Echoes From A Distant Land Part 18

'And this is my little darling, Dancer.'

'She's very pretty,' he said, stroking Dancer's sleek neck, before giving it a firm pat. 'What's that he's rubbing on her leg?'

'Oh, that's Jonathan's special dawa. She had sore legs and we've been rubbing that into them over the last week or so. I don't know if it was the dawa or just nature taking its course, but her legs seem to be better now. We're still using it, just in case.'

'Can I see the dawa, please?'

Jonathan handed him the bucket of evil-smelling mixture.

Sam sniffed it, then looked at Toby.

'Are you using this on Toby?'

'No; he may not be the fastest, but he's not had any injuries to blame.'

Sam was silent for a moment.

'Back at Kipipiri, do you have separate stalls for the horses, like here?' he asked.

She thought it a strange question. 'No, they share a large stall.'

He took the bucket to Toby and offered the offensive goo to the gelding.

Toby dipped his nose into the bucket and nickered in appreciation.

Sam let the horse take a few licks before removing it.

'You say Toby's times have improved recently. Have you noticed any other changes?'

'Yes, I suppose he's been a little more sprightly.'

'Sprightly?'

'You know, active. He's never been a horse that likes to train, but recently he's been snorting and keen to get going. I imagined it was all part of his new fitness.'

Sam sniffed the bucket again, then turned to speak to Jonathan who appeared as surprised as Dana as she realised that Sam was speaking Kikuyu.

'It's seketet,' he said, turning back to Dana. 'The Kikuyu call it mugaita. Your man here, Jonathan, lets Toby take a few licks while he applies the poultice to the grey's legs.'

It still made no sense to her. 'What's that got to do with his times?'

'Seketet is a stimulant. It comes from the bark of a tree - I can't remember the name of it - and can be pulverised into a powder. The Maasai have traditionally added it to their tea before a battle. The Nandi use it as a painkiller and take it for weeks before circ.u.mcision.'

'A stimulant.'

'Yes. It explains Toby's recent form. His times improved while he had daily doses up at Kipipiri, but now he's in a separate stall, he can't steal it from the bucket.'

'Amazing. Did you know about this, Jonathan?'

'No, memsahib. All I know is it is very good dawa. Good for everything.'

'It's a side-effect not generally known to the Kikuyu. From the little chemistry I can remember, I think it's like an anabolic steroid - a stimulant and muscle developer. It's a good thing he's stopped taking it. It's dangerous.'

Dana's thoughts began to spin off in many directions.

'But no harm done,' Sam said. 'It seems he's getting back to normal - whatever that might be.'

Dana was deep in thought.

'So ... I'll be going then. Things to do before the races today.'

'Yes. Thank you for the information. Very interesting.'

He took her hand, holding it before saying goodbye.

She watched him go, knowing she'd see him again.

Sam had nothing in particular to do before the races started. He simply thought it prudent to take leave from Dana Northcote.

She was an attractive woman, with green eyes and bobbed, light brown hair tinted a honey colour that accentuated her olive complexion. She had a pet.i.te but well-rounded body. All in all, she was a real beauty - though if Sam were to name the characteristic that most appealed to him, it would be her boldness. He thought most white women were insipid creatures, deferring to their menfolk in almost every situation. Sam liked women with s.p.u.n.k. And Dana had it.

He smiled at the nonsense that had crept into his brain. It was the very impossibility of seducing a white woman, particularly one as attractive as Dana Northcote, that made thinking about it such a waste of time. There was no chance she would be interested in him. He'd done some research and discovered she was married to an earl, one with considerable influence in government circles. He didn't want a serious involvement with any woman, certainly not a woman with a rich and powerful husband.

When it came to women, he knew he should keep to the relative safety of casual affairs. There were plenty of beautiful black women available whenever he needed one. He therefore resolved to stay far away from the potential trouble that was Lady Dana Northcote.

As he headed towards the grandstand he decided he'd keep his distance from her, but at the back of his mind he wondered if he'd remain so decisive if she showed the slightest interest in him.

CHAPTER 22.

The dance at Torr's Hotel was a fixture of Race Week that everybody antic.i.p.ated with excitement - especially the women from upcountry. They had few opportunities during the year to dress up let alone dance to a nine-piece band. The music flowed as did the alcohol, which was consumed in no small measure.

Everyone from the racing fraternity was present, which meant the most affluent and therefore influential members of Kenyan society. The Governor was there with his wife, as were all the members of the Legislative Council. The j.a.panese amba.s.sador and a middle-eastern prince added an international flavour.

Dana and Edward had exchanged partners - he was now dancing with Georgina and she with Georgina's husband, Phillip.

'Congratulations on a simply splendid dinner party last month,' Phillip said.

'Pleased you could come.'

'I'm the one who was pleased - to have had you as my partner for the night.'

'Now, now, Phillip. You know the rules. We are not supposed to discuss things that happen at Zephyr.'

'You think that everyone else isn't? Look at Edward and Georgina, giggling like school children.'

'We can't a.s.sume why, and you know the rules as well as I do, Phillip. I too enjoyed our evening, but we must leave it at that. Otherwise I will have to stop this conversation.'

Phillip shrugged. 'If you insist,' he said.

As the band commenced the next bracket, she was surprised to be invited to the floor by Major Whiteman.

'Dana Northcote,' he said. 'So pleased to meet you at last.'

She was somewhat flattered. She had no idea he knew of her. 'Major Whiteman,' she said.

'Roger, please. May I call you Dana?'

'Of course.'

As they danced, the conversation went inevitably to horse racing. Neither would give an inch regarding the superior merits of their respective champions.

'I heard your Toby ran some good times at training,' he said. 'But it sounds like you favour your little mare.'

'I do. She's a darling with a heart as big as herself.'

'I've heard that about the Abyssinians, but some of the stock from up there has a weakness in the canons. I'm not sure I'd be running her in anything over a mile if I were you.'

'Why, Major Whiteman, I do believe you are afraid to race against my Dancer.'

'Don't be silly.'

'Well, it certainly appears that way. Why else would you spread such rumours?'

'I tell you what, Dana. If either of your horses beats any of mine, I'll double the prize money for you.'

'I see ... and what is your prize if one of yours wins?'

'I've been looking for a nice little mare for my daughter. Something safe and steady. Like your Dancer. The mare will be my prize.'

Dana bristled. The implied sneer at her darling Dancer infuriated her. In a rush of pique and without giving the matter any thought, she accepted the bet.

It was only back at the Norfolk, now sober and in bed, did her rash decision strike home. The thought of her beautiful Abyssinian trotting around a show pen as a child's pet sent a shudder of horror through her body. She was determined to avoid that occurrence at all costs.

Dana lowered her field gla.s.ses and shook her head. 'Back to his old times,' she said to Polly, standing beside her at the rail.

'And he was doing so well in the trials,' Polly commiserated.

Dana made no reply, but it confirmed Sam Williams's explanation of his form reversal. 'And now I have to face Roger Whiteman and his taunts,' she said with a sigh. She hadn't had the heart to admit to anyone about her foolish wager with Whiteman.

'Speak of the devil ...' Polly said.

Whiteman swept up to them, beaming. 'Good afternoon, ladies,' he said. 'Wonderful race, don't you think?'

Dana said nothing.

Polly made a valiant effort to defend the indefensible Toby.

Whiteman laughed it off. 'Let's hope for your sake that your Abyssinian does better on Sat.u.r.day,' he said before excusing himself.

'What is he talking about?' Polly asked.

Dana, despondent and guilt-ridden, admitted her impulsive wager.

'Oh, Dana!' Polly said. 'How could you risk losing her?'

'I know. I'd had too many drinks, and I was just angry. And so stupid,' Dana said, shaking her head. 'I don't know what I can do.'

But a desperate plan had already started to take shape in her mind.

The St Leger was Race Week's premier event and attracted the best horses. It was a race of fourteen furlongs for three-year-old fillies and colts. The bookies placed Major Whiteman's horse, Longonot, as favourite. Dancer was ten to one.

Dana was in the grandstand with Edward as the field gathered at the starting stalls on the far end of the straight. She watched Dancer prancing and skittering as the starter called them to the barrier.

'She seems very excited,' Edward said, watching through his field gla.s.ses. 'That's a bit unusual, isn't it?'

Dana bit her lip. She'd had no idea how much seketet she should add to Dancer's feed and was now beginning to doubt the wisdom of it. If the filly didn't settle down she'd be too excitable to make a good start.

The horses were at the barrier. A few moments later, the crowd roared.

'They're racing!' Edward shouted.

Dancer had reared in the starting stalls and missed the jump from the barrier. She was four lengths behind the tail of the field as they came down the straight.

Dana groaned, but as they thundered past the grandstand for the first time, the filly was making up ground at an astonis.h.i.+ng rate.

'He can't hold her,' Edward said as the jockey hauled on the reins. 'She can't keep going at that pace, surely.'

But Dana understood: Dancer had taken the bit or ignored it as it cut into her mouth.

'What's that fool of a jockey doing?' Edward said as Dancer took the next turn five horses wide, meaning she covered a great deal more ground than the leaders tucked in on the rails.

The field had spread out along the back straight with Dancer behind the leading pack of horses but still within touch if she had the stamina to last the remaining six furlongs. Roger Whiteman's champion, Longonot, was ideally placed - on the rails and a length behind the leader.

Into the home turn, and the crowd went wild: Dancer had overtaken the rear pack and was gaining on Longonot, who had taken the lead. A momentous battle was developing between the big colt and the plucky Abyssinian.

Through her field gla.s.ses Dana could see the lather foaming on Dancer's flanks. She was spent, but wouldn't give up. Never having needed to touch her with the whip, the jockey put it away, riding her hands and heels into the straight.

Head to head they fought out the last furlong or so. No other horse was in contention now. It was Longonot or Dancer.

The crowd roared encouragement, but Dana vainly screamed, 'No! Pull her up!' and dashed from the grandstand, forcing her way through the crowd towards the rail - but before she reached it, Dancer flashed across the finis.h.i.+ng line, a length ahead of Longonot.

Dana watched in horror, tears streaming down her face, as her beautiful horse staggered to a stop and dropped her head, blood dripping from her muzzle, and sweat pouring down her quivering flanks.