“Who won?” John asked as he brought the boy down.
“Chestnut.”
“Ah, the Maryland people.” Catherine nodded. “Good horses in Maryland.”
The crowd, lively now, eager to collect their winnings, swamped the betting men, tickets in their caps, boards behind them with odds for each race.
Men shouted, money changed hands. Those that lost the race made less noise. Once the bettors settled accounts, a new group of people stepped up to bet on the second race.
“Doesn’t Pestalozzi have a share in the gray?” John asked.
“Yes. Yancy talked him into it.” Catherine looked over at her now-seated husband. “You saw the odds on our race, did you not? Even. Gin up the betting,” Catherine said without emotion. “I figure gamblers think greed can be satisfied with luck.”
“Well, I never thought of that. I’ll bet on Reynaldo.”
“Me, too.” She smiled. “But that doesn’t mean I am fond of gambling. Life is a big enough gamble.”
Ewing, leaving a small knot of men behind, joined them. John rose, pulling a second tack trunk forward for his father-in-law.
“I think our organizers have a success, a runaway success.”
“People need a distraction.” Catherine nodded toward her father. “What better than a distraction where you might win money?”
“Or lose it.” Ewing smiled.
“Where’s Rachel and Charles?”
Ewing laughed. “Dragooned into high tone exchanges with Maureen and her acolytes.”
“Well, I am not going to rescue her.” Catherine laughed.
“Maureen sends over Elizabetta to bet. She won ten dollars on the first race. Not bad.”
“No. It will keep Maureen happy. I know she will probably bet on Black Knight for our race. She almost must, you know,” Catherine remarked.
Ewing agreed but John surprised them. “She’ll make a show of it. She knows we have a superior horse.”
“You don’t think she’d bet against herself?” Catherine questioned.
“John has a point. Maureen can be subtle. She wants to win. She’ll put a larger bet on Reynaldo and a token bet on Black Knight. DoRe will carry the bet on Black Knight as everyone knows he is the main man at the stable. She’ll have some shill we don’t know put down the money on Reynaldo,” Ewing thought out loud.
“Why not give it to Elizabetta?” Catherine hadn’t thought it through.
“People know that’s her lady-in-waiting and Maureen would never trust a slave with that much money. I believe she will place a sizable sum on our boy.” Ewing tapped his cane on the ground.
“DoRe’s a slave,” Ralston, silent until now, a slave himself, spoke up.
“Yes,” Catherine answered the skinny young man. “But DoRe is known throughout the state as one of the best coachmen. Seeing him put down money will encourage people to follow him as he is placing a bet for his mistress.
“Wonder who the shill is?” Catherine was puzzled.
“Someone we have never seen or someone we discount.” Ewing shrewdly pictured the scene.
A second roar went up. Even the loud cheering didn’t drown out the hoofbeats.
“Fast one,” Jeddie said.
“Sounds like it.” John thought so, too.
That race ended with the same drama as the betting men stuffed bills in their pockets.
Yancy, observing this, realized not all that money would be accounted for, but he and Sam would still get a good cut. He had men placed throughout the crowd, but they weren’t as noticeable as the bettors. If any betting agent tried to run after the last race, he wouldn’t get far, and that nasty lump of money he carried wouldn’t, either.
Sam Udall, pretending to be courteous, walked to Georgina with a snap. He touched the corner of his hat with his cane to the madam and turned to beam at Deborah, who shimmered with allure.
“Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Yes,” she coolly responded.
“Perhaps someday you would allow me to show you my small but good stable. My horse will be running in the fourth race. I have an interest in Black Knight.”
Georgina, hearing all, called out, “We will be sure to bet on him, Sam, just as we bet on you.”
He grinned at the double entendre, again bowed slightly, and withdrew. He couldn’t be seen spending too much time with the soiled doves.
Sitting on campaign chairs placed on a raised dais, Georgina and her girls could see everything and everybody. Deborah, an elegant fan in hand, sat next to Georgina. Below these two, the other girls walked about or relaxed on the dais next to the main one. Sarah, Deborah’s dresser, paid attention to Maureen Holloway, now promenading along the carriages in the front row.
Looking up at Georgina, Sarah tilted her head in Maureen’s direction. “They say she is immensely rich.”
“She dresses well,” Georgina replied.
“I should hope so.” Sarah, an escaped slave like Deborah, like most all the girls of color, laughed.
Voice low, Deborah, a sharp commercial mind growing sharper under Georgina’s tutelage, said, “The races have been good for business.”
Georgina leaned toward the ravishing woman to reply. “I told Sam and Yancy how grateful I am for them praising our tavern. I offered both men a choice, seven specially cooked meals or cash.” She breathed in with meaning.
Deborah nodded. “And I will never be a free meal.”
“Of course not, dear. I allowed as how the other girls and the new girls they have not yet viewed would deliver the excellent fare.”
“And.” Deborah grinned.
“Sam took the offering while Yancy took the cash. Shall I take it that he is failing in some respect? He has never discussed such things with me, of course, but perhaps one of the girls?”
Sarah, stepping up on the dais, knelt down to look up at Georgina. “The smashed knee. I think I was the last girl to entertain him. He’s in a lot of pain.”
“I see.” Georgina nodded. “As for Sam, he is—”
“Led by his prick.” Sarah let out a peal of laughter. “Such as it is.”
This made both Georgina and Deborah giggle. “The Lord endows us in His own mysterious ways. When I look at you all, my dears, endowments are prominent.”
“Well, if we ran a Molly house I guess they would be as well.” Deborah shrugged, citing the term for a house of prostitution for men who wanted men.