His grin wide, Dillon clapped Rus on the shoulder. “Just wait, boyo-she’s a sergeant major around horses. I guarantee she’ll run you ragged.”
The next morning, Pris came down to breakfast to find Patrick hovering in the dining room. She stared at him. “Did you find them?”
He grinned. “I did.”
She sank into her chair; ignoring Adelaide’s and Eugenia’s exclamations, she demanded, “Where?”
Patrick told her.
Ten minutes after she’d consumed a hasty breakfast, she was in the gig, the reins in her hands, Adelaide beside her, as she tooled them down the lanes to call on the house hold at Hillgate End.
They switched the black fillies late last night.” Pris unfolded a map she’d drawn. “It’s a tiny cottage, more a hovel Patrick said, but there’s a lean-to stable alongside big enough to hold two horses.”
She laid her sketch on Dillon’s desk; he, Rus, and Barnaby crowded around. The General had been present when she and Adelaide had been shown in. Dillon and Rus had frowned, signaling with their eyes; they hadn’t wanted Adelaide involved.
She’d felt like she would burst, holding in the news while Adelaide shyly greeted them, then started chatting with Rus; he’d just returned from his first session working with Flick and seemed both exhilarated and stunned. But then the General had risen to the occasion and claimed Adelaide’s attention and her arm for a stroll about the garden. Mentally blessing him, Pris had lost no time imparting her news.
“There.” She pointed to a cross some miles northeast of the Rigby farm. “It’s little more than four walls and a chimney on the other side of this stream.” She traced a squiggly line. “There are trees along the rise behind it.”
“Which horse will it be?” Barnaby looked at Rus.
He shook his head. “Sometimes it was a day between switches, at other times three.” He glanced at Dillon. “I’ll go there and check which horse it is.”
“Not in daylight,” Pris said. “Harkness might see you out riding. Who knows what he’ll be up to?”
Rus grinned. “Actually I do know, at least for a few hours every day. This afternoon he and Crom will be overseeing the string exercising on the Heath.”
“Can you be sure?’ Dillon asked.
“Without me, unless Harkness has managed to hire another assistant trainer-and how likely is that in Newmarket just before a major meet?-then he and Crom both have to attend the training sessions. Cromarty has a good few horses entered, and aside from the substitution, he doesn’t like to lose any more than any other owner.”
“Right, then.” Dillon straightened. “This afternoon it is.”
Pris bit her tongue; they did have to know which horse was where, and only Rus could be certain which was which-and she couldn’t think of any way to argue him out of what she, nevertheless, viewed as a dangerous journey.
She met his eyes-amused yet understanding-and pulled a face at him. He laughed, hugged her, and wisely made no comment.
She and Adelaide stayed for luncheon. The General seemed delighted by their presence; he confessed he missed having young ladies around. “Flick was here for years, and even though she’s just across the fields, it’s not the same.”
He glanced down the table at Dillon, old eyes twinkling. “I sometimes think I should invite Prudence, Flick and Demon’s daughter, to stay for a few weeks.”
Dillon groaned. “Heaven preserve me!” To Pris and Adelaide, he explained, “Imagine a cross between Flick and Demon-a hedonistic female, convinced she’s right, and who will stop at nothing-absolutely nothing-to ensure matters fall out as she decrees they ought.” He shuddered. “She’s a terror now, and will be utterly unstoppable in a few years.”
Barnaby nodded. “I’m just grateful that by then we’ll be ancient, and probably far distant, so she won’t turn her beady eyes on us.”
“They aren’t beady.” Pris felt forced to defend the young girl she’d once glimpsed. “They’re quite lovely.”
Barnaby nodded even more. “Precisely. Weapons of the highest caliber. Just wait until she uses them on Rus, then ask him whether we’re not right.”
The conversation continued in a lighthearted vein. At the end of the meal, they made plans to meet at the Carisbrook house later that afternoon-to go for a ride. Adelaide reluctantly ruled herself out without them having to say anything; she wasn’t a sufficiently confident rider to keep up with them.
Pris went out of her way to be extra pleasant as she drove them back, detouring to the lending library so Adelaide could find a new novel-and to check the large map on the wall. Assured she had the position of the cottage properly fixed in her mind, she drove on to the house, where Eugenia and Patrick waited.
She and Eugenia, with Patrick trailing behind, went for a walk around the lake while she explained all they knew and their present direction.
Eugenia nodded. “Mr. Caxton-Dillon-seems an estimable gentleman, and Mr. Adair, too-his connection with the new police force does give one confidence. While I’m hardly happy that Rus must stay in hiding, I’m glad he”-Eugenia glanced at Pris-“and you, my dear, have found yourselves in such excellent company. I’ll admit that in coming here, I feared matters might turn out far worse.”
Pris nodded. They continued to amble around the lake’s shore.
“I do hope,” Eugenia continued, “that your brother curbs his enthusiasm and doesn’t do anything reckless and dangerous.”
“Actually, I don’t think there’s much likelihood of that.” Pris described Flick’s invitation, and what Rus had recounted of his first session beside her on the training track. “He hadn’t realized that she, herself, rides the horses she trains. Once he found out, he thought he’d have to hold his horse back. Instead, she left him floundering.”
Smiling, Pris wondered if Flick had deliberately let the situation play out as it had, guessing how it would spur Rus on and put him on his mettle.
“Hmm,” Eugenia said. “I did think Mrs. Cynster was an exceptionally intelligent lady.”
Smile deepening, Pris strolled on.
As the afternoon ticked by, she forced herself to patience, to not look at the clock every ten minutes. Regardless, when her three coconspirators clattered into the stable yard, she was mounted and waiting.
Eugenia, Adelaide, and Patrick came out to wave them off. Minutes later, they were galloping across the fields-north, to the tiny cottage.
Pris held her mare alongside the three larger horses-Dillon’s black, a raking bay carrying Barnaby, and the strong gray that Rus was riding. Before they’d appeared, she’d been just a little worried that, despite the arrangements, they would give the Carisbrook house a wide berth and leave her waiting “in safety.” She was pleased they hadn’t, pleased with them, her mood buoyant as they raced toward the cottage.
They had to reach it, Rus had to examine the horse stabled there, then he had to get back to Hillgate End before dusk heralded an end to the day’s training. So they wasted no time; letting the horses stretch out, they flew.
A rocky streambed appeared ahead, cutting through the relatively flat fields. Dillon drew rein, then swung Solomon to follow the bank. The others followed. From the opposite bank, the land rose gently to where, tucked into the side of a rise, the tiny cottage nestled against a protective band of trees.
Finding a crossing place, Dillon sent Solomon down the bank. The big black took the opposite bank in one leap. Pris came next, waved on by Barnaby and Rus; her mare stepped daintily, picking its way, then climbed the rising bank at an angle. Barnaby and Rus quickly followed; Dillon turned and set Solomon for the cottage, surging up beside Pris’s mare, already striking out for their goal.
Eyes on the cottage’s door, he called, “You and I-let’s head straight for the cottage. We can knock on the door-if there’s anyone there, you can beg a drink of water.” He glanced at her.