The Last Virginia Gentleman

by Michael Kilian

  He knew no remedy. Joining her in her sporadic sprees and binges, as he had attempted in their youth, had provided no solution. Neither had indulging her persistent efforts to resume what he had once cherished as an idyllic romance, but which had turned into a long, degrading, and much-interrupted affair. The invariable result had been oppressive guilt for him and eventual boredom for her. Showers was no bluenose, but those few things he did hold as sins—disloyalty, infidelity, selfishness, cruelty, inconsideration—repelled him. Lenore sought out the sinful in everything, so that she might wallow in it. He was most attractive to her when she could not have him.

  She came breezing out the screen door and down the front steps of the big Fairbrother mansion just as Showers pulled to a stop in the well-groomed gravel drive. She was in a dash for her car, and barely halted as he came up the walk.

  “David, darling,” she said, mouthing a kiss as she brushed by. “No time to say hello, goodbye, I’m late, I’m late, I’m late.”

  “For what?” He stopped and turned, facing her receding back.

  “For a party, dear boy. The duchess of something or another is accepting curtsies at a garden thing of Muffie Brandauer’s in Middleburg.” She paused, finally, at the door of her Jaguar, and looked back at him. “Do you want to come?”

  “I thought we might go riding today.”

  “Riding?” she said, snapping open the door. “Wouldn’t think of it. I’m having my period, darling. Hate that in the saddle.”

  She got into the driver’s seat, then stuck her head out the car window. “Why don’t you ask poor Lynwood? The man is so stricken with ennui he’s wandering around fondling his trophies.”

  Showers hadn’t seen Lynwood on a horse in more than a year.

  The big engine exploded into life. Roaring off, she left deep furrows in the neatly raked gravel.

  He knocked at the door, a needless formality, then stepped inside. Fairbrother was in his enormous study, standing at the windowless wall that was lined with bookshelves, nearly all the expensively bound volumes they contained having to do with horses and steeplechasing. He was rubbing at a large silver cup with his handkerchief, attacking some minute spot of tarnish.

  “David,” he said, looking troubled. “You just missed Lenore.”

  “Not quite. She spared me a few seconds.”

  “Sit down. Sit down. Spot of whiskey?”

  It wasn’t quite eleven A.M. “No thank you.”

  “I hear Moonsugar’s recovering nicely. Pity he won’t ever be able to race again.”

  Showers didn’t want to pursue that point. “I’ve acquired another horse.”

  Fairbrother glanced at Showers’ dusty riding boots. He was wearing old brown oxfords with his gray flannels and sport coat.

  “Heard about that. Fine-looking animal, I’m told.”

  “I’ve had a bit of trouble about it. The papers are bad. I’ve asked for an investigation.”

  “Heard about that, too. I understand Mr. Bloch is involved. If he causes you any difficulty, I want you to tell me at once. We’ll back you to the hilt. Can’t have that sort of thing in Banastre County. Common as mud, that man.”

  Showers had thought of asking Fairbrother for advice, but something far more useful suddenly occurred to him. A number of magazines were scattered on the long reading table beside them—Country Life and other upscale English and American periodicals, most of them devoted to horses.

  “Lynwood, you know quite a number of horsemen overseas, don’t you?”

  “Oh yes. Lord Molgran. Dickie Chattersworth. In England. I know a few people in Ireland as well. No Germans, though. Can’t stand to do business with them. They’re all business, don’t you know. A few French fellows, but not many. Don’t like them very much.”

  “But you do know people in England.”

  “My boy, I’ve sold horses to the queen.” His eyes twinkled as he spoke, as though it were a marvelous revelation. He had told Showers about this point of pride at least a hundred times.

  “Have you heard about any recent theft of a horse over there, a valuable horse?”

  “Nothing that comes to mind, though it happens all the time, don’t you know. The finest horse in Ireland was stolen by those damned thugs in the IRA. Never heard from again. It would help if they’d adopt the American system and tattoo the lips. But they won’t do it. It invites thievery.”

  “Lynwood, I’m talking about a very particular horse. A bay stallion, with three white stockings.”

  The twinkle vanished. “Oh, yes. I see.”

  “Could you ask your friends—in England, wherever?”

  “Well, I can’t very well ask the queen. But yes. Certainly I’ll get some letters off today. As it happens, my afternoon is quite free.”

  Showers would have preferred that he use the telephone, but he was imposing on the man enough.

  “I’d be very grateful.”

  “Not at all.”

  Showers rose. Fairbrother did not.

  “There’s something I wanted to ask you, David. This Earth Treaty. I gather from the Washington Post that it’s rather harsh in its coal-burning restrictions.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “That’s a bit troubling. A lot of people in West Virginia and Pennsylvania depend on coal mining for their livelihood.”

  As, to a significant extent, did Fairbrother. “The dead trees and lakes in the Adirondacks are a bit troubling, too,” Showers said.

  “Suppose so. Suppose so. You, uh, wouldn’t have a copy of that treaty at your disposal, one I might borrow for a while? I am rather curious.”

  “I can get hold of a draft. But it’s all very preliminary. There will likely be a number of changes before it gets out of Congress.”

  “I understand. If it’s no breach of regulations or propriety, I’d appreciate having a look at it. Just to educate myself. Rather keen on learning more about it, don’t you know.”

  “I’ll see if it’s possible, Lynwood. I gather the press has already seen part of it, especially the Post. I don’t suppose it would hurt—if it gave you a better understanding of the problem.”

  “Exactly. I’d appreciate it very much.” He looked at Showers darkly. David supposed it was just his bad mood.

  Though she’d finished with her work, Becky was not interested in a ride. Alixe, however, was more than game for some time in the saddle, complaining she’d been too much out of it in recent days. She tacked up her own favorite hunter and had him in Showers’ yard before he had even cinched the girth of his own horse.

  They followed the fence line of his back pasture up to the gate at the top of the hill, then, fastening it closed behind them, moved on into the meadow beyond. The ground was soft but not mushy, and they confidently moved their mounts into a trot. A grassy slope led farther upward. Passing through a scattering of trees and up a following rise, they emerged on a grassy plateau and urged the horses into a canter, dancing them along the perimeter of the flat until they came to a few clumpy boulders that marked the brim of a bluff. Alixe’s horse needed only a grunted word to come to a halt. Showers’, too little exercised, was more ornery, and required a hard pull of the reins. Showers felt some painful stiffness in his legs, but it came from his lack of riding, not his much diminished racing injury.

  “Glorious fucking day,” said Alixe, gazing down at the rolling valley below.

  “Better than some.”

  “It’s funny,” she said. “Both our places look like a single spread from up here. You don’t realize how close together our houses are.”

  “I realized it the night of the fire.”

  “You know, your father once tried to screw me up on this hill. Did I ever tell you that?”

  She had, but she’d been seriously in her cups at the time, and he hadn’t known whether to believe her. He certainly hadn’t wanted to.

  “My father had some regrettable traits.”

  “Scared me to death. I was awfully young then. Almost fell off this little
cliff getting away from him. But afterward, I think I was perhaps a little sorry it didn’t happen. Had the most ridiculous notion, don’t you know, that he wanted to leave your mother and marry me. Foolish girl. Hell of a handsome man, your father. I think he was terribly jealous when you married Lenore.”

  “He never got near her.” Showers relaxed his hold on his horse’s reins, letting him graze.

  “Oh, she let him get near, all right. But never near enough. Enjoyed making him miserable.”

  “Sometimes I think that’s her mission in life. She seems to think that, anyway.”

  “Tell me something honestly, David. Do you really believe, deep down believe, that one day she’s actually going to come back to you?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Do you really want that? After what she’s become?”

  “That’s a question I never try to answer.”

  “I think she’ll stay with Lynwood to the end. He’s pretty old now. Drinks as much as she does when no one’s looking. The end could be fairly soon, like it was with your father. Then again, he’s the kind of proud, stubborn son of a bitch who could outlive us all, like old Judge Merrick seems bent on doing. One way or the other, I see Lenore sticking with him. Her flirty-flirty days are beginning to slip away.”

  “Lenore will be flirting with her undertaker.”

  Alixe leaned forward, hands on her pommel, stretching her back.

  “You and I have got ourselves into a fair piece of trouble with that bay stallion, David.” She straightened, brushing a few pieces of bramble from her breeches. “You’ve got a problem with Lenore that’s going to keep you tangled up the rest of your days, unless you cut loose from all your sentimental notions about her. But the biggest trouble you’ve got on your hands right now is that unhappy girl living in your cottage.”

  “Becky’s all right. She’s just going through a bad time.”

  “It’s going to get worse, and it’s going to get worse for you. It’s not just that you and that farm are all she has in her life. It’s all she damn well wants in her life.”

  “She’ll grow out of it.”

  “To employ a phrase, horseshit. Do you like her?”

  “Of course.”

  “She’s not that bad-looking, you know. If she lost some weight, she’d be damned pretty. No siren like Lenore, to be sure. But a damned handsome woman.”

  “Alixe, please. I’m a generation older than she is.”

  “You two are a lot closer in age than Lenore is to old Lynwood—hell, than I am to some of those fine young gentlemen I sometimes bring home from Winchester with me.”

  “Alixe …”

  “We have a wonderful way of making arrangements out here, David. It’s our great gift, the secret of our keeping our way of life going for so long. You could do right by Becky and still have Lenore—or anyone else—in the only way that matters.”

  “That’s about the worst thing you could possibly suggest.”

  “I’ll put it this way, Captain. You’re a man who faces up to things. I just want you to face up to this. With Becky, it counts now. You can’t wait. If you want to find a way to cut loose from her, you have to do it now. The longer you wait, the worse it will be. If you want to do the noble thing, what you’re so famous for, you should marry her. And damned soon.”

  She gathered up her reins, turning her horse.

  Showers said nothing. They rode back as swiftly as the terrain would permit, but, once back in the pasture, slowed their horses to a walk to cool them off. Nearing their houses, Alixe waved farewell and turned her horse toward her place. Showers, thoughtful, plodded on. Dismounting in the stable yard, he glanced over at his house. His day suddenly changed. Parked next to his Jeep Cherokee was a yellow Volkswagen Beetle convertible with a slightly damaged rear fender. Squinting, he saw what looked to be a California license.

  She was seated in a wicker chair on his porch, staring off at the nearby foothills. She seemed a much smaller woman than he remembered, but, surprisingly, even more beautiful, perhaps because she was so simply dressed—a thin white blouse, a khaki skirt, her legs bare, her slender feet in sandals. Her thick black hair was combed long and loose, falling over her shoulders, carelessly arranged but not unkempt. She seemed less a movie star than a country girl. She could have posed for an illustration for Wuthering Heights.

  “Miss Moody.”

  She rose quickly to greet him, treating him to a happy smile, skipping down the steps and reaching to shake his hand.

  “Hello, Captain Showers. I hope you don’t mind my dropping in on you out of nowhere like this. I just got back to Washington and I had an impulse to drive out to the country. The farther out I got the more I loved it, and finally I decided to keep going until I got here.”

  “Didn’t anyone ask you inside?”

  “The woman who answered the door asked me to wait out here. She doesn’t know who I am. I mean …”

  Showers cursed Becky. Her discontent was no excuse for bad manners. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  “No. I’ve been fine. It’s such a wonderful day. I’ve enjoyed myself immensely just sitting here and taking it all in.”

  “I have to get the tack off my horse and get him into the barn. I’ll just be a minute.”

  “May I come with you?”

  “Of course.”

  He’d forgotten that she was experienced with horses. She held the hunter while he fetched a rope halter, then removed the bridle for him as he pulled off the saddle. Their arms brushed in the process. The touch of her smooth, warm flesh was innocent, but not a little electrifying. He feared he was becoming star struck.

  “He’s very pretty,” she said. “I had a horse this color once.”

  Showers patted the animal’s shoulder. “He’s a trusty old trooper. I’ve had him eleven years.”

  Depositing the saddle gear in the tack room, he returned to lead the hunter into the shadowy dankness of the barn. She walked along behind him, glancing into the stalls they passed, now filled with Alixe’s homeless horses.

  “I love this smell,” she said. “Always have. It reminds me of where I lived when I was little.”

  “In Maryland?”

  “Western Maryland. Out near Cumberland, in the mountains.”

  “I hadn’t realized you were country folk like us.”

  “A long time ago.”

  She kept looking into the stalls, at last confronting him with the question. “Where is he?”

  Showers stopped. He wasn’t ready for this. “You mean the bay stallion.”

  “Yes. You haven’t turned around and sold him on me, have you? You told me you liked him.”

  He continued on, slipping off the halter as the hunter proceeded docilely into his stall.

  “No I haven’t, but I’m afraid he’s not here,” Showers said, closing the stall door. He wondered if he should be telling her this. He wanted to trust her, as much as he wanted her to trust him. But her father was now his enemy. “I have him at a stable west of here.”

  “Why is that?”

  “For safekeeping.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Let’s go to the house.”

  He tried to think of something casual and friendly to say as they walked back across the yard. Idle conversation was supposed to be a talent of gentry—not to speak of diplomats. He had grown up among people who had chattered their way all through life without ever saying anything significant. But nothing useful came to mind. She walked along at some distance from him, looking uncomfortable, her dark eyes a little troubled. Finally, he said something he needed to say.

  “It was very kind of you, to make that horse available to me. I appreciate that, very much. I had planned to bid on him, but as it turned out, I just didn’t have the kind of money I thought it would take.”

  “All I did was sell him to that nice woman, Alice Percy.”

  “Alixe Percy. But you didn’t need to buy him in the first place. And you sold him at quite a loss.
I intend to make that up to you.”

  “Mr. Showers. That’s not necessary.”

  “I’m just trying to tell you that I’m … well, you’re a very generous person.”

  She bit her lip, making no response, stepping uncertainly into the house as he opened the door for her.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “Something soft. Coca-Cola. Anything like that.”

  He caught sight of Becky running up the stairs. He called after her, but she ignored him.

  “Becky is part of our little family here,” he said. “She’s been going through a rough time lately. A divorce.”

  “You don’t have to discuss my personal life with strangers!” Becky bellowed from the landing. Showers heard her ascend the rest of the steps and stomp along the upstairs hall.

  “I’m sorry. She’s really quite friendly. As I say, a bad time.”

  He took May into the kitchen, offering her the most comfortable of the several antique chairs in the room. She lighted a cigarette.

  “I don’t think there’s a kitchen this charming anywhere in Los Angeles,” she said, glancing around. “Though some people spend thousands trying.”

  He smiled to encourage her friendliness, found a small dish for her to use as an ashtray, then took a plastic liter bottle of Coke from the antique refrigerator. “The house is more or less the way my mother left it,” he said. “I haven’t changed anything much since she died.”

  “I’m sorry. That she died.”

  “It was many years ago.”

  He seated himself across the table from her. She was getting a little nervous.

  “Mr. Showers. Captain. Is there a problem with the horse?”

  “Yes. I’m afraid there is.”

  He decided to tell her at least as much as her father already knew. He explained that the Coggins and veterinarian’s certificate that came with the bay were for a different horse, that the bay was much younger than the age given in the auction catalogue—in sum, that the bay was an impostor. He told her about the fire, and his suspicions about Bernie Bloch, how Bloch wanted the horse very badly, and was now offering him a large amount of money for it.