Waldron finally found the silver top of his favourite hipflask, the one that had been used by royalty and as such was his most highly regarded portable possession. He was lucky he had found it when he did as thirty minutes later he might not have spotted it in the fading light. With the help of Freddie he remounted and they cantered on. With the thought of Thatcher waiting at Rafferty’s, wondering why he was late, Waldron was keen not to waste any more time getting there.
Freddie, jumping through the second break in the hedge into Langan’s field, noticed some mounted figures huddled together near the fourth break further along, and a riderless horse with its reins hanging loose standing apart. He shouted back to Waldron who, after making a clean jump through the first break, would have continued on unawares if Freddie hadn’t gained his attention.
Waldron made a wide arc to turn, and identified the riderless horse as Mandrake. Was there something about a last-minute change of mount that someone had mentioned? He approached, lifting his arm to drink from the fourth hip flask to help him concentrate. Mandrake, disturbed, stepped sideways. Waldron saw the bulge of the broken bone poke out against the skin. Something would have to be done about that and he was the right man to do it and he had the means to do it and he would do it as soon as he was ready.
He noticed a fourth person. She was holding on to the wall, leaning over and being sick. It was Beatrice.
Freddie went over to the two mounted girls and one boy to ask who the rider involved in the accident had been, presuming it was one of the visiting Blackshaws he didn’t know.
“It was Lady Blackshaw,” the older girl leaned over to say in a whisper so that Waldron couldn’t hear.
“It was Edwina!” Freddie called across to Waldron. “Your wife!”
“I know who she is.”
“Was she badly hurt?” Freddie asked the others.
“It didn’t look good. She was unconscious and her feet were facing the wrong direction,” the same girl whispered. “They took her away just a minute ago.”
“Her feet were facing the wrong direction!” Freddie shouted to Waldron.
“She won’t like that!” he yelled back.
“They’ve just taken her away, whoever ‘they’ are. Get yourself over here so I don’t have to act like a parrot!”
Letchworth, an older brother of the three young people, had ridden off to get help from the soldiers in the army barracks, the girl further explained. The hope was they would have an available lorry that could be used to transport Her Ladyship to the hospital in Cork. He must have raised the alarm somewhere along the way as a number of tenant farmers and their sons had turned up out of nowhere and had just left, transporting her ladyship on a makeshift stretcher to walk the four miles to the road in the hope of meeting up with the military lorry if one turned up, and if one didn’t they intended to walk the twenty miles, taking it in turns to bear the stretcher, all the way to the city. Letchworth was also looking to borrow some type of a firearm so that he could put Mandrake out of his misery as soon as he returned.
“Won’t be needed,” said Freddie. “Lord Waldron has one on his person.”
Sleet continued to fall and daylight was nearly gone.
Beatrice, wiping her mouth and looking distraught, joined the group. Despite approaching quietly, she startled Mandrake, who stepped backwards and faltered before putting his weight on his three sound legs, letting the broken one rest lightly on the ground. She hoped she wasn’t going to be sick again.
“Hold him there, Freddie,” Waldron commanded.
Freddie had ridden off a short distance to relieve himself and didn’t hear. The two girls turned their faces away, and stayed where they were. The boy, aged about seven, hung his head.
“I’ll hold him if you like,” said Beatrice, “but I think it would be better if we all stayed still. He’s not likely to move if you don’t make any sudden movements.”
“I don’t need to be told what to do by a woman, Beatrice, and especially not by you,” Waldron said, checking the revolver’s ammunition. “Have you any idea who you’re talking to? A champion horseman and a crack shot in the cavalry of the British Army for thirty years, that’s who.”
“Wait for Freddie. He’ll be back in a second.”
“Are you insinuating I’m not up to the job? Interfering woman, did you take in a word I said?” He began to dismount. “I’ll do it myself.”
He took his left foot out of the stirrup too soon and swung his right leg too energetically over the saddle, and lost his balance before he hit the ground. The revolver flew out of his hand and landed in the grass. The three young people ducked. Beatrice braced herself waiting for a shot, but there wasn’t one. She went over to help up the idiot, as she was calling him under her breath. Mandrake had taken two steps back in reaction to the disturbance, and the broken bone now showed at a more acute angle than it had done earlier.
To stabilise herself, Beatrice held on to Brigadier’s mane so that Waldron wouldn’t pull her down when she gave him her hand. He made a few false starts before he was able to attain an upright position. Beatrice was tempted to use the revolver herself but from ingrained deference put it back into his muddy hand, then moved behind him out of the line of fire.
A large shape appeared at her shoulder.
“What’s happened to Charlotte?” It was Manus, dismounting from Neseen, his father’s farm horse.
“Nothing. Charlotte’s fine. Lady Blackshaw was riding Mandrake. It was –”
There was a loud bang and an echo. One of the young girls screamed.
Manus had been unaware of Waldron’s preparations as the old soldier’s back had been turned towards him.
A stream of blood was pouring from one of Mandrake’s nostrils. There was a hole in the edge of his blaze, about six inches below the left eye. Those who were watching thought the gelding looked puzzled and sad, shaking his head and quivering. He lurched when he took a step sideways.
Manus flew at Waldron, wrested the firearm from his hand and shoved him out of the way. Waldron rocked backwards, muttering that he wasn’t going to let a servant treat him like that and there was going to be hell to pay before the day was out. Everyone ignored him.
By now Manus was weeping, but no one could tell as he was dripping wet and hatless, his hair sodden and plastered over his forehead.
He spoke softly to Mandrake, and Beatrice thought she heard him say “Goodbye, dear friend.” Mandrake didn’t move when Manus approached him and rested the revolver between the eyes, watching him directly while he aimed it. The hand Manus used to push the hair from his own eyes, and then shield them from the sleet while he took aim with the other, was visibly shaking. He fired, making no mistake, and stayed in that position while Mandrake, motionless for a second, still looking directly at his stable master while he took the hit, dropped down and then rolled on his side, accompanied by the sound of sighing, his broken leg the last to rest on the ground.
Both young girls sobbed aloud.
Manus returned the revolver to Waldron.
“You haven’t heard the last of this by a long shot,” said Waldron, swaying and holding on to Brigadier for support. “And you can keep your trap shut about this, Beatrice. And you lot as well,” he directed at the young people.
“Won’t say a word,” said the older girl, who couldn’t wait to get back to the house to tell her friends what a fool Waldron had made of himself.
Freddie returned, leading his mount. “Job done, I see,” he said, looking at the fallen Mandrake and ignoring Manus whom he identified by his clothing as a stable hand. “Didn’t notice the nettles and got caught in a bunch of them and couldn’t find any dock leaves.” He helped Waldron remount, and tentatively remounted himself.
“Will we ever get to Rafferty’s with all these blasted interruptions?” asked Waldron, secure in the saddle, deliberately turning Brigadier’s rear end towards Beatrice and Manus before riding off with a show of bravado.
Beatrice took Manus’s shivering hands in hers. “Don’t worry about Waldron,” she said.
“I’m not worried about him.”
“I’ll make sure you don’t lose your position at the stables because of this. I have influence.”
“Thank you, ma’am, but at the moment I’m not concerned about His Lordship.”
“But I am.” Let the drunken popinjay better occupy himself showing some concern for his wife and leave Manus alone, Beatrice thought with contempt.
Manus retrieved Lucifer from where Beatrice had tethered him a distance away and, while the young girl held the horse’s head, helped Beatrice back onto her side-saddle.
She wanted to get to the house as quickly as possible, not only to tell Charlotte what had happened and to be there to comfort her, but also to reassure Bertie, who must be worried about her by now. Manus signalled that he would stay on.
She joined the three young people and set off in a sad procession back to the house. Looking over her shoulder as she left, she saw through the sleet the silhouette of Manus against the last light of day bending over the fallen Mandrake.