“Actually, Miss, it’ll be nice to ’ave something to get me teeth into.” George lifted the bonnet, then turned to Maisie again. “How’s Mr. Dobbs this mornin’? Better?”
“Much better, thank you. He’s awake, though it might be a while before he’s up on his feet.”
“Fair gave us all a shock, did that. Everyone’s waitin’ for news.”
“I’ll see that the household is kept posted. Can I leave Lily with you then? I’ll need her by three this afternoon —to be at Pembury by visiting time.”
“
Maisie smiled, then laughed. “By three, thank you, George.”
“Right you are, Miss. By the way, I saw ’er Ladyship walking over to the stables a little while ago.”
“Oh, good. I’d better give her the latest news.”
Lady Rowan was leaning on a fence surrounding the paddock adjacent to the stable where Frankie Dobbs had fallen. She seemed thoughtful as Maisie approached. The older woman’s three canine companions, investigating bushes alongside, lifted their heads and greeted her with tails wagging.
“My dear girl, how is your father? I have been beside myself with worry.”
“He is better, Lady Rowan, much better, though I will know more this afternoon when I see his doctor.”
“Your father, Maisie, may well surprise us all. I think he’ll live until he’s one hundred years old!” Lady Rowan looked at Maisie with more gravity as she, too, leaned on the fence to watch mare and foal together. “You will not have to worry about convalescence, Maisie. Your father’s recovery is in my interests, and the costs of any necessary procedures or care—”
“Thank you, Lady Rowan.”
“Good.” Lady Rowan turned to the paddock. “So what do you think of him?”
Maisie watched the foal standing under the protective custody of his mother’s head and neck. His chestnut coat shone with newborn softness, the tufted promise of a rich, thick mane standing up like a shoe-brush on his long and delicate neck. The foal’s legs were surprisingly straight, and as the two women watched him, Maisie could swear she detected a certain defiance in his manner.
“He’s quite . . . quite the little man, isn’t he?”
“Oh yes, he certainly is, and only a day old, mind you.” Lady Rowan continued to regard her new project closely. “Thought I’d call him ‘Francis Dobbs’ Dilemma. But no, he’ll be named Chelstone Dream. Apt, don’t you think? I’ll call him ‘Dreamer’ for short.”
The foal stared at them intently in return.
“You see that look, Maisie? The way he’s standing?”
Maisie nodded. “Yes.”
“They call that ‘the look of champions,’ Maisie. He’s the one; he’ll do it for me. In four or five years he’ll bring home The Derby for me— I know it! Can’t you just see Gordon Richards atop Chelstone Dream, flying past the post at Epsom?” Lady Rowan became pensive again. “But in the meantime, what will I do without your father?”
“Ah,” said Maisie. “Don’t worry. I have a plan.”
Lady Rowan laughed, her voice cutting through the morning quiet in such a way that the mare started, and moved her foal to the back of the paddock. “I would have put money on your having a plan, Maisie. What is it?”
“I’ll tell you this evening, Lady Rowan, when I’ve sorted out a few details.” She looked at her watch. “But I have to telephone my assistant, then I must see Maurice. May I use the telephone at the manor?”
“Of course. I shall expect to see you for supper this evening, when you can give me news of your father’s progress. And I cannot wait to hear your plan!”
Maisie looked back at the foal as she made her way toward the manor house. And she could have sworn that Dreamer, the foal with the look of champions, had watched her every move.
“Billy, I’m glad I’ve caught you!”
“ ’Oldin’ the fort, Miss. ’Oldin’ the fort. How’s Mr. Dobbs?”
“Much better, thank you. Out of the woods. What happened when you canceled our appointment with Waite?”
“Well, at the beginnin’, I ’ad to give a message to ’is secretary, who then ’ad to speak to ’im. Poor woman, you’d ’ve thought I’d asked ’er to tell ’im that ’is shops’d all burned down. Scared of ’im, she is, scared silly.”
“Billy—”
“Anyway, she went off; then Waite ’imself comes on the blower, boomin’ down the pipe ’e was, boomin’ about how ’e was Joseph Waite and that no one does this to ’im.”
“Oh dear.”
“Then I told ’im what the reason for you not bein’ available was, and I must say, ’e wound ’is neck in a bit sharpish. Funny that, innit? Says somethin’ about family comin’ first, and that it was nice to know that a daughter ’onored ’er father, and all that.”
“Can he see me soon?”
“Made an appointment for Friday, sayin’ that I just ’ad to let ’im know if there were any difficulties, and that you was to let ’im know if ’e could be of service. Very strange man, Miss. Very odd, that about-turn.”
“He’s certainly odd where family are concerned, I’ll give you that.” Maisie paused as she noted the details. “With a bit of luck I’ll have good news for Waite. I’m going to Camden Abbey tomorrow, to speak with
