Sir Oswald had left the room to see Lord Duckham to his coach, after his Lordship had inspected the new stables and made a very surprising presentation to Jack. So surprising, such a shock that, as Becky pressed against him, he was still wrestling with the problem of how to approach what it was now imperative for him to admit. Then he heard the sounds of the coach pulling away. As the room door began to open, they jumped...

Jack Wetherley walked slowly, morosely, along the front of the new stables. Not since the death of his father six years earlier, had he ever felt so low. Passing the open-gated front of the twenty, as yet, unused stalls, he was asking himself whether his months of intimacy, with Becky, the niece of Sir Oswald Brandling, were about to tear them apart. They had both been aware of the risks they were taking in prolonging the...

For everyone on the Brandling Estate, the three months after their Newmarket triumph became the most chaotic, the most worrying, the most exciting, the most definitive months they would ever know. After Trafalgar’s massive success as a three-year-old, Jack Wetherley, and chief ostler, Alf Winter, took the advice of the local vet, Victor Lazenby, not to risk their champion in the prestigious Epsom Derby. Victor had indicat...

Now, here they were, as the horses broke their circling and began moving down the course towards the one-mile starting post. They had followed their usual betting ploy but had managed no better than three to one for Trafalgar. Jack noticed that no one wished to divulge how much they had risked. He wondered if the twenty pounds he had wagered had anything to do with the trembling in his chest but knew it was much more than...

The Two Thousand Guineas. At last! Jack Wetherley’s heart pounded, as the eleven horses trotted out onto the course. The bright silks of the jockeys added to the extra colour provided by the glamorous gowns worn by the lady spectators and the maroon, purple and vivid blues of the men’s jackets. The excited buzz of the massed crowds all around them, and the sunlight gifted for this early May festival heightened Jack’s alre...

With Alf still joyous at his winning wager, he and Jack left the others and headed for the stables to prepare Trafalgar for his next big test. Reaching the stall where their thoroughbred stood. ‘Much cooler and calmer than I am,’ Jack thought. They soon heard the hoofbeats of the horses going out for the second race. Alf checked Trafalgar’s hooves, ensuring the four shoes were firmly in place. Trying to convince himself t...

Heading for Doncaster race meeting, settled high on the horsebox seat, Jack knew he going to have to suppress his growing worry of what lay ahead. He flicked at the reins to urge on the two dray horses in order to keep pace with the carriage that Alf, the chief ostler, was driving. Inside the carriage was Sir Oswald Brandling, and, surprisingly, his wife, Lady Brandling, who had missed the York race, but Sir Oswald had to...

With the impending race so near, life became a whirl of activity, with much discussion between Jack, Alf and Nate regarding the pace and distance Trafalgar was capable of. Apart from the training, other work was necessary. Jack and Alf worked on preparing the horsebox for the journey, fitting rolls of sacking around the inside to prevent any injury to Trafalgar on uncertain roads. Two days before their journey into the un...

When Nate Oliver came for his first ride, Jack was immediately impressed by his horsemanship. Just seeing Trafalgar, drew awesome praise from the jockey. “Yes, his musculature tells me that this is a prospective winner. It is only a matter of how good he is, and we’ll only find out in the running of him.” Nate Oliver was quick to declare. One surprise for Jack was to see how quickly Nate formed a good relationship with Tr...

It took nearly a week of trying before Trafalgar allowed the saddle to be fitted without any fuss. This was despite Sir Oswald having been informed that their purchase had been broken in. For Jack, mounting the animal proved equally difficult but Becky’s relationship with the horse proved most valuable, for, as she stroked Trafalgar’s muzzle, Jack was able to get himself into the saddle. It took several days of this befor...

Seeing the twin horse-driven polished box-like carriage heading up the main drive, Jack Wetherley’s heart gave a heave, knowing that this was his new challenge, arriving with two long-coated men sitting up front. Excitedly, he called Alf, his boss and mentor. Alf hobbled out of the stable, becoming much slower on his feet, Jack thought. He was due to retire soon and that was why Jack had been appointed. But this new arriv...

The call that Jack had been dreading arrived the next morning. He and Alf were going through the Sunday morning routine of letting the horses out graze. A lazy morning. Until Vincent, the Brandling family butler arrived, dressed in button-up black jacket and gaiters, and his instructions had Jack’s heart beating madly. “Sir Oswald,” he said, with the pompous tone of someone who thought himself one of the upper set, “Sir O...

Saturday morning found Jack Wetherley all a-tingle. It was another bright day and that pleased him. There was no need for Aunt Rose to wake him up, as she often had to do. She placed a breakfast of bread and dripping in front of him, together with the tea, stewed in a way that only she could produce. “You seem far away, lad.” Jack nodded, she was right, he was far away. Ever since Rascal’s pleasing trial on Thursday his b...

Early Wednesday morning, Alf and Jack made their monthly wagon trip into Merevale village to collect sacks of feed and three new saddles. Alf insisted that they pay a quick visit to see Vic, the village blacksmith. Jack smiled as he guessed Vic’s reason. Because of the coming Saturday race, Vic was very busy as they walked into the clash of metal on metal inside the shop. The smithy turned to them, his smiling face as red...

Jack cautiously eased his mount, Rascal, alongside Ebony, on whom Sir Oswald’s niece sat, so relaxed now, so damned attractive, yet so far above him socially, as he asked, “Any particular direction, m’lady?” She replied firmly, “I’m not a m’lady. I’ve told you. My name is Rebecca. Becky to my friends.” She gave a little snort, “Of which there are few.” Through the trees the lake could be seen, ripples sparkling like sequi...