HartsLove (29 page)

Garth spoke quickly. ‘I got drunk before the race, Pa. I got so drunk I could hardly stay on. The One didn't know when to start, and I couldn't remember what we'd
practised – Daisy and me, that is. Skelton wanted me to use a whip, like Grint did in the Guineas, and I did use it, only a man got in the way and I hit him instead. Ma told me about the war. I understand now.' He tailed off.

Charles unknotted his hands. ‘Oh, Garth,' he said sadly, ‘drink has made fools of us both.' Garth moved towards him. Charles shook his head. ‘It's time,' he said, and walking swiftly past Garth, he made his way to the stables. Garth followed.

Skelton was waiting in the doorway of his house. He welcomed Charles heartily. ‘Well, Sir Charles,' he said, ‘I believe you've come to honour your bargain.'

Charles swallowed. ‘It was a joke, Skelton. You said it was a joke.'

‘Saying's saying. I don't believe a judge will find this a joke.' He produced the contract and waved it in front of Charles's nose. ‘Written and signed by yourself.'

‘Skelton –'

‘
Mister
Skelton.'

‘Mr Skelton,' mumbled Charles, ‘you and I know it was a joke. I was drunk. You
know
I was drunk. And though you might want to take Hartslove and The One away from me, you can't want to destroy the children – for God's sake, man – the children.'

Skelton unrolled the paper. ‘The writing's very careful,' he observed cruelly, ‘and your signature's very straight. Poor old Sir Charles. You can't even do drunk properly.'

Charles stood as straight as he could. ‘I'm begging you, Skelton,' he said. ‘Tear up that wretched contract.'

‘I won't,' said Skelton and closed the door in Charles's face. Charles turned. Garth had heard every word. ‘Garth!' Charles stuttered. But Garth was already running back to the castle, leaving Charles to stumble behind.

Arthur Rose had arrived at Hartslove, invited by Lady de Granville to be thanked properly for looking after her girls. Charles barely saw him. ‘All of you, come to the dining room,' he said, ‘and bring Mrs Snipper.'

Surprised rather than alarmed, they all gathered. Garth's expression was blank as a waxwork's. In honour of Arthur, Rose was wearing her Derby clothes and had her hair up, which caused Arthur some pain. Hartslove was stirring. Rose would soon be off. He made to leave. Charles waved him in. ‘You might as well stay,' he said. ‘You'll hear soon enough.'

Charles sat, then stood, then sat, then stood again. He coughed. ‘Just after The One had his accident, I got drunk in Skelton's house and we made a joke. If The One won the Derby, I would give the horse, the winnings and Hartslove to him. The One has won the Derby.' He stopped.

‘So?' said Rose. ‘A joke's a joke.'

‘Not quite. You see, I wrote it down,' Charles said in a great rush. ‘And I signed it. Skelton has the paper and insists that it's not a joke, it's a contract, and the contract must be honoured.'

‘But a joke's
not
a contract,' said Daisy. She refused to understand. ‘You laugh at a joke.'

‘It doesn't look like a joke,' Charles said. ‘That's just what we called it. We didn't laugh – or perhaps we did. Doesn't matter.'

‘But if Skelton
knows
it was a joke—'

‘
Mister
Skelton knows nothing of the sort,' a voice boomed from the door, and the man himself appeared. ‘And nor does the county judge. Don't think I haven't had the contract checked and verified.'

‘You're a scoundrel,' said Charles.

‘And you're a soak, which is lucky for me.'

‘It can't be true,' shrilled Daisy. She still tried to block it out. ‘The One won the Derby so that we could keep Hartslove.'

‘A contract's a contract.'

‘But The One!' She felt physically sick. ‘You can't have him! You can't!'

‘It's a pity your father didn't have your faith.' Skelton rocked on shiny boots. He held out his hand to Mrs Snipper. ‘I'll have the keys.'

Mrs. Snipper reversed. ‘You'll get nothing from me.'

‘I'll get everything, one way or another.'

‘No!' shouted Daisy. ‘No!'

Arthur moved between Skelton and Mrs Snipper. ‘Hold on. If Sir Charles is, as you say, a soak, then he's not competent to make a contract,' he said.

‘That's right. Oh, that's right!' Rose was smiling again.

‘Oh really,' sneered Skelton. He had not realised until now that Arthur was in the room. Not that it mattered. ‘The writing's very careful. Very careful indeed. Not drunken writing, not at all.' He smirked. ‘Bad luck, young man. There's no heiress for you here.'

Rose went white.

‘Mr Skelton,' Lady de Granville said, rising up, ‘you can't mean to deprive us of our home.'

‘Well, your ladyship –' he rolled her title round as though it were a sour plum – ‘homes come and homes go, and you'll not miss the place, having been away so long.'

Daisy banged her fist on the table. ‘We'll give you the Derby winnings.'

‘Not enough.' Skelton sat down and splayed his legs. ‘I want what I'm entitled to.'

‘Skelton,' said Mrs Snipper.

‘
Mister
Skelton.'

‘Skelton,' she repeated, ‘I'll buy the place off you.'

‘You?!' He laughed out loud. ‘What with? Your wages?'

‘Now that's a proper joke,' Mrs Snipper said. ‘I don't have wages. No, I want to buy the place – and the horse of course – with money.'

‘Would that be money you've baked in a pie?' jibed Skelton.

‘You don't bake money in a pie. I'd like to buy it with this.' From under the sideboard Mrs Snipper produced
the bag Snipe had brought home. ‘There's nearly twenty thousand pounds in here,' she said. Skelton gaped. They all gaped. ‘Why the gaping?' said Mrs Snipper. ‘I had a bet on The One, that's all. I told you I would.'

‘But how on earth did you win so much?'

‘I put a bet on the day you left and got Very Good Odds.' She looked around. ‘Really, I don't know why you're amazed. I've always betted on Sir Charles's The Ones. I knew it was bound to Work In The End.'

Skelton recovered himself and calculated. ‘You can have the castle for all that, but not the horse.'

Daisy gasped.

‘I'll have both or none,' Mrs Snipper countered. She opened the bag.

Skelton put his feet on the table. ‘I'm not giving up the horse.'

‘Well then,' said Mrs Snipper, ‘no deal.'

Daisy slumped. ‘I won't believe it,' she whispered. ‘
I won't believe it
.'

Skelton tossed the contract to her. ‘Perhaps this will help.'

Arthur caught it. ‘May I?'

He held it up. He read it to himself, then he read it aloud. ‘I, Charles Gavin de Granville, promise that if The One, who can't walk at the moment, manages by some miracle to gallop, and by a further miracle actually manages to gallop first past the winning post in the Derby of 1861,
I really don't see how, but anyhow if the horse does, I'll give it, the horse, I mean, the prize money and Hartslove Castle to my groom, Skelton. Signed, Charles Gavin de Granville and Arnold John Skelton.'

Charles put his head in his hands.

‘I'm going to read it again,' Arthur said.

Rose was appalled. ‘Don't torture us, Arthur.'

‘I'm going to read it again.'

‘As often as you like,' said Skelton.

When he had finished, Arthur did not hand the paper back. Skelton was unmoved. ‘Don't think destroying that'll make any difference. I've a certified copy.'

‘Good,' said Arthur, ‘because if you don't have one, I'll make one.'

‘What on earth do you mean?'

‘Haven't any of you been listening?' asked Arthur. He was quite calm. ‘This contract says quite specifically that the horse should be first past the post, and he wasn't.'

‘Don't be such a jobsworth,' growled Skelton, snatching the contract back. ‘Everybody knows what this contract means. The other horse was disqualified. He didn't count.'

‘Contracts mean what they say. That's the nature of contracts,' said Arthur.

‘That wasn't the judge's opinion.'

‘I don't suppose you told him how The One won?'

‘I told him what he needed to know.' Skelton's voice was rising. ‘This place and the horse are mine. They're mine. I
paid the Derby entry fee. I paid for the transport. I paid for the oats.' He wagged a finger at Charles. ‘I paid for the
drink
.'

Daisy struggled to her feet. ‘You paid for Pa's drink? You wicked, wicked man!'

Skelton realised he had made a mistake. ‘You think he could live without drink? He couldn't even tie a bootlace without a bottle of brandy. You're beholden to me, you silly little girl, BEHOLDEN, do you understand?'

Mrs Snipper interrupted. She had been counting out money. ‘There,' she said. ‘It's not quite as much as my first offer, but it'll Cover Your Outlays.'

‘I'm not leaving! This place is mine! The One's mine,' shouted Skelton, lurching to his feet.

‘Not according to this contract,' said Arthur. ‘I'm happy to fetch the judge, if you'd like. Perhaps two or three would be better. We could tell them about the drink, too.'

Daisy was staring at the contract in horrified wonder. ‘That's why you helped with the haunting when the Entwhistles were here. I was grateful.
Grateful!
How could I have been such a dupe?'

‘It wasn't me who helped you. I didn't help you at all!'

‘Liar! You were helping yourself!'

‘It wasn't me!'

Nobody believed him, and Arthur Rose had something more important on his mind. He looked at the date on the contract and took a guess. ‘The One's knee,' he said. ‘What
do you know about that?' He clenched his fists. ‘My God, man!'

Skelton could take no more. That oaf, Sir Charles! That drunken oaf! Couldn't even write a proper contract! He launched himself at Arthur, head lowered. ‘I'll have you, you interfering bastard. You'll regret making a fool of me.' He caught Arthur above the eye. Arthur barely flinched. His fists were ready and they were keen. They fought with deadly intent, Arthur silently and Skelton with much swearing and cursing until Garth pitched in and Skelton was finally driven like a mad dog through the hall and into the courtyard. Daisy found her crutches tucked under the arms of the Furious Boy. She ran outside too, and it was she, who, having chosen her moment, delivered the final, terminating blow directly across Skelton's right knee.

A very special light emanates from a place in which hope has triumphed over despair. At Hartslove, this light was not the glow from the windows of Lady de Granville's reoccupied rooms in the north-west wing. Nor was it the light from the lantern that Daisy hung in the chestnut tree at the Resting Place. Nor was it the result of some grand cleaning and renovation of the castle. There was no cleaning or renovation. The Furious Boy's arm was mended; a few leaks in the roof were fixed; the kitchen lift handle was oiled; the sold portraits and furniture that could be found were bought back, including Sir Thomas and the dining-room table. Otherwise, Hartslove remained just as it was, its gates rusty and its dust undisturbed. The new light that emanated was not a physical light: it was the light of a place whose pulse is strong again.

Charles did not stop drinking at once. He had bad days, better days and good days. But the return of his wife and the
success of The One had lit a touchpaper. When he drank, it was no longer the drinking of the desperate. Often, of an evening, having drunk nothing at all, he would go to the stables and gaze at the Red Horse of Hartslove, as the crowd of admirers that flowed up the drive had christened him, though Daisy never called him anything but The One. Often he found Garth at his shoulder.

Garth never attempted to ride again. Riding was for Daisy, not for him. His fear was inexplicable. He never conquered it. The most difficult part was trying not to waste time convincing himself even now that if only he could find the right remedy, he would be able to leap fearlessly into the saddle. Accepting that this was never going to happen was hard. Occasionally, as he and Charles were leaving the stable yard, Garth would still spit, bang his heel three times and whisper, ‘Hartslove luck!' This, though, was not some lingering fantasy about riding; this was to show his father that Garth never again wanted to be distant from him. And Charles always responded with a smile, though for many months, perhaps even a year, the smile was rather wan.

Lady de Granville was soon busy with the bittersweet task of repairing her wedding dress for Rose to wear. Rose had not waited for Arthur to propose: she had taken her courage in both hands, walked him down to the Resting Place and proposed herself. He heard her out without interruption, then slowly and carefully outlined his concerns about the
differences between them in birth and expectation. ‘You could have everything,' he said in the end.

‘I already have everything,' Rose said.

‘You belong here.'

Rose stroked the chestnut tree. ‘This place is at the root of me,' she said, ‘and the root's so deep it can never be uprooted. But I don't choose to live here, not like Daisy does, or Lily. I choose to carry Hartslove away with me and return to it from elsewhere. I don't want to be free of it – not at all. It doesn't weigh me down, though I once thought it did, with the Dead Girl and Father Nameless and all. But I want to be me as well as Rose de Granville. Do you see?'

Arthur was not reassured. ‘What happens if you find you want to be Rose de Granville more than Rose Rose?'

‘Rose Rose,' she said dreamily. ‘It's a lovely name.'