Chapter Forty-Three
Around them, Justin’s extraordinary bets were the main topic of conversation. Speculation was rife. Some racegoers rushed to place similar bets, convinced that he must have some inside knowledge, or swayed by his reputation as a successful businessman.
“Shall we head up to the stand?” Ellie asked. “The race is about to start.”
Tess could only nod dumbly. Part of her wanted to go over and demand an explanation from Justin, but the other half wanted to go somewhere quiet to hide.
The three of them climbed the stairs to the upper level of the grandstand, and Tess’s gaze immediately found Justin, now in the owner’s enclosure opposite them, talking to a short, slim man in a red shirt she assumed was the jockey.
In no time at all, the horses were led to the starting line.
“Only five horses are starting,” Daisy said. “Look, Kestrel has been pulled.”
Sure enough, a disappointed grumble rippled through the crowd as those who’d bet on Kestrel discovered he’d been withdrawn from the race.
“Must be sick. Or injured.”
A few of the horses pranced, picking up the nervous excitement from the crowd, and the jockeys tugged on the reins to control them. But not Fool For Love. The chestnut stood calmly at the starting tape, flicking his ears and looking entirely disinterested in the proceedings.
“That Fool For Love looks like he’s asleep!”
Tess almost groaned at the amused comment from a gentleman to her left. Disaster was about to unfold right before her eyes. She could hardly bear to watch.
A pistol shot heralded the start of the race and four of the horses leapt forward. Fool For Love’s rider had to give him a few good kicks with his heels to get him to move. The other horses were already ahead by the time he decided to bestir himself, earning him a raucous, derisive cheer from the crowd.
“Hoi! I’ve seen donkeys with more go!” the man next to Tess snorted.
“It’s two laps of the track,” Daisy said excitedly. “Come on, Fool For Love!”
Flecks of turf flicked from the horse’s hooves as they thundered past on their first lap.
To Tess’s right an announcer used a cone-shaped speaking trumpet to amplify his commentary in an effort to be heard above the baying crowd.
“It’s Ghost in the lead, closely followed by Arbiter and Twist.”
Tess gripped the wooden railing in front of her. Fool For Love was clear last, several lengths behind Sweet Lips.
“Oh no, look!” Ellie’s excited voice broke her concentration. “Arbiter and Twist have bumped together.”
A roar went up from the crowd as the horses in second and third place collided as they rounded the second bend.
“Tom Fennell on Arbiter’s lost his stirrup!” The announcer shouted.
Arbiter stumbled, but didn’t go down, and the crowd gasped in unison. But the contact unsettled Twist. He veered off sharply to the right, galloping across the track, and began to buck. His rider, in blue silks, made a valiant effort to keep his seat, but he was thrown clear of the saddle and landed on the ground.
The crowd groaned in sympathy, but the valiant jockey rose to his feet and hobbled away to duck under the fence. The horse gave a delighted snort and cantered off along the rail, neatly avoiding the reaching hands of the crowd trying to catch his reins.
“And there’s Sweet Lips, gaining ground on Arbiter, who still hasn’t regained his stirrups!” the announcer roared.
Ghost was still in the lead, but Sweet Lips overtook the struggling Arbiter to go into second place.
Twist, delighted to have lost the burden of his rider, galloped back to the inside rail to rejoin the race, and the crowd gasped as he veered straight in front of Sweet Lips and Arbiter.
Both jockeys were forced to pull up sharply on the reins to avoid a collision. Sweet Lips’s rider reached over and grabbed Twist’s dangling reins and pulled him to a bouncing stop.
“That’s both Arbiter and Sweet Lips out of the running,” the announcer called. “But just look at Fool For Love!”
Tess swung her gaze to the last horse in the pack. Justin’s jockey was wearing a scarlet coat and a matching cap. Was it a nod to her?
