. I should have told you—’

  ‘Your half-brother?’

  ‘Yes, my half-brother – and yes, I told him to come over. I lied to you, and God forgive me for it, but I only did it for the best.’

  ‘The best being? Not that I mind,’ Rory added hastily. ‘I don’t mind if you lied. Not that sort of lie. I really don’t. Your half-brother? Can I ask how come?’