Demon swore; he looked down at his hands, clasped about his glass. He’d listened with barely an interruption. Looking up, he scowled at Dillon. “It galls me to admit you’re right-that your tack is the right decision. However”-he grimaced-“you can’t expect me to like it.”
He tossed off his port, then looked at the General. “If anything goes wrong…”
The General smiled benignly; despite his occasional vagueness, both Dillon and Demon knew the mind behind his worn façade still functioned with considerable incisiveness. But the General possessed something neither of them yet had, a deep well of experience and understanding of the human condition, and all that encompassed.
Calmly, he nodded at Demon, acknowledging his concern. “If anything about the reswitch becomes known, it will impinge very badly on Dillon. Once the reswitch is in hand, if any learn of it, then because the reswitch will destroy all evidence of the initial substitution, it will appear that whoever is involved in the reswitch is actually carrying out a substitution.”
Turning his head, the General met Dillon’s gaze. “You’re risking your reputation-something you’ve worked for the last ten and more years to rebuild. Are you sure you want to do that?”
There was neither condemnation nor encouragement in the General’s tone-no hint of how he thought Dillon should answer.
Dillon held his father’s gaze steadily, and evenly asked, “What would my reputation be founded on if I didn’t? If I weren’t willing to do what now needs to be done for the good of the industry that’s been placed in my care?”
A warm, openly approving smile spread across the General’s face; he inclined his head, then looked at Demon, and mildly raised his brows.
Demon exhaled through his teeth. “Yes, all right. He’s right.” He frowned at Dillon. “But I want a hand in this, too.”
“I don’t think that’s wise.” Even Demon’s reputation could be besmirched.
“Well, I do-think of it as a little extra protection.” Demon smiled, all teeth. “To appease me.”
Dillon read Demon’s eyes and inwardly sighed. No point arguing.
Demon didn’t wait for him to agree. “Getting Belle from here to the track on the morning of the race-walking her in as a lone horse is bound to attract attention, no matter the hour. The night watchmen at least will see and take note.” He caught Dillon’s eye. “I assume you’re planning to leave here an hour before dawn?” Dillon nodded. Demon went on, “We’d normally leave about an hour later, walking our runners to the holding stalls by the track-on that day, we’ll leave earlier. As we pass here, Belle can join our group. No one will notice an extra horse, and no one will think it odd that we might arrive a little earlier than usual to avoid the inevitable scramble.”
Dillon blinked, seeing the scenario Demon was painting. The Cynster string didn’t exercise on the Heath, but on a private track buried within Demon’s now considerable estate and thus out of bounds to the racing public. Consequently, when the day’s Cynster runners appeared at the holding stalls, touts, bookmakers, jockeys, owners, and trainers flocked to the stalls to assess what these days represented a significant portion of the competition.
Even extra early-indeed, especially if the Cynster horses made an unexpectedly early appearance-crowds would gather. Word would fly, people would come running. The ensuing melee would fix all attention on the holding stalls-away from the stables that stood just back from the track. What better cover in which to perform their reswitch?
Refocusing, Dillon found Demon watching him.
“A worthwhile addition to your plan?”
Dillon met his eyes, inclined his head. “Yes, thank you. That’ll make things much easier.”
Half an hour later, Dillon walked Demon to the front door.
“Where’s Adair?” Demon asked, as they entered the front hall.
“He had the idea of alerting our London friends to keep their ears open in the hope that in the aftermath of the race they might learn something of those involved.” Dillon halted by the door. “He was going to speak with his father and an Inspector Stokes he thinks highly of, as well as Gabriel and Vane, who will no doubt pass the word to the others in town.”
Demon nodded. “Good idea. No telling what the ripples might reveal when you drop that filly back into her race.”
Smiling, Dillon hauled open the door.
Demon stepped out, then turned back. “I will, of course, have to tell Flick all-you’ll have to take your chances on a lecture.” He paused, then added, “And you may as well warn Dalling that he’s liable to sustain a visit from her during one of the training sessions.” Turning to head down the steps, he continued, “And of course, that means I’ll have to come, too.”
Dillon grinned. He stood watching as Demon strode away across the lawn, then swung the door closed and headed for his bed.
15
Over the next days, their plan evolved, was refined and polished. With Rus staying at the Carisbrook house, Dillon curtailed his nocturnal visits to the summer house by the lake. He had too much respect for the connectedness between twins to risk it.
What Rus would make of his liaison with Pris he didn’t know, but now-while all three of them were immersed in a highly secret and dangerous endeavor-wasn’t the time to find out. However, he made a vow to, at the earliest opportunity, make his intentions, the honorable nature of them, clear to Pris’s twin. No sense courting any unnecessary misunderstandings.
Their social connection had excused Pris and Adelaide calling at Hillgate End; now it excused him frequently visiting the Carisbrook house and spending hours there. Barnaby returned from London fired with zeal, carrying good wishes from all involved, including Inspector Stokes; everyone had agreed that the opportunity to shatter the entire scheme was too valuable a chance to pass up.
Pris and Patrick remained adamant that Rus shouldn’t visit the isolated cottage alone; all three rode forth every morning and afternoon, as soon as they judged Harkness and Crom would have left for the Heath. As Demon had prophesied, Flick rode up one morning in breeches and coat, Demon beside her. She’d taken charge of the training session, put Belle through her paces, then glowingly commended Rus, giving him encouragement and various tips.
When he saw Dillon later, Demon had growled that Rus had all but groveled at his wife’s dainty feet-a position, Dillon knew, Demon reserved for himself.
They were all committed, heart and soul and in some cases reputation, and increasingly confident their plan would work. Flick’s frank assessment that she’d never seen any two-year-old faster than Blistering Belle went a long way to easing the unvoiced fear that despite their best efforts, Belle might, in the end, lose her race.
Rus had remained unswervingly certain Belle would lead the field; Flick’s endorsement brought relief to all other minds.
After finalizing the details of how they would effect the switch, Dillon spent hours drilling the Hillgate End stable lads and grooms. It had been agreed they were the best small army to use; all were familiar faces around the racetrack, the associated holding stalls, and nearby stables. No one would even register their presence on a race day morning, yet unlike Demon’s lads, none had any actual job to perform.
In addition, all were, to a man, unswervingly loyal to the Caxtons.
That last was vital. It was impossible to conceal from such necessary minor players that the intent proposed would normally be viewed as illegal, yet when Dillon outlined what he needed them to do, their reactions made it clear they took it for granted that his reasons were sound, that despite appearances, he hadn’t stirred one inch from the path of the angels.
He was grateful for their unquestioning support, but also humbled. Their blind faith left him only more determined to ensure that, by noon on the second day of the October meeting, the substitution scam would be in ruins.