Flying Demon got away first and his jockey, a tiny scrap of a man who looked like a midget on the horse’s back, was standing high in the stirrups holding the animal back because it was raring to go and kept swinging its neck about as if trying to wrench the jockey off and toss him over its head. Before the horse covered any distance at all its sides and neck were coated with a white lather of foam that looked like soapsuds. At the sight of them Canny sighed, for he knew that a horse which exhausted itself with nerves before the race was half run would have little energy to spare when the real testing time came at the finish.
For the final there were two circuits to run, and when the runners passed the viewing stand for the start of the second circuit, the Duke’s black horse was still in front and still wrestling with its bit. The grey was tucked away in third place, galloping on steadily with its rider looking neither to right or left. At this stage Odilie noticed an unusual amount of activity among the gypsies and saw that the man with the white hair was gathering in a large amount of money. She hoped that Joe had managed to lay her bet because she could tell that the grey horse still had plenty of stamina left.
When they emerged on to the long straight at the back of the course, the grey had crept up into second place and its only rival was the Duke’s horse. Now they would have to battle it out between them. Though she wanted to, Odilie found that she could not shout encouragement for her fancy like the people around her because her throat was too dry. Inside she was quivering with emotion and silently she willed the gypsy to win. Somehow his victory meant a great deal more than just a horse race to her.
The noise rose to a crescendo as the crowd started to shout in unison when the horses came charging round the last bend. Now they were putting on speed and the Duke’s jockey, who had been told that he was to win the race come what may, took out his whip laying a cruel cut on his mount’s flank. From the side of his mouth he bawled at the gypsy riding beside him, ‘I’ve got to win this. The Duke’s expecting it. You’d better haul on your reins or you’ll be in trouble.’
The other man only grinned and roared back, ‘If you’re going to win, you’ll have to beat me fair and square!’ Then he leaned forward and whispered words of encouragement to his horse that stretched its gallop even wider.
When the long straight opened up in front of them like a green infinity, dwindling away to a distant finishing post, Jesse turned his head slightly and saw that the two of them were alone. The third runner was left far behind. ‘Come on Barbary, show them,’ he whispered again and his horse responded beautifully. Its stride lengthened and it stretched its neck out as if reaching for the winning post. The two horses streaked past it a length and a half apart, with Barbary in front of the Duke’s Flying Demon. The crowd were screaming in excitement and throwing their hats in the air. Though many of those who cheered had lost their money, they dearly loved to see someone take away what the Duke had clearly expected to be his triumph.
Odilie watched Jesse winning the race with her heart thudding and her hands gripped so tightly together that her fingernails cut into the soft flesh of her palms. She stared hard at him as he flashed past the starting post and saw resolution evident in the set of his chin and the hard stare of his eyes but when he saw that he had won those grim expressions were swept away by a smile of such triumph and exhilaration that it made her want to run out and throw her arms around him.
Every exciting race that is closely fought to a finish ends with a strange sense of anti-climax. The spectators, who in the thrill of the finish have been yelling in unison and thumping each other on the shoulders like old friends, suddenly draw apart again, embarrassed at letting down their guard. They revert to being islands.
The crowd who watched Barbary outrun Flying Demon shouted and yelled like mad things while the horses streaked towards the finishing line but when it was over and their calls echoed away over the fields and hills, they sighed in unison and made bland comments like, ‘Good finish, capital race… If the Demon’s jockey hadn’t taken out his whip he might have won it… That grey’s too good for the Duke’s horse to beat.’
The Duke, standing at the winner’s entrance, was a deeply disappointed man and didn’t bother to hide his feelings. After accepting the commiserations of his cronies, he shouldered his way through the crowd and mounted the viewing stand with a face like thunder. ‘Damned gypsy,’ he grunted to his friends there. ‘I was sure my horse was going to win. Still, mustn’t appear a bad loser, have to put a good face on it.’ He turned brusquely to Odilie. ‘Can’t bring myself to present the cup personally. I said you’d do it and I’m sorry it’ll have to be to that dirty Romany but I want to buy that horse off him so I’ll need to keep him sweet. Come on, Miss Rutherford, we’ll make this business short.’ When he put a hand on her elbow and helped her to her feet, he did not notice how much she was shaking.
Thomassin was watching intently, however, and saw how excited Odilie looked. She knew it had something to do with Jesse for all the time the race was being run, her eyes had never left the other girl’s face. When the Duke led Odilie away Thomassin also grabbed Billy’s arm and pulled him along with her. ‘Come on, come on, let’s follow them. Keep your head down in case somebody sees you and recognises you,’ she told him.
Towed along by the Duke, Odilie saw the crowd opening in front of her like a sea and had to fight off a feeling of giddiness as he ushered her along. She put one hand up to her hat to keep it on her head but he did not slacken his pace which was upsetting for someone of her short stature since she could not see over any of the heads around her or make out where she was going. At last they came to a halt alongside the shoulder of a sweating grey horse and she put up a hand to stroke it gently. ‘You’ve a big heart, you did magnificently,’ she told the horse, ignoring the Duke’s lowering disapproval.
People all around were talking and someone was making a speech above her head. She heard her name and, ‘Miss Odilie Rutherford of Havanah Court will present the winner with his cup!’ There was a burst of cheering and hands around her began clapping. It sounded to her like thunder echoing in her ears and she feared that she might faint but fought off the weakness. An enormous silver cup with handles on each side was thrust into her hands and the weight of it made her stagger. Then the Duke dropped a purse of clinking coins inside it and the increased weight pulled her hands down even farther.
Then all the people clapped again and she looked around in panic, wondering what to do. Her father and Joe Cannonball were standing close beside her, both beaming broadly and Joe nodded encouragingly, flicking his eyes above her head to tell her to raise the cup. She smiled shakily, then very slowly and reluctantly looked up and found herself staring at the gypsy rider.
He was sitting very still on his horse’s back and the first thing she saw were his strong muscular hands lying lightly on the saddle pommel. Her stomach clenched but she fixed her eyes on these hands because she was terrified to look any further. But she had to give him the cup and awkwardly tried to heave it up towards those beautiful hands. When a man in the crowd stepped forward as if to help her she realised how gauche she must look, presenting a cup without looking at the man who was to receive it. And so, slowly and deliberately she raised her head. Her eyes behind the mesh of her veil met his challenging black ones again and the miracle happened between them for a second time.
She gave a little gasp as if she had been winded and he blinked like a man who is temporarily blinded. In that instant the crowd all around, all the rest of the world, disappeared leaving only Odilie and Jesse staring at each other as if they had experienced a glorious revelation. Both of them found it impossible to look away and they had no idea how long they went on staring. It could have been seconds or it could have been an hour but neither of them knew nor cared.
The Duke was saying something at Odilie’s elbow and she shook her head as if she could not understand his words. He said it again more loudly, ‘Give him the cup, Miss Rutherford. Hold it up. Do you want m
e to help?’
She shook her head and stepped closer to the grey horse with the prize held up, cupped between her palms. Gasping as if for breath she licked her lips and managed to say, ‘I – I – I thought you ran a wonderful race.’
Jesse leaned forward and put out one hand to receive his prize. The hand he proffered was his left. Her heart sang. His eyes were still fixed on hers and he smiled, a smile that wrinkled the skin around his eyes. She felt as if she was drowning in his gaze and blinked in a futile effort to ward off the effect they were having on her but it was no use. If glamourie meant magic, it was certainly there between them and too strong to be denied.
The spell was broken by a shout from somewhere behind the Duke. It made Jesse glance up over Odilie’s head and what he saw brought a look of astonishment to his face. Thomassin, her face working with fury, was pushing her way through the crowd. ‘Get away from my man. Leave him alone, leave him be!’ she was crying out. The crowd watched in horror and involuntarily drew back when they saw the knife in her hand.
In his adventurous past Joe Cannonball had survived many dangers because he was almost supernaturally quick in his reaction to any threat. When he noticed the intruder pushing her way into the party he leapt to Odilie’s defence and threw out both arms to envelop Thomassin in his grasp. Jesse was equally fast and, like Joe, his instinct was to protect Odilie, while Joe grappled with the furious, fighting gypsy girl, Jesse dropped his silver cup and purse of money and grabbed Odilie’s up-reaching hands. Straightening in his saddle he hoisted her into the air at the same moment as Billy rushed out of the crowd and felled Joe to the ground with a single swing of his arm. His eyes were staring in his head and he was uncontrollable in his fury at seeing someone hurt his Thomassin.
While Joe fell backwards with Billy on top of him, Odilie’s feet left the ground. Jesse leaned sideways from the saddle and hooked an arm around her waist. In a trice he pulled her up on the horse’s back where he propped her in front of him like a doll.
Neither of them paid any attention to the struggling mêlée going on around the horse’s feet. Like someone entranced Odilie stared into the gypsy’s face as he asked her, ‘Are you my prize?’
‘I think I must be,’ she said.
‘Thomassin’s out to kill you. We’d better get out of here. Hang on tight,’ he told her as he drove both heels into Barbary’s sides. Without arguing she leaned on to his chest and slipped both hands under his armpits, clinging close to him as he urged the horse forward. With three gigantic strides, Barbary headed for the white-painted fence of the enclosure and cleared it in a massive leap. While the astonished crowd cried out, the galloping horse carried the runaways off over the course until they disappeared behind the farthest hillock.
Joe Cannonball was lucky. He was lying on the ground with his assailant’s hands around his throat when a struggling Thomassin broke away from the men holding her and hauled at Billy’s shoulder screaming, ‘Billy, Billy, leave him alone, Billy! Come with me!’
For a miracle, he listened to her. Even Joe was unable to master Billy by strength but Thomassin dominated him through the force of her personality and his love for her. She had become the only person apart from Jem that Billy would obey.
When he heard her frantic voice calling him, he stopped pounding Joe’s head up and down on the ground and let her haul him to his feet. She grabbed his arm and pulled him along with her as they fled off through the crowd that parted for them because no one was brave enough to challenge Billy. Hand in hand they ran at full tilt out of the race course and down the road towards Lauriston while a straggle of shouting men ran after them. It took a little longer before others leapt on horses to join in the pursuit and by the time they had organised themselves, Billy and Thomassin had dived into a thick wood where she knew mounted men would find it impossible to penetrate.
Panting they huddled in the depths of the undergrowth, staring out at the road which they could see away below their hideaway. ‘We’ll wait here for a bit,’ Thomassin told Billy, ‘then we’ll make up our minds what to do.’
On the course they had just left everything was in chaos. The Duke was scarlet-faced with fury and shouting, ‘Follow them, follow them!’ while men ran around in circles not knowing whether he meant they should go after Thomassin and Billy or Jesse and Odilie. Joe Cannonball lay half-conscious and ignored on the ground. When he started to come to, he fingered the cuts on his face and was trying to rise when Canny rushed up and bent over him asking, ‘Are you all right, Joe? My God, you saved my Odilie’s life. That lassie would have killed her. Now she’s disappeared with the gypsy. What on earth is going on?’
He helped Joe to stand up and together they stared out over the countryside. Neither of them gave a fig for Thomassin’s or Billy’s whereabouts. It was Odilie who was the object of their concern. Joe consoled his employer. ‘He saved her, not me. He’ll bring her back. He’s a decent lad though he’s a Romany,’ he said, groaning and rubbing his woolly head with one hand.
Canny, however, was frantic. He stared wildly around crying out, ‘Come on, we’ve got to find her. There’s some of his people over there. Come with me.’ He ran across to where an astonished-looking Gib was standing among his men. Grabbing him by the front of his jacket Canny demanded, ‘Is that lad who took away my girl one of yours?’
Gib nodded. ‘He’s Jesse Bailey, my sister’s son.’
‘Get the word to him that if he brings her back unharmed, I’ll pay a ransom,’ snapped the agitated man.
‘Jesse won’t hurt her,’ said Gib with dignity. ‘We treat our women with respect, better than Giorgios do. I saw what happened: he took her away to save her. Thomassin would’ve stabbed her sure enough.’
‘Yes, yes, I know that but there’s a lot of money waiting for him when he brings her home,’ snapped Canny. ‘And he’s left his prize cup and money behind!’
Then he turned to Joe and said in a stricken voice, ‘Oh God, I’m feeling bad, Joe. I’ve a terrible pain in my chest.’ With those words he buckled at the knees and fell into a heap on the ground. With an exclamation of horror, Joe knelt beside him and saw that Canny’s face was turning blue. Without pausing for a moment, the big black man scooped up the inert body in his arms and ran with it towards the carriages, shouting as he went, ‘Get Dr Thompson. Bring him to Havanah Court at once.’ Then he laid Canny’s limp figure on the carriage floor, pushed the coachman aside, jumped into the box and, cracking the whip over the heads of the startled horses, drove pell-mell off the course.
Before Canny’s carriage reached Havanah Court the rain started. The confusion on the course became worse as the sky darkened and enormous raindrops started plumping down, bursting like miniature explosions as they landed on the parched earth. The grass and the trees seemed to reach up gratefully towards the rain, drinking it in and the dry earth gave off a warm, humid smell. People were drenched in minutes but they, too, turned their faces up to the sky in relief at the realisation that the suffocating heat was gone at last.
The rain had become a deluge when Joe carried Canny from the carriage to his front entrance. The maid opened the door to find them wringing wet on the step. Joe pushed past her carrying the body of his master in his arms and ordered, ‘Fetch the brandy bottle.’
Canny was only just settled among his pillows when there was the sound of a voice shouting in the hall and Walter Thompson came charging up the stairs two at a time. He burst into the bedroom and leaned over the bed scanning his old friend’s face anxiously.
‘He’s not dead. I’ve sent the maid for the brandy,’ Joe told him.
‘I’m the doctor here and I’m aware that he’s alive, thank you,’ said Thompson shortly. Then he said more softly to Canny, ‘How’re you feeling, old man?’ Slowly the patient opened his eyes as Thompson repeated, ‘Are you feeling better, old fellow?’
‘Not really. Where’s Odilie?’ was the reply and Canny closed his eyes again.
Thompson tried consolation. ‘You’re
going to be all right. Don’t upset yourself about Odilie. She’ll be safe enough with that gypsy. I saw by the way she looked at him that they know each other.’
Canny wished he was strong enough to shout, ‘Is that meant to be a consolation to me? I saw that, too, and it makes things worse. I never dreamed she’d do anything so rash.’ But all he managed to whisper between dry lips was, ‘I hope to God he brings her back safe.’
While Thompson was ministering to Canny, Joe stood impassively watching what was going on and wondering what to do about Odilie. The moment he could get away he was determined to go to the gypsy camp and find out about the lad who’d abducted her. Then, if necessary, he’d go and find her himself. He didn’t give a damn whether she married the Duke or not, but he knew that Canny would never have a moment’s peace of mind till his daughter was restored to him and it was to Canny that his first loyalties were directed.
After Thompson had dosed his friend and sent into town for the apothecary to come and apply leeches to Canny’s forehead, Martha arrived home wringing her hands in horror at the day’s events. She did not know whether her brother’s illness or her niece’s disappearance was the worst calamity and she hovered beside while the patient, looking and feeling more comfortable after he’d been bled, lay ashen-faced against his pillows. To their distress he kept asking over and over again, ‘Is there any news of Odilie?’
‘Not yet – soon,’ said Joe each time he was asked.
‘What was she thinking of? To run away like that! To take off with a ragged gypsy!’ Canny groaned.
Martha interrupted, ‘She didn’t take off. He saved her from the girl with the knife. She’d be lying here a corpse if it wasn’t for that lad.’
Canny weakly shook his head. ‘He saved her right enough but he didn’t need to run off with her. Didn’t you see how she clung to him like one of those leeches. Even if she comes back, she’ll be a fallen woman.’
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