Chapter 5 #3
Whilst Darcy’s wager was noted with one bookmaker, Elizabeth noticed Mr Travers talking to another who furiously recorded his wagers in a betting book. She knew Mr Travers was a racing man, but how much did he wager?
“Is he an expert?” she asked when Darcy returned, pointing to where Mr Travers was now talking to another bookmaker. “Or does he only want to demonstrate his wealth, or does he think he is changing his fortune?”
“Perhaps it is all of those,” he said with a sigh. “Maybe he found someone to fund his week after all? His father keeps him on a tight allowance.”
“Fund his week?”
“Earlier, he asked me if I wanted to ‘invest’ in him and his racing knowledge. The sums amassed this week are incredible. Between the Derby and the Oaks alone, there will be over one hundred thousand pounds at the Epsom betting market.”
“For only those two races?” she cried.
“Well, Bennet,” Darcy said, “you are a part of that market now. You have wagered two guineas, so if you win, you will return home five guineas richer.”
Elizabeth gasped, and if anyone nearby heard her, they would know she was a woman. “Darcy, you will wait a long time for me to repay two guineas.” Refusing to repay a loan or reneging on a bet was a disgrace. It was a matter of personal honour for all loans and wagers to be paid.
“I am showing you how to act like the men here. Men think they can afford risk and like to show off their knowledge.” He dropped his mock seriousness and smiled. “I am only fitting in, and you need not repay me. I am happy to add to your amusement.”
“Darcy, I have to repay you.” It was two whole guineas. “I insist,” she added.
“Then you may repay me at your leisure.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he added, “I would extend those terms to any male friend, Bennet.”
If he was going to treat her like a man and find amusement from it, then she would act the part. “Then since we have time before the second stakes, I need an ale to tide me over.”
His eyes went wide, and she added, “What is the matter? Men drink in public, do they not?”
Darcy recovered, but he almost held out an arm for her to let him guide her toward the publican booths. The way he tried to treat her as she wanted to be seen today was endearing, even though it meant drinking beer in the public’s eye.
They walked toward the booths, but Elizabeth saw a large shed had been erected with barrels before it. “Oh, can we go inside?” she asked hopefully. “It would be just like going into a tavern!”
“You cannot go into a tavern.”
Irritation settled over her. “Darcy, do not spoil my entertainment. No one will notice me in a packed place like that.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “That shed has a door and windows. It is inside.”
She stared blankly. “Men are allowed inside, are they not?”
“And what do men do indoors, Bennet?” He touched his hat, but she did not understand. “Men remove their hats. Women do not. And unless you committed to this masquerade more fully than I realised, your pinned-up hair will give you away.”
She gave an embarrassed laugh. “Well, a porter outside on this warm day would be refreshing.”
He smirked, but they went to the nearest booth. Elizabeth soon learnt she did not like it, but under Darcy’s watchful eye, she kept a brave face and gamely took a few more swallows. He gave a sideways look, but he let her continue to pretend.
“Well met, Darcy.”
She looked up to see Sir John striding toward their table where he sat across from Darcy.
The brim of his hat was not enough to shield his eyes from the sun behind them, and he squinted.
“I just lost ten guineas at the cockpit, but I have hopes for the Woodcote Stakes. Have you had a fine afternoon?”
She thought him invariably rude to ignore her.
But whilst he and Darcy spoke, she realised it was not that Sir John cut her, but he did not recognise her.
Her disguise was not that good, even if she was seated and her hat was low over her face.
But people saw what they expected to see, and Sir John did not expect Darcy to be seated with a woman dressed as a man with a mug of beer.
“Will you introduce me to your friend?” he asked good-naturedly.
Darcy was a man with a steady countenance, but his eyes were laughing. “Sir John, my dear friend Bennet. Mr Bennet, Sir John Whitney, of Clare Court.”
“How do ye do?” he said, touching his hat, and Elizabeth copied the gesture, keeping her head tilted down. The sun was behind her, so perhaps her face was also in shadow. “Bennet, did you say? There is a Bennet staying at Woodcote.”
Once she spoke, he would realise the ruse. “A distant cousin, sir.”
Sir John nodded. “She is a pretty girl.”
Darcy loudly set down his mug. “That is a forward thing to say, and to her relation, no less.”
He shrugged. “A mere observation, Mr Bennet. Your relation is too poor for me. I have no intentions there.”
She bowed, but was clearly expected to say something. Lowering her voice a little, she said, “Miss Metcalfe is also in residence, should you require a larger competence than my cousin has.”
Sir John barked a laugh. “When I tire of the freedom I have now, I will purchase further independence by uniting myself to a very rich woman of inferior birth. I can do better than Miss Metcalfe’s five thousand pounds.
If either lady wanted less enduring entertainment, I would oblige, but Miss Bennet has made it clear she is not interested, and Miss Metcalfe is wildly determined on our friend Darcy. ”
“Miss Metcalfe will have better luck with any man other than me.”
“Maybe she ought to try for old Travers,” Sir John mused. “He is close in age to her mother, though. Lady Metcalfe might take him herself if she did not have a daughter to marry off.” He chuckled. “Miss Metcalfe might have to share Travers’s bed with her own mother if they married.”
Elizabeth dropped her head to hide her reaction. Men spoke plainly when they thought no women were around.
“You have shocked my young friend, Sir John,” Darcy said warningly.
“A green lad like Mr Henry Tessier, then. I suppose he has not made use of the Cyprians? Have you, Darcy? Any recommendations?”
She sensed the irritation and the derision roiling beneath Darcy’s still countenance. “No.”
Sir John laughed again. “I will give you some advice, if I may, Mr Bennet, the same as I told Mr Tessier when I saw him this morning. Darcy, clearly, will be of no help to you. You ought to try coitus digitus or have a dry bob with some girl of your station or lower before you waste your coin on a prostitute without knowing what to do with her.”
Elizabeth choked and coughed on her drink. She knew what the first meant, and could imagine some possibilities for the second. She wished she could unhear this entire conversation. That Sir John would openly canvass such a topic with a man he had just met, and in public, was appalling.
“Sir John, I will thank you not to corrupt any minor in my hearing,” Darcy said in a haughty tone whilst Elizabeth wiped her spilt beer as best she could.
Sir John slapped the table and rose before touching his hat. “I am off to enjoy what I am not likely to find at Woodcote. Well met, Mr Bennet. Darcy.”
When Elizabeth lifted her gaze, Darcy looked absolutely furious as he watched Sir John fade into the crowd. This was mortifying, but she would have to put Darcy at ease and assure him she was not irreparably affronted.
“Perhaps women ought not to be alone amongst men after all,” she said archly.
“That man is an ostentatious, chattering coxcomb.” He heaved a sigh, shaking his head. “Shall we watch the race and pretend this entire conversation never happened?”
The course was open and not enclosed, but with clear starting, finishing, and distance posts marked with flags.
Epsom was a U-shaped course with people on all sides of it.
Darcy said this colt race would be only half a mile, the last six furlongs, but her height and the unruly crowd made it difficult to see much.
They could not get closer than four people deep, with many people, horses, carriages, and dogs moving into the way where the horses would soon run.
“Epsom employs a sufficient number of persons to keep the course clear,” he answered her when she asked. He had to raise his voice to be heard. “Everyone is ordered not to ride across the course nor to stand in it with carriages.”
“Do people truly run into the field?”
“Turf,” he corrected. “And, yes, people will often run out after the horses have gone by for a better view of the finish. It is terrible when a dog gets loose and runs onto the course and is trampled.”
That was horrifying. It would be simpler to use ropes and poles to keep the crowd at bay. “How will they know when to start?” It was too loud for the jockeys to hear a cry for them to get ready.
“Some races use a musket, drums, or a bugle, but others give the word to go. Epsom uses a flag,” he said, pointing.
There was a building energy as the horses gathered at the starting post. The crowd did not grow quieter, but Elizabeth felt the attention shift.
Everyone craned their necks, stood on toes, and jumped to see as soon as the signal was given.
Their spirits built, and the cheering intensified as the horses were urged on.
Elizabeth felt herself drawn into the energy and cheered for her horse with the jockey in green.
The shared enthusiasm was enthralling, and Elizabeth grinned the entire time.
Darcy stood beside her, watching and cheering with all the rest. There was a shared, joyous energy in these brief moments whilst the horses galloped past. These large racehorses were unlike the carriage horses and even the hunters she was used to.
Their visual lines were more refined, they were speedier, and had more endurance.