The Lady

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Yes, please, Bridie, and weren’t the boys delighted by a real Irish breakfast to start them on their way home,” she said, determined to be pleasant. Of course, Bridie had not been upstairs yet, and she could expect another spate of wailing when she’d seen what had happened. “Patrick was so pleased to have that extra loaf of soda bread to take back with him.”

  Bridie gave her a long look as she handed her the paper and only grunted.

  “I’ll just do the upstairs, Bridie,” Eithne said. She kept a firm smile on her face as she placed the last of the delft on the sink and walked out. Could Bridie have overheard Mairead Marshall’s insinuations? she wondered. Not likely. Mairead would not parade her opinions within earshot of staff.

  She went upstairs and began stripping the beds in the guest rooms. She found herself listening and realized that her ears were tuned for sounds coming from Isabel’s room. Oh, dear. Quick tears came to her eyes, and she brushed them away on the pillowcase she was holding.

  She was most relieved that Michael had not been upset about her adjustments. And what a relief to get rid of the figurines and vases and dishes that cluttered every surface in the drawing room! She’d felt very shamefaced about suggesting that, but after so many years of dusting them, and some of them not worth keeping, really, their absence would be a blessing. Now that Eithne had begun to appreciate genuine antiques, she was appalled at how worthless some of Isabel’s little “treasures” actually were. Isabel had had odd notions about decoration, and Eithne had been surprised to find so many really fine pieces acquired by generations of Carradynes stacked in the attics.

  She’d have to tell Michael about Davis Haggerty soon, she thought, and invite him to Cornanagh. Davis wanted to be open and aboveboard, as he put it, which confirmed her own hopeful suspicion that he might be very serious indeed about their relationship. His appearance wouldn’t offend her male relatives, but she had known that Isabel would have taken it all up in the worst possible way. And really, she had been devoted to Isabel and very grateful for all her kindnesses when she’d come to Cornanagh as an anxious young country bride.

  As she finished tidying, Eithne decided that her next task had better be shopping. There wasn’t much left in the larder after four days of extra family, despite the quick trip Selina and Catriona had made.

  “Hello!”

  Eithne nearly dropped the bundle of linen at the sound of Selina’s cheerful call.

  “Captain’s taking the brothers to the airport,” she heard Bridie say.

  “Trina’s in the yard,” Eithne said, leaning over the balustrade.

  “Where else?” Selina said, grinning as she craned her head about to spot Eithne on the first story. “See you later.”

  Selina was both relieved by Michael’s absence and unaccountably depressed. She almost hadn’t come, except that she knew he was shorthanded and very much behind in schooling the young horses. It would have been churlish of her to stay away. She hadn’t meant to go to bed with him last night, although she’d thought of that interesting possibility off and on for the last several weeks. But when she’d seen the look on his face as he’d risen to his feet, when his hand had so longingly cupped her breast and his lips had touched hers, no other outcome had been possible.

  And he had been an absolutely splendid lover. She could have forgiven him much because she was so attracted to him, but Michael Carradyne had totally and unexpectedly fulfilled her. She had been sorry when he had left so soon afterward. But perhaps that was for the best. He had had an urgent need of solace, she had provided it. She put all that out of her mind as she turned the corner into the yard and saw Mick and Catriona bent over Conker’s hoof. “Is it improving?”

  “Selina!” Catriona looked up, no longer stumbling, Selina noticed, over her Christian name. “Daddy wants you to hack out Emmett, and I’m to ride Charlie!”

  “He’s feeling very generous today, isn’t he?”

  “I wouldn’t call it that, Miz Healey,” Mick said, touching his cap to her, “not when that gelding’s in need of good hard roadwork. He can take quite a hold when he’s fresh.”

  “Well, I take it as the captain’s vote of confidence, then.”

  Mick gave her a long look and then grinned. “Tell me after you’ve ridden. Leave the pony, Catie, I’ll get him after. You tack Charlie up.”

  However, Mick wouldn’t permit Selina to saddle Emmett. He had to be sure it was on right. He put on a martingale as well, for Emmett could be a bit strong even for a rider as capable and experienced as she.

  He led the gelding into the yard just as Catriona emerged with Charlie, her face glowing under the hard hat.

  “Jist lemme give Miz Healey a leg up,” he called to her.

  “Nonsense, Mick,” Selina said, taking the reins from him. “I’ve leg enough. You mount Catriona.” And she swung up onto Emmett. He sidled a bit at the light weight, but she checked him with authority, and immediately he stood still.

  She did not miss Mick’s ritual checking of Charlie’s girth and bridle with Catriona all but dancing on the cobbles in her eagerness.

  “Okay, up you go.” He tossed her lightly onto the amiable Charlie. “Now, let’s just see how much leg you’ve put on since November,” he said as he adjusted her stirrup-leather length. Then he grinned up at her as he measured the stirrup iron against her extended leg and corrected the length. “I’d say you’re riding two full holes longer these days.”

  “Oh, Mick, really?”

  “Whatcha think, missus?” Mick appealed to Selina.

  Selina smiled, appraising the look of Catriona on the gelding. She was longer in the leg, to be sure, but her body was still immature, and she looked small in the saddle, her head no higher than the horse’s. But Catriona sat with such style and confidence that she looked just right on Charlie.

  “You two suit each other. I fear”—Selina gave a mock sad sigh—“that I’ll be done out of showing him.”

  “Oh, no,” Catriona said, dismayed. “I’d never be able to show Charlie the way you do.”

  Emmett backed now and pawed at the cobbles, eager to be moving.

  “I wouldn’t bet on that, Trina. You’ve got the Carradyne style on a horse. So, which way are we going today?”

  “Daddy said to do the leg pond hill. At the trot. If they can make it,” Catriona said, now the serious work rider. Then she turned Charlie to follow Emmett out of the yard. “Oh, Selina, he’s light as a feather under you. And he’s nowhere near as wide through the shoulder as I thought he’d be.”

  “It’s about time you got weaned from ponies,” Selina said as they turned out of the courtyard and onto the Kilcoole road.

  For Catriona, it was another unforgettable afternoon. She hadn’t actually hacked out on a horse before, though she’d often worked one under her father’s eye in the menage, and while she half-suspected that her father was just being very kind to her right now, she hoped that riding Charlie would not be a one-off treat.

  He had an active but smooth walk, and she could feel his hindquarters moving under her, the muscles of his sides rippling with every long stride, so different from Blister’s or Conker’s or even the Prince’s. Best of all, she could feel through the reins the very light contact with his mouth. He was right there, between her leg and her hand, and his ears were twitching to show that he was ready to accept any command she gave him.

  “How can you bear to let anyone else ride him, Selina?” Catriona said.

  “I’m generous, too, Trina,” Selina said teasingly.

  She looked as elegant as ever, Catriona thought, glancing to Selina on her right. She was dressed now for the warmer weather in a short-sleeved knit shirt, open at the throat, her arms already lightly tanned, and open-backed riding gloves. She was also concentrating on Emmett, who was eager to move on at a faster pace. He was a more massive animal than either Charlie or Flirty Lady, and from the rolling of his eye, Catriona guessed that he was trying it on his lighter rider to see what he could get away wi
th. She could see that Selina was sitting deep in the saddle, her hands playing lightly with the reins, getting his attention.

  “Let’s trot, shall we? Work the fidgets out,” Selina suggested, and the words were no sooner out of her mouth than Emmett attempted to charge up the slope by Kilquade House. She laughed as she restrained him, and Catriona, delighted at her skill, brought Charlie up alongside Emmett so that the two horses swung up the incline, their strides matching perfectly. Charlie seemed to flow up the hill, his trot so smooth she didn’t need to rise.

  They kept at the working trot until they got to the Y turn where the Kilcoole road branched off to the left. In mutual accord they slowed, because the next bit of road to the right was winding and narrow, with the high stone wall on the right and people apt to drive down the road like the clappers.

  Selina kept a firm contact on the reins, but Catriona let Charlie relax his neck and back a bit on a longer rein. She gave him several approving slaps.

  “Charlie, you’re absolutely marvelous. You’re like glass to ride. Smooth and steady.”

  “He is, isn’t he,” Selina agreed, keeping her right leg tight against Emmett’s side to keep him to the left of the road. “He reminds me a bit of a mare that Colonel Dudgeon had. She was a joy to ride on the flat but a devil in her if you were jumping. Have you ever been to Burton Hall? Yes, well, do you know the piano jump? She flew it! And I did, too, only not with her. She unseated me halfway up.” Selina chuckled as she remembered how terribly embarrassed she had been as she was sprawled on the jump while her mount ran back to the stables. Then she saw Catriona’s expression, not quite sure if she should join in the laughter and perhaps, Selina thought, a bit disappointed. “Heavens, Trina, everyone comes off a time or two. Even your father.”

  “Not often,” Catriona declared stoutly, and then, catching Selina’s twinkling glance, began to laugh at herself.

  They were able to trot both horses to the top of the long slope and let them blow a bit before they started back down. By then, Catriona was positive that Charlie was the best horse now in Cornanagh, bar the Tulip, of course.

  19

  SELINA and Catriona heard Tory’s furious barking just as they reached the beginning of Cornanagh’s garden wall. Abruptly Tory’s angry voice became muffled.

  “They’ve locked him up,” Catriona said. “I wonder who’s there. He doesn’t usually carry on like that.”

  They broke into a trot, swinging quickly into the courtyard, where a white Fiat van was parked. With Mick’s help, Michael was propping blocks against the garage door to keep the agitated dog inside. Michael grinned and waved at the two riders, then gestured to the van’s occupant that it was safe to emerge.

  “It’s Johnny Cash,” Catriona told Selina as the man, with a wary eye on the bucking garage door, stepped out of the van, holding the door, shieldlike, in front of him. If Selina found it very odd that Michael Carradyne welcomed a tinker in his yard, for it was obvious to her that the new arrival was one of the traveling folk, Catriona seemed delighted at his arrival, grinning and waving at him.

  “How’s she cutting, Johnny?” Michael was saying cheerily.

  “Not so bad, sor, not so bad. Those are fine animals the ladies is riding,” he went on courteously, touching his cap brim to Selina and grinning back at Catriona. “Have you given up riding the ponies, alanna?”

  Mick came forward between the two horses, his expression sour as he held them for their riders to dismount.

  “A good ride, Trina?” Michael asked.

  “Charlie was marvelous, Daddy, and we never even paused on the way up the leg pond hill. At a good working trot, too.”

  Michael gave Catriona’s shoulders a quick hug. “Emmett behave himself?” Though he looked at Selina, Catriona answered.

  “Of course he did, with Selina riding him. Not that he didn’t try it on, but she was up to his tricks.”

  “He worked well, Michael,” she said, relieved that their first encounter today was in such easy circumstances. But then, Michael Carradyne had a great deal of presence in any situation.

  “Well, now, Johnny, what can I do for you this fine day?” Michael asked. “Are you buying or selling?” He didn’t like to rush the man, but he’d only just lunged Temper, and there were three more to be worked today.

  “I’ve a right problem now, sor, and it’s only yourself could help or for sure the filly’ll die.”

  “Another one of those, huh, Johnny?”

  “Well, now, sor, she’s a fine filly, good blood in her, as you’re sure to see yourself once you’ve clapped eyes on her.” He hesitated, glancing at Selina to judge her reaction. “We only found her t’other day, up in Baldoyle, racked up at a fence and near dead o’ thirst. Oh, sor, she’s in a desp’rite way. Terrible deep gash in her near fore and cuts along both stifles.”

  “The pony races?”

  Johnny nodded, took a drag on his cigarette, and threw it to the ground, twisting it firmly into the cobbles with his boot heel. Selina noticed that his clothes were tweeds, good once but unmatched and well worn.

  “She’s not more’n three year, and she was raced something wicked, sor. I’ve no place to put her, and there’s no hay to be got at a daycent price this time o’ year. But you get her right for me, and she’ll make a good price, so she will. She’ll die otherwise.” Johnny included Selina in his appeal, and she found herself unexpectedly moved by the plea in those amazingly blue eyes.

  Michael sighed, rubbing at his forehead. Then he shrugged. “All right, Johnny, bring her in. I’ll see if I can do anything for her.”

  Catriona gave a hoot of relief.

  “Ah, you’re a grand man, so you are, sor, a grand man.” Johnny quickly reseated himself in the van, closed the door, touching his cap brim between each movement. “I’ll be right back, sor. She’s not far away.”

  “Stashed in his box at the churchyard, I’ve no doubt,” Michael murmured as Johnny reversed the van handily and flew out the gate. Only then did the mewed-up dog stop barking.

  “Captain Michael Carradyne dealing with a tinker?” Selina could not resist taunting him. Suddenly she was completely at ease with him again. He grinned at her, and she wondered if he was as relieved as she. Sometimes it could be so awkward the next day.

  “With Johnny Cash, yes. And Ned and Miley. Especially when they are also willing to take unreliable horses that I won’t sell under the Cornanagh name.”

  “The Ned Cash who show jumps? Are they related?”

  “I doubt it. Johnny never claims kinship, but the Cashes are a large clan.”

  “Tinkers tend to be.”

  “Ah, but”—Michael’s grin chided her for her intolerance—“you don’t see many ill-treated tinker horses, Selina.”

  “They’re so common they wouldn’t show it.”

  “Not all, not by a long chalk. Johnny’s a useful man to have on your side, especially if someone inadvertently leaves open the gate to the field with your promising young stock.”

  “Really?” Selina felt a burst of anxiety.

  “Selina, you’d never believe,” Catriona piped up, “just how many horses there are, sort of hidden away behind gorse bushes on empty lots all over Dublin. But Johnny helped Daddy find two yearlings that we never would have found in a million years.”

  Michael nodded. “I’ve had occasion to be very grateful to Johnny Cash and quite willing to help him in my turn. He doesn’t always bring me something I can buy from him, but he never sets me up.”

  “But this filly . . . ”

  “Was undoubtedly stolen, raced to the point of foundering and then left, much as Johnny just told us. Generally, the ponies are let loose and either find their own way home or are impounded by the Gardái. I’ll find out if there’s an alert out on her, which I can do with none of the embarrassing questions Johnny would be asked. First, let’s just have a look at her.” Michael saw the eager expectation on Catriona’s face and smiled. “Johnny also has produced several legitimate, ve
ry good animals for me: unlikely lookers at two or three that were sloughed off to the tinkers, who have a keen eye for potential. One of the horses I sold to Italy last year I got from Johnny Cash. He needed only to be fed properly and have a chance to grow into himself.”

  “Baggins?” Catriona asked.

  Michael nodded. “He was a spindly 15 hands when he came into the yard. He went out, a year later, at 16.2 and a bit with an astonishing leap in him. He’ll make an international grade-A show jumper.” Michael sighed. “I’d planned to hang on to him until the horse show, but once they’d seen him doing the jump alley, they offered more money than I could refuse.”

  Selina’s doubts were fading when Johnny Cash drove back into the courtyard with his battered open trailer. In it was as sorry a looking sight as Selina had ever seen, and she echoed Catriona’s groan of dismay. The filly was badly tucked up; every bone showed through her muddy, torn skin. Head drooping and ears lopped to the side, she was brambles and mud from head to toe, pieces of hoof missing where front shoes had been torn off. Dried blood caked her stifles and all four legs, though some effort had been made to clean the worst of the lacerations. The filly was trembling, from weakness and starvation, Selina thought, appalled at her condition. Then she looked at the whole animal and saw what the tinker had seen, the unmistakable look of breeding and, despite her condition, a rather elegant conformation.

  “My God, can you do anything for her, Michael?”

  “I’m committed to try,” he said, but his tone was dubious. “I always try, don’t I, Trina? Johnny, would you just pull into the yard?”

  Selina followed with Catriona, and they both gasped with alarm as they saw the filly stagger in the box even though Johnny Cash was driving very carefully. Michael was shouting for Mick now, and he sent Catriona to check that the little stable next to Conker had a deep clean bed of straw and fresh water. He told Selina to put the kettle on in the feed room and bring him his veterinary box. She ran to do his bidding and emerged from the tack room to see Michael, Mick, Johnny, several youngsters, and a woman, all of whom must have been in the van, lifting the filly out of the trailer.