Chapter 6
Compared to the horse fairs she had been to in Sussex as a girl, the summer fair at the busy market town of Pant-y-Bryn was a much more modest affair, but Catherine was not disappointed, far from it. Though smaller the event was not lacking in entertainments. The field was vibrant with colour and clamouring with all manner of excitements. As well as the horses and ponies for sale, there were all manner of other animals, chickens, geese, ducks, pigs, and every few yards, it seemed there were baskets of puppies and kittens to be given away. Stalls of local produce and crafts lined the perimeter of the field, each stallholder adding to the cacophony of noise as they sang out praises of their goods to passers by in the hope of eliciting a sale. The best lace here, the sweetest honey there, the softest wool here. Dotted around the field were entertainers, acrobats, jugglers, clowns, dancers and musicians, all practicing their chosen art for the pennies that might be thrown. The field was crowded with those who had come for the day, some with money in their pockets to buy, others simply to enjoy the spectacle.
The local gentry it seemed were out in numbers, and a walkway of clean straw had been laid for the ladies to move between entertainments without having to traverse the muddied field itself. The men in superfine wool coats of sombre black, brown or blue providing the perfect foil for the ladies more colourful gowns, pelisse-robes and pretty bonnets. Catherine was glad she’d worn one of her best gowns of pale blue trimmed with deep violet the exact shade of her modish bonnet and beaded reticule. Alex was easily the handsomest man on the field she felt sure, half a head taller than most and with his broad shoulders and muscular figure he stood out from the crowd of country squires, many of them portly from too much rich food and red faced from too much port wine. Even his manner today was refined and more dainty than usual, as if to match the unaccustomed brightness of his satin waistcoat.
‘Tremayne old man, didn’t know you were back in the country. It is quite uncivil of you not to have visited on your return, though we had heard of your nuptials and will excuse you. Now, will you introduce us to your lady?’
Catherine felt the tension the jovial greeting elicited in Alex through his arm. It was uttered by a portly gent dressed in foppish finery quite different to the general sobriety of the other men. In a superfine the colour of ruby port, cream linen and breeches, brown topped hessians and an ornate waistcoat of copper coloured satin brocade, he outshone even the lady on his arm. As he spoke he eyed Catherine quite impudently, making her feel a little disconcerted.
‘Barrington,’ Alex seemed to hesitate, then recovering himself, he gave a perfunctory bow and drawled in a manner quite alien to his usual style of speech.
‘May I present my wife Lady Catherine Tremayne, m'dear Sir Hector Barrington and Lady Charlotte Barrington of Beechgrove house.’
Catherine smiled and proffered her hand, which was immediately grasped and kissed with enthusiasm by Lord Barrington. Catherine felt his hot lips through the soft kid of her glove, and had to resist the impulse to pull away.
‘Charmed to meet you sir,’ her voice rang clear and confident, it would not do to let him or his lady see her discomfiture.
‘Delighted m’dear, delighted.’ Still holding her hand in a firm grip as if unwilling to break the contact, Sir Hector blustered on.
‘I can see why Tremayne would want to keep you to himself, so just for once we will forgive him. Won’t we m’dear?’
This last remark was thrown over his shoulder at his wife, for he still held Catherine's hand captive while he maintained eye contact in the most impudent way.
‘Oh yes indeed Barrington, but to show him the error of his ways we ladies will make our own way around the field today to see what entertainments we can find to divert ourselves. You gentlemen may conduct your intended business without us.’
With that Lady Barrington stepped forward and much to Catherine’s relief took her arm, thereby extricating her from Lord Barrington’s grasp and proceeded to move away, leaving Catherine with no choice but to follow.
‘Humph! Quite right, need to look over the horseflesh, some fine little fillies here today, damn fine little fillies.’
Charlotte Barrington ignored her blustering husband and they walked away.
Alex watched his wife walk away across the field arm in arm with Lady Barrington and hoped she would find that lady’s company less irksome than he knew her husband’s would be. It would be as much as he could do to be civil to the man, and knowing that the blustering pomposity was merely a disguise, under which was hidden a blackened soul capable of untold evil would not help in any way at all. There was however no other choice, today, at this fair Roxton’s stolen mare would be sold for the third, and probably the last time. If the gang stayed true to form they would cut their losses shoot her and move on. They had evaded capture in this way for a year now, butchering at least three good horses in the process. A sickening thought in itself, but equally worrying was the steady increase in the level of violence they were wiling to use. It was only a matter of time before they killed someone.
Barrington was here to see that the sale went without a hitch; of course he’d not be linked publicly in any way to the sale. That would be left to other, less conspicuous members of the gang. Barrington, they had discovered was the brains and the money behind the venture, he had bid the price up on more than one occasion and there was no doubt the lion’s share of the profits went into his purse. Alex and his accomplices had made their plans and as long as Barrington suspected nothing when Alex bought the mare today, there was a good chance the gang would be brought to justice this time. So today he’d play the dandy, a man with no interested in anything but the cut of his coat and a bit of good horseflesh. Barrington, or some other of the gang, would push the price of the mare up but let Alex take her and all would be set.
‘Well that’s a bit of luck, don’t you know, nothing more likely to spoil the concentration than having the ladies around at a horse sale, eh Barrington. What say we stroll over, get a good look at the goods before they start?’
His exaggerated, affected drawl grated on his own nerves, but Barrington seemed to see nothing amiss, quite the contrary. He seemed in fine spirits as they made their way to the far end of the field.
‘You’d be best off at Tattersall’s, not much chance of getting anything better than a carthorse out here in the sticks man.’
They’d reached the holding pans now, where the horses to be sold could be viewed beforehand. Alex took care not to be too quick to notice the mare. He did take note though of the two vagabonds with her, he recognized the gypsy Jem Cutler immediately; doing a passable job as a groom, but the other chap was the worst example of a country farmer he’d ever seen. A big bruiser of a man he was, broken nose and all, decked out in a suit two sizes too small, hands like shovels and scowling about him in the most unpleasant way. Put one more in mind of a scoundrel fit for the gallows than a country farmer. If it had not been such a damn nasty business Alex would have laughed.
‘Well,’ he drawled with studied boredom, ‘you might be right Barrington, dashed bad show of horseflesh here today. Wouldn’t have em in me stables. Now where’s that man of mine, he should have taken a look at em all and lined up any worth a look.’
With that, as if on cue Tom, Llangorfan’s head groom appeared. Schooled not to show too much enthusiasm lest his interest push up the price, he scowled and shook his head.
‘Don’t know as I’d give any of em a go milord, though there’s a passable bay mare at the back you might want to look at.’
Alex turned slowly, schooling his face into as bored a look as he could muster.
‘Well if you think it’s worth taking a look Tom, having seen the rest of em was about to give it up as a bad job. Lead on man, lead on.’
The mare was a beauty. Her rich copper colouring, glossy in the sunshine as the gypsy walked her around the pen, showing off her classic arched neck, muscular quarters, sloping shoulders and clean legs. She danced lightly
but there was no viciousness in her demeanour.
‘What do you think Tom, bit flighty maybe for milady?’
‘Difficult to say milord, she looks a bit nervy but then she might settle down given a few days peace and a firm hand.’
‘A firm hand indeed, that’s what every pretty little filly needs when she comes to a new master, eh Tremayne?’
Barrington laughed, and Alex felt an overwhelming urge to hit the man.
‘Quite,’ he replied tersely,’ well let’s see what she goes for I’ll not pay over the odds for her, might just head for Tattersall’s after all.’
They strolled over to the auction ring, Tom walking a little behind. The sale had been in full flow for two hours now, and there was an air of expectation as the calibre of horses improved. A good auction always kept the best till last. The wine and beer were flowing freely and by now, lubricating the enthusiasm of many a bidder. Both men accepted a glass filled with a rough red wine, but whereas Alex sipped sparingly, Barrington quaffed it back and reached for another. By the time the mare was led into the ring the effect of copious amounts of the potent brew was showing.
Alex watched as the gypsy walked her around and the auctioneer sang her praises.
‘Now we ave a nice bay mare, four year old new in from Ireland, fifteen hands, and as nice a bit of horseflesh as you’ll find anywhere gents. Who’ll start me at fifty pounds?’
Alex held back, the first few bids were never serious. Barrington kept his hands in his pockets, and Alex looked around for the fourth member of the gang who’d no doubt be the one to push up the price today. He spotted the rough looking cove bidding from the back, £ 80, £100, £120, £140, the auctioneer was in good form now, and still Alex held back.
‘Come on gents, miss this un and you’ll regret it, one sixty at the back, do I see one eighty anywhere for the best horse here today?’
Alex waved a gloved hand twice languidly to indicate he’d bid up, ‘new bid here from the ‘andsome gent in the front, one eighty I’m bid, one eighty once, one eighty twice, sold, to the ‘andsome gent in the front. You’ll not regret it sir, not at all.’
Alex indicated that his groom would see to the details and turning to Barrington downed his glass in one.
‘Well more than I wanted to pay,’ he drawled, ‘and more than the damn animal’s worth I’ll warrant, but I half promised to buy milady a mount today so she’ll do as well as any.’
‘Nice little mare that, cover her with that Arabian of yours and you’ll get ye money back and more, too good for a ladies mount ‘nyway, keep the ladies off good horseflesh and in bed where they belong. That’s what I shay, hic…’
Anyway, can’t see the price was too rich fer ye blood, after all you were quick enough to bid against me for the house. Should have been mine, had a nice little deal all lined up, would have seen me right it would have too. Only you went and had your agent bid so high for it, better if you’d let me have it Tremayne, better for us all you mark my words. Even gave you a chance to sell it me after, offered you a good price for it, no denying that is there?’
‘Not for sale old chap, and won’t ever be either, the house should never have been sold out of the family in the first place. Sorry you wasted the trip to Italy and all that but that’s the way it is.’
‘Oh ye never know, things change Alex, things change.’ Barrington was slurring badly now and Alex moved to walk away, grinding his teeth at the thought of Barrington in charge at Llangorfan. He might not have been living there these past years but it was still his family home, and to let Barrington run the estate into the ground as he’d done his own was unthinkable. It was a bee in the older man’s bonnet right enough. For years the Tremayne family had lived in Italy, initially to leave the tragedy behind them and later of course, travel across Europe had become difficult what with Napoleon stirring up trouble, so they stayed on. During that time Llangorfan had been sold, though the new owner never took up residence and the place sank into disrepair. All the while Barrington had been drinking his own estates into the ground and had begun to look to buying up Llangorfan cheap to sell on at a profit and save his own failing fortunes, but by then Alex had instructed an agent to buy the house back. His intention had been to move back once Europe opened up again after the war.
Barrington had taken his failure to buy Llangorfan badly, he needed to complete the deal to clear his debts. He’d even made the journey to Italy a little less than two years ago, to try and convince Alex to sell it to him and things had turned quite nasty when Alex had refused. Alex had discovered some months later that Barrington had already lined up a buyer and stood to gain a great deal from the sale, which explained why it had been some weeks before he’d given up, and travelled back. The recollection gave Alex a sour taste in his mouth and his reply was short, bordering on rude, but Barrington was too much the worse for wine to notice.
‘How tiresome you can be Barrington, let the thing be man, I’ve no mind to do anything more today than find milady and enjoy the day.’
‘Harrumph, you go find yours an leave mine where she is, I’ll have another glass before I go, yes indeed another glass or two, that’s the ticket all right. If I ad a nice new wife like you maybe I’d be eager to find er, but with wot I got a glass or two helps, yes sir it does help.’
Barrington moved to find more wine leaving Alex to breathe a sigh of relief as he walked away from the auction pens to look for Catherine.
‘Well now Catherine dear, you must begin by telling me all about yourself. I am most intrigued, and must hear all. It caused quite a stir hereabouts you know, the news that Tremayne had wed, and so suddenly too. One quite lost count of the broken hearts and disappointed Mamas. I do commend you, and such an influence you’ve brought about, dear Tremayne is quite the dandy today, Barrington will have to look to his laurels.’
Half an hour later Catherine was dismayed to find herself still in the odious company of Lady Barrington. She had been grilled with little mercy about every aspect of her life and marriage. Where was she from? Who were her parents? How had they met? Where had they wed? Was it a large wedding party? The questions were endless and Catherine had come to the conclusion that while Charlotte Barrington might look like a lady, with her blonde curls, her watery blue eyes in her plump even featured face and her dress and bonnet à la mode, in truth she was little more than a vicious gossip. For as well as seeking information the woman had found something unkind to relate about each and every individual she set eyes upon as they walked. The plump mama with her two plain daughters might look at that fine lace but had no money to buy any. That well turned out young man, though he was the younger son of a local magistrate, was wild and would come to no good end. Those old dowagers would haggle with that stallholder as both were so tight with their pennies that it was well known they kept only one maidservant and had not paid her for months. The litany of petty viciousness was ceaseless and Catherine determined to tell as little as possible as every negative aspect was certain to be broadcast at the earliest opportunity by her unpleasant companion. She began to look around for Alex, needing to be rescued. They were however at the farthest side of the field from the auction. If she was to escape her odious companion she would have to organise it herself.
‘I do believe we should begin our return Lady Barrington, the sale is surely over by now.’
‘Oh no my dear, it will be a while yet I promise you, Barrington is always an age when it comes to his horses. I swear he thinks more of them than he does of anything else, including me.’
‘No, my mind is quite made up, I must insist we return to the gentlemen, I fear I do not have half your energy Lady Barrington.’
‘Oh very well, but I am not fooled for a moment, tis not lack of energy I’m sure that ails you, even a lady as long in the tooth as myself can remember the pangs of a new bride parted from her husband. So come I’ll return you before you...’
‘Nawr edrych beth y wnes di, hanner y bara ar y llawr a dim ond am dy methu gwra
ndo a taflu’r potsun na yn yr afon, sa di, fe fodda i’r anifail ddiwerth!’
They were interrupted by stout farmwife red-faced and enraged yelling intelligibly in the Welsh language as she chased a small child and an even smaller dog. The two, both covered in flour, danced and dodged around her skirts in an effort to escape but were soon cornered between a couple of large barrels. She, still yelling proceeded to scruff the puppy all the while belting the child with the other large callused hand. The riotous scene was drawing a crowd and both ladies were soon surrounded by onlookers as the errant pair were dragged back from the direction they’d run, both howling.
‘Please,’ Catherine asked the lace seller who had risen from her stall to gawp with the rest,’ what was she saying, what have they done, the boy and the pup?’
‘No need for you to fret milady, the boy kept the runt pup and now it’s spoilt the bread, he won’t be the first boy to have his ear boxed, and the runt’s no loss, should have been drowned at birth.’
Catherine knew how hard life was for small farmers, she’d grown up in the country and Sussex small farms were as poor as Welsh ones, the runts of any animal were useless mouths to feed and were often as not drown at birth. Something about this pair though had touched her, the child so small, facing the wrath of his formidable mother in a desperate attempt to save the tiny scrap. The puppy racing around, tiny misshapen little body dodging and twisting enjoying the game, oblivious of the fate that awaited it. All of a sudden it was just too much, she couldn’t explain it, maybe it was the uncaring crowd, but suddenly this one act seemed unacceptable. Without another word she ran in the direction the trio had taken, determined to do something. The scene that greeted her horrified eyes would have been comic if not for the heartbroken wailing of the small boy. His mother was bent double over a bucket of water, huge fists clutching a bedraggled scarp of fur which might already have lost it’s grip on life, while the boy in a frantic battle to save it took on her goliath might. He beat and pulled at her woolen skirts with such ferocity that he managed to push her bulk from the bucket over and over again, all the while wailing and cursing in his mother tongue. Each time she belted him with a huge fist sending him sprawling to the ground and returned to finish off the half dead pup.
Vengeful Lord, Defiant Lady. Page 8