Where Love Shines Read online

  “Yes. Yes, fine. That is, this is just a sideline. Do this for a friend really. I’m in the sporting business. Have my own stable.” He suddenly seemed confused, as if he didn’t know what to say next.

  Jennifer saw her chance and made an offer for the blankets and shirts well below their value, expecting a counter-offer. To her amazement, Jamie Coke made no effort to haggle. Dick said he would send a servant with the money to pick the purchases up, and the matter was concluded.

  Jennifer gasped as they walked back to the carriage. “Something was not right there.”

  Dick nodded. “He wanted to get rid of us, didn’t he?”

  “Do you suppose they are army contraband, and he was afraid we’d know it?”

  “That doesn’t make sense. That would be all the more reason to drive a hard bargain—even try to keep us from getting the goods if he feared we might file a complaint against him.”

  “Hmm. I’m delighted to have those shirts and blankets. But I certainly would like to know what’s going on. Oh, Dick, I didn’t tell you what I discovered just before leaving London either.”

  She related how the mission had been replaced by a brothel and that the Health Department seemed to be powerless against the landlord.

  Dick listened attentively, and her spirits rose. Working together on this had brought them closer again. Perhaps everything would be all right. She went on with her story. “Arthur was out of town, and I didn’t know who to turn to, so I went to Lady Eccleson.”

  Richard pulled himself up stiffly. “I’m certain that as soon as Mr. Merriott has his seat in Parliament, he will be able to put all such matters to right.”

  They rode back to Greyston Pitchers in silence, Jennifer feeling more confused than ever. What had she done wrong now?

  Nineteen

  Thank you, but I think I won’t go to the races tomorrow.” Jennifer placed her knife and fork vertically across her plate, a signal to the footman to remove them.

  “That is most wise of you. A day in bed would do you a world of good.” Lady Eccleson peered at her through her lorgnette. “Your color has not improved at all. As a matter of fact, you appear to be more moped than you were in London.”

  “Nonsense, Charlotte. The gel needs more fresh air. Go to the races, Miss Neville.” Jenny forced a smile at Great-aunt Lavinia and heartily wished someone would change the subject. She certainly was more dispirited than she had been in London, but fresh air or the lack of it was hardly the problem.

  “I had decided not to go myself. I don’t care much for horse racing—great crushing crowds all yelling and stamping for three minutes and then long periods of standing about in the damp with nothing to amuse one.” Livvy pushed a brussels sprout about her plate with the back of her fork. “But I’m certain Miss Neville would prefer to be hostess to Mr. Merriott tomorrow, so perhaps I will go with you, Dick.” The sharpness was back in Livvy’s voice.

  “Mr. Merriott? Arthur is returning tomorrow?” Jennifer’s head jerked up.

  “It was his plan to have his work in Sheffield completed by today. He said he would pay us a visit on his return south. I believe he is to inspect a factory at Stafford and then return to London.” Livvy gave her a keen look. “But I expect you know all that.”

  “No. I really know very little of Arthur’s plans.” The footman set a tall crystal dish holding a scoop of lemon ice garnished with a mint leaf before Jennifer, but she did not reach for her spoon. Arthur was coming tomorrow and then going on to London. This was her chance to escape the uncomfortable situation with Richard here. She had thought she would be obliged to wait until Lady Eccleson returned to London, but if Lady Eccleson could spare Martha for a few days, she could travel with a maid under Arthur’s protection.

  She looked at Richard sitting between his mother and sister, his blond hair gleaming in the gentle gas light, the shadows of his sharp features emphasized by the whiteness of his stiff collar. Tomorrow would be her last chance to reach him. If she were to leave and never see him again, she wanted one more chance to learn what had gone wrong in the friendship she held so dear. “If you really don’t care for racing, Livvy, perhaps you would be willing to greet Mr. Merriott. I believe I will be guided by your Great-aunt’s advice.”

  Later, in her room Jenny knelt down for her evening prayers. She found her attempt to reach God as futile as her attempt to reach Richard. She tried to pray for her friends. She tried to pray for her country, as she had ever since the earl had opened her eyes to the need for the land to see a great revival, for the Lord to raise up a torchbearer who would light spiritual fires in all the languishing, barren places. But tonight all the windows of heaven were shut. She fell into her childhood pattern of asking a rote blessing on all her family, ending with “and God save the queen.” She slipped between her covers. In spite of the thickness of the featherbed, however, she shivered long in the darkness.

  The next morning, though, she was determined to be her brightest. She opened the door of her room just enough to bring in her shoes, freshly polished by Cory, the boot boy, the night before. If this was to be her last day with Richard, she would do her best to make it a good one, no matter what his restraint. She would wear her brown velvet suit with the white silk blouse. It was from the House of Creed and was the most elegantly tailored garment she had ever owned. The fitted jacket, ornamented only with a row of gold buttons, flared wide over the fullness of her skirt, and the sleeves had wide cuffs over the gathered silk at her wrists. She had Martha arrange her hair, which just matched the deep chestnut fabric, with extra smoothness. This would offset the stylish brimmed hat with its curling feather plume, which was certain to outshine all the ordinary bonnets around.

  It seemed that Richard had set himself to be a good host that day as well. As the coachman Hexam drove the Victoria at a brisk pace the twenty miles southeast to Rugeley, Richard told her something of the history of the area and its landmarks, instructing Kirkham to point out various parks, churches, and stately homes as they passed them.

  They took luncheon at the Rugeley Arms Inn, which seethed with the enthusiasm of the race-course crowd: stable owners, moneylenders, professional bettors, hangers-on. Richard requested a private parlor, but the best the host could offer him was a private table in the back dining room, which was already filled nearly to capacity. Even this room rang with arguments over which horses were surest to win and boastings of the great fortunes that well-placed bets would bring.

  “I am sorry, Jenny. I shouldn’t have brought you here. I hadn’t realized it would be quite so raucous.” Richard leaned across the table to speak to her.

  Jenny’s heart leaped. It was the first time he had called her Jenny since her coming north. But this was hardly the place to discuss their relationship or the deeper questions that had filled her thoughts since she had spoken to Shaftesbury. This place was entirely given over to racing fever, and there could be no fighting it. Richard’s hand rested on the table. She touched it lightly. “It is very stimulating, Dick. Don’t worry. After all, there is little left to shock one who has nursed soldiers.”

  A serving girl brought their steak pie and vegetables. Since Kirkham was eating in the public room, Jenny wondered whether she should offer to help Richard. But then she saw that he was doing very well—surely far better than a few months ago. Did he really see better, or was he simply becoming more accustomed to not seeing?

  As if in reply to her thoughts, Dick smiled at her. “If you would consider a compliment from a blind man, I should tell you that I think your suit is very elegant. The velvet feels exquisite.”

  “Thank you. That is a compliment I value.” Her immense pleasure rang in her voice. Perhaps she could approach deeper subjects even here. Had she only imagined the barrier between them?

  But then a deep, raspy voice at the next table took her attention. “Well, gentlemen, I assume you have all placed your money on Windflyer. I can tell you my horse won’t let you down. Your fortunes shall be made.”

&
nbsp; “Your horse? Coke says the animal’s his.”

  “Yes, yes. My partner is a bit inclined to overspeak himself, but he’s a fine hand with horses. Can’t complain about the work at his stable, so I let him take his share of the credit and beyond.”

  Then Jenny recognized the voice. “Dick, that’s Dr. Pannier. We should say hello.” She turned, then cried out in surprise as a familiar tow-headed figure darted across the busy room, dodging waiters, dogs, and gesticulating diners. “Josh, you do show up in the most surprising places!” she cried.

  “’ullo, miss. Got to find the guv. Coke’s sick.” He swiveled his head, looking every direction until he saw the table behind Jenny. “Oh, Guv’nor!” He darted to Pannier. “Coke’s powerful sick. It’s the indigestion again, ’e’s upstairs on ’is bed. ’e needs more of ’is medicine.”

  “In bed?” Pannier sent his chair crashing backwards as he jumped up. “He should be at the track! Thank goodness I brought my medicines. Don’t worry, gentlemen, Windflyer will run. And he will win. Your money rides safe on him,” Pannier announced to the table as he hurried out behind Josh.

  “So Dr. Pannier is Josh’s employer!” Jenny watched the departing figures.

  “And Coke’s friend,” Dick added. “Interesting.”

  They were still digesting this revelation when Kirkham entered to suggest that they get on to the track. And, indeed, they started none too early, for all the way was heavily congested.

  The race course just outside of town was more crowded and noisier than the inn. Country squires, punters, touts, and tic-tac men crowded the wooden rail lining the track. At the end near the finish line, however, a small covered stand offered seats for the gentry. Dick and Jenny left Kirkham standing at the rail and found a place in the stands. Uncertain how much Dick could see of the proceedings Jenny kept up a lively narrative of the first two races, caught up herself in the excitement of the cheering and the sense of power and speed as the horses swept by. “Oh, Dick, they’re beautiful!” She grabbed his arm. “The winner was named Jigger. He must be a potter’s horse.”

  A fresh group of horses paraded past the stands on their way to the starting gate, the announcer calling their names. “Oh, there’s Windflyer. Number six.” Jenny pointed. “Dick, he’s beautiful. Taller than all the others. Black with one white forefoot and a star on his forehead.” She grabbed her companion’s arm. “Dick, can you see him at all? He’s absolutely magnificent.”

  Dick didn’t answer her, but he turned to follow the direction of the parade. In a few minutes the horses were behind their gates, under starter’s orders. Jennifer held her breath. The gun fired. Windflyer took the lead immediately, a full jump ahead of the other horses. The field streaked down the track.

  “Windflyer!”

  “Come on, boy!”

  “Go, go!”

  The stands roared and shook with the shouts of the crowd and the pounding of the horses’ hooves. Windflyer held his lead, his proud head stretched forward, his long legs outstripping all contenders.

  “Windflyer!” “Windflyer!” It seemed that everyone at the race had money riding on that starred head.

  Windflyer crossed the line a full length ahead of the nearest contender. Jennifer grabbed Richard. “Dick, it was wonderful! I’ve never seen such an animal.”

  But it was Kirkham, grabbing his other arm, that Dick turned to. “Did you see ’im, sir? I mean, even from here, could you tell? It’s ’im. I’m sure of it.”

  Dick was very quiet in the tumultuous crowd as he asked, “Who?”

  “Legend. Sure as I know my own face in the mirror. Windflyer is Legend.”

  “Are you certain? I had an impression, but I couldn’t be positive. It’s been more than a year, Kirkham.”

  “Come on. Touch him. You’ll know. And so will he.”

  Kirkham urged them toward the winner’s circle where the horse was already encircled by officials and jubilant supporters.

  They were almost to the circle when the sound of a hunting horn made every head turn toward the official booth. The announcer’s voice rang out over the suddenly quiet crowd. Officials of the Jockey Club had ruled. Windflyer had jumped the gun. He was disqualified. Darrow’s Pride, the second-place horse, was declared winner.

  An angry roar grew around them until Jennifer feared the mob might begin throwing something heavier than their torn-up betting stubs. But Richard paid no attention to the crowd as Kirkham cut a way to the now-displaced horse.

  A larger crowd milled around the disbarred winner than around Darrow’s Pride. The jockey in his green and purple silks stood beside the tall black horse. All around them people shouted and gestured angrily.

  Richard stopped and gave a whistle that cut through the roar. “Legend. Is that you, boy? Come on.”

  The sharp black ears pricked forward. The starred head rose. The horse gave a soft whinny. Ignoring the jockey holding him on a loose rein, Legend moved forward and nuzzled Richard’s palm.

  Jennifer’s vision blurred with tears as she watched Dick stroke the long, powerful neck and run his hand down the glossy mane. She couldn’t hear the words, but she could hear Dick’s voice murmuring softly.

  “Here, now. What’s the meaning of this? What are you doing to my horse, sir?” Pannier’s voice growled over all the other noise.

  “Your horse, Dr. Pannier? I think not. But I should be most interested in hearing how he came into your possession.” Richard turned to face Pannier, but he did not take his hand from Legend’s bridle.

  Pannier opened his mouth to answer, but just then Josh came tearing through the crowd, literally shoving at the legs of people in his way. “Guv’nor, Guv’nor, come quick! Coke’s took that bad.” He grabbed Pannier’s well-tailored coattails, “’urry, or it may be too late.”

  “Richard, I should go with them. They may need a nurse.” Richard started to protest, but Jennifer darted after the doctor.

  Josh led them through a maze of carriages and wagons to the stables behind the racetrack. Before they were halfway along the row, Jenny could hear sharp cries and groans from one of the middle stalls. Coke lay huddled on the straw, a pool of his own vomit beside him. “Bring fresh straw, Josh,” Jenny ordered.

  With a renewed cry Coke clutched at his stomach as if he would tear out his own bowels. Pannier knelt beside him. “I left my bag in the gig. There is nothing I can do.”

  “Chalk or magnesia mixed into a cream with a little water.” Jennifer’s reply came as a rote response. But where were they to get magnesia at a racetrack? Even as she watched, the victim was gripped by a violent spasm, arching his body backward. In all her nursing experience Jennifer had never seen such severe rigidity of muscles. “Warm water, Josh. And blankets. It is the best we can do.”

  Josh dashed off to grab a horse blanket from the next stall. Before he could return, another seizure gripped Coke’s body, pulling his carrot-red head backward almost to his heels.

  Coke fought for a breath that shook his whole frame. His body spasmed. Then he lay silent. Even in death his body retained the shape of a bow.

  Josh handed the blanket to Pannier, who covered his former partner. The doctor shook his head. “I could do nothing.”

  An elderly local physician whom someone had fetched from the stands came forward. “May I be of service? I am a doctor.”

  “As am I.” Pannier stood to shake hands with the newcomer. “You are too late, Doctor, but you could have done nothing. My friend died of apoplexy.”

  Leaning on his stick, the white-haired doctor peered at the contorted body through rheumy eyes and nodded. “Ah, yes. A sad affair, indeed. Apoplexy, you say? I shall so certify. Yes, very sad.”

  Pannier pumped his hand vigorously. “Yes. Yes, you do that. We must leave it in the hands of the officials now. Yes, apoplexy.” Pannier suddenly seemed in a hurry to leave. “Josh! Where are you, boy? Come.”

  Josh stood unmoving, staring at the body. “I give ’im the medicine like you said, Guv. Honest, it we
ren’t my fault!”

  “Come along, Josh.” Pannier grabbed his hand and pulled him roughly away.

  Jennifer couldn’t believe what she had just seen and heard. She had observed only two cases of death by apoplexy in the Crimea, but neither of them looked the least like this. It looked much more like the poisonings she had witnessed. Most had been from bad food, but there had been more than one case of strychnia poisoning among the Turks when careless workers ingested rat poison. She didn’t understand how an experienced doctor could make such a mistake. She must speak to him about it. “Dr. Pannier—”

  But he had disappeared in the crowd, dragging Josh behind him.

  “Dr. Pannier!” She looked to her right and left, undecided as to which way to go.

  “Here, Miss Jennifer—this way!” Ahead of her Kirkham motioned toward a line at the betting windows. “He went to that window. Come on, I must talk to him about Legend.”

  They pushed through the crowd until they reached the window just behind Pannier. Jennifer blinked in amazement as she saw him turn in his tickets. It couldn’t be. Surely she had misheard.

  This man claimed ownership of the horse he called Windflyer. She had heard him urge all in the inn to place their money on Windflyer. And yet he had bet on Darrow’s Pride, which had paid off at tremendous odds. Pannier left the window with his breast pocket bulging.

  Jennifer drew back, trying to make sense out of what she had seen, but Kirkham challenged him.

  “Here now, what’s this? You had your money on Darrow?”

  Pannier pulled himself up and gave Kirkham a supercilious look. “I always hedge my bets. Any experienced punter will tell you it’s a wise policy—as you can see. This way I more than made up for my losses on Windflyer.” Pannier pushed away from them with Josh in tow.

  Jennifer and Kirkham found Richard outside the winner’s circle still holding Legend over the protests of Coke’s stable lad. Jenny ran to him. “Richard, we must talk.”

  “Stay with Legend,” Dick ordered Kirkham. “Don’t let him out of your sight.” He offered his arm to Jenny, and they went back to the privacy of the Victoria.