Ted gave her a hand up, and Jane landed ungracefully on the saddle, jerking the fabric of her daydress and petticoat out from under her to cover her legs as best she could. There was no time to change into her riding habit.
“Godspeed, missus,” old Tuffy said, hand on his heart.
Jane took up the reins. “Get up, girl. Hyah!” She urged the horse from trot to canter to gallop in rapid succession, out the gate, past the lodge, and onto the road. She sped down the hill, scattering gravel in her wake, before turning onto the bridlepath, hoping with every breath that she would catch up with Gabriel in time.
As she crossed the meadow and neared Wishford, she spied a mounted figure riding sedately up the road.
Even from a distance, she recognized the chestnut horse and Gabriel’s confident posture as he sat tall in the saddle.
No doubt hearing thundering hooves, he glanced over his shoulder.
She lifted a hand. “Gabriel! Wait!”
He paused and turned Sultan toward her, and sat there waiting as she approached.
As she neared, she tried to gauge his expression. He did not look hurt or angry as she feared, nor self-satisfied. Though wary, yes.
She called, “Not exactly racing away. Were you betting I’d come after you?”
“I am no longer a wagering man, Mrs. Bell.”
She rode closer. “Why are you leaving?”
“You made it clear you wanted me gone.”
She halted her horse beside his. “I was shocked and angry. But I am sorry I spoke to you so harshly.”
“And I am sorry I wasn’t completely truthful with you before.” He tilted his head to one side. “You must care a great deal about the contest to come after me and apologize.”
She nodded. “I will have to think about the rest later, but for now, I want to win. I want to keep the contract and save the inn. But we can’t do it without you. I can’t do it without you. Please don’t leave me, Gabriel.”
His eyes darkened. And for a moment she feared she’d said the wrong thing. Angered him somehow.
She tried to think of what else to say to convince him. But he shifted his weight, and his well-trained horse started moving.
Gabriel lifted his chin in the direction of Ivy Hill. “Let’s go.”
Chapter
Forty
When Jane and Gabriel Locke came riding up the hill together, Thora released a long breath and murmured a prayer of thanksgiving. She had almost given up hope.
She had been prepared to perform Jane’s role in the contest, if necessary, but doubted their chances of victory without Mr. Locke leading the ostlers.
The rest of the inn’s team had gathered along the High Street, waiting anxiously. At the arrival of their leaders, cheers went up. Charlie looked over and met Thora’s gaze with a small smile, but it did not quite reach his eyes.
Tuffy approached Mr. Locke as he dismounted. She didn’t hear what the ostler said, but Gabriel replied, “Are you sure, Tuffy?”
The older man nodded. “We’ve got it all worked out. I’m to be a passenger. That I can do and do sprightly.”
“Very well.”
Both sides of the High Street were filled with onlookers and noisy hawkers peddling refreshments. Opportunistic Mr. Prater had swathed bunting over his storefront and set up a long plank table bearing candies, parasols, and bamboo fans, to ward off the heat of the summer afternoon. His daughter weaved her way through the throng, passing out printed advertisements. The Craddocks sent out their adolescent son with a tray of iced buns and small pies to sell from their bakery. The public house rolled out barrels of ginger beer and ale to offer the thirsty crowd.
Royal Mail guard Jack Gander played festive melodies on his long horn to entertain the crowd while they waited for the contest to begin. At the appointed hour, Mr. Hightower caught his eye, and Jack blew a signal to gain everyone’s attention.
The deputy postmaster stood atop a mounting box and announced the contest terms to the crowd. “Today’s contest between The Bell and the Fairmont will proceed as follows. Each team will perform a complete turnout of horses, hand off mail, unload and load baggage, feed the passengers, and, em, water the coachmen.”
Laughter erupted at that.
Thora was surprised at Hightower’s jollity when he had not wanted the contest in the first place. Apparently he enjoyed having an audience.
Hightower turned and pointed to the end of the High Street. Thora noticed a man wave from an upper-story window. “Mr. Gordon there will call the race from his vantage over the finish line. Are the competitors ready?”
As planned, the Quicksilver and the Exeter were situated at the other end of the street, their first four horses harnessed and ready to go. Jack Gander jogged down the street to catch up with Charlie.
Thora recognized the coachman driving for the Fairmont team as the nasty Jeb Moore she had ridden with from Salisbury. That was a point in their favor, she thought, knowing the slovenly coachman couldn’t keep up with Charlie, assuming he didn’t wield his forbidden short tommy.
The coachmen, guards, and those portraying passengers boarded the coaches, while the ostlers, cooks, barmen, porters, and innkeepers waited at the chalk line near the center of the street, where Hugh Hightower stood as judge over the proceedings.
Behind him, Thora noticed Patrick leaning against a shop wall, arms crossed. She did not see Talbot anywhere about, which surprised her.
Hightower raised a white flag in his hand, and when a hush fell over the crowd, he brought it down with a flourish.
The guards sounded their horns in reply, and the coaches lurched forward. Thora pressed a hand over her heart and murmured a prayer. From the corner of her eye, she saw Patrick straighten to see over the heads of the crowd.
Nearby, each pair of ostlers urged a second quartet of horses into proper position, the wheel horses on each side of the street, and the leaders coupled together.
As the coaches neared the chalk line and began to slow, Tuffy, now playing the role of a box passenger, unbuckled the lead and wheel reins at Charlie’s command. Gabriel Locke ran forward to unhook the near leader’s outside trace, and as the coach stopped, drew the lead rein through the terrets and changed the near horse. Ted worked feverishly on the offside, unhooking the remaining lead traces, uncoupling the wheel horses, and changing the offside one. Charlie, descending faster than she had ever seen him, finished changing the leaders.
Thora shifted her gaze to the Fairmont team; The Bell team was ahead!
Meanwhile, the “passengers” began to move. Tuffy climbed gingerly down from the bench, while young Joe slid easily from the roof and opened the door to help Cadi and Alwena alight from inside.
At the same time, nimble Jack Gander jumped to the ground and opened the lid of the boot. He lifted the twenty-pound mailbag and handed it to Jane, who carried it with effort to the mounting block. There, she picked up an “outgoing” mailbag and lugged it back to the guard, nearly dropping it, and having to pause to heft its bulk higher to keep it from dragging. Was her daughter-in-law so weak, or had someone piled bricks inside?
Thora glanced nervously to their opponents, seeing Mr. Drake carrying his bags with ease and sending a cheeky smile to Jane as he did so.
Jack then unlocked the box under the coachmen’s bench, where parcels were kept. Jane made a show of signing for them, and then carried them to Mr. Prater, the official local postmaster, who stood beside Mr. Hightower.
Meanwhile, Colin hurried to unload two heavy valises and carry them to the mounting block. Mrs. Rooke lumbered forward with a tray, handing a pie to each passenger, while Bobbin delivered a foaming tankard to Charlie. Charlie tossed it back, then climbed onto the box. The ostlers stood clear, and Charlie whisked his whip over the leaders. The horses lurched forward and bounded toward the finish line.
Thora looked over at the Exeter. Charlie had managed to get his horses moving ahead of his rival’s, but now the Fairmont team was building speed and gaining ground
. Would the vile Jeb Moore pull out his short tommy from its hiding place? Apparently he did not dare in front of Mr. Hightower, but that didn’t stop the man from lashing his horses’ backs while Charlie merely whipped the air. The Exeter narrowed the gap, and then caught up with the Quicksilver.
Thora clasped her hands over her heart. Please, please . . .
Among cheers and shouts and thundering hooves, both teams galloped toward the string finish line. Five yards, three, one . . .
Thora held her breath.
Perched in his upper-story window, Mr. Gordon shouted, “The Quicksilver wins!”
Cheers erupted. Thora blinked. They had won! The Bell had won? It seemed too good to be true.
More cheers rose. Cadi and Alwena hugged one another, Cadi squealing and bouncing up and down. Sir Timothy, she noticed, moved toward Jane, but before he reached her, Mercy stepped over and embraced Jane, smile bright.
Caught up in the excitement, Bobbin threw his arms around Bertha Rooke—at least as far around as they could go. The woman hugged him back, and in her exuberance, lifted the man several inches off the ground. Boyish Joe launched himself at Gabriel’s back, and was carried in an impromptu piggyback ride, while Tall Ted and Tuffy danced a celebratory jig.
Three of the men who’d ridden with the coaches across the finish line returned on foot: the opposing coachman and guard, heads bowed in defeat. And Jack Gander, beaming and waving to the crowd like a conquering hero, tipping his hat to the ladies, and leaving several females swooning and simpering—Cadi included.
Thora craned her neck, looking for Charlie. But he failed to appear.
James Drake crossed the street, hand graciously extended to Jane. Thora could almost start to like the man.
Still atop the mounting block, Hugh Hightower consulted his pocket watch, then waved a hand to the opposing guard to gesture him over. Whatever he said to the guard was swallowed by the cheering crowd, but a moment later the guard blew a loud blast on his horn, interrupting the cheerful melee. People turned toward the sound, and voices quieted.
Mr. Hightower snapped his pocket watch shut and lifted his hand to silence the crowd. “Although the team from The Bell crossed the finish line first, they did not win with the margin required to compensate for the greater distance from the turnpike and the climb up Ivy Hill. I therefore declare the Fairmont the winner and recipient of the Royal Mail contract.”
That condition had not been stated before. Thora’s heart sank. She’d known it had been too good to be true.
“Yes!” Jeb Moore raised a fist in the air.
But no one else cheered, not even the staff of the Fairmont. And many others protested.
“What?” Ted shouted angrily.
Tuffy said something best not recorded.
Mr. Locke frowned darkly, hands on hips. And Jane just stood there, mouth parted, staring in disbelief.
Amid the groans and grumbles, James Drake walked toward the mounting block, his expression difficult to decipher, but not, to his credit, triumphant.
He said, loud enough for all to hear, “I’m afraid, Mr. Hightower, that we at the Fairmont must concede the contest. We will not be prepared to serve the Royal Mail creditably in time to fulfill this year’s contract after all.” He looked at Jane. “But if my lovely colleague would like a rematch next year, she need only say the word.”
Mr. Drake reached for Jane’s hand and lifted it in triumphant pose. “The winner! Fair and square!”
Yes, Thora would definitely have to start liking James Drake.
More cheers rose. Hugh Hightower opened his mouth as if to protest, but seeing the overwhelming support of the crowd, including Sir Timothy’s own applause, and receiving Mr. Drake’s concession so publicly, he seemed to realize it was time to accept the outcome graciously, even though it meant that his old rival, Charlie Frazer, was the winning coachman.
Where was Charlie? Again, Thora looked for him among the crowd but did not see him. Why had he not returned to celebrate?
Eudora Hightower appeared out of the crowd and walked toward her. Thora had not realized she had come to Ivy Hill with her husband.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Bell,” she began, pausing to stand beside her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Hightower. Though I had very little to do with it.”
“Somehow I doubt that.”
The woman then gave her an apologetic look, incongruent with her congratulations of a moment before. “I am sorry about Charlie. Were you two close?”
Thora frowned. Sorry? Why? And why the past tense? Her stomach dropped. Surely nothing had happened to Charlie.
She said evenly, “We were and continue to be good friends. Why?”
“I hope he made you no promises?”
“Promises?” Thora echoed, feeling befuddled. “No.”
“Good.” Eudora sighed in relief.
“Mrs. Hightower, what are you talking about? Is something wrong with Charlie? I saw him during the contest, and he seemed well enough.”
“You don’t know?” Eudora pressed a hand to her fichu-covered chest.
“Know what?” Trepidation seeped through Thora.
“I am sorry to be the one to tell you. But he is leaving—the area and the Devonport-London line.”
Thora blinked, struggling to comprehend the woman’s words.
“He came to see my husband last week,” Mrs. Hightower explained. “Never could I have imagined Charlie Frazer coming to Hugh, hat in hand. He apologized for his behavior at the party, and in his youth, and for any attention he once paid me that might have led to unjustified rumors. He meekly—if you can imagine Charlie Frazer behaving meekly—asked Hugh not to hold his conduct against you or The Bell. He beseeched Hugh to sanction this contest, and give The Bell a fair and fighting chance to prove itself. In return, Charlie said he would leave the county altogether. Take a transfer to another line far from here, out of Hugh’s jurisdiction.”
“Did he?” Thora breathed.
“Yes. Manchester, I believe it was. He had applied for a transfer to Bath last year. But he retracted that request a few months ago.”
After I returned to Ivy Hill, Thora guessed, heart thudding dully.
“At all events, Hugh accepted his offer,” Eudora said. “You know he has long been eager to see the back of Charlie Frazer.”
“I can imagine.” So that is why Hugh had changed his mind and agreed to the unorthodox contest, Thora realized. The chance to rid himself of Charming Charlie once and for all had proved too great a temptation.
Eudora added, “Charlie spoke very highly of The Bell, the Bell family, and all its staff. But especially of you, Thora. I thought you should know. He thinks a great deal of you.”
“And I of him,” Thora allowed, her chest tight and her pulse pounding to realize what Charlie had sacrificed for her. His pride most of all.
She asked, “Do you know if the transfer is effective immediately or if he will remain with the Quicksilver until they replace him?”
“I assume he has left already. In fact, I believe he’s traveling by stagecoach this very day.”
“What a pity,” Thora said. “I would have liked to thank him. And say good-bye.”
Eudora Hightower briefly pressed Thora’s hand, her cornflower blue eyes bright with tears. “He is a difficult man to say good-bye to.”
Thora was surprised to find answering tears sting her eyes, but she blinked them away. She thanked the woman for telling her, squared her shoulders, and strode back to The Bell.
Jane and Patrick caught up with her on the way.
“Where’s Charlie?” Jane asked. “I wanted to thank him for his part in the contest.”
“So did I. He left right after crossing the finish line, I hear. Probably on his way to Bagshot by now.” To pack his belongings before moving away and out of our lives, Thora added to herself. She wished she could tell Jane what he’d done for them, but if Charlie hadn’t told her, he probably didn’t want anyone else to know either.
r /> “Why didn’t he wait and travel back with the Royal Mail?”
Thora inhaled and said simply, “Hightower’s orders. He is traveling by stage.”
Patrick gave his mother a long look, then said, “You know, the only stagecoach going to Bagshot at this time of day is the Flying Fiddle. That coach leaves from the Crown in Wishford in”—he glanced at his pocket watch—“forty minutes.”
Thora stopped and looked at Patrick, surprised by his perceptive suggestion. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“Not at all, Mamma. But regret is a hard thing to live with.”
“Know something about that, do you?”
His blue eyes, so much like hers, glinted. “A bit, yes.”
When Thora left them and disappeared through the archway into the stable yard, Jane barely resisted the urge to follow her. She wanted to find Gabriel and the whole team and thank them again. But Patrick lingered, surprisingly eager to rehearse the details of the contest and The Bell’s victory.
“I thought old Tuffy would have an apoplexy! And did you see Hightower’s face when your Mr. Drake conceded? That was rich. . . .”
So the two of them stood talking in front of the inn for several minutes, now and again accepting the well-wishes of passersby still drifting home after the big event.
Talbot approached them. “Sorry I’m late—one of the ram lambs caught his horn in a fence, or I would have been here sooner. I heard the good news on the way and want to offer my congratulations.”
“Thank you, Talbot,” Jane said. “And thank you again for suggesting the contest in the first place.”
“Oh, I think it was Ted’s idea,” he said modestly. “I merely recognized its potential.”
“Yes, you are good at that,” Jane said with a smile.
Talbot didn’t return it. “Is Thora here?” he asked. “I’d like to congratulate her as well.”
“Oh, um. She was, but . . .” Jane looked toward the archway, debating what to say.
At that moment, Thora rattled through it in the gig, urging Ruby to “Come on, old thing, get up.” Focused on the horse and her destination, Thora didn’t notice the three of them standing there.