Lady Alma arrived in our enclosure, out of breath. “Thought I was going to miss it,” she said. “I got caught up in conversation. Always an awkward thing trying to get away.”
She took a seat on the other side of Milo, her gaze moving around the track as though calculating the odds of the horses she favored. Like Milo, Lady Alma refrained from running any of her Thoroughbreds, but she was always keen to place bets on the village racers and to keep an eye out for any potential breeding stock.
“Who’s your favorite, Lady Alma?” Milo asked.
“Old Henson’s filly, Jasmine,” she said without hesitation.
“Is that so?” Milo asked. “The vicar and I both favor Yates’s bay, Galahad.”
“Galahad,” she scoffed. “Jasmine will take the race by a length, mark my words.”
“Would you care to wager on it?” he asked, flashing a smile.
She returned it with a grin of her own. “A hundred pounds.”
Milo held out his hand and they shook. He had just increased my investment in the outcome considerably.
Milo could do as he pleased with his money, of course, but it always made me uneasy to see how easily he gambled it. Luckily for both of us, he almost always won. I wondered if he would be so fortunate today. If there was anyone who knew horses as well as he did, it was Lady Alma.
A few moments later we watched as the horses lined up at the gate. I shielded my eyes from the glare of the sun and studied them. There were a great deal of fine-looking horses, my amateur opinion confirmed by Milo’s next comment: “Good stock all around this year.”
I searched the line and realized suddenly what was missing. “Where’s Bertie?” I asked.
“I was wondering the same thing,” Milo answered.
“It’s odd,” Lady Alma mused. “I know how eager the boy was to show off his horse. Perhaps he’s just late coming to the gate.”
I stood, looking behind the starting line, hoping to catch sight of him approaching.
But no—the horses pranced, the gunshot sounded, and off they went. I watched the race, only half-focused on the outcome. It seemed whatever had been worrying Bertie had prevented him from racing. I felt sorry he had missed this opportunity to show both Molly and his skill as a horseman.
My attention was soon otherwise engaged, however, as the horses began to hit their stride. As Milo and Lady Alma had predicted, it was Jasmine and Galahad who pulled ahead as the horses made their way around the track.
Lady Alma shot to her feet, her gaze riveted on the track.
As they neared the final turn, I reached out and clutched Milo’s arm, the fabric of his jacket bunching beneath my glove as I squeezed it in nervous anticipation. The corner of his mouth tipped up, though he didn’t take his eyes from the racetrack.
The race continued, both of the horses outdistancing the rest. It was going to be close.
Unable to take the suspense sitting down any longer, I stood, and Milo stood with me. I tore my eyes from the racetrack to look at him and saw he was watching with a look of serene intensity. How he could be so calm at a time like this was beyond me. I had watched him at the roulette table often enough, however, to know that he was never ruffled by the vagaries of chance. He loved the thrill of it, of standing on the precipice between victory and loss, waiting to see which way the chips would fall. I, on the other hand, felt rather like I might lose my breakfast.
Jasmine and Galahad reached the final stretch neck and neck. They were both practically gleaming in the sunlight, their muscles rippling as they propelled themselves forward, inspired by some inborn sense of competition and the skillful urging of their riders.
“Come on, Jasmine,” Lady Alma cried boisterously, her voice rising above the wild cheering of the crowd. “Come on!”
I was certain that Jasmine was going to win. She had edged ahead ever so slightly as they neared the finish line. Their legs were all a blur, but I could see the tip of her nose edge past Galahad.
And then, suddenly, Galahad shot forward in one final, triumphant burst of speed and shot across the finish line a nose ahead of Jasmine.
The crowd roared its approval at the tight race, and I cheered with them.
“We’ve won!” I cried, flinging myself into Milo’s arms, or as nearly as I could with my stomach between us.
“Yes, we’ve won.” He laughed, leaning to drop a kiss on my lips.
“Well done, Ames,” Lady Alma said with characteristic good grace. She extended her gloveless hand to him as he released me. “When you come by to collect, we’ll discuss that matter of your stallion.”
“Indeed, we shall,” Milo agreed.
He slipped an arm around me as the crowd began to disperse. “Well, darling, we’re a hundred pounds richer. How shall we spend our ill-gotten gains?”
“Buy me something to eat,” I said decisively.
* * *
IT TURNED OUT Milo’s winnings were safe from my appetite. We went to the tea tent after the races for refreshments laid out by the local Ladies Charitable Society. The tea was hot and strong, and I added a liberal amount of sugar as I stacked a dainty plate with sandwiches and biscuits.
Everyone was in high spirits after the race, and there was laughter and chatter over the clink and clatter of china and silverware. A cool breeze was blowing, making the scalloped edges of the tent’s awning quiver and dance. It was all so very cozy and idyllic.
Which made what was to come all the more startling.
Milo had gone off to discuss horses with some of the other gentlemen, and I nibbled on a biscuit as I made my own way around the tent, talking to various villagers and congratulating the members of the Springtide Festival Committee for the success of the festival.
Suddenly I spotted Mrs. Jane Hodges, Marena’s mother, moving in my direction. I had had enough of her company at her honey booth, but I realized that it was too late to avoid her.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Ames. I trust you’ll collect your honey after tea is over?”
“Yes, certainly,” I agreed. “Are you enjoying the festivities?”
She frowned. “I don’t approve of horse racing. It only brings about gambling and all other manner of unsavory behavior.”
“I don’t suppose there’s too much wickedness to be found here in Allingcross,” I said lightly.
Her sharp eyes came up to meet mine, and I was surprised that the faintest hint of a smile showed on her lips. “Surely you, of all people, don’t believe that, Mrs. Ames.”
I wasn’t sure whether she was referring to my past involvement with various murder investigations, which was common knowledge, or Milo’s reputation, which was also much discussed in the village.
Before I had time to formulate a response, however, Marena approached us.
“There you are, Mother,” she said brightly. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Looking for me? Nonsense. It’s you who’ve been gallivanting about. I looked for you before the races and you were nowhere to be found.”
“I was just where I said I’d be,” Marena responded tersely.
“You most certainly were not,” Mrs. Hodges sniffed, her gaze running up and down her daughter. “At least you’ve managed to keep yourself clean. I don’t know why you wore those light-colored shoes outdoors.”