She turned and looked at Vernon. “No. To you. You knew.”

Vernon threw up his hands. “I’m happy to have you think I can read your mind, but—”

“You can. You knew.”

Melrose looked at Vernon and thought about Nell. Sydney was right. He knew.

34

Having returned to the drawing room, Melrose heard the doorbell and once again, in the absence of Ruthven, got out of his wing chair and opened the door. There he was confronted by a stranger, a tallish man wearing sunglasses and a trilby hat. Melrose especially liked this getup this time of year.

“Mr. Plant?”

“Yes. May I help you?” This was to be, apparently, a red-hot day for visitors to Ardry End.

The man removed his glasses, held out his hand and said, “Jenks. George Jenks. How do you do?”

Melrose shook his hand, still wondering whose hand he shook. The name meant nothing to him.

Reading his mind, Jenks said, “Means nothing to you, I know, but I hear you have a great horse.”

Melrose took a surprised step back. “I do? You’ve an interest in my horse?”

George Jenks nodded. “I’m a trainer.” He repeated his name. “Jenks.”

“Oh? And do I need a trainer?”

Jenks was by now inside and Ruthven had returned, followed by Vernon and Sydney. Ruthven was taking Jenks’s coat.

Vernon’s eyes widened. “George Jenks?”

Everyone else in the world had apparently heard of George Jenks: Vernon, Sydney, and possibly Aggrieved himself.

“Mr. Jenks,” said Vernon, “is one of the country’s greatest trainers.” He extended his hand. “We’ve met, but you probably don’t remember. At Ryder Stables outside of Cambridge. How did you hear about Aggrieved?”

“A mutual friend—” he smiled at Melrose “—got in touch with me. Said your horse was a very good horse.”

Sydney said, “He is. A really good horse. But I didn’t know—” She turned to Melrose. “That you intended to race him.”

“Nor did I,” said Melrose.

George Jenks laughed. “Do you suppose I could see this horse?”

“Of course,” said Melrose, “but tell me about this mutual—”

“Come on with us,” said Sydney.

The three of them sailed off to the stable, leaving Melrose in the questionable company of the mutual friend.

Gerrard was out there now, giving Aggrieved a rubdown.

“Take him out of the stable,” said Sydney, “so Mr. Jenks can see him.”

Gerrard looked as if he might debate this choice, but shrugged and led Aggrieved out.

Jenks took a long look at his head, then ran his hand across the horse’s flank. Gently, he dug his fingers into the shoulder, then the hip, stood back and studied the horse from different angles. He said, “Good-looking horse.” But he said it much too matter-of-factly for Gerrard.

“‘Good-looking?’ That’s all? This here horse is beautiful.”

Jenks nodded. “You take good care of him, son.”

Taking issue with this, Sydney said, “Actually, I’m pretty much the caretaker.”