neatly and pushed the iron across it again, setting a crease. “She can be persented in court a dozen times and it won’t do ’er a shillin’s worth of good. Mark my words, that girl’ll end up jest like ’er mother, on the stage er worse.” She folded the pillowcase once more and whacked it again with the iron. “Worse, most likely.”
And that had to settle it, for the ironing was finished, Rose sailed off upstairs with the linens, and there was no more opportunity to talk.
But the conversation had given Amelia even more to think about, and she was still thinking when she went back upstairs to lay out her ladyship’s tea gown. In fact, she was so deeply engrossed in her thoughts that when she put her hand into her apron pocket and her fingers touched the rough edges of a crumpled paper, she did not at first remember what it was. It wasn’t until she drew out the small, wine-stained ball of paper that she recalled retrieving it from the fireplace in Mrs. Langtry’s bedroom, where it had obviously been intended to burn. When Amelia smoothed it out and read it, she understood why:
Monday, 5 June
My dear Mrs. Langtry,
I write because I find myself in a difficult financial situation and no longer able to carry large overdue accounts. According to my records, you owe me some ten thousand pounds. If you are disinclined to find this money, I must remind you of what I know about the theft of your jewels and about Mr. Langtry’s death. I expect payment in full as soon as possible. If I do not receive it, I shall be forced to go to the elder Lord de Bathe and tell him what I know. I’m sure he will be most interested in the information.
I shall look forward to hearing when you will honor your obligation.
Yrs faithfully,
Alfred S. Day
Amelia had scarcely finished reading this revealing missive when the door opened and Lady Charles entered, carrying her notebook and pen.
“Oh, Amelia,” she said breathlessly, “I’m glad you’re here, my dear. I must write a note to Lord Charles, and I shall want you to carry it to him as quickly as possible. I do hope you won’t mind walking into Newmarket. I particularly don’t want Mrs. Langtry to know that I’ve written to his lordship.” She stopped, seeing the note Amelia was holding out to her. “What is this?”
“I found it in the grate in Mrs. Langtry’s bedroom,” Amelia said, very seriously. “I think ye should read it, m’lady. And I’ve learned some things belowstairs that ye’ll likely want to ’ear.”
Lady Charles scanned the wine-stained, slightly-charred note, pulling in her breath sharply. Then she went back to the beginning and read it again, more slowly, her lips silently forming the words.
“I think I’m beginning to see,” she whispered, as if she were speaking only to herself. “Is it sufficient proof? I doubt it. But of course Charles must decide. And he may have found out more that will help him.” Then she looked up, starting, as if she had forgotten Amelia’s presence. “You have something else to tell me, Amelia?”
Carefully, trying to recall exactly what had been said, Amelia sketched out what she had learned from Margaret, Mr. Bowchard, Rose, and Pru. Lady Charles listened carefully, seeming most interested in Pru’s report.
“You say the parlormaid saw this man, Spider, take the gun out of the drawer?”
“Not ’xactly, ma’am.” Amelia shook her head. “She said ’e
“That fits with what I know,” her ladyship murmured. “But I wonder why Lillie lied to protect him.” She looked up. “None of the servants know this man’s real name?”
“They don’t seem to, ma’am. Just that ’e’s from London, and ’e comes ’ere ev’ry so often.”
Lady Charles glanced down at the paper in her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she went to the small writing desk that stood beside the window. She took out a piece of paper and her pen and sat down to write, giving careful thought to some of the sentences, as though she were telling a complicated story. Once, apparently having forgotten some detail, she went back to insert a phrase in the margin. Then she folded the note Amelia had given her into the paper she herself had written, and thrust both into an envelope. On the desk was a candle, with a stick of red sealing wax and a metal embosser beside it. She lit the candle and melted a blob of wax onto the envelope, embossing it carefully. She gave it to Amelia.
“Lord Charles is staying at Hardaway House, on the left side of Wellington Street, just off the High Street. The house has a green door, behind a brick gateway. Go there, and give this envelope to his lordship. If he isn’t in, you must wait for him.” She frowned. “No, it might be very late when he comes, and your return here would attract attention. Best to give the note to Mrs. Hardaway, the landlady, and ask her to keep it for Lord Charles. On no account should she give it to anyone else. Do you understand?”
“Oh, yes, m’lady,” Amelia said eagerly, pleased to be entrusted with this important mission.
Lady Charles stood, went to her purse, and took out a coin which she pressed into Amelia’s hand. “Give Mrs. Hardaway this to ensure that she does as you say.” She found another coin. “And use this to hire a hansom to bring you back. If you are asked where you’ve been, say that I sent you to the chemist for lavender water.” She added a third coin. “You may keep the lavender water for yourself, for your trouble.”
“Oh
“Very well, then,” her ladyship said. “Put on your hat and go. And do
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It was customary for boys to go into racing stables at the age of ten or eleven, some of them before they reached that age. They were often spotted by men who saw them going well to hounds, or riding ponies at some village sports. One well-known owner when asked where he found the light-weights who rode his horses so well, replied: “I breed ’em on the estate.” The earlier boys begin their tuition and ride against other jockeys, the more likely they are to succeed.
Paddock Personalities J. Fairfax-Blakeborough, 1936
When Patrick woke at five on Tuesday morning, he was tired and still shaken by his adventure of the previous night. But he got through morning stables in good order, none of the other lads having noticed that he had been absent from his bed until past midnight. And when Pinkie Duncan told them at breakfast that Badger the bookmaker had been murdered, Patrick looked down at his plate and pretended to know nothing at all about it. He noticed, however, that despite Pinkie’s efforts to conceal his true feelings, his satisfaction showed on his face. Clearly, the dead man had not been one of Pinkie’s friends, although Patrick could not guess why. Patrick did not like Pinkie any the more for this secret gloating. It was not that he had cared very much for the bookmaker, whom he knew only from seeing at the racecourse. But it did not seem right that one man should gloat over another man’s death, however unpleasant their association might have been.
Gladiator was exercised with the afternoon string, so Patrick readied his other horse, a two- year-old filly named Starling. The morning sky was lightening in the east when he took her out with the other lads. They walked their horses around the paddock’s cinder path under the watchful eye of Mr. Angus Duncan, who was making the daily exercise assignments: the more experienced lads to the more difficult or valuable horses, the less experienced to the horses least likely to give trouble. The inexperienced were left behind in the yard to walk the unfit horses.
