Kilpara (26 page)

Pandora was stealing the upper hand. Her
hooves plodded the rough track with ease, and she found the wind
even less a deterrent. Guardian, with the longer gait, should have
been out in front, but he struggled from behind.

I looked farther down the track toward a hedge
where Gully Joyce and the other grooms watched with interest.
Gully’s small body was tensed like a boxer ready to meet his
opponent. He urged the horses on; which one he was cheering for, I
didn’t know.

Thornton, Sloane, Ligham, and Purcenell stood
close to the finish line, their eyes glued to the horses. They
shouted orders that drifted away on the wind as the jockeys raced
past. I noticed that Daphne had arrived and stood apart from the
crowd some distance away. She followed the horses' progress through
small binoculars. By the second lap, Guardian had caught up to
Pandora and it looked like he might stretch out and overtake her.
Rain had started to turn the track to muck, which didn’t bother the
sure-footed Pandora, but worked against Guardian and his dislike
for this environment.

The horses were on their third lap coming up
on the home stretch, neck and neck. Edward, who had been using the
whip all along, brought it down even harder on Pandora’s flanks.
Reacting to the strikes, she strode out ahead of Guardian. The whip
came down on Guardian, but just enough to urge him forward. The
characteristic slaps did nothing to quicken his pace as he
struggled to maintain the same speed. I was sure fresh marks would
appear on Pandora after the race.

Purcenell jumped up and down waving his hands.
Sloane, Ligham, and Thornton cheered for Guardian. The referee
moved from the box to the middle of the track waving red flags
furiously when the horses thundered past him. Pandora had managed
to pull ahead of Guardian by a neck when they crossed over the
finish line. They flashed by kicking muck onto the referee’s gray
pants and jacket. Flags continued to fly wildly back and forth to
indicate the end of the race. Rain came down steadily now, carrying
with it the heightened smell of grass and the damp odor of black
clay. No one seemed to mind as elation filtered through the crowd.
I heaved a sigh of relief.

Purcenell strolled over to Sloane, his chest
puffed out, and stopped just inches from the other man's face. “Is
there any doubt in your mind now, Charlie?” he almost spat. The
referee rolled up his flags and handed the winning documents to
Purcenell.

“
You owe us a rematch,” Sloane
demanded obstinately.

“
I’ll grant you no such thing,”
Purcenell retorted. “Indeed I won’t. I’ve been telling you all
along, Pandora is the champion.” He laughed a hearty laugh and went
over to the jockeys who were bringing the horses off the
track.

“
Good race,” Thornton said, shaking
Purcenell’s hand. “Perhaps we should arrange a rematch in England
sometime. You and your daughter should come and visit us at
Glenside Manor.”

“
We will,” Purcenell promised,
suddenly gracious. “Join me for a victory drink at the Traveller’s
Inn?”

“
Gladly.”

The horses had been taken to a makeshift
stable beside the track. Grooms fussed over Guardian, one wiping
him down while another stood ready to cover him up with a blanket
displaying the Thornton coat of arms. Kilpara grooms applied salve
to Pandora’s new wounds. She reared at each application, eyes wild
with pain.

The spectators, anxious to get out of the
rain, had already taken to their carriages that lined the road to
the Traveller’s Inn. I turned to look where Daphne had stood, but
she was nowhere in sight.

Late afternoon business at the Traveller’s Inn
had turned brisk when I arrived. Race enthusiasts, glad to take
refuge from the outside elements, downed glasses of black
beer.

“
I daresay, Arthur,” Sloane said to
Purcenell, “it was obvious today’s conditions were unfavorable for
Guardian. A repeat competition is in order.”

“
Indeed, you say,” Purcenell said,
ignoring the bait. He waved his glass in Sloane's face. “You know,
Charlie, if your horse had won, you’d be singing a different tune,
wouldn't you? You’d expect me to honor the bet and hand over my
daughter. You wouldn’t be one bit concerned about a rematch. But
you see I knew Pandora would win. You didn't believe me, did you? I
proved to you once and for all that I was right and you were wrong.
You may have high hopes that you’d start turning Kilpara into your
kind of estate. Well, Kilpara and my daughter will never be yours
to own. But this draft—” Purcenell pulled the folded agreement from
his jacket, “—will help my finances considerably.” He bellowed a
loud guffaw.

Sloane’s eyes narrowed. Thornton interjected,
“A rematch in England would prove beyond all doubt who the champion
horse is. Race Pandora on a proper racecourse and let's see if she
can beat Guardian there.”

“
A rematch would prove nothing,”
Purcenell spat. I could tell he was enjoying his opponents' attempt
to regain the upper hand and was decidedly not giving in to them.
“I’ll say it over and over Pandora is the best racing horse in the
world.” He stood nose to nose before Sloane. “There’s no horse
anywhere who can beat her. Of course, there isn’t. I’d wager
everything I own on Pandora. But there’ll be no
rematch.”

“
Would you wager Kilpara?” I spoke
up, impulsively voicing an idea that had been forming in my mind. I
pushed aside nagging thoughts that I should consider the situation
more carefully. All that mattered to me was an opportunity had
presented itself that could solve my dilemma. Throwing myself at
the man’s mercy and pleading for Mother’s cause had little chance
of success. With any luck, my plan just might succeed.

Several pairs of eyes swung my direction the
same time Purcenell's head jerked toward me, surprise registered on
his face. “What do you mean?”

I moved closer to Purcenell and locked stares.
“I have a horse that can beat Pandora.”

Everyone fell silent. Purcenell heaved and
laughed out loud spreading a stale smell of ale. He put a friendly
arm on my shoulder.

“
Haven't you been listening, lad?”
he said. “There’s no horse anywhere that can beat Pandora. You may
have luck at cards, but horseracing is a sport best left to the
masters. You'd be wasting your time.”

The group erupted into “Hear,
Hear.”

I waited until the noise died down then said
evenly, “My horse will beat her.”

Purcenell frowned. “Your horse? What horse?
Why haven’t we heard about this horse? Americans ride prairie
horses. Pandora is a thoroughbred. You know that
already.”

Agreeable laughter circled around
us.

Sloane moved closer and looked at me
suspiciously. “I find it rather strange that you, an American and a
stranger in Ireland, should claim by some strange coincidence to
own a horse that is good enough to race against champions.” He ran
his thumb and forefinger along his mustache. “How convenient. Who
are you, Mr. Ellis, and what are you really doing here?”

“
A gunslinger escaping from the
Wild West perhaps?” Ligham offered nervously. “Or a Civil War rebel
come to Ireland to stir up the illegal societies?”

Sloane glared at him.

Ligham shrugged lamely. “He could be toting a
pistol.”

“
What exactly is your business?”
Purcenell added through squinted eyes.

This was not how I intended the situation to
go; things had the potential to turn dangerously nasty against
me.

I thought quickly and opted to partially tell
the truth. “I’m here for two reasons,” I began, hoping to quell the
unrest that was brewing. “The first one you already know—to acquire
the marble quarry. The second one was to bring my mother back to
Ireland. My parents immigrated years ago to America. They raised a
family there. My father died a couple of years back. When my mother
learned about my intentions to come to Ireland on business, she saw
it as a sign that she should return home. She’s quite ill. She
wants to die here.”

I waited anxiously. Would Purcenell make the
association between my story and Aunt Sadie’s request? There was no
recognition in his gaze. He just looked at me with intense
distrust.

“
If this nonsense is true, you’re
Irish then,” he said.

I paused. I had to tread carefully. “I’m
American born.”

“
Are you staying at St. Bridget's
because your mother’s ill, or because you want to buy the quarry?”
Sloane asked.

I decided to focus on the first part of his
question and downplay the second part. “My mother needs medical
care which she’s getting at Mercy Hospital. The clergy were good
enough to allow us to stay in the visiting quarters at St.
Bridget's for a generous donation, a goodwill gesture.”

The tension held while everyone digested this
explanation.

“
What's your business in America?”
Thornton asked.

Without hesitation I said, “I’m a partner with
Emmons Acquisition Agency.”

“
And your mother’s name?” he
probed, pulling out his pipe.

I drew a deep breath. “Burke, Ann
Burke.”

Purcenell looked blank. The name meant nothing
to him.

“
Burke—Burke—Burke.” Thornton
rolled the name off his tongue.

“
Burke’s a common name in Ireland,”
Sloane scoffed.

“
Her father was Dr. Victor Burke,”
I said. Again I watched Purcenell’s face for recognition, but there
was none. He was not making the connection. I guessed that Mother’s
father had limited association with the landed English
aristocracy.

I started when the Royal Physician said, “Yes,
yes, of course. Victor Burke, the well-known medical researcher. He
worked to find cures for incurable illnesses. He made immense
contributions to medicine, particularly in the area of tubercular
disease.”

Thornton took a sip of his drink. “What’s your
horse’s name?”

“
Brazonhead.”

“
Never heard of him.”

“
He’s never run a race.”

Thornton turned to Purcenell. “You claim
Pandora can’t be beat. Perhaps you should humor this young man’s
challenge. After all, some unknown horse is no match for a
champion.”

Purcenell puffed out his chest with pride upon
hearing the physician praise Pandora’s champion status. He stepped
into the middle of the group enjoying this moment of glory. Walking
around in a circle, he looked into faces of the expectant patrons.
Then tossing back his head, he guffawed loudly. “So you want to
race some unbridled animal yourself against my Pandora, now do
you?”

“
That's my offer,” I
said.

“
You know, you’re no
jockey?”

“
I do.”

“
Jockeys are especially trained for
horse racing.”

“
I know.”

“
Yet you expect to race this animal
yourself?”

“
Yes.”

“
And you think you can beat
Pandora?”

“
I’m counting on it.”

Purcenell roared, slapping his knee with his
free hand. “You’ve got guts, lad,” he said when he got control of
himself. “Indeed some might even call it stupidity.”

The audience joined in the
laughter.

The rush of adrenaline I’d been feeling
subsided and I began to think more rationally. Purcenell was right,
I was no jockey and Brazonhead was no Pandora. The odds were
against me that I could pull this off. Looking round at the mocking
faces, I knew I couldn’t back down now even if I wanted to. They’d
run me out of town. I was in this race and there was no way out.
All I had to do was convince myself I could win. I had to. So much
depended on it.

“
What’s your wager?” Purcennell
asked catching his breath.

“
Two thousand pounds. Against
Kilpara.”

“
Good God!” Purcenell’s eyebrows
shot up. “When the American decides to lose, he loses big.” He
looked at Sloane. “If I keep increasing my fortunes, I’ll never
have to worry about my daughter’s future or Kilpara’s either.
Pandora is making me a rich man.”

“
Is it a deal?” I asked.

Purcenell hesitated for a moment. He looked at
the grins on the faces around him. “Deal,” he said firmly. “Draw up
the papers.”

“
Three weeks from today at
Ballybrit.”

“
Agreed,” Purcenell said,
“documents in hand.”

Gully Joyce flashed me a conspiratorial look
when I mounted the carriage. After we arrived at the convent, he
danced around looking like he would burst if he didn’t speak. I
wasn’t in any mood for a discussion with the little man, but I
could tell he’d persist if I ignored him.

“
What’s on your mind?” I
asked

“
That was some story ye told them
back there at the Traveler’s Inn,” he said. “I know what you’re up
to.”

“
What do you mean?”

“
I was restless waiting outside for
ye with the carriage, so I snuck into the gentlemen’s lounge to see
what was keeping ye. I heard what ye proposed.”