On Saturday, however, Kitty found herself alone when Dominic Hayes arrived in his carriage to pick her up, Patrick and Johnny having ridden out to interview the master of a sealer who was said to have signed on three men suspected by the police of being ticket-of-leave absconders.
And Dominic, too, was by himself.
“Marion is bored to tears by anything to do with horseflesh,” Dominic said lightly, sensing Kitty’s unspoken thoughts, as he handed her into the carriage. “And she disapproves of my bet
ting.” He grinned, with boyish bravado. “I’ve fifty sovereigns on Snowgoose in the Master’s Cup and a hundred on my other entry, running in the first race, Lucifer. But he should win pretty comfortably-I’ve the lad who rides for Edward Rowe on him, and the opposition isn’t up to much, apart from a horse called Flying Buck. But he’s a four-year-old, and Lucifer’s seven, so we have an advantage in the weight for age handicapping.”
His smile widened when he saw Kitty’s look of mystification. “That’s how we do it here, so that an older horse isn’t penalized, even if it’s won a few races.”
He explained the system, as he took his place beside her and the carriage moved off. “The Hunt races are restricted to homebred horses-bred in Australia, I mean, not necessarily in the state. Snowgoose’s sire was a purebred Arab named Afghan Hawk, owned by the Rowe brothers of Melbourne, which won the Victoria Turf Club Derby.” Dominic sighed. “But my little filly will be up against it this afternoon, Kitty-that’s why I’m only risking fifty on her. The
Master’s Cup has attracted some formidable entries. There’s Rose of April and Tomboy, for a start, and Cooramina and a very fine mare called Starfiight, which Rowe’s lad is riding. They’re all quality horses over two miles. Lord, how I wish you’d agree to my putting you up on Snowgoose! The filly goes for you-you have such magical hands. My boy is all whip and heels-he does not bring out the best in her. But you would romp home, I know you would.”
Kitty looked down at her flowing skirts and shook her bonneted head, her smile rueful.
“In Pat’s name, I suppose? But hardly attired like this, Dominic.”
“You’ve taken Pat’s name before,” Dominic reminded her. “You said so yourself. And as to your attire-I have the silks with me, as it happens, and we’ll be passing the’
Chronicle
office in a few minutes. It’s Saturday, so there will be no one there except the caretaker. You could change in my private office, and not a soul would be the wiser. Please, Kitty!” He leaned toward her, and Kitty saw, from the expression on his good-looking face, that-far from jesting-he was in grim earnest. “This race means a great deal to me, apart from the money-although that counts too, I admit, because the
Chronicle’s
going through a sticky patch at the moment and I could use some ready cash.”
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She hesitated, taken by surprise at his seeming urgency and tempted, in spite of herself, by the prospect of riding in a race again. It was not for nothing that the good folk of Kilclare had called her Madcap Kitty, but-
“Look,” Dominic said, breaking into her thoughts.
“I’ll make you an offer. Win the race for me and I’ll withdraw my opposition to the new paper my father wants to launch. That would ensure that John Broome lands a job here. Or if you prefer it, the
Chronicle
will commission him to find your brother Michael and write his story, all expenses paid. Kitty, I’m begging you!”
Both were incredible offers, and Kitty stared at him, momentarily bereft of words. “But would it not be breaking the Hunt rules?” she finally managed uncertainly. “My riding, I mean?”
Dominic shook his head. “There’s nothing in the rules to preclude you from riding. The race is open to amateur riders, sex unspecified. As long as you make the handicapper’s weight and I enter you in Pat’s name, for your own protection-not to conform to any rules-there could not be any objection.” They were nearing the
Chronicle
office and he called to the coachman to slow down.
“Come on, Kit, say you’ll do it! Damn it, with you in the saddle Snowgoose will win!”
Perhaps if she had not been booked to leave Hobart the next day, Kitty would have thought twice about it, but as it was … She drew in her breath sharply and then gave her assent, conscious of a quickening of her pulses. There was a risk, she knew, that someone might recognize her. But her resemblance to Pat was very close; and in racing silks, with a cap pulled down over her hair, the risk was small. And perhaps …
Dominic gave her no time to reconsider. He rushed her into the office, dismissed the caretaker, and laid out breeches, boots, and gaily
colored silk jacket on the desk in his private room. When she had changed, he brought her an overcoat, wrapped it about her, and hurried her out to the carriage.
When they reached their destination, he bade her remain in the concealment of the carriage.
“I’ll come for you when it’s time to weigh in. Until then, don’t show yourself, just in case. Pat has made a good many friends, and some of them are probably here.”
He was gone for what seemed to Kitty a very long time, and as she crouched in the dark interior of the carriage, hearing the distant sound of raised voices and galloping hooves, her earlier excitement faded and she began bitterly to regret her impulsive promise. This was different from the happy-go-lucky racing of Kilclare; a picnic race meeting it might be called, but large sums of money would be changing hands. Had not Dominic told her that he had wagered 150 pounds on his two horses?
Probably, such was apparently his faith in her horsemanship, he had increased that sum-doubled it, even, and backed Snowgoose to win. And she could fail … she had no experience of race riding in Australia. She had not walked the course-had scarcely done more than glimpse it, from the curtained window of the carriage. She—Kitty tensed, guessing from the shouts and cheering reaching her from outside that the first race had been run, the winner decided.
Dominic returned at last, glum and despondent.
“Flying Buck won by twenty lengths,” he told her. “Lucifer was not even placed. That’s my hundred sovereigns down the drain. But never mind, I’ll recoup my losses on Snowgoose,
Kit. You’ve got to win!”
“I may not even be placed,” Kitty warned him miserably. “Oh, Dominic, this is madness! I don’t know the course, and I’ve only hacked the filly. Find someone else to ride her, please.
You-was
“It’s too late now, Kitty.” Dominic got in beside her and, taking a used envelope from his pocket, made a quick sketch of the course. “Only the start and finish are fenced-the rest is flagged.
You’ve a sharp left-hand turn here at three furlongs, see? Keep on the outside and then work your way into the center after the turn, and try to get out in front, if you can, when the ground rises.
The filly should get her second wind after that, but don’t push too hard until you’re on the flat again.”
He went carefully into every aspect of the tactics he wanted her to employ, and Kitty tried, with a sinking heart and a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach, to take it all in. There were two circuits of the track-that much she understood-and then there was a straight run in, on level ground, to the finish. And
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there were twenty-three horses entered for the Master’s Cup. The gray Starflight, ridden by the owner’s son, presented the greatest danger, in Dominic’s opinion. Rose of April, a chestnut with a white blaze, had won some good races; and the two bays, Tomboy and Cooramina, would need to be reckoned with. The last named would almost certainly go into the lead early on.
“She’s not a stayer. You can afford to let her make the pace on the first circuit,” Dominic ended. He smiled at her and then impulsively drew her to him, his lips seeking hers hungrily.
He had been drinking, Kitty realized, suddenly sickened and angry with herself for having let him talk her into such an act of madness as riding in this race undoubtedly was. She freed herself and snapped back at him with a flash of temper.
“Leave me be, Dominic. You have no right, you-was “Very well,” he retorted sullenly. “It’s a bit like embracing one of my own sex with you in those silks, anyway. No one will recognize the Lady Kitty Cadogan, that is certain.” He took out his pocket watch and forced a smile.
“It’s time you weighed in. And, if it’s any satisfaction to you, I’ve got cold feet, too!”
But the weighing-in was accomplished without incident; they went into the paddock, Dominic careful to keep her apart from the other riders as they trooped out of the tent to where the twenty-three horses were being led round by their grooms. Once in the saddle and on the way to the start, Kitty felt her nervousness vanish. The die was cast; there could be no going back now, she told herself. The ordeal would soon be over, and win or lose, she could only do her best.
“Good luck to you, Pat!” A voice shouted from the crowd of spectators, and she had the presence of mind to wave briefly in response. The starter, mounted on a stout cob, bawled at them to get into line, and she recalled Dominic’s advice and took Snowgoose to the outside, finding the chestnut Rose of April beside her. The other gray, Starflight, was in the center. Rose of April’s rider, a pleasant-faced youngster in red-and-green hooped colors, gave her a friendly grin.
“It’s quite a turn, by the three-furlong post.
Let’s hope they don’t rush at it hell for leather, eh?”
The starter raised his flag before Kitty could reply, and as the
line of horses wavered, he let it fall and they were off, thundering across the green turf like a flood suddenly released.
Kitty afterward could remember little of the first part of the race. She did not press Snowgoose, letting her tuck in just behind Rose of April, both horses keeping to the outside. The curve negotiated, she eased the filly into a gap that conveniently appeared a dozen lengths behind a big, long-striding bay, which comin the light of Dominic’s forecast-she took to be Cooramina. Rose of April came with her, and together they breasted a gentle slope, the chestnut’s friendly young rider calling out something she could not catch, save for the name by which he addressed her-Mr. Cadogan.
He, at least, did not harbor any
suspicions as to her identity, Kitty thought, and, taking comfort from this realization, began to enjoy the heady exhilaration of the breathless, headlong race down the slope. They entered the second circuit, and now, out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a gray shape starting to forge ahead-Starflight had emerged from a knot of tiring horses and was gaining ground with seemingly effortless speed, passing Cooramina as if the big bay mare were standing still. Recalled to Dominic’s need to recoup his betting losses, Kitty urged Snowgoose forward in pursuit, and the filly responded instantly, Rose of April a yard or so behind but keeping pace with her.
They were approaching the turn at the three-furlong post when, without warning, disaster struck. Starflight’s rider took the turn too fast and, in an effort to increase his lead, a shade too sharply, and the gray, went down in a tangle of flailing legs, flinging its rider heavily to the ground. He fell squarely in Snowgoose’s path, and instinctively the filly tried to swerve to avoid
trampling him. But they were too close, and with Rose of April almost level, a multiple crash would have been inevitable. Kitty did the only thing possible, her reaction as instinctive as that of her mount. With hands and heels she lifted her, and Snowgoose responded with a wild leap that carried her over the prostrate man, leaving him untouched and able-though Kitty did not see him-to roll clear of the following horses.
Rose of April had swerved and lost ground in consequence, and suddenly Kitty found herself alone, her lead unchallenged,
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the slope rising in front of her, and she sensed that she had only to keep going and she would win. For a moment she was undecided; it seemed an injustice to snatch victory that might well not have been hers, had it not been for the accident to Starflight comb then she heard the other horses pounding after her and heard Rose of April’s young jockey shout a challenge.
“I’m after you, Cadogan!”
Pat would not have pulled up, she told herself. He would have made a race of it, and since she had stolen his name … Kitty leaned out on Snowgoose’s sweat-damp neck and urged her down the slope, again using hands and heels to best advantage. The brave little filly quickened her stride and, regaining the rhythm she had lost during her rider’s moment of doubt, galloped smoothly past the winning post with Rose of April laboring a clear three lengths behind her.
The cheers were deafening, and as Dominic led her in, hands reached out to pat Snowgoose’s neck and nose and even her quarters, while others sought to shake Kitty by the hand, calling out congratulations.
“Well done, sir, well done indeed!”
“That was a fine bit of riding, Mr.
Cadogan!”
“Well ridden, Pat! You excelled yourself!”
Kitty saw Starflight come in, her rider on foot, leading her, and both apparently unscathed.
“I knew you’d do it,” Dominic exulted, turning to look up at her, flushed and almost beside himself with excitement and relief. “But by heaven I didn’t know how well! That truly was a fine piece of riding, Kit!”
In his excitement he had addressed her by name, and as she slipped from the saddle, Kitty whispered tensely, “You must get me away-at once, as soon as I’ve weighed in.”
Somehow, Dominic contrived to usher her through the crowd, draping his coat over her shoulders and walking with his arm about her, fending off those who continued to offer their plaudits and answering for her, as people milled about them, eager to talk to her. The start of the parade for the next race focused the crowd’s interest elsewhere and eased the congestion at last, but Kitty was spent and breathless when they reached
the carriage, and she stumbled thankfully inside, her taut nerves strung to the breaking point.
“I shall have to stay for the presentation of the cup,”