Gay Cavalier

by Alex Stuart

  He was a bold and clever jumper, but hard to hold, and Deirdre was exhausted long before Sean, who had been watching her efforts, expressed his satisfaction and allowed her to take Petitioner back to his box. "He could do with a bit more exercise," her brother suggested and Deirdre, flexing her weary arms, agreed with him.

  "When's O'Ryan coming here, Deirdre?" Sean wanted to know, as she was rubbing the horse down a little while later. He leaned against the door of the box, brows gathered in a frown. "Petitioner's needing a gallop or two, if we're going to do any good with him, and he's too much for you. Or Paddy, if it comes to that."

  Deirdre passed a hand over her damp forehead and sighed. Her father had always dealt with the professional riders he engaged, and she didn't know. "I'll ring him up," she suggested, but Sean said firmly: "That's something I can do—and, when I've done it, I'll go into Carfield and pay himself a visit. Knock off now, child—you're looking played out."

  "All right," agreed Deirdre tonelessly. She picked up her brush and curry comb and gave Petitioner a farewell pat. "Daddy always hoped you'd ride Petitioner in a National," she said, and could have bitten her tongue out an instant later, when she glimpsed her brother's face.

  "That," Sean said bitterly, "is a forlorn hope, if ever there was one. Like so many of Father's hopes." He slammed the door of the box savagely shut and stalked away, leaving Deirdre staring miserably after him, appalled at her own tactlessness.

  Petitioner put his head over the top of the box and thrust a questing nose against her shoulder. He was expecting sugar and she found some for him, hiding her face against his silky neck as he crunched it up with a great deal of playful relish. "Oh, Petitioner," she whispered, "I've been such a fool. It's not that Sean doesn't care about us any more—he cares too much. That's why he's stayed away! He'd give ten years of his life to be able to ride you in the National…"

  Petitioner whinnied softly and nudged her again. She fed him the last lump of sugar in her pocket and left him munching it contentedly. The thing to do, she decided, as she crossed the yard—the thing to do was to make Sean realize that he was needed here, even if he couldn't ride. If only she could persuade him to take over the training: he would do it superbly well and perhaps, in doing it, he would cease to feel bitter and useless and unwanted. It was, at all events, worth trying…

  At three o'clock that afternoon, the big Cadillac turned into the yard. Deirdre, who was leading Snowgoose out for Paddy's inspection, relinquished the mare to him and went, rather nervously, to receive her callers. Dwight Nelson, out of uniform and with his face adorned by strips of plaster and one eye ominously discoloured, looked different— quieter and less pugnacious than the angry, ruffled young man of yesterday. He came to meet her, wearing a smile as diffidently uncertain as her own.

  "Hullo there," he greeted her awkwardly and turned to introduce his companion, a tall, spare man of about thirty-five or six, also in civilian clothes. "This is Major Haines, Miss Sheridan—Major Daniel C. Haines. Miss—ah—Miss Deirdre Sheridan, sir."

  They all shook hands solemnly. Deirdre's gaze went, apprehensively, to the Cadillac's scored side, but this had already been hammered out and daubed with a reddish undercoating paint. The spotlight was once more firmly seated on the front bumper. She sighed in relief. It didn't look as badly damaged as she had feared it might be, and Major Haines said, smiling: "I got some of our boys on to cleaning up the mess, Miss Sheridan. I guess they made quite a job of it—with a re-spray tomorrow, we'll hardly know that my motor-car was ever in collision with your mare. I hope the mare's not too much the worse for her part in it?"

  Deirdre found herself answering his smile. "She's over there, Major Haines—we've just walked her out. She's not lame, anyway, and her knees are only scraped."

  "Gee, I'm happy to know that." His dark, intelligent eyes narrowed as he looked at Snowgoose. "Why, she's quality, isn't she? A little beauty. May I go and look her over?"

  "Of course," Deirdre agreed readily. Major Haines, she saw, as he examined Snowgoose, was no amateur where horses were concerned. And Paddy's scowl vanished when the visitor spoke to him. She glanced covertly at Dwight Nelson, who flushed painfully to the roots of his bright red hair as his eyes met hers.

  "I guess I owe you an apology, Miss Sheridan," he said, "for my behaviour yesterday. I lost my temper, I'm afraid. I'm very sorry,"

  "Oh, please," Deirdre begged, "I think we all did, Mr. Nelson."

  "Oh, no," he insisted, "you didn't. You were wonderful. When I got to thinking about it, after I'd left you, I almost turned around and came back, so's I could beg your pardon. I feel very badly about it, very badly indeed."

  "You needn't. Honestly. You had ample provocation."

  "Not for the things I said to you. You didn't provoke me. I behaved like a heel. And when you'd asked me to tea," he added shamefacedly. "But I was worried stiff about the Cadillac, on account of its not being mine, you see. Major Haines was pretty big about it when I explained what had happened. I guess he was more concerned about your mare than he was about his car, at the finish. He's crazy about horses."

  "Yes," Deirdre agreed, watching him as he stood talking to Paddy, with Snowgoose nuzzling him playfully with a soft black nose, "he seems to be. I—" She hesitated.

  There was something vaguely familial about Major Haines. "I'm sure I've seen him before somewhere, only I don't know where."

  Dwight Nelson grinned. "You'll have seen his picture, maybe. He was over here at Harringay last fall, as reserve for the United States team. He's a great horseman, as well as a great flyer. In fact, he's quite a guy all round. You'll like him."

  "I'm sure I shall."

  "To tell you the truth," the young man confided, "he was kind of pleased, in a way, that this accident happened. I mean, it gave him the opportunity of coming over here and meeting you. After what I'd told him of the set-up you had and all the horses and everything, he was dead keen to come."

  Deirdre studied Major Haines' dark, high-boned face with renewed interest "Would he like me to show him round, do you think?" she suggested.

  "I guess he'd like that just fine, Miss Sheridan. And so should I, if I'm forgiven for yesterday?" His ingenuous blue eyes were questioning, and still, Deirdre noticed, a little apprehensive, as if he were uncertain of his welcome.

  "Of course you're forgiven," she assured him warmly. "I'll call my brother and then we'll go on a tour of the Stud. And after that, I hope you'll stay and have tea with us? I really do mean my invitation this time, I promise you!"

  "Then in that case," Dwight Nelson answered, holding out his hand, "you've gotten yourself two guests, ma'am."

  They found Sean in the paddock, and when he had been introduced they set off on their tour of inspection, a very friendly party now, the two Americans interested in everything they saw.

  Tea was served, on Bridget's insistence, in the drawing-room and in some state. It was after seven when Major Haines rose reluctantly to go. "We have a guest night in mess," he explained, "and a whole crowd of V.I.P.s coming. But we'll call on your police officer on our way past, just to make sure that this whole thing is settled, once and for all. And"—he looked from Deirdre to Sean, smiling—"I'd like to come back, if I may. Because I've a notion to do a bit of riding whilst I'm over here, in a few of your county horse shows, maybe, during the summer. I've kind of got my eye on that little mare of yours—Snowgoose. I take it she's for sale?"

  "She is indeed," Sean told him. He grinned. "At cut price to you, sir, in view of her treatment of your car. And if it would help at all, I'm sure we could arrange to board her for you, through the summer anyway, because we don't keep the half of them up once the hunting season's finished. So we'd have a few boxes going spare, more or less from now on."

  The American's eyes gleamed. "Now you're talking, Mr. Sheridan! In that case, I guess you can consider the mare sold, subject to trial. And I'll be over to try her the day after tomorrow, first thing in the morning, if that suits you."


  "She'll be ready for you, sir," Sean promised. His arm linked in Deirdre's, he went with the Americans to their car, and as the huge Cadillac purred slowly down the drive, he turned to her, his voice eager as he said: "Child, that was the best day's work we ever did! I've Father's permission to let Sir Henry have the two youngsters he wants for the Hunt stables—at his price, which, all things considered, isn't unreasonable. With those two and Snow-goose off our hands, we'll be seeing daylight before long, making the place pay. Which is all very satisfactory and a great weight off my mind, I can tell you." He glanced at his watch, "I'm going out this evening, Deirdre. But before I do, I'd like to go into one or two things with you. Accounts and such-like, and I'd like you and Paddy to decide which of the youngsters you're going to keep up and show, which you're going to turn out and which had better be sent to Tatt's. Because you're going to have to decide it—Father won't be fit to take over the reins for a good long time yet, even if they do let him come home. And you know the horses better than I do."

  But at last, Deirdre thought, at last he was really taking an interest, and her heart swelled with gratitude and relief. They spent an hour going over the accounts together. Sean had a surprisingly shrewd business head and, true to his promise, he had given most of the morning to a careful study of all the books.

  She was feeling much happier when her brother closed the last file and announced that he must leave. He did not tell her where he was going nor with whom, and Deirdre did not ask him, sure that he must be meeting Penelope Hollis but would not wish her to know it.

  After he had gone, silence fell on the house and she sat cross-legged in front of the fire, gazing into it with eyes that saw nothing until, lulled by the warmth and the silence, she fell asleep.

  Bridget roused her an hour later. "Ach now, Miss Deirdre, and I'd not the least notion you were here! Sure, I thought you'd gone with Master Sean, in the car. And you with no supper! Why did you not tell me you were staying in?"

  "Oh, goodness!" Deirdre stretched ruefully. "I was asleep, I must have dropped off. I'm sorry, Bridget. But I don't want any supper, I'm not a bit hungry."

  "God save us!" exclaimed Bridget piously. "Then you'll be sickening for something surely. I'll heat you up some soup, at least. Soup'll not harm you and you must take something."

  She studied Deirdre's face anxiously.

  "I'm all right, honestly. Just stiff. And sleepy!"

  "You look pale and peaky to me then," Bridget informed her. "Off to bed with you, Miss Deirdre, and I'll bring you up a tray." She bustled out and then, her hand on the door, turned back. "Ach, now, and wasn't I almost forgetting! There were two 'phone calls for you, they came just now, when I thought you were out. I wrote them down, supposing you'd see them when you came home."

  "Oh!" Deirdre sat up, wide awake now and oddly tense. "Who were they from?"

  "The first was from the young American gentleman, the one there was all the fuss about, with the car. He was wanting to know if you'd dine with him tomorrow evening, and go to a dance at Barminster, I think it was—to his squadron dance, onyway. I said I'd no idea when you'd be back, so he left a number for you to ring. He seemed very anxious for me to give you the message." Bridget's lined old face creased into a knowing smile.

  "Well," Deirdre answered, with unaccountable irritation, "you've given it, haven't you? Who else 'phoned?"

  Bridget looked hurt. She said, offended: "Sure and who but Colonel Carmichael then? I wrote it down for you, on the pad. 'Tis there for you to see for yourself. Something about him having to go to London unexpectedly and hoping that everything had been arranged with the American gentlemen, without any more trouble. Oh, and he said he would try to see Master Sean when he got back. That was all, I think, but 'tis on the pad, like I told you." She waited and, as Deirdre was silent: "Well, I'll heat the soup for you. Go to bed, Miss Deirdre, 'tis late and you're tired."

  "Yes," Deirdre promised contritely, "I will. Thank you, Bridget. I'm sorry if I was cross."

  "Ach, you'd newly woken, don't trouble your head about it."

  The old woman left her and Deirdre got up and crossed the hall to the telephone. As Bridget had said, the messages were written out in full and she read them both through carefully.

  Alan Carmichael's ended with a request that, if she returned before nine, she should ring him back. Deirdre looked at the big, old-fashioned grandfather clock in the hall. Its hands stood at nine-fifteen. She hesitated for a long time, biting her lip to still its sudden trembling. Sean could be wrong, she told herself, he could have made a mistake… it wasn't fair to condemn a man without giving him at least a chance to defend himself.

  At last she picked up the telephone and asked for the number Alan had given her. The operator said: "Trying to connect you" several times, and she could hear the low, monotonous sound of the ringing tone. But there was no reply, and Deirdre was about to replace the receiver when a woman's voice came on the other end of the line.

  "Hullo! This is Thorpe 216123." It sounded a little breathless, but it was a pleasant, cultured voice.

  "Oh," Deirdre said, taken by surprise, "is Colonel Alan Carmichael there, please? He asked me to 'phone and I—"

  "I'm so sorry," the cultured voice cut in regretfully, "Alan's just left, only a few minutes ago, as it happens. I was seeing him off. But I'm Mrs. Carmichael. Could I give him a message?"

  Deirdre felt icy fingers clutch at her heart. So it was true! Sean had been right. "I"—she made a great effort to steady her voice—"no, thank you. There's no message. I—I'm sorry I troubled you."

  Her hand shook as she returned the receiver to its rest. Then suddenly resolute, she picked it up again. "Exchange," she said, "would you give me Barminster 7000, please? What? Oh, yes, I'll hold on… Barminster 7000? Could I speak to Lieutenant Nelson, please?"

  It was a relief to hear Dwight Nelson's eager young voice, a few minutes later… "Miss Sheridan? Swell. You got my message? Well, will you come? I'd like so much to have you come over here."

  "Thank you," Deirdre said, "I—I'd enjoy that very much, Mr. Nelson."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  During the week that followed, Deirdre saw a good deal of Lieutenant Dwight Nelson.

  The squadron dance, held in one of the giant hangars at the aerodrome, proved to be the greatest fun, from the moment Dwight had presented himself—immaculate in what he referred to as his "pinks"—to escort her to it. Like all Americans, he was a good host, courteous and generous to a fault, and Deirdre found him a gay, amusing companion, as well as a very expert dancer.

  In his own element and amongst his own kind, Dwight lost his brashness and became a most attractive young man, whose manners were impeccable and whose high good humour belied his fiery red hair and the aggressiveness he had shown on the occasion of their first meeting. Deirdre found herself liking him much more than she had expected to and liking, also, the friends to whom he introduced her. Like himself, they were all young and high-spirited: many, despite their youth, had seen active service in Korea and wore double rows of medal ribbons, which contrasted oddly with their fresh, boyish faces and college slang, their easy, light-hearted laughter.

  The band, consisting of uniformed servicemen, played all the latest American hit tunes, many of them unknown to Deirdre, with a verve and rhythm worthy of a professional orchestra: supper—so lavish that it almost took her breath away—was eaten to the accompaniment of a "hill-billy" trio and followed by a cabaret, performed, Dwight assured her solemnly, entirely by amateurs—officers and enlisted men of his squadron.

  It was an enormous success and Deirdre enjoyed herself. Afterwards Dwight drove her home in the now perfectly restored Cadillac and was round next day, smiling and diffident, using as his excuse the fact that Major Haines had suggested he "come along too."

  "I don't want to be in your way, Deirdre. But if you'd let me stick around and watch things, I'd like that just fine. Because I guess the Major will be here quite a lot, now he's gotten himself a horse to p
lay around with."

  They both became regular visitors, whenever—which seemed remarkably often—their duties permitted; Dan Haines, as the owner of Snowgoose, expressing himself delighted, not only with his new show jumper, but also with the arrangements he had concluded with Sean to stable and school the mare.

  He was a magnificent horseman and Snowgoose improved swiftly under his quiet and expert handling. Until her lacerated knees healed Dan was unable to jump her, but he spent hours on end altering and rebuilding the practice fences in the paddock, with a view to their future use.

  Deirdre was busy with her own horses too. She had no time to hunt, for Marigold had to be given plenty of road-work, as well as gallops, to fit her for her first point-to-point appearance, and there were half a dozen promising youngsters to be brought up to showing standard in her father's absence.

  The 'chasers she left to Paddy, with Terence and a new seventeen-year-old lad, called Joe, to help him, under Sean's supervision. To her delight, Sean seemed to be taking his new responsibilities seriously and there was no doubt that his interest was paying dividends. Fergus O'Ryan, the professional steeplechase jockey her father had engaged, came down twice to ride in practice gallops and told her, on leaving: "You've some fine horses, Miss Sheridan, that'll not disgrace you at all, so they won't. 'Tis a pity your brother's not fit to ride them himself, but never worry, I'll win you some races in the next month or two, if you and your brother will be after giving me them in the fettle your father does."

  He was a nice little man and Deirdre assured him she would do her best. Thereafter, she gave up all idea of hunting and redoubled her efforts, taking over everything she could from Paddy, in order to leave him free to devote himself to Sean and the 'chasers' training. Even Dwight— whose riding experience had been limited, on his own admission, to "a little quiet cattle rustling" on his uncle's ranch in Texas—found himself inveigled into helping her with her half-schooled "babies."

  He appeared to enjoy it and managed well enough, asking no more reward than Deirdre's company and an occasional word of praise from Sean or Paddy. His hands were heavy and untutored and the niceties of show-ring technique escaped him, but he could be trusted with a lunge-rein and his patience with the most temperamental "baby" bid fair to equal even Deirdre's, for he was fond of animals and instinctively gentle with them.