An Event at Epsom, page 4
The bleating sounded again; this time a horse’s restless stomp and a sharp snort answered it. Another bleat was followed by an angry whinny—and then Georgiana was there, looking about her wildly until Annabel took her arm and drew her shadow around them both. “Georgiana! Are you hurt?”
It took another few moments for Georgiana to catch her breath. “This is—there is something wrong here,” she finally gasped out.
“What happened?”
Georgiana took a few more shuddering breaths. “I don’t—truly know. After I made certain that—that Mr. Salter was not there, I took on a goat’s shape.” She swallowed. “Of course, Maharahnee was startled. But when I tried to speak to her, she became terrified. I left her before she took it into her head to bolt through the tent wall.”
“Did she—” Annabel searched for the correct word and gave up. “Did she say anything?”
“Nothing.” Georgiana frowned. “Or perhaps I ought to say, almost nothing. I think her terror said a great deal—if only we could understand its source.” She straightened her back and gave a small hiss of pain.
“Here.” Annabel had been about to hand her her cloak, but instead reached around to settle it over her shoulders. “Would you…that is, it’s not a short walk back to the inn. If it would help to take a small form, I could carry you—”
“I will be able to walk,” Georgiana said curtly, and drew the cloak more closely around her.
Annabel stifled a sigh as she pulled a shadow over them for the walk back. She’d only been trying to help.
Chapter Three
“Maharahnee was afraid of Georgiana?” Maria turned to stare at Annabel. “Are you certain of that?”
They were driving down one of the “boulevards” in the tent city near the Epsom race-course, weaving through the busy morning bustle of horses and people in the curricle in which Lord Sefton had driven down from London. Maria drove it with a careless ease that rather surprised Annabel—and just now, as Maria stared at her for far too long, alarmed her.
“Shouldn’t you be watching where we’re going?” she asked nervously, gesturing at the reins held slackly between Maria’s gloved fingers.
“Oh.” Maria faced forward again and made a soft whoofling sound. The horse nodded his head and continued his pace. “I don’t in fact drive,” she said to Annabel. “I simply tell Hermes where we want to go. It’s much easier than messing about with reins and whips and all that nonsense. He’s perfectly capable of trotting smartly up and down the lanes looking at everything while we talk. It’s as if the carriage drives itself, really. Very useful.”
“Er…” Annabel began. If Maria was unconcerned about permitting a horse to decide where—and how fast—they went, it was probably better to forget where she was and concentrate on their discussion. “Ah—yes, Georgiana was quite certain of Maharahnee’s reaction. I was there and heard nothing that makes me doubt her assessment of the matter.”
“How excessively odd.” Maria gazed broodily at Hermes’ hindquarters. “And Georgiana is there with her now?”
“Yes.” Georgiana, in the shape of a barn swallow, had gone to perch unobtrusively on Maharahnee’s tent; after last night’s strange encounter, they had agreed it would be the best way to observe what was happening there. Annabel had offered to take the first watch that morning, but Georgiana had insisted on going despite the fact that she was clearly in discomfort.
“I expect I should not try to speak with her, then,” Maria said. “At least, not yet. If a goat frightened the poor creature so much, a human addressing her in her own speech will likely send her into a panic.” She frowned. “But why did a goat upset her so? Most horses I’ve spoken with adore goats. They think they’re the most darling things.”
“We wondered the same thing. And I agree that your speaking with her might not be the best course to follow. That is why we’ve decided simply to watch her for now.”
“I wish I could be of some help with that. It is a great deal of work for you two to be doing on your own. And you’re only supposed to be assisting on this investigation, you poor thing. I must say, nonetheless, that I’m monstrous glad you’re here.” Maria patted her hand. “Let us have a look at this Maharahnee. Might we drive past her tent or whatever it is she’s in?”
“Well...” Annabel looked about in consternation. “I’m not certain I can tell how to get there from here…only that it’s next to an enormous yellow tent with hideous green stripes.”
“That will do to begin with.” Maria leaned forward and made a series of snorts and squeals and other peculiar noises, pitched just loud enough to reach their horse’s ears. He listened, then jerked his head up and down.
Maria sat back in her seat. “There. Hermes will find it for us—but I suppose it best if we watch as well. My word, this place gets busier every year. The first time Sefton attended, there were scarcely a thousand watchers and nothing resembling this.” She waved her hand at the rows of tents. “It’s a good thing Georgiana took a bird’s shape. You need wings to be able to make your way around here.”
“Indeed.” Annabel took a breath. “I am...concerned about Georgiana. Her shape-changing seems to be…ah…troubling her a great deal recently.”
“I know.” Maria sighed. “You younger ones can’t understand—why should you?—that growing old has its share of aches and pains for all of us, but triply so for Georgiana, who can change her form from one creature’s to another’s. Doing so uses parts of her anatomy that aren’t typically used in her natural shape, which aggravates the expected discomforts imposed by her age. Do you recall what she said in the carriage yesterday? She was correct that we are seeing a much higher number of investigations this year, and that has put an unwonted strain on her. I must tell Sally on our return not to send her out on any investigations for at least a few weeks.” She sighed again. “What with Clementina’s being in an interesting condition, that leaves us sadly under-manned—or womaned.”
A few moments later, Hermes whinnied. Maria whinnied briefly in reply, and his trot slowed to a walk. “We’re almost there, he says,” she told Annabel. “Can you see it?”
Annabel leaned forward. “Er…there! On the left. Do you see the striped monstrosity? It’s the next one beyond it.”
Maria followed her discreetly pointing finger. “I see it. Good heavens, my parents had a marquee like that for al fresco fêtes in the gardens. Theirs was not so outsized—or ugly, now that I think of it. I don’t suppose we had better stop, but we can circle round again. Hermes?” she called, and made another peculiar equine sound. The horse’s walk slowed further.
As they drew abreast of the striped tent—quiet this morning, with no sounds of jollification coming from under its be-pennoned roof—Annabel saw that the same strongly built, soberly suited man she’d seen the night before was seated in a straight chair in front of the tent, idly watching the passers-by. He met her gaze as she and Maria passed, and she was certain that she saw a flicker of recognition in his otherwise impassive expression. Who was he, and why was he keeping watch in this fashion?
“Not much to see, is there?” Maria murmured, and Annabel dragged her attention back to Maharahnee’s tent, which wore a derelict air with its flaps down and no tightly coiled Jem Salter sitting before it. But Maria had spoken too soon. Just as they passed the smaller, shabbier tent, the flap of patched canvas covering the entrance was pushed roughly aside and a man of about forty years—or thirty-five hard-lived ones—strode out, scowling and muttering under his breath. He was dressed fashionably but carelessly, with a faded foulard neckerchief for a cravat and well-made boots that had not seen polish for some time. He paused long enough to glare at everyone and everything in his immediate vicinity, half-raising the riding crop he clutched in one hand, and then stalked away, still muttering.
“My goodness.” Maria frowned at his retreating back. “I do believe that was Sir Oswald Broxley himself. From what I was able to learn last night from Derby, he’s a thoroughly unpleasant creature.”
“He certainly looks it.” Between her bad-tempered owner and peppery trainer, poor Maharahnee must have a difficult existence. “I hope Georgiana has learned something this morning.”
“So do I.” Maria said something snorting and whoofling to Hermes, then sat back. “I asked him to go to the end of the row and turn round to drive by again. Then we’ll go back to your inn and wait for Georgiana.”
By the time they made it to the end of the tents and had ambled back again, a crowd had gathered in front of Maharahnee’s tent. Oblivious of the fact that she was supposed to be driving, Maria stood up to see what had drawn them, steadying herself with a hand on Annabel’s shoulder. “There’s a man currying a horse in front—oh, I do think that must be Maharahnee!” she exclaimed, shading her eyes with her other hand. Annabel tried not to wonder what she’d done with the reins. “I’ll tell Hermes to pull over so that we can have a look.” She sat down again, to Annabel’s relief.
Hermes obligingly brought them to the edge of the growing crowd. From her seat in the curricle, Annabel had an excellent view over everyone’s heads: there indeed was Jem Salter, still fierce-looking but moving calmly as he curried his charge. And as for Maharahnee herself—
“She’s so…dainty,” she said in an undertone to Maria. Maharahnee’s glossy brown coat with one endearing white sock on her back left leg and small head with delicate nostrils reminded her of her favorite hack, Primrose, in Papa’s stables at Belsever Magna. Was this how a prize-winning racehorse should appear? A voice murmured in the back of her mind: if Quin were here, he would probably know.
“Yes, she is,” Maria replied. “I shall be interested to ask Hermes what he thinks of her.”
The horse stood quietly, without fidgeting or shifting, and allowed Jem Salter to groom her. But she seemed to regard the people jostling to get a look at her with a tense, distrustful air that called to mind the distraught creature Georgiana had confronted last night. Annabel felt a pang of pity for her.
“Shall we go back to the inn?” she asked. “Poor Maharahnee does not need us gawking at her as well, and Georgiana will undoubtedly be back soon. I hope she was able to hear whatever conversation Sir Oswald had with Mr. Salter.”
Maria gazed at Maharahnee a moment longer. “The poor thing looks ready to jump out of her skin. Perhaps that explains her reaction to Georgiana, but…” She gave a soft snort, and Hermes stepped back into the flow of carriages and horsemen traveling down the roadway.
As they passed the striped tent once again, Annabel stole a glance at its seated guardian. This time, he met her look with a polite nod. So he did recognize her…but why should he have any interest in her? She started to turn to look back at him, then stopped herself. She couldn’t allow this minor mystery to distract her from the larger one of Maharahnee.
As soon as they were free of the crowd, Maria addressed a series of snorts and whinnies to Hermes. “I asked what he thinks of our friend back there,” she said to Annabel, by way of explanation.
Hermes’ response, compared to Maria’s question, was almost comically terse—a sort of half-whicker, which resolved into a brief snort. Maria looked confused and spoke to him again, and once again his response was brief.
“Well?” Annabel asked.
“I don’t know.” Maria was frowning. “He must not have understood what I was asking him.”
“What did you say?”
“I asked him what he thought of the horse we were looking at while we stopped at the edge of the crowd a moment ago.”
“And?”
“And—” Her shoulders hunched. “It makes no sense. He said, What horse?”
Georgiana’s maid, Nettles, was waiting in the Horse and Oak’s entrance hall when Annabel and Maria came in from their drive. Unlike her employer, she was plump and cheery-looking, but her face as she accosted them was anything but cheerful.
“Her ladyship’s just back and having a lie-down because she’s completely done in.” She fixed Maria with a reproachful look. “Your ladyship knows how it is with her. I hope you weren’t planning to make her go out again today.”
“Nettles, you know I’d never make her do anything. But when she feels it’s her duty to do something, there’s no stopping her. Why, Lady Fellbridge tried to convince her to stay abed and leave her to go instead this morning, but you know how she is.”
Nettles shook her head and sighed but relented enough to give Annabel an approving nod. “I do know, m’lady. It’s only that taking the shape of anything with wings particularly troubles her lumbago.”
Annabel barely managed not to splutter in surprise. Georgiana’s maid knew what she was?
“Then we shall endeavor to see that she doesn’t again while we’re here,” Maria said. “You have my word.”
“Thank you, m’lady.” The maid dropped a curtsy. “Speaking of words, she wishes to have one with you now that you’re back.”
“We’ll go up directly. And we shan’t keep her long,” Maria promised.
Once they had climbed the stairs and were out of earshot of the anxious maid, Annabel could no longer restrain herself. “Georgiana’s maid knows what she is?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes, she does—she’s been Georgiana’s maid forever, you know. I imagine that trying to hide an ability such as hers would have been a dreadful chore. Nettles’s utterly devoted, and I understand she’s monstrous clever with making gowns for Georgiana to match various creatures—it makes changing ever so much easier, Georgiana says. Here we are.” She rapped briskly on a door and opened it when a weak voice bade them enter.
Georgiana regarded them from a prodigious pile of pillows on the bed. “You saw Nettles?” she croaked. “Oh, my voice. Birds do that to me.” She waved a hand before her throat irritably.
Maria took the chair by the bed. “We promised her we wouldn’t tire you out. I presume you learned something? We happened to drive by Maharahnee’s tent when someone I’m certain was Sir Oswald came thundering out.”
Georgiana sniffed. “Thundering is a good word. He is a thoroughly horrid man! It is not to be wondered that poor Maharahnee’s so nervous, the way he growls and glares at her.”
“What was he growling about?” Annabel asked.
“No, start at the beginning.” For all her seeming vagueness, Maria could be remarkably incisive when leading an investigation.
“Almost nothing occurred until he came in. Then he and Jem Salter had a bit of a set-to about a number of things. Sir Oswald wants Maharahnee out on display as much as possible, to draw crowds and encourage betting. He also wants Jem Salter out and about picking up gossip and any information he can get on competing horses. Jem Salter said—quite reasonably, I thought—that he could not be two places at once—showing Maharahnee and skulking around the pubs—which set Sir Oswald into a rage.”
“Naturally,” Maria said.
“Naturally,” Georgiana echoed. “What wasn’t natural was the rest of what was said. Jem Salter told Sir Oswald that she was extremely upset that morning when he came in.”
“She? That is, Maharahnee?”
“I am only reporting what was said.”
“Of course,” Maria soothed. “Pray go on.”
“I am trying to. He then said that she had used her code. The sentence was uttered with no small degree of emphasis.”
“Her code? Are you certain that’s what he said?”
“My hearing is perfectly acute in bird shape,” Georgiana said haughtily. “That is the precise word he used. Sir Oswald said that it would be too difficult under the circumstances—yes, those were his words, too—but Jem Salter said she’d been insistent. And Maharahnee at that moment gave a loud whinny.”
“As if she understood what was being discussed,” Annabel said. This was getting stranger and stranger.
“Indeed.”
“How interesting. Anything else?”
“Sir Oswald continued to protest, but when Maharahnee grew more upset, Jem Salter told Sir Oswald that unless he honored their agreement, he wouldn’t ride in the race.”
That made it sound as if Jem Salter had some degree of say in their joint affairs…but Maharahnee was the more interesting player in the scene Georgiana had described. Annabel met Maria’s glance. “You don’t suppose that Maharahnee is…sentient?”
“I am beginning to wonder,” Maria said. “What did Sir Oswald say to Jen Salter’s ultimatum?”
“He agreed that they would meet tonight at three to discuss the matter.” Georgiana sank further into her pillows, as if the very mention of a three-o’clock-in-the-morning meeting exhausted her…which it probably did, under the circumstances.
“Three?” Maria sighed. “I don’t mind staying at a ball till three, but…very well. At least we can rest until then.”
Annabel and Maria were in place fifteen minutes before three, making their shadow-wrapped way through a damp, chilly night-time fog that had risen from the hollows below the downs. Annabel was convinced that the top of her head would fall off after one of her yawns, but the chill kept her alert. They had found a conveniently located tear in the side of the tent, at eye-level, which was covered by a patch with frayed stitches. Annabel could not help wondering at the ease of it all. Might someone else be keeping an eye on Maharahnee and her owner’s doings?
She was about to whisper as much to Maria—it was a pity that the ongoing party in the green-and-yellow-striped tent behind them was apparently in a lull, or she would not have had to whisper—when voices from within Maharahnee’s tent sent her to peer through the slit in the canvas. Unfortunately, Maria’s reaction was the same, so that they knocked heads smartly. Maria winced, but fortunately did not cry aloud. After a moment of maneuvering, they found a comfortable position that allowed them both to peer one-eyed through the tear.
