Lyons Gate

CHAPTER 4

The two brothers stood side-by-side on the cliff overlooking the Poe Valley.

The silence between them was awkward. James finally said, “We spent so many hours here as boys. Remember the time you hurled my book on Huygens off the cliff, you were so mad at me?”

“I remember throwing the book over the side, laughing when the wind caught it and sent it even farther away, but I don’t remember why I was mad.”

James laughed. “I don’t either.”

“I do remember you and Corrie lying on your backs on this hill on clear evenings, staring up at the stars.”

“We still do that. The boys have heard me talking about the Astrological Society, listened to me whine about how my telescope doesn’t magnify enough. Unfortunately, now they’re demanding to come with their mother and me. Can you imagine? Two three-year-olds holding still for longer than thirty seconds?”

Jason said, smiling, “No, it won’t happen. Alice Wyndham, James and Jessie’s four-year-old, would be looking up at the stars while sucking her thumb, loudly, and be demanding an apple tart in the next breath. But it won’t be long at all before the four of you are stretched out like logs on the hearth looking at the heavens.”

They fell silent. Then James couldn’t stand it any longer. He grabbed his brother, held on tight. “By God, I’ve missed you. It’s like part of myself simply disappeared. I couldn’t bear it, Jason.”

Jason held himself stiff, utterly rigid-for about three seconds. Then he saw James’s utter relief that he, Jason, who’d nearly cost him his life, was back again. His generosity astounded Jason. Jason couldn’t help himself; he pulled away. He felt self-conscious, clumsy, and so very sorry that he wished for the thousandth time that what had happened could be undone, but of course it couldn’t. Nothing could ever be changed once it happened. He said, voice thick, “Forgive me, James, it’s still difficult for me. I’m so very sorry for what happened. Your acceptance of me now is so very like you.”

“Don’t you understand? I never didn’t accept you. I never blamed you, nor did anyone else.”

Jason waved that away. “The truth is the truth. You knew I couldn’t stay here, not after what I did.”

James accepted the rebuff though it hurt him to his soul. “I knew how you felt and I did understand, but I still couldn’t bear it. Neither could Mother and Father. It’s been difficult without you, Jase.” He paused a moment, drew himself together, and stared out over the green Poe Valley. “You’re staying home now?”

“Yes. I’ll be looking for my own property. I want to own and operate my own stud farm.”

James felt a surge of pride. He wanted to tell Jason that James Wyndham had written that Jason was magic with horses, that he would soon be one of the premier breeders in England. He asked, trying his best to sound nonchalant, “Where are you interested in buying?”

“Why, near here of course.”

James nearly whooped aloud. He let himself breathe again. He gave his brother a fat smile. “You’ll not believe this, Jase, but old Squire Hoverton-remember, we called him the Old Squid, because he always had a hand to catch you no matter how many thieving little varmints there were in his apple orchard? Well, he died. You remember his son, Thomas, don’t you? He and his father were constantly arguing about the money the squire spent?”

“Yes, I remember. I also remember wanting to throw Thomas in a ditch. What a fool he was.”

“He’s still a fool. He’s wanted to sell out since the minute after his father’s funeral. There have been no buyers because Thomas is asking too much, probably because he owes an immense amount to his creditors. I’ve heard that he gambles at every hell in London.”

Jason nodded. “Fortunately Squire Hoverton spent a great deal of money modernizing the stables, the paddocks, and the stalls.”

James said, “The house is probably moldering on its foundation, but who cares? Well, a wife would care, but since you’re not married, it doesn’t matter. What you’re interested in is the condition of the stables and stalls, the health of the land itself, and the beech and pine forests. I’m not sure of the acreage, but a thousand acres comes to mind. We’ll ask.”

Jason couldn’t contain his excitement. “What good fortune indeed. Bless the kind Lord for letting such blighters as Thomas appear occasionally. Let’s go now, James, let’s go see it.”

Thirty minutes later, the twins pulled Bad Boy and Dodger into the lane leading to Lyon ’s Gate, once one of the premier stud farms in southern England. Jason said, “I remember Thomas was a bully, and that’s always a disguise for weakness.”

“I agree. Thomas must be in desperate need of money by now. I’ll wager you’ll be able to buy the property at an excellent price. Father’s solicitor can deal with it for you if you decide you want it.”

“Wily William Bibber?”

“Yes, old Wily Willy is still working his magic. Father says he’s like Hollis-he’ll probably be dead six months before he stops working. Now, Thomas immediately sold off all the horses. I wouldn’t be surprised if he sold off all the furniture in the house, and all the tack as well. His creditors probably made him sell the silver. But look at the stables, Jason, they look solid even from here-some paint, some horses, new equipment, some excellent grooms, good care and management, and-” James shut up. He didn’t want to overdo. His blood was surging in his veins. He was praying hard now.

Jason said, looking about, “It doesn’t look all that bad, does it, given that it’s been sitting here abandoned for what? Over a year, you said?”

“Nearly two years now.”

“Thomas is indeed a wastrel and I’m grateful for it,” Jason said in a voice so filled with excitement, James wanted to sing.

Jason pulled Dodger up in front of the neat redbrick Georgian home, ivy hanging off in clumps, dead bushes surrounding it, glass from broken windows scattered on the barren ground. “I can see Mother rubbing her hands together, picturing how everything will look when she’s finished, ordering around a dozen gardeners, all of them staggering around with buckets of plants.”

“Think of the flowers,” James said. “She’ll have more color cascading out of the flower beds than you can imagine.”

Jason rubbed his own hands together. “I hope there’s a retainer here to show us about.”

“Probably not. I’ll wager the front door isn’t even locked. We’ll show ourselves around.”

The house was indeed moldering on its foundation. Jason doubted it had been touched after Squire Hoverton’s wife had died trying to birth her sixth child somewhere around the first part of the century. Such a pity that only Thomas had survived. The house was filled with shadows and smelled of damp. Tattered draperies hung askew over long dirty or broken windows.

“The floors look solid,” James said.

“Let’s see how bad it is upstairs,” Jason said. “Then we can visit the stables.”

It was bad, more dank gloom and dirt.

“Lots of white paint should take care of things, Jason, don’t you think?”

“Oh aye, at least a half a dozen cans of white paint. Let’s get out of here, James, it’s depressing.”

James buffeted him on the shoulder. “The price has just gone down a good bit.”

There were four different paddocks, each fenced with solid oak planks, some needing repair, all needing paint. But the size of the paddocks was perfect and the holding paddock gave directly into the huge main stable. There were a total of three stables, all desperately in need of paint as well, but until two years ago, they’d been prime, and Jason could see that all of them were quite modern. The empty tack room was nicely proportioned, with a goodly sized area set aside for a head groom to work close to the horses. There were half a dozen small rooms for the stable lads.

“It reminds me of James Wyndham’s main stable,” Jason said.

There were twenty stalls, ten to a side, in the big main light-filled stable, a wide aisle between them. Beautifully built. Moldy hay and equipment parts were strewn on the floor. Jason stood there, right in the middle, sucking in great gulps of air.

“If I close my eyes I can see the horses’ heads bobbing over the stall doors, hear them neighing when they know oats are coming. Plenty of breeding and birthing stalls. It’s perfect.” Jason jumped up and clicked his heels together.

At that moment both Bad Boy and Dodger let out loud whinnies.

“What’s this?” James said and strode to the stable’s double-door entrance.

A large raw-boned chestnut stallion was pawing the ground, looking at Bad Boy and Dodger, head thrown back, nostrils flared, ready to take on both of them.

A girl’s voice called out, “Who are you and what the devil are you doing here?”