As the horses rushed toward her obstacle, she saw Linda Forloines bump Nigel hard. He lurched to the side as his horse stepped off balance.
"Bloody hell!" he shouted.
Linda laughed. Nigel, on a better horse, pulled alongside her, then began to pull away. In front of the fence Harry saw Linda lash out with her left arm and catch Nigel across the face with her whip. Bloody-lipped, Nigel cleared the fence. Linda cleared a split second behind him. She whipped Nigel again, but this time he was ready for her. He'd transferred his whip from his left to his right hand, and he backhanded her across the face, giving her a dose of her own. Linda screamed. Harry and Miranda watched in astonishment as the two jockeys beat at each other away and up the hill.
"Harry, what do you do?"
"Nothing until after the race. Then I'll have to hurry to the tower and file my report. But unless one of them protests, not a thing will happen. If either one does—what a row!"
"Vicious!"
"Linda Forloines?"
"Oh—well, yes, but the other one was almost as bad."
"Yes, but he was in the unenviable position of having to do something or she'd get worse. People like Linda don't understand fair play. They interpret it as weakness. You need to hit them harder than they hit you."
"In a race?" Miranda puffed up the hill behind Harry as the winner was being announced—Adelia Valiant on Bazooka. Tucker, ears back, scampered on ahead.
"In the best of all possible worlds, no, but that's when people like Linda go after you. When they think you can't or won't fight back. I'd have killed her myself."
They reached the tower, Mrs. Hogendobber panting.
"Miranda, climb up here. You're a witness, too."
Miranda stomped up the three flights of stairs to the tower top where the announcer, Arthur Tetrick, and Colbert Mason, national race director, held sway. Tucker stayed at the foot of the steps.
The horses, cooling down, galloped in front of the stand.
"Harry," Arthur Tetrick said, offering her a drink, "thank you so much for all you've done today. Oh, sorry, Mrs. Hogendobber, I didn't see you."
"Arthur." Harry nodded to Colbert Mason. "Colbert. I'm sorry to report there was a dangerous and unsportsmanlike incident at the east gate jump. Linda Forloines bumped Nigel Dan-forth. It could have been an accident—"
"These things happen." Colbert, in a genial mood, interrupted, for he wanted to rush down to congratulate Mim Sanburne on the stupendous display of winning two races and placing second in another, all in one day. He was especially pleased that Mim had won the Virginia Hunt Cup.
"But wait, Colbert. Then she struck him across the face with her whip. After the jump they flailed at each other like two boxers. Mrs. Hogendobber witnessed it also."
"Miranda?" Arthur's sandy eyebrows were poised above his tortoise-shell glasses.
"Someone could have been seriously injured out there, or worse," Miranda confirmed.
"I see." Arthur leaned over the desk, shouting down to the second level to the race secretary. "Paul, any protest on this race?"
"No, sir."
Just then Colbert leaned over the stand. "I say ..." Now he could see the welts on Nigel's face and his bloody lip as the jockey rode by to the paddock. A look at Linda's face confirmed a battle.
Arthur leaned over to see also. "Good Lord." He shouted, "Nigel Danforth, come here for a moment. Linda Forloines, a word, please."
The two jockeys, neither looking at the other, rode to the bottom of the tower as their trainers and grooms hurried out to grab the bridles of their horses.
"Have you anything to report on the unusual condition of your faces?" Arthur bellowed.
"No, sir," came the Englishman's reply.
"Linda?" Arthur asked.
She shook her head, saying nothing.
"All right, then." Arthur dismissed them as Mim, floating on a cloud, entered the winner's circle. "Harry, there's nothing I can do under the circumstances, but I have a bad feeling that this isn't over yet. If you'll excuse me, I'm due in the winner's circle. I have the check." He patted his chest pocket. "See you ladies at Mim's party."
As the crowd slowly dispersed, the grooms, jockeys, trainers, and owners went about their tasks, until finally only the race officials remained. Even the political candidates had evaporated. One horse van after another rumbled out of the Madison estate.
Harry, Mrs. Hogendobber, and Tucker hopped into the truck as the sun slipped behind the Blue Ridge Mountains. Darkness folded around them as they slowly cruised down the lane.
"Lights are still on in the big barn," Harry noted. "There's so much to do." The horses required a lot of attention after a race—cold-hosing their legs, checking medications, feeding them, and finally cleaning the tack.
"All done," Miranda sang out.
"Huh?"
"The lights just went out."
"Oh." Harry smiled. "Well, good, someone got to go home early."
An hour later the phone jingled up at Montpelier where Arthur and Colbert had repaired for a bit of warmth, then to collate and fax the day's results to the national office in Elkton, Maryland.
"Hello." Arthur's expression changed so dramatically that Colbert stood to assist him if necessary. "We'll be right over." Arthur carefully replaced the receiver in the cradle.
He ran out to his car with Colbert next to him, headed for the big stable.
"Where is he?" Harry grumbled. "You'd think I'd be used to it by now. He's never been on time. Even his own mother admitted he was a week late being born."
"Last time I saw Fair he was checking over that horse with the bowed tendon," Addie said as yet another person came up to congratulate her. "Wherever he is, Nigel's probably with him. He's never on time either."
Mim, champagne glass in hand, raised it. "To the best trainer and jockey in the game, Hip, hip, hooray!" The assemblage ripped out, "Hip, hip, hooray!" Chark lifted his glass in response. "To the best owner." More cheers ricocheted off the tasteful walls of Mim Sanburne's Georgian mansion just northwest of Crozet.
Her husband, Jim, jovially mixed with the guests as servants in livery provided champagne—Louis Roederer Cristal, caviar, sliced chicken, smoked turkey, delicately cured hams, succotash, spoon bread, and desserts that packed a megaton calorie blast.
Many of the serving staff were University of Virginia students. Even with her vast wealth Mim ran a tight ship, and given Social Security, withholding taxes, workers' compensation, and health insurance to pay, she wasn't about to bloat her budget with lots of salaries. She hired for occasions like this, the rest of the time making do with a cook, a butler, and a maid. A farm manager and two full-time laborers rounded out the payroll.
Charles and Adelia Valiant trained her horses, but they trained other people's as well. Once a month Mim received an itemized bill. Since they enjoyed the use of her facilities for half the year, Mim was granted a deep discount. The other half of the year the Valiants wintered and trained in Aiken, South Carolina.
Mim called steeplechasers slow gypsies since they stayed for four to six months and then moved on.
The Reverend Herbert Jones, tinkling ice cubes in his glass, joined Harry as Addie was pulled away by another celebrant.
"Beautiful day. 'Course, you never know with Montpelier. I've stood in the snow, the rain, and I've basked in seventy-four degrees and sunshine. Today was one of the best."
"Pretty good." Harry smiled.
Herb watched Boom Boom Craycroft out of the corner of his eye. She worked the room, moving in a semicircle toward Harry. "Boom Boom's tacking your way." He lowered his gravelly voice.
"Not again."
"Oh?" His eyebrows shot upward.
"She freely shared her innermost feelings with me between the first and second races. Forgiveness and redemption are just around the corner if I'll join Lifeline."
"I thought forgiveness and redemption were mine to dispense." The Reverend Jones laughed at himself. "Well, now, let her ramble. Who knows, maybe this Lifeline really has helped her in some way. I prefer prayer myself."