Sitting comfortably astride Rascal, the eight-year-old roan, Jack Wetherly watched jockey, Nate Oliver, canter the two-year-old thoroughbred, Trafalgar, around the perimeter of the Brandling estate lake. He marvelled at the way every muscle in that magnificent horse’s body rippled in a structured rhythm beneath his beautiful chestnut hide.
Just two days before his very first race, the animal looked in better condition than ever, and Jack could barely contain his excitement at the prospect of preparing a horse for a meeting as prestigious as York.
The minor race meeting Sir Oswald Brandling had taken them to, had filled Jack with wonder at the whole racing scene, and that was when he didn’t have a horse running.
Jack was aware how the responsibility of training this thoroughbred had weighed heavily upon him. Sir Oswald’s purchase was based solely on Jack’s success in preparing and riding Rascal for the annual village fayre race. Having put up the prize, Sir Oswald had been delighted to have his first victory.
After paying an unspecified large amount for the thoroughbred, Sir Oswald, becoming quite passionate about the whole prospect, had subsequently purchased a four-wheeled horsebox to carry Trafalgar to race meetings. Along with that, a new building had been erected attached to the rear of the manor, to house the family coach, the phaeton and the new horsebox.
So, wrapped up Sir Oswald had become that a few days earlier, he had told Jack and Alf, the senior ostler, that if Trafalgar managed to win a race, he might consider investing in a second thoroughbred.
That alone had added to Jack’s worry about his own ability to deliver, but then Sir Oswald’s secondary reason had really given Jack a lift, “There is no doubt,” Sir Oswald had continued, “my niece has become a different character since the arrival of Trafalgar. You must have noticed how much more often she hangs around the stable. She just loves Trafalgar. His presence has really settled down that wild streak she had.”
That statement, as well as delighting Jack, had drawn him a sharp-eyed glance from Alf. Only Alf knew of the intimate relationship being shared between Jack and Sir Oswald’s niece, Becky. From being worried about the outcome of such a culture clash, Alf had become an ally in ensuring the relationship could continue in secret.
Nate had continued the steady canter on Trafalgar to the far end of the lake and was now turning up to where Jack sat astride Rascal. In a few minutes, they would discuss the pace and distance that should be set down the mile strip that had been pegged out for Trafalgar.
At that moment, Jack heard hoofbeats approaching from behind him. Turning his head his heart gave its customary leap when he saw Becky, riding on Ebony, approaching down the slight slope. Of course, it was her normal riding time and afterwards, when Alf accompanied Sir Oswald on his ride, something interesting would happen in the hay inside the stables. Jack watched her smiling approach with some anticipation.
As usual, she rode in what Sir Oswald had called her ‘unladylike’ manner, as she rode astride the saddle and not side saddle as most ladies did. The pale blue dress she was wearing had the lower half opened, and her bare thighs seemed to glow at Jack in the morning sunlight.
Jack grinned, as he knew the thigh display was strictly for his benefit. As she approached, she said very formally, “Good morning, Mr Wetherly. I trust you are well.”
He had backed Rascal to the trees, so that they were out of the eye-line of Nate Oliver. Jack knew this formality would be very brief. Such a lovely face, as she drew Ebony alongside Rascal, and leaned over with lips already puckered.
Their kiss was warmly passionate, promising hotter advances as Jack laid a hand on her bared inner thigh. Her hand covered his as she broke the kiss, and murmured, “Oh, God, Jack, I love you so much.”
Jack squeezed her thigh, wondering why her hand should be preventing further exploration, and he said, “Not as much as—”
Her voice was insistent, “Yes, every bit as much.”
Laughing Jacked added, “I was going to say, not as much as you love Trafalgar.”
He grinned as she delivered the customary playful punch to his ribs, and complained, “You see, you can’t say it.”
More serious now, Jack leaned over in the saddle, placed his hands on her shoulders and drew her close, before kissing her hard, releasing her, and hissing, “There is no woman in the world who is loved as much as I love you, Becky Brandling.”
They just sat and stared into each other’s eyes before Jack jerked at Rascal’s reins, and said, “We’d better show ourselves.”
They eased the horses in a simple turn away from the trees.
As they viewed Nate’s approach, Jack’s thoughts were on how easily and readily they had fallen into the use of that committing word ‘love’.
It had been two weeks earlier, and, lying in the mussed hay, they were just coming down from a massive mutual climax. As Jack’s limp member slipped out of her, and he rolled onto his back, Becky, still in high euphoric mood had rolled astride him.
Her passion clouded eyes gazed down as she whispered, “I know I’ll never regret saying this. Never. But Jack, oh, Jack. I love you. I love, love, love you.”
Jack felt his insides melt on hearing the word that had played, unspoken, in his mind for weeks. So, in his own wonder right at that moment, he had twisted Becky onto her back, lay over her and murmured, “From the moment you stopped whipping me on that very first day, and I looked into your lovely face, I have loved you. And no matter what the fates have in store for us I will never stop loving you.”
And for the next half hour, on that special day, they simply adored each other in an extra consummation of what they had each declared.
Just before Nate Oliver reached them on Trafalgar, Becky, looking a little shame-faced told Jack, “I know I should have mentioned it earlier, Jack, but I left Alf harnessing one of the bigger horses to the phaeton. My aunt wants me to drive her into town in an hour’s time”. She paused and gave him a regretful smile, “To buy herself a new outfit. Some function this weekend. She isn’t coming with us to York.”
Not good news but Jack had to admit that the time leading up to the York adventure, was going to be busy. Only the previous day, he and Alf had worked on the horsebox, fitting rolls of sacking around the inside to prevent any injury to Trafalgar during the journey on uncertain roads.
As Nate came up to them, Becky had ensured her skirt had been rearranged more decorously. Having reduced Trafalgar’s pace to a gentle trot, Nate nodded respectfully in Becky’s direction, and said, “Good morning, m’lady. Come to see your favourite?”
Before there could be any sign of misinterpretation, Trafalgar had poked his muzzle in Becky’s direction, and Nate chuckled, “No doubt who his favourite is.”
Becky had already begun to fondle the offered muzzle. Jack had remained surprised at the way Trafalgar still sought out Becky’s affectionate stroking before anyone else.
“Anything you want done with him now, Jack?” Nate asked.
“So close now,” Jack told him. “A couple of good gallops should be enough. Agree?”
Nate nodded, “He couldn’t be more ready.”
Becky giggled, “And he feels lovely.”
For Jack, the next half hour was as good viewing as he could ever want. Sitting saddle by saddle alongside his dear Becky watching the most beautifully formed, the fastest horse he had ever been responsible for, was sheer perfection.
When Becky, finally, rode away to the manor, Jack had a momentarily heavy-hearted twinge, but then he was busy with Trafalgar. During the afternoon he and Alf led one of the dray horses to pull the horsebox up to the stables where they made the first practice at getting the thoroughbred safely into the contraption.
Trafalgar, having become amenable to most instructions, and responsive to most demands placed upon him, seemed to have decided that the horsebox was not a place he wanted to be. With much hauling on the bridle, which had Trafalgar tossing his head in protest, they managed after fifteen minutes of struggle. Jack and Alf agreed that they needed a much better response than that.
With each attempt, Trafalgar, when requested, had backed out of the box most willingly. That made his reluctance to enter even more annoying. By late afternoon it was requiring slightly less effort to get his acceptance. But they agreed to try again the following morning.
The following morning, Jack suggested they lower the door on the horsebox and just have Trafalgar stand facing into the interior, “Just to see if he gets the message.”
As the horse just stood there, casually looking around, Alf asked, “Think he’s got the message?” And grinning he added, “More like, he’s giving one.”
Although less so, it continued to be a struggle to get him into the box. Then, unexpectedly, halfway through the morning, Sir Oswald strolled up to where they were standing with Trafalgar. More pleasing from Jack’s viewpoint, Becky, looking wonderful in a fitted green gown, was with him.
“I must apologise about having the pest with me,” Sir Oswald said cheerily. “Any mention of coming to see Trafalgar and she will not be stopped.”
Becky gave Jack a happy smile as she reached out a hand to Trafalgar. The horse immediately strained forward towards her hand and she fondly rubbed his muzzle.
That motion brought a sudden idea into Jack’s head, “M’lady,“ he said, remembering to be correct, ”do you think you could shuffle carefully backwards up that ramp, keeping your hand out to the horse?”
Becky frowned uncertainly, while Sir Oswald wore a surprised expression. But after her initial hesitation, Becky proceeded to do as Jack asked.
Jack, a little worried at her moving backwards on the ramp up to the box said, “Slowly and carefully. Don’t want you to trip, m’lady.”
As soon as Becky began her ascent up the ramp, Jack eased his hold on Trafalgar’s harness. Instantly, the horse moved onto the slope, following Becky.
Very quietly Jack urged, “Now, reach for the harness, turn and walk into the box, without tugging at him.”
Within seconds, Trafalgar was completely inside the box, and Alf was declaring, “My God, we’ve struggled with him for hours, m’lady, and you can come along and it’s job done.”
Becky was overjoyed at her success as she came out of the box to watch Alf back Trafalgar out. And Sir Oswald laughed, “You see, you have your uses, my dear.”
“Quite honestly, Sir Oswald, your niece could be most useful at York,” Jack told him, genuinely pleased to have her involved in this way,
Becky laughed, her eyes firm on Jack, “It’s good to know I can be useful.”
“Actually,” Sir Oswald remarked, “I’ve come to talk about York and the error I’ve made.”
As they moved closer around him, he went on to explain that the maiden race Trafalgar would be involved in was not recognised by the Jockey Club.
“They do not agree with horses being raced until they are three years old.”
Alf was first to question that, “How does the race take place then?”
“Well, apparently they know that trainers like to test out their young stock, so they allow the race to take place but make it on an ‘at your own risk’ basis.”
Sir Oswald went on to outline the travel arrangements for the following day and said that Alf would drive the coach with Nate Oliver alongside him, while Jack came to take the horsebox. “If you’re happy with that arrangement, Jack?”
Jack’s question was automatic, ”Fine, but we only have the two drays.”
Sir Oswald smiled, “Yes, I’ve arranged the hire of two strong beasts from the Grainger farm. They’ll be here first thing tomorrow.”
Becky was fondling Trafalgar between the ears and he was clearly enjoying it. Jack allowed himself an inward smile as he wished it could be him having her attention.
Sir Oswald went on outlining his arrangements for the following day. “I’ve been told the journey to York takes a total of six hours steady trotting. We’ll get four hours with rests out of the horses, but that will be their limit. We’ll manage the final two hours on the morning of the race.”
Becky stepped in at that point, “It sounds like a very good place for our overnight stop, doesn’t it, Uncle?”
Sir Oswald gave her a gentle smile, “Indeed it does. I was told that the Black Bull hostelry is very well set up, and, because it caters for racehorse owners, it keeps a special set of stalls for thoroughbreds. So, I’ve booked us in there.”
Jack had just a twinge of worry at driving the horsebox for that kind of distance, but as it turned out everything went smoothly on the following day. The two fine hired horses were harnessed to the horsebox and Jack soon found they were very responsive to his demands.
With Alf at the manor giving a final check to the harnessing of their own drays to the carriage, Becky suddenly appeared as Jack was leading the thoroughbred from the grazing area.
“Alf told me to come across to make sure you get Trafalgar on board,” she said, pecking Jack on the cheek as she took Trafalgar’s lead from him, with a delightful chuckle, and proceeded to lead the very willing stallion into his box. Jack quickly applied the fastenings that would ensure that he was secure for the journey.
As he turned from that task, Becky pressed her lips warmly against his, before breaking away to gasp, “Oh, God, touch me.”
Jack whispered in her ear, “Trafalgar might kick me.” Hardening like mad, he knew that common sense had to prevail. He kissed her firmly, then reluctantly whispered, “We’re expected.”.
“Damn. Damn, Damn,” Becky swore, swaying her body against him. “Oh, and you’re hard, aren’t you?”
“Time is always going to be our enemy,” Jack told her, not for the first time. “But we are going to see each other regularly over the next two days.”
Becky nodded her head sadly, and as they separated, her hand strayed across the lump at the front of his breeches, “Just keep that ready.”
Jack laughed, “Hell, I won’t be able to walk.”
Back in front of the manor, Jack told Sir Oswald what a help his niece had been in getting Trafalgar on board, as he helped her up into the carriage, and was pleased that she managed a secret squeeze to his arm. As Jack closed the door, Sir Oswald said, in a light tone, “Be careful with that horse, Jack.”
“Don’t worry about that, sir,” Jack replied, and then he was climbing up onto the high seat on the front of the horsebox, hearing Alf, with Nate Oliver alongside him, urge the two drays into motion.
To Jack’s relief, the well-worn road towards York had few severe dips and he was able to ensure a smooth journey for his precious cargo. They had two stops before they reached the Black Bull, each time near a trackside trough where the horses could drink and rest.
At each stop, Becky demanded that she be given some time with Trafalgar, which also gave her added time to be closer to Jack, which he didn’t mind at all.
The Black Bull hostelry was as well set-up as Sir Oswald had suggested. Well, for horses it was. There was a wide facility where the unharnessed pulling horses could be washed down before being settled in individual stalls for a well-earned rest. Becky insisted on helping back Trafalgar out of his box and with Jack, Alf and Nate, lead him to the special series of wider stalls exclusive to racehorses.
Jack counted at least four other stalls already occupied. This was a clear indication of how popular the Black Bull was as a stop-over point for entrants to York races.
The only trouble was that there was one building where the gentry could be housed in some comfort. Jack had a view of that when he helped with the luggage, and later compared it with the most basic rooms in a secondary building for “lesser mortals”, as Alf commented.
Becky took the opportunity after they’d settled the horses, to whisper to Jack, “Damned privilege. We’re going to be kept apart all night it seems. And my room is on the second floor.”
Jack shrugged, “We’ll still have tomorrow.” He gave her hand a surreptitious squeeze as he added, “And I’m looking forward to one of your special hugs if Trafalgar wins.”
“I’ll be wanting to give you more than hugs.”
That was it for that evening. A small bar in their lodge served a reasonable ale, and Jack sat with Alf and Nate, and listened to the racing gossip that buzzed around them. One middle-aged trainer, with bright ginger hair, who was running a horse in one of the longer distance races, pulled a face when Alf told him that Trafalgar was in the maiden race.
“First time out?” Ginger hair asked, and when they nodded, he shook his head in a hopeless gesture. “A red-hot favourite in that one. Pirate Gold has already had a race and ran second to a horse that’s already in next year’s two thousand guineas.”
Jack knew that the two thousand guineas was being called a classic race, as high class as the Epsom Derby. He went to bed that night his mind on the standard they might be aiming at. Then his thoughts switched to Becky before he fell into a surprisingly deep sleep.
Awake early, Jack’s mind was ablaze with the excitement of the day that lay ahead. Might Trafalgar’s performance that afternoon possibly shape how his own life would go in future? Too much thinking along those lines had him trembling.
Dressed, his first thought was to check out how well Trafalgar had settled in an unfamiliar setting. One or two trainers were at their stalls and, to his surprise, he found that both Alf and Becky were leaning over the gate into Trafalgar’s space.
“Is he all right?” he asked anxiously, then, as he drew nearer, he saw the horse’s muzzle pushing against Becky’s hand.
“He’s fine,” Alf said, “and it looks like this lady has been here all night.”
Becky turned and warmed Jack’s heart with that special smile, “I was only just ahead of Alf. Couldn’t sleep.”
“Right,” Alf said firmly, “I suggest we have breakfast and get this horse to the track, so he has time to recover from being trapped in that box.”
The older ostler stalked away ahead of them, and Jack knew it was deliberate to give them time together. As they came out of the stable and approached the primary building, the temptation to put his arm around Becky’s slender waist was overpowering. She looked stunning in her tightly fitting, gown in autumn floral shades.
“Look towards the side of the building,” she said quietly.
Puzzled, Jack looked to the shaded side of the Black Bull, as Becky went on with a trace of excitement in her voice. “Count three windows along.”
Jack did that and asked, “Yes. Well?”
“I’ve changed my room to that one.” She paused dramatically before going on, ”The window can be left open.”
Jack looked into her glowing eyes, “You could be a very naughty lady.”
“I told you a long time ago that I was your strumpet, and only yours. Tonight, we could have a real bed for the first time.”
Jack took that thought to breakfast and Alf commented on how quiet he was.
“Excitement, anticipation,” He said, which was not untrue. Alf nodded in understanding.
From that point, time took wings. Horses were harnessed. With Becky’s presence once more, Trafalgar was moved gently into his box. Sir Oswald, looking very smart in his original military outfit stated that he was looking forward to a “splendid” day.
The two hours to the York track went smoothly, and then Jack realised what high-class racing was all about. The ambience of the whole meeting made the Exhampton experience that had so entranced him look like an amateur affair.
While there were open stalls for every horse taking part in the races, and from there they had access to an extended strip where a horse could be exercised, carriages and their horses were equally well provided for.
Then there was the class of spectator that gradually began to fill the stand and the area in front of it. Men were kitted out in their military regalia, like Sir Oswald, but mostly they wore, what Jack had always thought were foppish tight light breeches, with suave long-tailed jackets of varying colours. It was the bright radiance of the ladies that really caught the eye, all vying for up-to-date styles and bright pattern.
The flash of jewellery was also most obvious, with rings on fingers, flashing with deliberate hand-waves in the sunlight, and that wasn’t only the ladies.
Jack was pleased that Becky was able, for a short while at least, to remain close to him and Alf. Naturally, her pretext was to be near Trafalgar, and Jack was glad for her nearness as it kept his rising anticipation in check. He knew that there was going to be a while when he would need to give his whole attention to the horse and what Nate was doing with him.
Already after backing him out of the horsebox, and walking him around for a while, Nate had taken Trafalgar for a simple trot to free up his muscles. Later there would be a lung-freeing canter before his race, which was third on the card.
Jack with Alf they had spent a little time in giving their hope a light brush-down, but as Becky observed, “He always looks good.” And as he walked past her, Jack whispered, “So do you.”
At one point, Alf had asked, “Are you having any wagers, Jack?”
“Only on Trafalgar.”
“Risking much?”
“Well, I’ve had the fifty pounds from Rascal’s win in the village race. I thought maybe ten pounds at a decent price.”
“Ten pounds?” Alf had exclaimed, “You can buy a couple of cows for that.”
“Now, what could I do with a couple of cows.”
“Milk them,” Alf chuckled.
As the first race neared, Jack could feel the butterflies building inside him. When he told Alf this, the old ostler chuckled, “Bet they’re no bigger than mine.”
Horses for the first race were soon being led around a parade ring. The bigger stables had lads who led them around, and Alf had agreed that he would do it for their lone charge. “The Major’s niece offered to do it, but he put his foot down firmly on that one.”
Jack leaned on the rail, his own nerves on edge as he watched owners, trainers and jockeys standing in small groups discussing tactics and prospects. Just one more race after this and he would be out there, presumably with Sir Oswald and Nate all fancy in the patriotic coloured silks that Sir Oswald had chosen.
For the first race, he chanced standing with Becky and her uncle to watch the one-mile event. Alf joined them to say he had placed one pound on a horse called Regal Punch. ”Took odds of six to one about him. Win and I can buy one and a half cows.”
They all laughed, but Regal Punch did win, and Jack was so pleased to see Alf’s little jig of delight as Sir Oswald and Becky congratulated him.
“All on Trafalgar?” Sir Oswald teased.
Alf pulled an uncertain face, before laughingly saying, “Some of it. I fancy buying half a cow.”
Jack made his apologies as he and Alf left to attend to Trafalgar, “The next race I watch will be rather important.”
“Any nerves?” Sir Oswald asked,
Jack glanced at Becky and held out an exaggeratedly trembling hand, “You’ve done all you can, Jack.” Sir Oswald told him.
Into the stall alongside Alf, they found Trafalgar tethered quite peacefully and looking as good as ever. A loud voice called that the parade ring was clear, for second race runners and soon they heard the clopping of horses being led out.
That, and everything that happened from that point, seemed to build on Jack’s growing unease. He needed the maiden race to be over, with a success of course, and therein lay the worry. Was he really good enough to get the best out of Trafalgar? Parallel with that was the fear of Becky thinking less of him if things didn’t go well.
Telling himself that his nervousness was out of character, he blinked as there came a roar from the stands signalling the start of the second race. Together, he and Alf saddled and bridled Trafalgar, and, as increased yelling and high screams told that the finishing line was being reached, a smiling Nate Oliver arrived.
Wearing the silks ordered especially by Sir Oswald, he looked highly colourful, but Jack and Alf both agreed the colours were perfect. The royal blue body, with white shoulders, and red sleeves topped by the quartered red and white cap gave just the patriotic flavour that Sir Oswald had wanted.
“I like this outfit,” Nate declared, giving Trafalgar a friendly stroke down the muzzle. “It’s one of the best I’ve ever worn.” He gave a little jump to see over the connecting fence, “Did you know Pirate Gold is in the next stall? He’s a grey, an easy-to-spot favourite.”
“Any betting?” Alf asked him.
“The last show he was a strong even money bet.”
“And Trafalgar?” Jack asked, hoping he was keeping his nervousness out of his voice.
Nate shrugged, “Any price, but that could change when the money goes down.”
“Oh, hell, yes,” Alf said immediately, “must have a word with Sir Oswald about that. He’ll be putting a bundle on him. I have no doubt.”
Jack wished Alf hadn’t said that. He was about to ask Alf why he’d want to ask their boss anything about betting, but at that moment came the caller’s bellowing voice, “Parade ring clear!”
Alf reached for Trafalgar’s reins, winked at Jack and Nate, and said, “Well, here we go. And may the gods go with us.” With that, he led Trafalgar away towards the ring. The clopping of their opponents being led out created a mild cacophony in Jack’s head.
“Any special instructions, Jack?”
Suddenly, Jack felt as though his feet had been placed back on the ground. This jockey, whose experience riding horses was almost as long as the years Jack had been on earth, was asking him for instructions. And, in this case, giving his answer was no problem at all.
With his confidence raised, he told Nate, “You know this horse’s capabilities better than anyone, Nate. He isn’t used to lining up with other horses, so you’ll need to be cautious at the start. It’s only six furlongs so they’re all going to be in a rush. If you can keep him so he’s not boxed in. Ten runners, so stay close to the first four, and when you get to that five-furlong marker, have a word in his ear.”
Jack had to laugh at this point, “Hell, it’s like telling you how to boil water. You must have done this so often. But am I right about whispering in his ear?”
Nate nodded, and shared the laugh, “Honestly, Jack, all the horses I’ve ridden, none have responded to my voice, but Trafalgar does. And I’m very aware of it being your first. If I may say so, you’re doing a fine job.”
After giving his thanks, and getting that extra lift, Jack went out with Nate to the parade ring, where he immediately saw Becky and her uncle standing together, turning to follow Alf as he circled with Trafalgar. As soon as Becky noticed his arrival, her welcoming smile became a further balm.
Of the various groups around the ring, one was larger and more animated than the rest. Sir Oswald told them, “Followers of the favourite, the grey horse there.”
Jack nodded, seeing that horse being led by a young lad, “Pirate Gold. A fine-looking animal, sir.”
“Any better than Trafalgar?” Becky asked moving closer to Jack.
“What do you think, m’lady?” Jack asked, resisting the temptation to stroke her delicate cheek.
“You know what I think,” A subtle pause, and then she added, “about Trafalgar.”
She turned to Nate, “Oh, those colours look so good. You chose well, Uncle Oswald.”
“All a tribute to your dear father. All we need is another Trafalgar victory.”
That was the moment when a caller bellowed, “Jockeys up!”
Amid cries of, “Good luck,” all around them, Jack gave Nate a leg up into the horse’s saddle. Their jockey touched his cap in Sir Oswald’s direction. And joined the line of mounts leaving the area.
Jack found his breathing becoming difficult once more, but as they walked towards finding a good viewpoint, Alf’s advice about wagering took his attention.
“If you’ll pardon my assumption, Major,” he said quietly, “I assume we’re all having a wager.”
“Of course,” Sir Oswald said.
“I’ve got five pounds to put on,” Becky announced.
“And I’ll be risking a little more than that,” Sir Oswald declared.
Alf nodded and stopped walking as they reached the point where they could see the line of bookmaker boards. “Now, if you’ll excuse this intrusion on your intent, Major,” the old ostler said, “after we have wagered, the starting price of Trafalgar will tumble.”
“Understandable,” Becky ventured.
“Yes, m’lady, but if we each go to a different bookmaker keep our eyes on each other and all move in at the same time, and place our bets, we should get the best price available.”
“That’s brilliant, Alf,” Becky said admiringly.
“You’ve obviously done this before, Alf,” Sir Oswald observed.
Alf gave a half-smile, “Oh, many years ago, Major.”
Alf’s plan worked perfectly. They all stepped up to individual bookmakers in unison, and Alf, Sir Oswald and Jack were all well pleased with the odds of ten to one they received. Then Becky came waving her slip of paper in the air, “The kind gentleman over there said he always gave an extra point to a pretty face. I got eleven to one. Wasn’t that good of him?”
Alf sniffed as though offended, “I mustn’t be pretty enough. Look at the price now.”
The boards showed that Trafalgar’s price had dropped to five to one, and as the experienced punters who followed the money were moving in with further bets, the price dropped further.
They found a viewpoint just below the stand, from where they could see the distant start. Nate’s colours seemed brighter than all those around him, but Jack was a little worried at the way Trafalgar looked to be disturbed by the closeness of the other horses. At one point, Nate had to turn him around before easing him slowly into the rather uneven line.
Jack whispered to Alf that they should have done more about that, but all Alf said was, “Too late now.”
Then the green starting flag went up and there was a general murmur of expectation around the crowd.
As the flag fell, the start looked rather ragged, one horse refused to start at all, and another was very slow into its stride. But the red and white cap of Trafalgar looked to be well placed, as the horses appeared to edge to the fence on their right, but Nate was keeping Trafalgar out wide and out of trouble.
“It’s Pirate Gold,” a woman’s voice behind them cried out, and it was clear that the grey did have a slight lead at the two-furlong marker.
At three furlongs the grey still had a length lead and three horses, one of which was Trafalgar seemed to be in a line.
A strange calmness had settled on Jack as he watched. His horse, their thoroughbred was lying very handy. Then he heard Becky’s rising high-pitched tones, “Oh, come, Trafalgar. Come on.”
“He’s doing all right, m’lady,” Alf growled his reassurance.
Four furlongs marker and little change. The backers of Pirate Gold were really calling out his name now, amid generally excited cheers. But Nate was holding Trafalgar in place along with two other horses.
The pack were near enough now to make out details, and Jack saw the grey lengthen his stride. But Trafalgar was still well in touch.
Jack sucked in a deep breath of air as they approached the five-furlong marker, and he saw, without any uncertainty, Nate lean close along the horse’s neck, as though talking into those pointed ears. At the same time, he gave an extra shake to the reins.
Entering that final furlong, the effect was startling, as Trafalgar, as though shot from a cannon, surged past Pirate Gold, and with every stride drew further ahead.
“My God.” That from Sir Oswald.
“Jesus.” That from Alf.
All around them there were gasps and screams of sheer wonder.
“Oooh, Trafalgar.” That squeal of delight came from Becky, and Jack felt her hand gripping his arm. Momentarily worried, he glanced sideways, but saw that she had stepped between him and Alf and was also clutching the older man’s arm. Her face alight, she was jumping up and down like a madwoman.
Jack just stood there, only just aware of what was going on around him, as he watched this beautiful, wonderful animal, it’s chestnut coat gleaming, stride across the winning line a clear six lengths ahead of the rest of the field.
All around there were cheers and roars of approval, and Jack was shocked to feel tears streaming on his cheeks. Becky, having given Alf a cautious hug, moved in on Jack and checked as she looked into his face. “Are they real tears?”
Jack sniffed, “Of happiness,” he said, and then Sir Oswald was edging his niece to one side as he held out his broad hand.
“May I shake your hand, young man? That was magnificent.” His grip was firm and genuine
“You chose the horse, sir. Not to mention an excellent jockey.”
“Never be too modest, Jack. I know how much work you’ve done with our horse.”
Then Sir Oswald was distracted by Becky throwing her arms around him and crying out, “Trafalgar won, uncle. We did it.”
“We did it?” Sir Oswald said, winking in Jack’s direction.
When they caught up with Nate, as he dismounted in the winner’s spot, he was flushed with the excitement of the race, “Getting him to run was no problem,” he joked. “Getting him to stop was the hard part. He would have run all day.”
Trafalgar’s coat gleamed with perspiration, but that didn’t stop Becky from hugging around his neck. They all were eager to give their horse a joyful patting and stroking.
For Jack, the rest of the day went by in a wave of folk wanting to congratulate him. Some even said that he had “a very special horse” on his hands. Jack had already become aware of that fact.
It was early evening by the time they’d made the journey back to the Black Bull, where Sir Oswald insisted, they all gather in the dining room, firstly for a champagne toast to the efforts of Trafalgar, followed by a delicious chicken dinner. For Jack, it was a joy to be able to exchange loving glances across the table with Becky
There were a few people who had been at the races and many were keen to talk about the race, the performance, and some were full of advice.
Jack, Alf and Nate eventually returned to their block and after a pint of ale, Alf declared that it had been a day of over-excitement and he was too old for that. They said their ‘good-nights’, but Jack found the tiny bathroom where water could be heated on a small stove, and he treated himself to a quick bath.
Dressed, he wandered with false casualness around the block where gentry was housed. Around the side, in that third window, he was thrilled to see a deliberately placed candle. Cautiously, he knocked on the glass, but applying a lift, he found the window go up easily, and it was wonderful to hear Becky’s gentle voice ask, “I hope you’re somebody who’s friendly.”
“Very friendly,” Jack laughed as he scrambled over the sill.
Immediately his feet touched the floor, she was there almost on top of him. Jack had a brief impression of her near open silken robe, smooth familiar curves, and then she was pressed against him, her mouths eagerly mingling, while her tongue to tickled around his.
Jack was immediately hard and had no qualms at feeling her hands fumbling at his belt buckle. She broke the kiss to moan, “Jack, oh, Jack, I so want you. And, at last, we have a real bed.”
They stood there, as she loosened his breeches and pushed them down, her fingers grasping for his rigid member. “I’ve longed for this. Feel me.” And she drew his hand down between her open thighs.
His fingers roamed through her arousing wetness, one finger dipping into her entry which felt to be gaping, and that move produced something near to a howl from Becky.
“I’ve been like that ever since Trafalgar made his burst,” Becky’s lovely eyes gazed up into his, as she added, “It’s been a long, long few hours.”
Jack eagerly guided her back towards the bed, while unbuttoning his shirt, “Maybe we should immediately do something about that.”
“Oh, yes, please,” she hissed, as her robe dropped away, and she lay back on the bed, her thighs spread. “No preamble, Jack. Be direct, be hard.”
Removing his shirt, Jack took just a couple of seconds to view the delectable female lying waiting for him, that wonderful open face, with gorgeous, now clouded, eyes. Those breasts, awaiting his closer attention, the curve of waist and hip, oh, God, the whole sensuous package of her.
Jack slid between her parted legs and guided his hardness deep into her welcoming core. That so familiar pleasure of his rod thrusting up into her eager soaked passage. was pure delight. Becky had orgasmed almost at his first entry, but now her heaving hips matched his own vigorous thrusts.
Jack had expected, after the stimulation of the day’s events, his excitement would get the better of him, but that was not being the case as, with Becky twisting, heaving and moaning under him, he was able to go on pounding hard a deep.
But all good things must come to an end, and Jack, feeling the pressures grow inside him was able to gauge just when Becky’s next orgasm would occur. So it was that their very first intimacy on a real bed came to an ecstatic mutual climax.
Gradually, they came down to earth. Lying in each other’s arms, sweated together, Becky whispered, “Better than I dared hope for.”
Trying to sound casual, Jack told her, “I’m glad I decided to come.” A comment which earned him the expected elbow in the ribs.
She sat up and looked down at him, before saying, “Just one more mention of horse racing before we consider anything else.”
“And that is?”
“My uncle talked with a top-grade owner who, having seen Trafalgar perform, advised him to enter him in a two-year-old trophy race at Doncaster.”
“Is it special?
“Owners pay fifty pounds entry and the winner takes all, but there’s more.”
“More?”
Becky leaned down to kiss him gently before telling him, “This is a very high-class race. Two of the recent winners have gone on to take the two thousand guineas.”
“The classic?” Jack’s heart, having recovered from recent exertions, began beating double pace again. ”Does he think we have a chance?”
“My uncle? He must do. He’s already made arrangements to enter the Doncaster race.” Her hand reached down and fondled his semi-erect manhood. “Now if I may change the subject back to more important things.”
Jack entered her twice more that night, each one better than the one before. They exchanged a number of ‘I love you’s, and when he finally returned to his room his mind was feasting on a future of possible events. There was little doubt about the premier thought, and that was the wonder of making Becky his own. But alongside that was the newly looming prospect of Trafalgar qualifying to enter a classic race.
Eventually, Jack Wetherly fell asleep.
