The Grave Maurice

Maurice nodded. “Nell-”

The name broke off and drifted, like a spar from a wreckage. He still had a hand on Aggrieved’s rump.

Melrose helped him out: “She was very good with horses, at coaxing them to do what she wanted, wasn’t she?”

Maurice looked at him almost as if wondering why and from where Melrose had learned this. He seemed both to want to and not want to speak of her. “She was brilliant; even George said she’d make a first-rate trainer.” Now Aggrieved was back in his stall and Maurice began to inspect the mixture of oats and bran in the hanging manger. “I hope you have other horses.”

“Well, not exactly yet.”

Maurice looked pained. “You know horses are very social animals. They’ve got to have others around them. Even if it’s just a pig or a goat.” He looked at Melrose for confirmation, suspicious of the munificence of the Ardry End barnyard.

Having not told the big lie, Melrose felt comfortable with a lot of little ones. “I have a lot of land and a lot of good pasture. I have a pig in a sty, a goat in the barn, a swan in the pond (an aunt in the drawing room) and ducks in the lake.” He felt as if he were playing some variation of Cluedo. “Believe me, Maurice, this horse will get the best of care.”

“Stable has to be mucked out every day. I expect you know that.” Maurice didn’t sound as if he believed it, though.

Indeed, Melrose found him far more suspicious than his grandfather Arthur had been or even George Davison. “Absolutely. I’ve got a really good stable lad.” The thought of Momaday as a “lad” made him want to laugh. “Tell you what, Maurice; I’ll take some Polaroid shots and send them to you straightaway (with Aggrieved holding up a copy of that day’s newspaper). How’s that?”

Maurice’s face lightened up considerably. “I wish you would. See, that way I can have a picture in my mind of where he is and what he’s doing and feel I’m watching him.”

Melrose found this almost heartbreakingly sad. “I will. And I’ll ring you or write to you or both. And you’re always welcome to visit him.”

The boy seemed far easier in his mind and now quite friendly. “It’s really hard for me, selling off the horses.”

“Oh, but surely only a few?”

“Yes, but still… Granddad really has to do it when he’s low on funds. Some of the staff has been let go, a few of the lads and one trainer. We’ve got fewer entries in high-stakes races, too.”

Arthur Ryder came out of the house and was walking toward them. “You’re leaving him for now, right?” He looked off toward the stables; then he put a hand on Maurice’s shoulder. “This boy knows more than I do about these horses.”

As most kids will do when their elders get to extolling their many virtues, Maurice blushed and moved from under his granddad’s grip. He said, “I’ve got to see to Dreamer; he’s got a cold or something. Maybe we should call the vet. So long, Mr. Plant, and don’t forget, will you?” He held out his hand.

The grip was firm. “I certainly won’t.” As Maurice trotted in the direction of the stables, Melrose said, “He’s very capable, isn’t he? He certainly is fond of these horses.”

“Hm. I hope to God this business hasn’t upset him too much. Did he say anything?” Before Melrose could answer, he went on, “It could have reminded him-” Then Arthur looked away and then back.

Melrose remembered that it was the second time some statement of remembrance had been interrupted. “No, he didn’t.”

“I keep looking over my shoulder.”

Melrose raised his eyebrows in a question.

“Looking for the next thing.”

“I expect it happened last night.”

“No. That was the last thing. I mean the next thing.”

NINETEEN

“A horse? You bought a horse? What in hell are you going to do with a horse?”

Jury had fanned The Daughter of Time face- down on his sheet when Melrose entered the hospital room.

Melrose said, “Well, that’s hardly the attitude I would have hoped for, considering all the trouble and expense I went to.”

Jury wrenched himself farther up in his bed, wincing. “I appreciate that. I’m sorry. It’s just lying here all day listening to Hannibal’s dire predictions that’s making me testy.”

“Oh? I was thinking how you were getting to look like Sergeant Wiggins more and more: sheet pulled up to your neck, Josephine Tey splayed on your chest.”

“I thought the idea was you were going to pretend you were an interested buyer, not that you would actually buy one.”

“Yes, well, I thought buying would put me in Ryder’s good graces more than simply browsing. Arthur Ryder seemed so grateful-”

“How much?”

Melrose shrugged. “Not much considering this Thoroughbred’s record.”

“How much?”

“What does it matter? A lot. But see, he’s trying to avoid syndicating his horses.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Selling off shares. You know, sort of like a time-sharing scheme. Anyway, I’ve never had a horse.”

“I’ve never had a camel, either, but I’m not going out and buying one.”

Melrose sighed.

“Tell me more about this incident.”

“You detectives certainly don’t suffer from a lack of hyperbole.”

“Not if you can see it on a CAT scan. Go on.”

“I’ve told you absolutely everything that happened.”

Jury had closed his eyes and was shaking his head slowly. “As Proust would say, ‘N’allez pas trop vite.’ ”

Melrose stared. “ ‘As Proust would say’? Are you kidding? Since when did you become Proustian? Or even speak French?”

“I don’t. It’s just that one phrase and bonjour and bon nuit and phrases like that I know. I learned it because I think it should be engraved on my forehead. It means-”

“I know what it means. I’ve had my schoolroom French. You speak it quite well. ‘Do not go by too quickly,’ or ‘Go slowly’ or ‘Be precise.’ Something like that. I agree, it’s excellent advice, considering all we miss if we go too quickly.”

“So. There are a hundred details you’ve omitted. Exactly how was the body positioned?”