“BITE HIM, BRUTUS!”
Brutus stretched out his neck and bit Dodger on his flank.
Dodger’s ears flattened, his tail slashed in Brutus’s face, and he put his head down and ran hard.
Ganymede’s jockey kicked out at Lamplighter’s jockey, his boot connecting with his leg. If a jockey didn’t practice this, he’d go flying off his horse’s back with one good hard kick, but Lord Grimsby’s jockey held on tight. Then Ganymede’s jockey raised his whip and brought it down hard on Brutus’s rump. Brutus, enraged, ignored his jockey, kicked out his hind legs, slowing him down, but he missed Ganymede, who was now beside him, pushing forward.
Dodger, run, run, run.
Once again Lamplighter and Ganymede came up on either side of Dodger and tried to press inward again, crowding him. Lamplighter’s jockey struck his whip out at Lorry then again at Dodger. Dodger screamed and reared, and Jason watched Ganymede pull ahead. Lorry appeared rattled. Jason knew the blow from the whip must hurt. He’d taught Lorry what to do and stood there, helplessly, praying that Lorry would remember, that he’d act before Ganymede. Lorry Dale stood straight up in the saddle, kicked out his left leg and connected with Ganymede’s jockey. The jockey went flying. Ganymede veered in front of two horses and the three of them tangled to the shouts of their jockeys toward the side of the race course.
Lord Grimsby’s Lamplighter was closing again on Dodger, but the finish line was close now. Almost there, almost.
There was a popping sound.
It was a gun firing, Jason thought blankly, and watched in disbelief as Lorry grabbed his right arm. But he didn’t fall. He tucked himself closer to Dodger’s neck. To Jason’s surprise, very few of the spectators appeared to know one of the jockeys had been shot.
Jason’s hands were fisted at his sides as he watched Dodger run nose-to-nose with Lamplighter. Time slowed, seemed to stop altogether. Then Jason smiled as Dodger stretched out his powerful neck and shot forward. He sped over the finish line a full half-length in front of Lamplighter. Brutus came in third, for which there was no prize money at all.
He heard a loud curse from Lord Grimsby, a yell of fury from Mr. Blaystock, and nothing at all from Charles Grandison. Was that weeping he heard from Lord Renfrew?
CHAPTER 36
There was a moment of stunned silence. It wasn’t every day an unknown thoroughbred won the Beckshire race, or any other big race for that matter. Many of the spectators had lost a goodly number of groats. Then, with all the Sherbrookes leading the way, the air began to thicken with cheers, louder and louder still. Those who had taken the chance on the long odds and the unknown Dodger soon out-shouted the Sherbrookes. Jason heard his twin, could see his father’s grin splitting his face. Hallie was in his arms, hugging him, squeezing his arm, laughing, then rose to her tiptoes and kissed him hard right in front of everyone. She laughed into his mouth, kissed once, twice more.
Jason stood there watching Lorry slow Dodger. He watched him pat his neck continuously, just as Jason had taught him, holding him firm with his knees, holding his right arm, the blood oozing out between his fingers.
“Oh God, he’s been shot,” Hallie said blankly. “I didn’t see. Oh, blessed hell. Jason, who would have shot at Dodger?”
It was then that the rest of the spectators realized that Dodger’s jockey had a bullet through his arm. There was a chorus of outrage, and of curses.
Jason said, “Someone who wanted to win badly. Everyone is upset about this now, but truth be told, it won’t change anything. You know what, Hallie, I’m thinking the owner who hired the first man to shoot also hired the second. And we’ve got him. We’ll see if Henry and Quincy and our other men can find the man who shot Lorry.” Excitement pounded through him. Dodger had won and Lorry appeared to be all right.
As it turned out, the bullet had barely nicked him, but Jason knew it must hurt badly. He and Hallie stood over Lorry as the physician bound him up. After thanking the doctor, Jason and Hallie turned to find themselves surrounded by a dozen excited Sherbrookes, laughing all of them and slapping both Hallie and Jason on the back. Jason realized, as he looked into all those beloved faces, that they were all so very happy he’d won because they still saw him as the wounded man who might bolt again. Fact was, Jason thought, hugging his aunt Mary Rose close, he hadn’t thought about that horrible day for a while now, perhaps nearly a month. He looked over at Hallie, laughing with his uncle Tysen. She was enjoying herself immensely, but he saw her looking around whenever she thought she could get away with it.
She was looking for him. He was suddenly filled with warmth and a soft sort of pleasure that made his chest two inches wider. Jason turned, grinning, at a tug on his sleeve. It was Henry. “Master Jason, we’ve got the blighter over there by Dodger’s wagon. The second blighter, the one wot shot Lorry, I’m sorry to say he got away.”
“We’ll find out all we need to know from the first one, Henry.” He went over and grabbed his wife. “We have some business to attend to, Uncle Tysen. Excuse us for a moment.”
“Well, at least Henry got the first villain,” Hallie said. “I want to question this fellow myself, I want to grind him into the dirt. How could he do that? As for that other fellow-to shoot a jockey, it’s disgraceful. Jason?”
“Yes?”
“You told me that no one tried with Charles Grandison because of the consequences. Lorry kicked Ganymede’s jockey off his back.”
“I don’t think Charles is going to say anything since his jockey tried to take Lorry down first. Charles should have realized I’d teach Lorry to fight as dirty as needed.”
“If Charles does try anything, I’ll have something to say to him. Now, Jason, I want to beat Charles’s consequences.”
Jason hugged her, felt her heart against his chest. “Yes, we will. Ah good, James is bragging on Dodger like the proud papa. He’ll keep everything under control whilst we deal with this idiot.”
The idiot was young, that was Hallie’s first thought, his clothes filthy, as if he’d slept in this field for a good two days before the race. Probably searching for the best spot from which to shoot, she thought, her hand clenching at her side. He was sitting on the ground, his back against the right rear wheel of Dodger’s traveling coach. Henry stood on one side of him, Quincy and Horace on the other.
Hallie stood over him, hands on hips. “Your boots are a disgrace,” she said, and kicked his right foot.
He looked up at her, eyes widened. “Aren’t ye a purty little thing, missus, all that lovely hair on yer head, sweet breath flowing over me, each word ye speak like bells chiming beautiful music. I appreciates beauty, so the beauty should appreciate me, don’t ye think?”
“No.”
“Now yer’re saying ye don’t like me boots?” He gave her a young man’s cocky grin. “Ye want to polish ’em all up fer me?”
“No, I’m going to have your boots pulled off and you’re going to walk over a bed of nails. Hot nails. What do you think of that?”
“Ye’re a young lady, I seen ye wi’ that fella over there. Now me, missus, I could show ye some real fun iffen ye’d-”
“Are you mad, you moron? Look at that fella over there.”
He looked. “Well, meybe not,” he allowed. “I don’t knows why I’m here. These bully boys grabbed me where I was taking me nap and-”
Jason said, “What’s your name?”
“I done forgit,” he said and spat. “I demands ye lets me go. I didn’t do nuthin’, I’m just ’ere to see all the swells.”
“Nice gun you’ve got here,” Hallie said. “Are you utterly stupid? Look at how dirty you’ve let it become. I’ll bet you Mr. Blaystock gave it to you all clean and primed, and yet-”