“Oh, so sorry,” Mrs. Langtry said gaily, taking the young man’s arm and pressing herself against him. “Lady Charles Sheridan, may I present my very dear friend, Hugo de Bathe, whom everyone calls by the delicious name of Suggie-because he is so sweet, of course.”
“Delighted, Lady Charles,” Lillie’s friend murmured, taking Kate’s hand and holding it rather longer than necessary.
“You’ll be even more delighted,” Mrs. Langtry said conspiratorially, “when you learn Lady Charles’s secret.”
Hugo de Bathe raised both eyebrows. “Ah, secrets!” he exclaimed with a smile. “Every beautiful lady should have a dozen trunks full of secrets, and should share them as generously as she shares her kisses. Tell all, Lady Charles.”
But Mrs. Langtry didn’t give Kate the chance to share her secrets. “Would you believe it, Suggie? Lady Charles is really the author of ‘The Duchess’s Dilemma’-that story I so much admire. What’s more, I’ve undertaken to persuade her to adapt it for the stage. I’m to play the duchess, of course.” She looked up at Hugo de Bathe with a meaningful smile. “She’s not quite keen on the idea, but I’ve warned her that I always get what I want. Tell her it’s true, Suggie.”
“Oh, it’s true, all right,” Hugo de Bathe said nonchalantly. “Our Lillie gets what she wants, whether it’s good for her or not.”
“There, you see, Lady Charles?” Mrs. Langtry was triumphant. “You shall adapt your play to the stage and I shall make your duchess immortal.”
Kate’s quick protest was drowned out by a cheer from the crowd. A line of blue-uniformed constables was moving without urgency or apparent force across the track, the crowd ebbing obediently before it. When the course was clear, seven magnificent horses, riders vivid in their silks, began parading out of the paddock and down to the starting post on the other side of the course.
Distracted by the cheering, Mrs. Langtry turned to look, then frowned down at her card. “Only seven runners? But eight are listed as starters. Who’s missing?”
“It’s Gladiator,” Suggie said, taking a pair of field glasses from a leather case. “He’s suffering from nerves and has been given permission to join the field at the start.” He raised the glasses to his eyes. “By Jove, Flying Fox does look fine!”
“And so does Ricochet,” Jennie said excitedly, coming up behind Kate and pointing. “Look there-isn’t he a beauty! My money’s on Ricochet.”
The track was clear now, and as Kate watched, the throng grew quieter. The carriage crowd paused over their picnic luncheons, the rowdies ceased their loud singing, the preachers left off their haranguing, and the hawkers and criers among the booths were silenced as all eyes turned toward the track. Only the bookies and touts in the Ring and the pickpockets in the crowd continued to ply their trades, relieving the unsuspecting of their money. The suspense grew, moment by breathless moment, as the starter attempted to get the field in order. It was not a clean start, by any means, but at long last the flag came down and the crowd ceased to hold its breath and gave one great shout, “They’re off!”
Afterward Kate reflected on the unimaginable effort, the enormous cost, the soaring excitement, the anxious anticipation-all spent in something like three minutes. Even from the vantage point of the royal box, she was scarcely able to see the actual start, and she had not got the horses sorted out before they rounded the first turn toward the top of the hill, then swung around Tattenham Corner. Something happened there that she couldn’t quite make out, a melee of horses and riders and the surprised shouting of onlookers, but the field was still coming on, pounding into the half-mile straight in front of the stands and on to the winning post. A few moments later, the numbers were up on the board.
“It’s Flying Fox,” Hugo de Bathe said, and put down his glasses. “There was some sort of trouble at the corner, Lillie. Gladiator didn’t even finish.”
Mrs. Langtry made a disappointed face. “But Reggie seemed so sure.”
“Reggie is always sure,” de Bathe replied with a sour chuckle. “Poor unfortunate Reggie. He had a great deal on that horse. After the loss he took on Tarantula last year, this may be the end of him. Radwick may just swallow him up, estate, stable, and all.”
Those around the Prince were jubilant. “Well done, Westminster!” the Prince exclaimed to a tall, thin man with a large nose, who seemed unmoved by his good fortune. “Flying Fox is a superb horse. You’ll have another Triple Crown before the year is out, I’ll wager.”
“As you say, sir,” the man replied laconically, as if that did not matter, either.
Next to Kate, Jennie, who may have bet more on Ricochet than she was willing to admit, was looking downcast, while Mrs. Langtry was still wondering out loud about Gladiator’s defeat. But he wasn’t the only horse that failed to finish. As the runners flew down the straightaway in front of her, Kate had counted. There were only six.
She tugged at Hugo de Bathe’s sleeve and pointed toward Tattenham Corner. “Can you see what’s happening down there?”
He raised the glasses again. “There’s one horse down and another loose in the infield-Gladiator, I think.” He added, for Kate’s instruction, “The corner is quite a dangerous turn, you know. There are often spills.”
“I suppose it was too much to hope that an outsider should win two years in a row,” Mrs. Langtry muttered, vexed.
And then the throng-the winners and losers, the well-known and the nameless, the rich and the ragged-began to melt away. The stands emptied, the carriage crowd stowed its picnic hampers and took to the road, and the Prince went back to Marlborough House to host the traditional Derby Day dinner he gave to his fellow members of the Jockey Club the evening after the race. Mrs. Langtry strolled off on her Suggie’s arm and Kate took leave of Jennie and made her way back to the Royal Grand Hotel on the Epsom High Street, where she and Charles had booked rooms for the night. It wasn’t until that evening at dinner that she learned the details of the disaster at Tattenham Corner, and why two of the horses failed to finish the race.
CHAPTER FIVE
Having ridden at Epsom many times, I think I ought to know the course pretty well. It is very bad, as well as dangerous. What is known as Tattenham Corner is one of the worst bends I ever rode round or saw. It is not only down a very steep incline, but on a side hill, as well as a very sharp turn; and it is wonderful to me it is not productive of more accidents.
Riding Reflections and Turf Stories, 1894 Henry Custance
The word “doping” first appeared in an English dictionary about 1899, defined as a mixture of opium and narcotics used for horses.
Drugs and the Performance Horse Thomas Tobin, 1981
The race had been over for not quite an hour when Lord Charles Sheridan went up to the second floor of the Jockey Club stand and knocked at the door of the Stewards Room. At a gruff “Come in,” he entered, to find three men sitting in high-backed leather chairs pulled close to a coal fire, coffee and brandy at their elbows. One-a brown-haired man with neatly trimmed side-whiskers, his face slightly florid, his frame tending toward stoutness-rose and held out his hand with a ready smile.