Ch 15 — At the Races
George Carstairs was fortunate in the possession of an elder brother who not only owned an estate in the immediate neighborhood of Epsom Downs but was also of a gregarious and hospitable disposition. It had long been George's habit to descend on Paragon Manor for the days leading up to and following the Derby, and, once married, the only change he had made to this routine was to bring in his train his wife, bachelor brother-in-law and their St. Cyr cousins, all of whom were graciously received and regally entertained by Harold Carstairs and his wife, Gwendolyn
Percy had always enjoyed his stay at the beautiful eighteenth-century country house, but, much as he was keen to attend the races, he was loath this time around to accept George's invitation. It was not the destination that put him off, but rather the journey to it. He had absolutely no desire to be trapped for hours in a carriage with his sister and cousin and subjected, he had no doubt, to a lengthy interrogation regarding his conduct. He had, in fact, been dodging Enid and Callie for days so as not to endure their questions, and would have much preferred to go on avoiding them.
But it was not to be. They would not hear of his defection, particularly as their party was already down one member, Simon having been called in to assist Bow Street with an investigation and obliged to remain in Town. And, just as Percy expected, they were no sooner clear of the clatter and cacophony of London's streets and able to address one another without shouting than his two inquisitors started in on him.
"You needn't think, Percy," Callie began, fixing him with a piercing stare, "that your attentions to Miss Hendred have gone unremarked. I, for one, should very much like to know what you mean by them!"
"As should I," Enid chimed in. "You can't, after all, mean to offer for her!"
Percy had anticipated this line of attack, and so was able to reply calmly, "Can I not? If memory serves, Miss Hendred is precisely the sort of wealthy young miss you, yourselves, advised me to pursue some weeks ago. She is eminently suitable. Her Grace has, naturally, made it her business to inquire into her family background and fortune, and has pronounced herself perfectly satisfied."
"From a material point of view, I'm sure that's true," Callie rejoined. "But, Percy, we never meant you should marry purely for convenience! Miss Hendred's dowry might go a long way to repairing your finances, but she is not the wife for you! Oh! I don't mean to disparage the girl…!"
"Don't you?" Percy interjected, wryly.
"No! She's an amiable, goodhearted creature, and will do very well for that great noddy Walter Flavell or someone of his ilk, but you cannot be shackled to her for life! She would bore you to tears inside a month."
"She's not exactly dim-witted," Enid supplied, "but neither is she bright. Intellectually, culturally, she's very much your inferior."
"And you know you could never be happy yoked to a person of such limited understanding. It would make your life a penance."
"And you could do so much better," Enid added, earnestly. "If only you would exert yourself…"
Percy knew where these remarks were tending and, in the faint hope of derailing them, gave his head a rueful shake. "I know who you mean, and she might have me if Hartshorne doesn't come up to scratch, but nothing could be less certain. Besides," he continued, assuming a puzzled look, "it was my impression neither of you likes nor respects Miss Stanhope."
His sister and cousin gasped as one. "Miss Stanhope!" Callie cried. "Whoever said anything about Miss Stanhope!"
George, who had the whole while been sitting mutely by Percy's side, chose this moment to murmur helpfully, "I believe they are thinking of Miss Helena Damerel."
The name triggered a sharp pang in Percy's breast, but he managed to suppress all outward sign of it. "We have been over this before," he said on a weary sigh. "Miss Damerel is above my touch. And even were she not, rumor has her all but betrothed to Hartshorne. The official announcement is expected to be published any day."
"Yes, yes!" Callie said, impatiently. "But you may take it from me that Helena doesn't want this match! She has no feelings for the man beyond the respect he naturally commands and a certain awe of his rank."
At this, Percy sat up straighter. "She's told you as much?"
"No," Callie admitted, "but actions speak as loud as any words. You have only to see them together to know how matters stand. Helena is stiff as a board, her smiles forced, her usual warmth and sparkle nowhere in evidence. She is obviously ill-at-ease with him."
"And no wonder," Enid said. "He has hardly made a push to endear himself. He takes his acceptance for granted."
For the sake of his own equanimity, Percy had resolutely averted his gaze from the sight of Hartshorne and Helena together, but the few glimpses he'd chanced to catch tallied with Callie's description. The thought of vibrant, sunny Helena stuck in a grand but loveless marriage pained him keenly. "I should be very sorry to see her unhappy, but contrary to what you appear to think, there is nothing I can do. You seem to forget, her father's made it plain he won't approve my suit."
"Oh, pish tosh," Callie said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Lord Damerel's opposition is not nearly the impediment you imagine. If you were as well-acquainted with the family as I am, you would know that, despite his rather forbidding air, Lord Damerel is guided in all his doings by one sole principle: to secure his children's happiness. This is especially true of Helena, who, whether by virtue of being his first-born or entirely on her own merits, holds a special place in his heart. I do not say he can deny her nothing, but you may be sure if she were convinced her happiness lay in marrying a certain man, her father would not hold that gentleman's fortune, or relative lack thereof, against him."
Enid nodded enthusiastically. "So, you see, Percy, it is only Miss Damerel you need to win over, and — all sisterly bias aside — why should you not succeed? She has already shown a decided liking for your company…"
"More than for Hartshorne's, certainly," Callie said. "The point is, Percy, you have a chance with her, and if you don't take advantage, don't make at least an effort, it will be the greatest shame imaginable. And don't, I beg you, argue that your pride forbids it. The ton may very well brand you a fortune hunter in the short term, but what of it? Surely for a prize as great as Helena you can brave the sting of a few sharp tongues?"
"Steady on, now," George protested mildly. "There's no need to take that tone."
"There is every need!" Callie insisted, undeterred. "Percy is heading down the wrong track and in danger of jeopardizing not only his own future happiness, but Helena's as well. It is just too, too exasperating!" An awkward silence followed this outburst, and Callie, somewhat abashed, made a visible effort to compose herself. At length she said more evenly, "All I'm saying, Percy, is don't surrender before you've lost. I have it on good authority the Damerels will be attending the races en famille. Take the opportunity to seek Helena out and spend some time with her."
Percy, if only to put an end to the subject, promised, "I'll think on it."
Callie regarded him narrowly, as if gauging his sincerity, then nodded, temporarily satisfied. "Good."
If he had made his promise primarily for expedience, Percy nonetheless found his mind returning again and again to Callie and Enid's observations. He was struck principally by two thoughts: the first, that Helena might be actively unhappy with Hartshorne's attentions and, the second, that he had all too meekly acquiesced in Lord Damerel's dismissal of him as a suitor. He took new stock of himself in that role: his social standing was impeccable, and he was a man of some property. The estate was dilapidated to be sure, but repairs and restoration were already underway and, according to Mr. Reed's most recent letter, progressing well. The house and gardens would continue to require substantial investment for a number of years, and, as a result, the estate might only break even or run at a loss for a time, but he had every confidence that he would eventually set Harebell Hall back on a firm and profitable financial footing. In addition, he had the solid asset of the stable complex to his credit. Mr. Reed had reported fielding a second offer from the anonymous prospective investor, this time proposing the outright purchase of the entire operation. The offer, in his lawyer's view, fell short of the operation's full value, but, if Percy could bring himself to sell, that increase in his personal wealth might well boost him into the ranks of eligible candidates. He could never hope to compete with the status and riches Hartshorne could offer, but, if Callie were right, such material concerns did not weigh as heavily with Helena as they did with Beryl Stanhope, for instance. She might defy expectations and decline the brilliant match within her grasp in favor of a humbler one based on compatibility and mutual regard. The very possibility caused Percy no end of agitation as hope, long throttled and brutally crushed, bubbled up within him and urged him to action. He hardly dared believe in his chances, but the impulse to assume the risk was nigh on irresistible.
He shared none of this excitation with his companions and neither was the subject of his courtship broached again. The talk was, instead, entirely focused on the upcoming races, the horses who figured to compete, and their relative odds of winning. In a general way, the Carstairs brothers were not given to gambling but they made an exception for the Derby, and, in the run-up, threw themselves enthusiastically into gathering information and, where possible, insider tips. At odds of 4 - 1, Sir Tatton Sykes' Grey Momus was the consensus pick to carry the day with the bay colt Ion running a close second.
Percy had never before had a personal interest in the race, but this year he had two. His interest in Prioress, Lord Damerel's entry in the lists, was purely friendly while in the other horse, Sir Henry Dutton's Speedwell, he had something of a stake. Speedwell, Mr. Reed had reminded him, had been sired by Harebell Hall's Vickers and should the three-year-old acquit himself well, that success would translate into greater demand and higher fees for Vickers' stud services. Regrettably, Speedwell was not favored to win, show or place, and neither was Prioress; they were both judged to be solidly middle of the pack. That was still, Percy reflected, a sight better than a third of the field, and far superior to the lowly Amato who, at an eye-popping 40 to 1, was expected to bring up the rear.
The Monday of race week, a tremendous storm blew in over the downs, and released such torrents of rain that the ground was quickly saturated and low-lying areas flooded. A driving wind wrecked additional havoc, wrenching branches from some trees, uprooting others, and lifting off roof tiles and poorly tethered objects. The damage was so widespread it was greatly feared the race would have to be postponed, but in the event, though some of the booths around the course had been knocked about and a few tents completely carried off, when race day dawned, the turf was discovered to be sufficiently dry and, in fact, all the better for being somewhat spongy.
As horrible as Monday's weather had been, two days later it was as fine and warm as one could wish. The Carstairs' party was up and away early, the ladies traveling in the manor's barouche and the gentlemen on horseback. For all they were among the first arrivals, they found a number of vehicles already stationed along the ridge of the hill overlooking the course, and a lively crowd milling among the varied attractions, gaming concessions and refreshment stalls set up to solicit their custom. They were in time to secure a good viewing spot, and, from this elevated vantage point, Percy could see hordes of people converging on the course from all directions, and nowhere was the traffic more congested than on the road from London.
As the throng of humanity continued to swell, Percy was less and less sanguine of his chances of happening across the Damerels, or, indeed, any of his acquaintance. In this, his pessimism proved unwarranted. Harold and George having gone off to lay their bets, and Gwendolyn and Enid having opted to remain ensconced in the barouche, he was escorting Callie down the row of makeshift booths and stalls, clearing beggars, would-be fortunetellers, and peddlers from their path and guiding her around men already staggering from drink, when suddenly she called out in delight, "Oh, Percy, look! It's Will Hendred and Walter Flavell!"
The two friends were standing at a thimble-rigger's table, Walter following the action intently and Will, a restraining hand on Walter's arm, trying, it appeared, to draw him away. In all the commotion, they did not notice Percy and Callie's approach, and it was only at Callie's halloo that Will turned and, spotting them, broke into a smile of undisguised pleasure. "Lady Callista, Lord Percy! How very good to see you! Quite the mob, isn't it?"
Walter, who'd been reaching into a pocket for some coins, turned reluctantly from the game, and, tipping his hat in greeting, wished them good day.
"I didn't realize you were planning to come today," Callie said, addressing Will. "You didn't mention it when we spoke the other day."
"It was rather a spur of the moment decision. There were those trains laid on especially for the Derby out of that new railway station near Vauxhall, and we thought it'd be a lark. My word, though, what a madhouse at the station! There were easily a thousand people waiting at the gate when we arrived and that number had doubled or trebled by the time we boarded our train. It was the last but one to leave, and the station was still jam-packed when it pulled out."
"And from the station here? Did you rent a gig or horses?"
"That was our intention, but there were none to be had! It was shank's mare for an hour or so, but then, by a stroke of luck, outside an alehouse, we chanced upon some fellows with a cab to share — for a price, of course! It was well worth it, though. If not for them, we'd still be on the road!"
"What a deal of trouble!"
"More than we bargained for, certainly, but it wasn't so bad. Thanks to the rain, the roads were less dusty than they might have been, and there was a festive, comradely feel to the air. And you?" Will inquired. "You're staying in the area, are you not?"
"Yes, at Paragon Manor, with Harold Carstairs and his wife. You must come and meet them, and partake of some refreshment. After all that walking, you must be parched."
Will's face lit with a grateful smile. "A drink would be most welcome, thank you." He and Callie began to move off together, and, Walter, having cast a last, regretful glance at the shell game, fell in behind them and next to Percy. They were close enough on the couple's heels to hear Will ask, "You haven't by chance seen my Damerel cousins? I should like to tell them hello."
Callie shot Percy a quick look over her shoulder. "We've not seen them, no, but we'd be glad to do so as well. We'll help you look."
Will offered his arm, and, Callie slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow, the two set off at a purposeful stroll, Percy and Walter following in their wake. Percy could not help but note that Walter was not his usual outgoing self and wondered at the cause. He dared to hope the man's stiffness was personal and grounded in resentment of Percy's pursuit of Miss Hendred for that would mean their stratagem was working, and, indeed, as one after another of Percy's attempts to engage him in conversation failed, he was increasingly optimistic this was the case. Walter finally unbent enough to join Percy in speculating on the outcome of the race, and they were discussing the advisability of placing a wager, on which horse and in what amount, when Percy happened to catch a hint of disturbance in the crowd.
He slowed his step to investigate and saw two young women and a man stopped in the flow of traffic and forcing others to detour around them. It was obvious from their dress that they were persons of quality, but Percy did not recognize the man, the only one of the three whose face he could clearly make out. He was a tall individual, powerfully built, with a countenance which, Percy suspected, would normally be judged handsome but which at the moment was unbecomingly flushed and contorted in anger. He had one hand clamped in a bruising grip on one of the women's upper arms and was leaning over her in an ugly manner while the other young woman tugged at his sleeve in a useless effort to make him desist. In the quick glimpse Percy caught of her face, he realized he had seen her before, but the where and when of it eluded him. Just then, as the harassed young woman twisted and tried with a furious yank to wrench herself free, her profile came into view.
It was Helena Damerel.