Sheffield

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

"Did you ever look at me like you look at Ewan Donal?" Miss Benning's mouth dropped open and she stood violently, shadowed by Mr. Culvert who crossed to her and stopped her movement with a soft hand upon her arm, "I do not mean to pain you. Maria and I observed you and Mr. Donal at St. Leger after Maria was taken into your circle by the former Miss Burke." Miss Benning blushed brightly as rage began filling her, "How dare you come into my house," she began but Mr. Culvert cut her off, "Listen to me before you shield yourself in rage. I only mention Mr. Donal because I do not believe you felt for me as I have described and so could not have possibly understood the vehicle which drove the actions of Maria and myself those many years ago but I believe now you have, now you can understand and know that what we did was not planned, not for the purpose of harm but because we had no other choice. Love is the most jealous mistress and not one easily put off."

Mr. Culvert released her arm and returned to his seat beside his wife. Miss Benning stared at the couple, at the door, at the window, at anything, trying to will her legs to move but they would not. Finally she sighed and returned her sight to the seated bodies, "What do you want of me?" Mrs. Culvert looked up at Miss Benning with pleading eyes, "forgiveness." Miss Benning stroked her forehead which was beginning to pound. Would the toil on her soul ever ease? "I forgave you long ago Maria but seeing the two of you together, so very happy, it is not an easy thing." Mrs. Culvert rose and walked to Miss Benning, "And yet I have seen you as happy Ace." Miss Benning dropped her hand from her head and stared at her former friend, "And I have been the destruction of my own happiness. What is left for me now?" Miss Benning tightened in alarm as Mrs. Culvert wrapped her arms around her then relaxed almost instantly wrapped her own arms around the woman and felt herself begin to weep.

~

A week passed and found Miss Benning, Wimbley, LaCroix and Donal seated at breakfast. "You are really to leave us Wimbley?" inquired Miss Benning. "I am sad to say yes but if we are to make a showing at the spring meets it must be so, there is much work to be done." She sighed and took a sip of her tea, "Ireland treats you well." Wimbley smiled warmly, "Exceedingly." "How do you find Mr. O'Kelley? It was my wish that Donal head the Ireland string but it seems he refuses to quit Sheffield." Miss Benning's reproachful glance was met by Donal's wry smile as he perused a paper. Wimbley cleared his voice, "I shall not question Donal's choice. I find the man a good hand with horses so far as I can tell and he seems overly pleased with the prospects."

"And you LaCroix, what think you of our Ares?" There was a mischievous tone to Miss Benning's question that drew the table's attention. "He has his dam's looks but I believe his sire's ability." "I agree," said she. "It is for this reason I must employ you LaCroix on a mission of utmost import." Donal laid the paper aside and fixed his eyes on Miss Benning. "What do you know of Mr. McDonald Wimbley?" Wimbley was surprised by the sudden turn of conversation and stuttered, "I, I," he cleared his throat, "Ace I am quite at a loss, what are you asking?" Miss Benning took another sip of tea, "Does he play cards?" "I am not sure how that is relevant?" The corner of Miss Benning's mouth drew up slightly, "Oh! but it is most relevant Wimbley."

Donal interrupted in irritation, "Ace, what are you playing at?" "It is a simple question Niall, if Wimbley would but answer." "Yes, I believe he does when he gets in his Scotch," answered Wimbley quickly. "Even better," said Miss Benning. "Mademoiselle if I might be so imprudent as to bring the conversation back to me?" LaCroix said feeling the tension in the room rising beyond his level of amiable comfort. "Yes you may. I would like you to travel to Scotland and engage Mr. McDonald in a game of cards." The table goggled at her in stupification so she continued, "And I would like you to lose." Miss Benning turned her eyes to Donal as he let loose a disbelieving laugh. "Lose Mademoiselle?" Miss Benning nodded as Wimbley spoke, "What exactly would you have LaCroix lose?" Miss Benning smiled fully.

"Ares, of course." Wimbley choked, LaCroix gasped and Donal sat back fully in his chair. "Ace you are mad. Why? Ares is possibly the best prospect in the string." Miss Benning cut Wimbley's words short, "Nae, he is the best, the best by far. I dare say the best of Atlas' foals to date. What say you Niall?" Miss Benning took up a piece of toast and looked at the Irishman. Donal studied her for few moments trying to reason her game then answered with reserve, "The best." LaCroix, ever patient and polite questioned, "And why would you have me do this?" Miss Benning placed the paper on the table, understanding beginning to register with Wimbley and Donal she answered, "He lost his best horse, his best rider."

~

It had been two months since St. Leger. His feet felt like weights as he walked into his office in the shedrow and poured a glass of whiskey. He had just come from Mrs. Sullivan's house. Since the accident he had taken up the care of Sullivan's widow and infant. The woman was still overcome with grief and wept as soon as she laid eyes upon him. He saw that she was warm, fed and her child tended but his presence seemed to upset her more than his assistance helped and the knowledge that he was the instrument of all her suffering ate constantly at him. He took another drink and looked over his shoulder in exasperation as a stable hand entered. "Sir, thought you would want to know as soon as you returned about the new horse." Ewan poured another drink, "New horse?" "Aye Sir, the Master had him delivered just this morning." Ewan rolled his eyes, "And where did the Master procure this new addition pray tell?" The stable hand laughed, "I heard it was a game of cards."

To Ewan's great relief the horse was no nag. He entered the stall to inspect his new charge. The horse raised his head to meet Ewan, snorted and pawed at the straw. "Have a bit of spirit do you?" The stable hand standing outside the stall piped in, "His name's Ares Sir." Ewan walked around the horse examining him with a critical eye, "The god of war is it?" The horse laid his ears back and eyed Ewan warily. Taking a piece of carrot from his pocket he approached and held out the olive branch. The horse sniffed once, twice then accepted the truce and allowed Ewan to stroke his neck.

Ewan was watching a two year old breeze when McDonald found him. "Donal, what think you of my grand victory?" McDonald asked as he clapped Ewan across the back. "Grand victory?" "The horse, man." Ewan turned an eye to McDonald, "Not a bad specimen but what would you have me do with him?" McDonald blubbered indignantly before answering, "Train him of course." "Train him for what?" McDonald was now as fully irritated as ever he could be, "Are ye daft man, to run of course." Ewan turned to face the man fully, one brow raised, "To run, and this horse is papered?" McDonald let out a loud, bawdy laugh, drew out a bundle from his coat and handed it over to Ewan.

It felt as though a sword ripped slowly through his heart as he examined the papers. "This cannot be." He looked them over several times before looking back to McDonald, "Where did you get that horse?" McDonald's face erupted in a large grin, "Won him, in a game of cards. Took him off a Frenchman and I gather, from your reaction, the papers are genuine." Ewan nodded slowly, "They are." "Ha!" McDonald bellowed and clapped Ewan again across the back, "This shall be our year Donal. God has smiled on our travails and blessed us with our salvation." In disbelief Ewan watched the large man walk away and again peered down at the papers in his hand, reading to himself, "Ares, stallion, dam, Belladonna, sire, Atlas."