The Shadowy Horses

XXX

Brian wasn't pleased to see me coming down the drive. He'd been making a savage attack on the weeds that grew to either side of the cottage path, his head bent low into the wind that carried away the small regular puffs of white smoke from the cigarette clamped at the corner of his mouth, but when he saw me he switched off the strimmer and straightened his back, belligerent.

Jeannie hadn't been lying about the black eye. It stood out angrily against the tan of his cheekbone, seared along its bottom edge by a nasty-looking scrape on which the blood had dried. Still, I thought, he wore it like a badge of honor; even raised a hand to rake the silver hair back from his face, so I could have a clear view of that eye.

I was meant to make some comment, I felt sure. Halting my steps a few feet away, I searched for an appropriate compliment. "That looks painful."

"Not your handiwork," he shot back, shortly. Lifting one hand he plucked the cigarette from his lips and narrowed his eyes. "Got it down the pub, last night. Had to put a couple of buggers from Burnmouth in their place."

"Ah." I looked again at the set jaw and the hardened muscles of his arms, and said honestly: "I imagine they look rather worse than you, then."

"Bloody right." His gaze moved down, to my hands, to the notebook I carried and the tiny square packet of tissue paper. But he didn't say anything. He just went on standing there, smoking, waiting for me to explain why I'd come.

"I was wondering," I said, "if I could talk to Robbie, for a minute."

"Were you?"

"Yes. We found something this morning, in one of the trenches, and it might be something quite important, so—"

He cut across my speech, impassive. "The lad's just home from school," he said. "He's not yet had his tea."

"Well yes, I know, but Jeannie said..." I stopped myself, seeing from his expression that it made little difference what Jeannie had said. "I won't stop long, Brian, I promise. It's just that. . . well, it could be important, and everyone's curious to hear what Robbie has to say, and nobody wanted to wait till this evening."

Jeannie had actually put my chances of getting past Brian at slim to none, and looking at him now I was inclined to agree with her odds.

He stared at me, stony-faced, for a long moment, then glanced at the small wrapped packet. "That it?"

"Yes."

"Let's have a look."

I unwrapped the paper and let him examine the tiny pendant. "Gold, is it?" he asked, not touching it.

"Yes."

He frowned, and shifted his gaze to study the air past my shoulder. "When I was Robbie's age ... younger than Robbie, even, I used to be a wizard with the horses. My dad and his mates, they'd show me a betting slip and I could pick the winners, every time. They must have made a bloody fortune," he said, sourly. "Never showed me a penny of it, nor my mum. Dad left us both when I was ten." He paused, drawing deep on the cigarette, and brought his hard eyes back to mine. "You can think what you like of me, of what I do for a living, but I've never used my boy to line my pockets. Never have, and never will. Nobody uses my boy."

"Yes, I understand that. But I thought we agreed ..."

"I was legless."

"You said I could do this." My tone pleaded with him to be reasonable. “You said that if I came down on my own, I could—"

"I know what I said." He exhaled sharply, discontented. "All right, you can have ten minutes with the lad. But only ten minutes, and I'll be there counting them, d'you hear?"

"Thanks."

Wading through an untidy pile of weeds, he leaned the strimmer upright against the cottage wall and walked around to open the door to the kitchen.

It seemed strange to be here when Jeannie was absent— the cozy little room looked less inviting, but that might have simply been the lack of sunlight. Brian kicked off his boots and called to Robbie.

"Wally's out, is he?" I guessed, noticing the empty place under the table, where Kip usually lay.

Brian's mouth quirked briefly, the shade of a smile. "That's right. He makes himself scarce, when I'm home."

Robbie came bouncing around the corner and gave me a buoyant greeting. "Heyah," he said. "Are you and Dad still fighting?"

I smiled. "No."

"Good. Did you see Dad's black eye?"

I assured him I had.

"She was very impressed," Brian told his son. "Now, sit yourself down on that chair there and look what Miss Grey's got to show you." And with that mild instruction he moved past us to put the kettle on.

Robbie clambered obediently onto his chair, preparing himself for our game. "Did you find the necklace?"

I stopped in the act of unwrapping the packet, to stare at him. "The what?"

"The Sentinel's necklace."

Brian, by the counter, lit a cigarette and smiled faintly, the proud parent, while I peeled away the final layers of tissue and wordlessly passed the golden scrap of pendant to Robbie.

"Aye, this is it," he said, nodding his head. "I thought so."

I cleared my throat, casually. "Are you sure it's the Sentinel's?"

Again the nod, quite certain. "He's always got it on."

"I see."

"He never takes it off, see, 'cause it belonged to her."

I opened my notebook, feeling a sudden need to have something to focus my attention on. "Belonged to who?"