The Race For Love Read online

  This was a delight, which made her feel for the first time in three years that she was a real person with thoughts and opinions that were of interest to somebody else.

  After being snubbed, ignored and treated with contempt, it was such a change that she felt as if she had stepped out from the darkness of a fog and into the bright sunlight.

  She counted the hours until it was time for her to take the horses back into their stables at The Castle and ride off alone to Marshfield House.

  She never presumed on Clint Wilbur’s kindness, but would go straight to the stables to talk to the workmen, to suggest small improvements and to approve what they had already completed.

  Then she would hear his footsteps coming towards her and recognise them with a sudden leap of her heart before she turned round.

  The only time she felt embarrassed was on the second day after she had agreed to perform with Flamingo in the riding school, when he had said as they walked towards the house,

  “You will find a tailor waiting for you in one of the bedrooms. The housekeeper will show you which one.”

  “A – tailor?” she questioned.

  “I have told him what I require and, when he has finished, Maxwell of Dover Street will fit your boots.”

  Alita felt the colour rise in her cheeks.

  He spoke casually, yet somehow it was shocking that any man should provide her with clothes and she knew how horrified her mother would have been at the idea.

  They walked on in silence and, when they reached the foot of the Grand Staircase, Clint Wilbur said,

  “When you have finished, you will find me in the Green Salon. I have something to show you.”

  She left him without a word and the housekeeper, waiting at the top of the stairs, escorted her to one of the magnificent State bedrooms.

  As soon as Alita heard the tailor’s name, she knew that he was the most exclusive and certainly the most expensive cutter of riding habits in the whole country.

  He left her in no doubt as to how important he was.

  “You have a figure, miss, as exceptional as that of Her Majesty the Empress of Austria,” he said when he had taken her measurements.

  “I said to her when I was making her a new habit, ‘I don’t believe, Your Majesty, that in the whole length of Britain there is any lady with a waist as small as yours’.”

  He looked at his tape measure in amazement as if he thought that it was deceiving him and then went on,

  “Believe it or not, I was wrong! Your waist, miss, is just under eighteen inches and that’s a fraction smaller than Her Majesty’s!”

  “I wish I could ride as well as the Empress,” Alita said with a smile.

  “Ah, well, miss, that’s another thing altogether!” the tailor replied. “They tell me there’s no one to touch her in the whole of Europe and, horses or no horses, she’s the most beautiful lady I’ve ever seen in my whole life!”

  Alita thought how she would have loved to see the Empress ride.

  The stories of her amazing feats of endurance when hunting with the Quorn had been the talk of everybody who was interested in hunting.

  The Duke, who had met her at Windsor Castle, had extolled her beauty and her grace with so much enthusiasm that he had made the Duchess’s eyes harden and her lips tighten.

  Mr. Maxwell of Dover Street, whose boots were famous and whose firm had served the great Duke of Wellington, paid Alita a different compliment.

  He looked so disparagingly at the boots he drew from her feet that she had thought for one moment that he would refuse to make a pair of his own to replace them.

  But when he saw her legs he exclaimed,

  “You have, if I may say so, miss, a perfect leg for a boot! It’s a shame, a crying shame, that they should be concealed in objects that are fit only for a bonfire!”

  “I agree with you,” Alita said with a smile, “but I am afraid that I grew out of my old boots and these had belonged to somebody else.”

  “They’re too big for you, miss, for one thing,” Mr. Maxwell pointed out.

  They were, like everything else that had belonged to Hermione, Alita knew, too big and invariably unbecoming.

  Neither the tailor nor Mr. Maxwell quibbled at what Alita knew had to be a very rushed job if they were to be ready for her to wear in less than a fortnight’s time.

  She was certain that Clint Wilbur had forced them to accede to his wishes in the manner in which he always, as he himself said, got what he wanted.

  There was a woman with the tailor, who stood in the background and made no comment while Alita’s measurements were being taken.

  She looked rather superior to be an assistant and Alita thought that perhaps she was there only for reasons of propriety since she was being measured by a man.

  When both the tailor and Mr. Maxwell had completed what they wished to do, they bowed and went from the bedroom and Alita was just about to follow them when the housekeeper opened the door to announce,

  “The milliner, miss!”

  When she looked round in surprise, she saw a woman come into the room carrying two round leather hat boxes, followed by a footman with two others.

  “Good morning!” Alita said. “I am afraid I had forgotten that I would need a hat to go with my habit!”

  “Two hats, miss,” the milliner replied.

  “Two?” Alita questioned. “I think there must be some mistake.”

  “No, miss. One in black is what has been ordered, and one in grey.”

  Alita was surprised, but she thought that it would be tactless to question the milliner further, so she sat down at the dressing table to look at herself apprehensively, her hair, as usual, very untidy.

  ‘There is too much of it,’ she thought. ‘If it was not so soft, perhaps it would keep in place.’

  With a little pang she remembered her father saying once as he stroked her hair,

  “It is like your mother’s, as soft as silk. I have always told her that it has a fairy-like quality which is different from any other woman I have ever known.”

  ‘There is certainly nothing fairy-like about its appearance now,’ Alita thought despairingly.

  However, the milliner took off the loose untidy chignon and, as Alita’s hair fell about her shoulders, he said,

  “I think, miss, if you’ll excuse me saying so, you’re using too much soap on your hair and, if you use the yoke of one or two eggs as a rinse, it’ll give it more stamina and certainly bring out the lights in a way that’s quite surprising.”

  “Thank you,” Alita replied. “I have never heard of that before.”

  “I suggested it to Miss Catherine Walters many years ago,” the milliner went on, “not that I should mention her name to you, miss, but she’s always acclaimed for her appearance on a horse and many’s the time she’s thanked me for the difference I’ve made to her hair.”

  “I will certainly remember what you have said,” Alita answered, remembering how she had seen the famous Skittles breaking in a horse.

  The milliner arranged her hair in a tidy bun, then, opening her hat boxes, he brought out what Alita knew was the very latest high-crowned black riding hat.

  It was draped with a gauze veil that hung down behind and the moment she tried it on she saw how very different she looked.

  “A little too big, miss,” the Milliner said and produced another identical hat, but which fitted Alita perfectly.

  “Of course it will look very different when you have a smart habit on, miss,” the milliner said with a disdainful glance at Alita’s threadbare jacket. “I understand that you are to wear the bodice-habit which is worn by Her Majesty the Empress.”

  “Oh, am I?” Alita exclaimed. “How exciting!”

  She knew the bodice-habit was very much smarter than the jacket and skirt

  It fitted closely to the figure and it was well known that the Empress was always sewn into her habit before she went hunting to make it tighter still.

  The milliner took the hat
from Alita’s head and opened another hat box to bring out one that was almost identical to it but in grey.

  It was not the hard ugly grey that Alita always associated in her mind with charity children, but the soft blue-grey of a pigeon’s breast-feathers.

  When it was on her head, it seemed to blend with the strange ash colour of her hair and yet at the same time it accentuated the golden tones that she had almost forgotten were there.

  “Charming!” the milliner said. “And I am making the veil a little longer, miss, to almost reach the shoulders. It looks very graceful that way, especially when you’re moving.”

  ‘It will move when I jump!’ Alita thought to herself, but aloud she said,

  “It looks very attractive. Thank you.”

  “I think the grey habit will suit you even better than the black one, miss,” the milliner said. “But then, if you’ll excuse me saying so, I’m sure you’ll ‘pay with dressing’ as the saying goes.”

  “I doubt it,” Alita replied almost to herself.

  At the same time she could not help feeling the excitement that every woman feels when it is a question of wearing beautiful and expensive clothes.

  Nothing could be more thrilling than to have a habit made by a master tailor and hats in which she looked very different from the bedraggled creature who wore a jockey cap because it would stay on her head as she exercised the horses.

  ‘It will certainly be a one-night show,’ she thought to herself, ‘then, having played a leading part, once and for all I shall leave the theatre forever!’

  It would, however, give her something to remember, something perhaps to dream about in the long years that lay ahead.

  Because it was so depressing to think of them, she had run downstairs quickly to find Clint Wilbur and not miss one passing second of the new and thrilling experiences that knowing him had brought her.

  He had a picture to show her and he asked her opinion as to whether she thought that it should hang over the mantelpiece in the Green Salon.

  It was a very beautiful picture by Turner of a sunrise with great bursts of colour, yellow, orange and crimson that seemed to bring new light to the predominately green room.

  “Do you like it?” Clint Wilbur asked.

  “I think it is lovely!” Alita answered. “It’s so clever of you to be aware that this was what the room needed.”

  Without realising that it might sound impertinent, she asked,

  “How do you know these things? How can you be so knowledgeable about art as well as horses?”

  “It’s not particularly complimentary that you should be surprised,” he replied.

  “I am – sorry,” she answered. “I did not – mean to be rude. It’s just that most men have one particular interest and their horizons don’t extend any further.”

  “And you think I am different?”

  “Of course you are!” she answered. “Since I have known you we have talked of so many different subjects and it is very wonderful for me in a way that I cannot – explain.”

  “Why not?” he asked.

  She started at his question, feeling that she had been indiscreet in referring to herself.

  She did not speak and after a moment he said,

  “I asked you a question. Why should you not explain to me why it means so much to you that we should talk about these things?”

  He paused for a moment and then went on,

  “Sometimes when we are talking I see an expression in your eyes that is almost one of hunger, as if you have been starved mentally and spiritually. Is that true?”

  “Y-yes!” Alita said after a moment. “But I don’t – want to talk about it. Please – tell me where you found this picture – I am sure it was extremely lucky that you should have discovered it just at the right moment.”

  “We were talking about you!”

  She was afraid of the note in his voice, knowing that, if he was determined to make her speak of things that must be kept secret, it would be very hard to circumvent him.

  She glanced at the clock and gave an exclamation.

  “I must go!” she said. “I should have been back at The Castle half-an-hour ago.”

  “You are running away,” he accused her. “I have a very good mind to stop you.”

  “If you do, I might not be able to come tomorrow,” she replied.

  Then she had run from the room before he could prevent her.

  She had not been speaking seriously, but now, riding towards Marshfield House, Alita knew that always at the back of her mind there had been the fear that the joy and excitement that Clint Wilbur gave her would come to an end.

  Then she would be a prisoner again in The Castle, moving like a ghost about the rooms, ready to disappear if anybody should call unexpectedly.

  ‘It was too good to last,’ Alita told herself.

  But that did not prevent her from feeling an ache within her breast that was a physical pain.

  There was only one consolation.

  At the end of this week her uncle, her aunt, and her cousin, Hermione, would all be leaving for Windsor Castle and there would be nobody to stop her from taking part in Clint Wilbur’s production in the riding school.

  She only hoped he would not be too angry that she could not come to him before then and that he would refuse to buy her uncle’s horses as he had agreed to do, worse, that he would punish her by including Flamingo amongst the others, despite the fact that she had agreed to do what he wished.

  When she reached Marshfield House, it was difficult to concentrate on the last few chages that were being finished off in the stables and to congratulate Mr. Durrant and his workmen with the enthusiasm they obviously expected from her.

  There was no doubt that the work in the stables had been well carried out.

  Alita was sure that there was no stable in the whole County, or in any other, that was more up to date or that catered in every possible way for the comfort of its occupants.

  She saw that Clint Wilbur’s grooms were delighted with what had been achieved and the horses he already owned had been moved into the altered stalls and seemed to appreciate their new surroundings.

  Alita was talking to the Head Groom and giving him the names of the horses that were to come from The Castle so that they could be inscribed above each of their mangers, when she heard the step she always recognised.

  Clint Wilbur came to her side.

  “Good morning, Miss Blair!”

  They had already ridden together at six o’clock that morning on the Racecourse, but he always came there alone and she knew that his grooms had no idea that they met.

  “Good morning, Mr. Wilbur,” she replied demurely.

  “I see the stables are nearly completed,” he said, “but we have a snag in the riding school which I would like your advice on.”

  He walked across the yard and a little way beyond the stables they reached the new doors that had been erected as an entrance to the riding school.

  They were open and, as together they walked through them, Alita looked with delight at the transformation that had been made since they had first agreed upon what should be done.

  “We decided that there should be seven fences,” Clint Wilbur was saying, “and I am wondering if there is really enough space for a horse to recover his balance after taking fence three before he gets himself into position for number four.”

  Alita walked across the newly laid down floor to inspect it.

  “I think King Hal and Flamingo could do it,” she said, “but I am not certain about the others.”

  She looked round and added,

  “I realise what is wrong is the corner is too sharp. If we move the fence at the end, there could be a space of several more feet between fences three and four.”

  “You are right!” Clint Wilbur exclaimed. “I cannot think why I did not realise that myself!”

  He gave the order and then he said to Alita,

  “I think the sooner you bring your horses over h
ere the better. Then we can have a chance to try them out in the riding school. Of course it is essential that they should rehearse what they have to do before the opening night.”

  He smiled as he spoke, but Alita said in a low voice,

  “I have – something to – tell you.”

  “What is it?”

  They left the riding school through the door that led into the house and walked towards the library as they had done so often before.

  They reached it and, as Clint Wilbur closed the door behind them, Alita said,

  “I-I am afraid you may be – angry at what I have to say – to you.”

  “I will try not to be,” he replied. “What has happened?”

  “The Duke has – forbidden me to come – here after – today.”

  “Why?”

  “The Duchess has found out that I have been advising you about the stables.”

  “Why should it perturb her?”

  Alita knew that this was the most difficult question and she thought quickly.

  “Both the Duke and the Duchess have been very – kind to me since I have been at The Castle and – I-I think they have my – well-being at – heart.”

  “I can understand that,” Clint Wilbur replied. “Equally the Duke has made it quite clear what your position is in his stables.”

  Alita did not answer and there was a silence between them before he said,

  “How much does His Grace pay you?”

  The question was unexpected and Alita looked at him in a frightened manner before she replied,

  “That is – immaterial. He feeds me and gives me a – roof over my head.”

  “Are you telling me that you receive no salary?”

  Alita wanted to lie, to say that she was paid a weekly wage like everybody else, but then she thought, seeing her appearance, that it would be difficult for Clint Wilbur to believe that she had any money to spend.

  Therefore she said quickly,

  “I-I am sorry – but the Duke was very – emphatic that I was neglecting my duties at The Castle by – coming here so often.”

  “I was going to suggest that whatever salary you are paid, I will double or even treble it, but as it appears that you have a very different arrangement, let me make another suggestion.”

  He paused before he said slowly,