Gideon the Cutpurse (28 page)

* * *

While they waited for the race to begin, Sir Richard, always the diplomat, had gone over to talk with Lord Luxon's friends. He was having an animated conversation with De Courcy, who made dramatic gestures with his hands to emphasize every point that he made. Peter and Kate moved toward the rest of their party, who were now clustered around the proud white horse, patting its neck and feeding it blades of fresh green grass. As they drew closer, the parson asked Kate to stand next to Hannah in front of the animal so that he could discreetly examine its hooves. Being able to function as a moveable screen was, thought Kate, perhaps one of the very few advantages of wearing a skirt the width of a sofa. She stood with her back to the horse, pretending to take an interest in the macaronies' antics and listening to the grunts and groans of the parson. "Damn his eyes!" she heard him say. Finally he stood up and Kate turned around. He was angry and red in the face.
"I knew it! Some villainous fellow--and I can guess who--has put a nail in the hoof. Skillfully done, too. All but invisible--had I not pulled it out, the beast would have been lame after ten miles."
Kate had never seen Gideon look so furious, and she watched him as his eyes searched the crowd for the Tar Man. He spotted him and sprang up with the intention, Kate was sure, of challenging him. The parson stopped him.
"Trust me, Mr. Seymour, say nothing for the time being. Let him think that you are unlikely to get beyond Richmond. I have a happy idea. Sidney, why do you not regale our friends with an amusing story while I attend to a small matter."
The parson then laughed affectedly and said loud enough for everyone to hear, "Very droll, Sidney, very droll. Come, Jack, you wanted to see the ducks."
Then he caught hold of Jack's hand and walked into the park. Hannah hurried after them. Peter and Kate exchanged looks.
What on earth,
thought Peter,
is the parson up to?
Sidney did as he was asked and told them his best stories about Parson Ledbury. Even Gideon, who was preoccupied with the race, burst out laughing when he heard how the parson had attempted to set light to damp firewood in the drawing room at Baslow Hall by using gunpowder, and had ended up destroying the chimney.
Soon they saw the parson returning with Hannah and Jack. He walked straight up to the Tar Man and offered him his hand. The Tar Man eyed him suspiciously.
"To the victor the spoils!" Parson Ledbury said. "May the best man win!"
The Tar Man slowly took his hand and shook it.
"Thank you, Parson. I have no doubt that the best man will win."
Parson Ledbury stroked the stallion's black neck and stood back for a moment to admire its physique.
"Dashed fine horse, sir, dashed fine. I do not mind admitting that I have never seen a prettier piece of horseflesh in my life. Were it not for the fact that you are riding it, Master Blueskin, I might be tempted to put ten guineas on him."
The Tar Man threw back his head and laughed, and the parson's attention was taken by his scar.
"You would offend good Mr. Seymour if you did, Parson, for you must know that he does not approve of gambling."
"Pish pash! Life is too short to deprive oneself of such small pleasures," he replied. "But, tell me, for I am curious. That handsome scar of yours, Master Blueskin, it bears all the marks of an encounter with a sabre. Did you perchance earn it in His Majesty's service?"
"Most of my acquaintances know better than to make personal comments of that nature," the Tar Man replied, allowing a menacing smile to linger awhile on his lips. "But I have taken a fancy to you, Parson Ledbury, so I shall tell you the truth about my scar, as you might appreciate the irony of it. This is how I got my war wound. I was sent to fetch my brother in from the barn where he was playing. I was nearly grown by then but he was still very young, scarcely able to talk. I found him perched on top of a cart, whirling around and around with a scythe my father used for cutting hay. It was too heavy for him and he lost his grip. I watched it flying through the air toward me. I dived to one side, which no doubt saved my life, but it still cut me deep, as the scar bears witness. My brother ran back to his mother without knowing what he had done. They did not find me until the next morning and, when they did, would not believe my story, so convinced were they that it was my appetite for fighting that was responsible for my injuries."
"Did you find it in your heart to forgive your brother?" asked the parson.
"Forgive him? I should rather thank him. This scar is eloquent. It promises much, does it not? It strikes terror into the souls of those who would cross me--little do they know that it is the work of one who had not seen his third birthday.... However, he is dead, as are the rest of my brothers and sisters. The fever took them all, or so I am told."
"I am sorry for it," said the parson. "That must have been a grievous blow, indeed."
"No. My family felt no great tenderness toward me, and I returned their feelings."
The parson did not know what to reply so said nothing.

* * *

Jack was feeding the black stallion with the last of a large bunch of grass they had brought back from the park. He looked up at the Tar Man and asked, "Is it on account of your brother that you cannot hold your neck straight?"
The question caused all of the Tar Man's good humor to drop from his face, and the parson realized the child had overstepped the mark. He hastily lifted Jack onto his shoulders.
"Well," he said, "I shall take my leave of you, Master Blueskin, and shall await news of the race with bated breath."
The parson strode away with a huge grin on his face. Hannah and Jack, too, looked very pleased with themselves as they rejoined the party, trying to look as casual as they could.
Sir Richard, who had managed to extricate himself from the excitable Mr. De Courcy, said, "Something's afoot. What is the cause of such merriment?"
The parson was chuckling too much to speak and covered his face with a handkerchief. Hannah spoke for him.
"Someone had put a nail in the hoof of Gideon's horse. If the parson had not found it, the poor animal would have been lame within a matter of miles."
"But we must inform De Courcy!" exclaimed Sir Richard. "This is shocking!"
The parson stopped laughing and shook his head violently.
"We must do no such thing! Let them think the horse will go lame--it will give Gideon the advantage."
"The parson is a good horse doctor," continued Hannah. "He always treats our horses when they get sick at Baslow Hall. He has found an herb in the park that will cure all manner of minor ailments when taken in very small quantities. Taken in larger quantities it is liable to make a horse's bowels a little irritable for some hours afterward."
"You mean...," said Kate.
Hannah nodded. Kate tried hard to keep her face straight. Neither Sir Richard nor Gideon looked at all pleased.
"Well," said Sir Richard. "It's too late to do anything now. I am going to ride to Tempest House myself in the interests of fair play--although it seems that we are not playing by the rules ourselves."
Sir Richard climbed into his two-seater carriage and took hold of the reins.
"Until tonight!" he cried to the party, and then, to Gideon, "May God be with you, my friend!"
The carriage moved off. Suddenly Kate caught hold of Peter's arm.
"One of us should be there too," she exclaimed. "How will Sir Richard know if it's the antigravity machine? Quick, Peter, run after him--I'll never catch him in this stupid dress."
Without even bothering to reply, Peter raced after Sir Richard in his carriage.
"Sir Richard! Sir Richard!" he cried.
"Whoa!" called Sir Richard to the two chestnut mares.
The horses slowed down just long enough for Peter to leap up. He turned around in his seat and waved back at Kate.
"Good luck!" she shouted.
Kate sighed. She would have liked to have gone too.
Clothes in this century,
she thought,
have a lot to answer for.

* * *

As the clock struck six, Gideon and the Tar Man mounted their steeds, and the flamboyant Mr. De Courcy pointed his pistol to the sky.
"On your marks, gentlemen," he cried, striking a pose. "On the count of three! One! Two! Three!"
With a whiff of gunpowder and an earsplitting blast that echoed around St. James's Park, De Courcy discharged his pistol, sending both the riders and a small flock of starlings on their way. The black-and-white stallions plunged into a headlong gallop. Kate watched Gideon's white shirt billowing in the breeze and saw the Tar Man crack his whip once and then crack it again--only this time Gideon nearly lost his seat and clutched at his shoulder.
"He struck Gideon!" she cried.
There were boos but also some cheers. Kate's spirits sank. Was Gideon a match for the Tar Man? It suddenly struck her that if Gideon did not win back the antigravity machine, she might never see her family again. The two riders disappeared into the distance and the crowd went eerily silent. The race had begun and there was nothing she could do now but wait.

* * *

Sir Richard had hoped that his carriage would catch and outrun Lord Luxon's heavy coach and six, but he had not counted on Lord Luxon's procuring fresh horses on Richmond Hill. As Sir Richard's horses tired, the gap between them grew gradually wider again, and soon Peter lost sight of the shiny black carriage with Tom perched on top, barely recognizable in his smart new uniform. Sir Richard took the main Portsmouth Road through Esher and on to Cobham, a route that he knew because of his frequent visits to Mr. Hamilton's pleasure gardens at Painshill Park. By midday they had reached Effingham, where they asked for directions to Tempest House. They spoke little, as Sir Richard needed to concentrate to avoid hitting any stone or pothole, which could, at this rattling speed, tip over the lightweight two-seater. Yet the silence between them was an easy one, and Peter enjoyed seeing the countryside flying past them as they hurtled over the rough roads.
Half an hour's ride beyond Effingham, amidst rolling hills and lightly wooded valleys, they caught their first glimpse of Tempest House. It was set in landscaped grounds that afforded views of a large lake, and lush fields dotted with sheep as far as the eye could see. It was, as Gideon had described it, a great estate, and the house itself was perhaps five times the size of Baslow Hall.
In the circumstances, Sir Richard was reluctant to impose on Lord Luxon's hospitality and decided to wait for the two contenders outside the tall iron gates at the head of the tree-lined drive to Tempest House. Sir Richard predicted that the wait would not be a long one, but he was wrong. An hour went by, then two, and they started to become concerned. They saw, from a distance, tiny figures emerge on a balcony at the top of Tempest House, and they guessed that Lord Luxon was scanning the landscape with his spyglass.
It was hot and flies buzzed around the horses. Sir Richard and Peter had drunk all the water and had nothing to do but pace up and down the country lane leading to the house. Peter's eyes ached from focusing on the horizon for so long. At half past three they heard the sound of horses galloping up the drive. There were three riders, one of whom they recognized as Lord Luxon.
"I'll warrant they've spotted something," said Sir Richard.
They climbed back into the carriage and drove a little way down the lane. Peter screwed up his eyes against the sun, and then he saw it--a tiny white speck in the far distance.
"It's Gideon!" shouted Peter. "Gideon's won!"
"The Lord be praised!" said Sir Richard, letting out a huge sigh of relief. "I was beginning to fear the worst."
The tiny white speck approached at a snail's pace.
"Why is it taking him so long?" asked Peter.
Sir Richard did not answer, but the look of relief was turning into an expression of concern. Peter wanted to ride to meet him, but Sir Richard was anxious that they could be accused of helping Gideon. He did not want to give Lord Luxon any excuse to disqualify him. They looked behind them and saw that Lord Luxon and his attendants had stopped at the iron gates--he raised his hand in greeting but did not approach them.
Finally the white horse came close enough for them to see. At first they feared that the horse was riderless. Then they saw that Gideon was slumped over his horse's neck.
As he passed in front of them, Peter shouted, "Gideon! You're here! You've made it to Tempest House!"
"What ails you, Gideon?" called out Sir Richard.
Gideon lifted his head a couple of inches and shook it from side to side. He started to come to his senses. He glanced over at Peter and tried to smile--but he had a badly cut lip and a black eye, and when he pushed himself up, he winced and clutched his side.
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Peter. "What happened?"
"Forgive me, Master Peter, I did what I could. I was winning for much of the race, but Blueskin knew a shortcut in Abinger Forest and decided to even the odds."
"What did he do?"
"He pulled me off my horse and left me in the woods. I am not badly hurt--mainly my pride. I should have been on my guard against such a thing. I was lucky--Blueskin drove off my horse but he is a faithful animal and he came back for me. How long ago did he arrive?"
"The Tar Man, you mean?"
"Yes."
"He hasn't!"
"Blueskin has not arrived?"
"No."
"Then I have won?"
"Yes, Gideon," shouted Sir Richard. "You have won!"
Suddenly Gideon found the strength he thought had failed him, and he dug in his heels and urged the white horse forward.
"It looks like the parson's horse medicine worked!" said Peter, keeping his voice low.
"And it seems that you are to have your antigravity machine after all!" said Sir Richard. "I wish Mistress Kate were here to witness Gideon's triumph!"
They all followed Gideon as he rode past the iron gates and acknowledged Lord Luxon.
"Well done, indeed, Gideon!" they heard him shout. "I have won my wager. To the crypt!"
They continued some little way up the country lane, and soon they reached a small stone church. Everyone dismounted and walked through the churchyard toward an imposing crypt bearing the Luxon's family crest. Holding himself very stiffly on account of his bruised ribs, Gideon walked to the door and placed his hand on it. There was a smattering of applause.
"What kept you so long, Gideon?" asked Lord Luxon. "I have been waiting these three hours past to claim my winnings! I see that you have defended yourself against Master Blueskin. He lives, I take it?"
"He lives, my Lord, and was in better health than I the last time I saw him."
Peter and Sir Richard could contain themselves no longer and rushed up to congratulate him.
"Well done, indeed!" exclaimed Sir Richard.
Peter patted him on the back, which made Gideon wince.
"Whoops! Sorry!" he said, and then whispered, "We stand a chance of returning home now, thanks to you."
"So, Mr. Seymour," said Lord Luxon, "it is time for you to claim your prize. Master Blueskin will be ill-pleased. He has set his heart on this curious device. But it is not the first time that you two have not seen eye to eye. There has always been bad blood between you, eh, Gideon?"
Lord Luxon took out an ornate brass key from his pocket and unlocked the door of the crypt. The hinges groaned as he pushed open the double doors. He gestured for everyone to enter. They stepped from the bright sunshine into the dark and musty crypt, and blinked. Peter's eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light, and he looked around him for his first sight of the antigravity machine since that first day in the valley in Derbyshire. Peter swung around. He could see no sign of it. The crypt was empty.
"What is the meaning of this?" Lord Luxon cried.
Everyone looked at one another, confused and angry and suspicious.
"Where is the machine?" demanded Lord Luxon.
No one spoke. The only sound was the gentle roaring of the wind through the great copper beeches in the churchyard. What small amount of light there was in the crypt suddenly diminished as the unmistakable silhouette of the Tar Man appeared in the doorway.
"Blueskin!" exclaimed Lord Luxon.
The Tar Man scarcely had the breath to speak and did not waste time with pleasantries.
"He has not won! He is disqualified!" he shouted. "My horse, who was the picture of health this morning, became suddenly sick. I should have known that little wretch was not feeding him grass! They have fed him some evil herb and he is too weak to race. I have run the last five miles."
Lord Luxon turned to Gideon.
"I can scarce believe this! Mr. Seymour, whose conscience is without smear or stain, has
cheated
? What do you have to say for yourself?"
Sir Richard intervened.
"As we are on the subject of cheating, apart from the small matter of Master Blueskin attacking Gideon during the race, I must tell you, Lord Luxon, that we found a nail driven into the hoof of the white stallion with the clear intention of laming the beast. An upset stomach is hardly comparable! Besides, it was neither Gideon's idea to feed herbs to the horse nor did he execute or approve of the plan."
"Master Blueskin," said Lord Luxon. "Do you know anything about a nail?"
"I do not, my lord. Although I have a suspicion that some of your lordship's friends--who have wagered princely sums on my winning the race--may well know more than I."
"I admit it is not an implausible explanation," commented Lord Luxon. "And do you deny attacking Mr. Seymour?"
"I do not! But surely there are no rules against one rider challenging another? I used no weapon. We are evenly matched, would you not say, my lord?"
"That is true enough. In fact, I should say that you are as evenly matched as your horses."
"Except that Mr. Seymour has ensured that his horse had the advantage!"
Sir Richard exploded: "Do you expect us to accept the word of your henchman without question?"
The remark appeared to anger Lord Luxon.
"Henchman? What kind of term is that to describe Master Blueskin? What need have I for a
henchman
? He manages my estate. I suggest you choose your words more carefully, Sir Richard, given that you and your party are charged with a most dishonorable act."
Lord Luxon turned to Gideon.
"Mr. Seymour, did you embark on the race knowing of this vile plot against your opponent?"
"I cannot deny that I did."
Peter was expecting an outburst of anger. Instead he detected in Lord Luxon's expression the traces of a profound disappointment.
"Then I must disqualify you, Gideon," Lord Luxon said flatly. "I declare Master Blueskin to be the winner by default."
"I must protest!" exclaimed Sir Richard. "The race has not been won fairly, I accept that--but why impose a forfeit on one side and not the other? What of the attempt to lame Gideon's horse? What of Master Blueskin's attack on Gideon? And as for Gideon, it was not he who fed bitter herbs to the horse!"
"You protest too much!" shouted Lord Luxon. "You are a cheat, sir, or you aid and abet cheats."
It was at that moment that the Tar Man realized that the antigravity machine was nowhere to be seen. He interrupted his master, crying out in panic, "But where is the prize, my lord?"
"It is gone, as you can see! It is a mystery!"
"Gone!" exploded the Tar Man. "Then they have taken it! They did not trust us to hand it over--they have stolen our machine!"
"The device was never yours!" cried Gideon. "This is naught but a trick! If truth were known, Master Schock's machine was never here in the first place!"
"You go too far, Gideon!" Lord Luxon was incandescent with fury. "Your arrogance is extraordinary! I have been your protector long enough. You leave my service against my will and to the detriment of the estate, and you take it upon yourself to disapprove of my affairs at every turn. Enough is enough, Gideon. I shall court your good opinion no more. You are a liar and a cheat and--what is more--a
thief
. I will thank you to accompany me back to London. I shall deliver you into the hands of the magistrate and I will bring a charge against you of fraud and theft!"