Winged Victory

Chapter One ~ 1814-1

Chapter One ~ 1814The Earl of Poynton was dining in the style that he was accustomed to.

The ornaments on the table and the plates were of gold, the crystal glasses were engraved with his crest and fruit was in Sèvres dishes.

There was no one in the whole of Society, not excluding the Prince Regent, who lived in such grandeur and inevitably such comfort, as the Earl.

In all his houses everything seemed to run with a perfection like himself. He not only had carried on where his father had left off but had also improved his estates until they were spoken of as a fine example to every landowner.

It went without saying that his horses, because he gave them his personal and special attention, were superb.

Although he evoked a certain amount of envy and jealousy, most other sportsmen acknowledged that the Earl deserved the accolades that he won on the Turf year after year.

Sitting at the top of the table, handsome although with a cynical look, distinguished and autocratic, he had an air of authority that made him seem positively majestic.

‘Dammit all!’ his friend Eddie Lowther thought, ‘from the way he looks, and even more from the way he behaves, he might be a King!’

The Earl was entertaining the wealthiest and the most outstanding sport lovers in the country at his house at Newmarket.

Not only because there was to be a Race Meeting there in two days’ time but also because they were all interested in a very exceptional sale that was to take place the following day.

“I cannot understand why Melford is selling up his stable,” one of the Earl’s guests remarked with a puzzled note in his voice. “God knows he is wealthy enough to keep all his horses in comfort and he has been fairly successful in the last two years. Why then should he retire?”

“The answer may be,” an elderly man replied before anybody else could speak, “that he has not been in good health lately. He has therefore decided, so I heard, to concentrate on breeding, which he can do much more satisfactorily on his estate in Sussex, instead of braving the bitter winds that we have to endure at Newmarket, and even harsher weather when we visit the Racecourses in the North.”

Heads round the table nodded to acknowledge that this might be the reason for Sir Walter Melford’s sale and the Earl replied,

“All I can say is that I am glad of the opportunity of adding to my own stable. Melford has some good horses, particularly Raskal and Mandrake.”

“Dammit, Poynton,” one of the diners exclaimed, “those are the two horses I wanted, but if you are bidding against me I shall not have a chance of acquiring them.”

“I don’t intend to pay over the odds for them,” the Earl replied, “and I think we should keep our heads clear tomorrow because Melford is known to be sharp as a razor when it comes to money.”

“That is true.” Eddie Lowther nodded. “Personally I have never liked the fellow. He once played a shabby trick on a friend of mine, in fact I might almost say it was crooked.”

This time there was a murmur from the other diners and it was quite obvious that Sir Walter Melford was no favourite with any of them.

“Whatever he is like as a person,” the Earl remarked, “let’s concentrate on his horses, but only pay him what they are worth. If the reserves are too high, leave them well alone.”

He spoke in a way that was almost an order and his guests remembered that the Earl was noted as being a hard man but just.

There had been many occasions in the sporting world when he had been exceedingly generous to somebody down on his luck. But he never spoke about them and, because even his closest friends were somewhat in awe of him, they never asked him questions that he would not wish to answer.

Eddie Lowther, who was closer to the Earl than anybody else, was, however, wondering what it was about Sir Walter Melford that, despite his interest in the Turf and despite the excellent horses he ran at most of the classic Race Meetings, had prevented him from being accepted by the elite of the sporting fraternity, which was led by the Earl.

He thought now that he would not be surprised if this was the real reason why Sir Walter was selling his stable.

Although he had made every possible approach, he had never been elected a member of the Jockey Club, just as in some mysterious manner at every attempt he had made to enter White’s Club he had been blackballed.

Perhaps Sir Walter was beginning to feel that it was better to be a big fish in a small pond, which he undoubtedly would be in other sporting circles, than a little fish in a big one and in competition with the Earl and his contemporaries.

The rest of the party were having an animated conversation about the other horses that they were interested in acquiring if Raskal and Mandrake were barred as being reserved for the Earl.

“The trouble is, Poynton,” one of them said, “that if you are not bidding, we shall all feel suspicious that you know something to their detriment about the animals in question that we don’t.”

“That is true,” another guest agreed. “If anything would make me determined not to put my hand in my pocket, it would be that you thought that those particular horses were not worth the price.”

The Earl laughed.

“You are making me feel omnipotent.”

“Curse you! That is exactly what you are,” was the reply. “You don’t suppose that any of us here would challenge you when it came to a knowledge of horseflesh.”

“But we will go on trying!” somebody called out.

“Of course you will,” the Earl drawled, “and I suppose really I should say modestly that I have just been lucky.”

The way he spoke told those who listened all too clearly that he knew that it was nothing of the sort.

It was because he had studied the form of his own horses, superintended the mating of his mares and to all intents and purposes did his own training that he had a knowledge of racing that was unequalled by any other owner in the country.

Eddie gave a laugh and raised his glass.

“To your continued success, Lennox,” he said. “And may you reign over us forever even if occasionally we have revolutionary feelings against your sovereignty!”

There was a shout of laughter at this and the Earl was about to reply when a servant came to his side.

“Excuse me, my Lord,” he said in a low voice, “there’s a young lady at the door who says it’s imperative she speaks to your Lordship.”

“A young lady?” the Earl questioned. “Is she alone?”

“She’s riding, my Lord.”

“Tell her if she wants to see me to come back tomorrow morning.”

“I’ve already suggested that, my Lord, but she says she has to see your Lordship immediately and it’s a question of life or death.”

The Earl raised his eyebrows as if he thought that the servant was being facetious. Then realising that it was his butler who had been with him for many years he asked,

“She is a lady, Parker?”

He accentuated the word and the butler replied,

“Undoubtedly, my Lord.”

Knowing that Parker could never be deceived in regard to the social status of any man or woman, the Earl said,

“Very well, show her into the Morning Room and tell her to wait.”

“I beg your Lordship’s pardon, but the young lady asks particularly if you’d come outside to speak with her. I think she wishes, my Lord, to show you her horse.”

The Earl frowned as if he felt that he was being pressured and then unexpectedly, because at least this was an unusual situation, he replied,

“Oh, very well, Parker, but I dislike being interrupted during a meal.”

“I’m aware of that, my Lord, but the young lady is very persistent.”

The Earl pushed back his chair and said to the man next to him,

“I will not be more than a minute or two. Keep the port circulating.”

“You can be sure of that,” his friend replied.

Without hurrying and with the frown still between his eyes, the Earl walked from the dining room along the richly furnished corridor that led to the hall.

His house was one of the most impressive in Newmarket, and, while he thought of it as a small Racing Lodge, it undoubtedly compared favourably with any ancestral home of the same size elsewhere in the country.

The gardens had been landscaped to relieve the flatness of the ground and the trees planted as a break against the bitter winds that always seemed to be blowing over the Downs.

Although it had been a warm day, it had grown cold in the evening and the Earl thought that might account for the very pale face dominated by two large eyes that was turned towards him as he came down the steps from the front door.

The girl who had asked to see him was small and slender and her hair under the high-crowned riding hat was so fair that for the moment in the dusk the Earl thought that it was white.

Then he realised that she was very young, almost, he thought, immature, but she was undoubtedly a lady and it was surprising that she should have called on him at such an hour without even a groom to accompany her.

He reached her side to say,

“I understand that you wish to speak to me and you have sent a somewhat dramatic message with your request.”

“It is – very kind of your Lordship – but I had to see you!”

Her voice was low and musical, but there was in the last words a note of desperation that the Earl did not miss.

He stood taking in every detail of her and after a moment, as if she expected him to speak and as he did not do so, was forced to go on,

“Will you please – look at my – horse and then – buy him from me?”

“He is yours to sell?”

“Yes, he is mine – I swear to you – he is mine! But I want you to – have him.”

“Why?” the Earl asked perfunctorily.

The girl glanced over her shoulder, almost as if she thought that somebody might be listening, before she answered,

“Perhaps you could inspect Star and if you are – willing to – buy him as I want you to do – then I could explain – where we could not be overheard – why it is necessary.”

The Earl was aware that she was speaking about the groom who was standing near the steps, ready to take the horse to the stables if necessary, and of the footmen who had followed him out from the front door and were standing stiffly on either side of it as if waiting for orders.

Without saying anything, the Earl looked at the horse carefully and could see that it was well-bred with a fine head.

It was jet black, the only patch of colour being a white star on its nose and he knew at the first glance that it was a horse he would not be ashamed to have in his stables and that it would undoubtedly prove a good hunter.

Because he took trouble over everything he did, the Earl inspected the horse more closely from the front and the sides and then, patting the animal on the neck, said,

“I imagine your horse is four years old.”

“And three months, my Lord.”

“You have a record of its breeding?”

“Yes, my Lord. I have written it down.”

“Very well, I will now send him to my stables while you come inside and tell me this momentous secret that can only be related in private.”

He spoke sarcastically as if he thought that there could be nothing that warranted her intrusion at this particular hour.

The girl put out her hand to touch the horse as if to reassure him and he turned and nuzzled her before at a gesture from the Earl the groom came to his head.

The man led the horse away in the direction of the stables and the girl walked up the steps beside the Earl.

When they reached the hall, he led the way not to the Morning Room, but towards his study where he usually held interviews with anyone who called to see him.

A footman hurriedly opened the door and the Earl walked ahead into the room that was hung with pictures of horses by the greatest artists of the last two hundred years.