“And doing a fine job. Where can we ride? Is there a ring?”

Melrose, who’d come out to the barns, was pleased to announce that yes, there was. He hadn’t known it himself until Ruthven had enlightened him. Melrose’s father had put in a ring years before for a future of Melrose’s riding. He had never fulfilled that future, since he had not liked to ride, hadn’t even liked his pony. His father had said that of course one day he would have to ride to hounds. Whereupon his mother had said, “Why?” Melrose had always loved the way his beloved and sensible mother could cut his father off at the knees with no more than the simple question “Why?”

In no mood for trooping, still Melrose had followed the little party, trooping through the woods with Gerrard leading Aggrieved. No wonder he hadn’t known about the ring, buried as it was from view by oaks and chestnuts, and farther from the house than Melrose ever ventured, anyway. He was quite indifferent to his own property, property meaning little to him, whereas heritage meant a lot.

“Kind of stingy,” said Gerrard. “You should keep it up better, Mel.” He was positioning blanket and saddle on Aggrieved’s back.

“Indeed? Well, I didn’t know Mr. Jenks was coming, or I’d have had Blodgett out here with his rake and blower—and who delegated you to do the riding? What about Sydney?”

They quarreled over this for a while until George Jenks interrupted. “Do you mind if I have a go at it?”

They both, or rather the three of them, looked slightly astounded. “You?” said Melrose.

“Trainers do know how to ride, Mr. Plant. It’s necessary. Do you mind?”

“Oh. Of course not.”

Jenks did not heave himself into the saddle, nor fling himself in. The movement was more in the nature of being a takeoff, the sort that a small plane or a bird might make. But once up there, it was clear he belonged. He made small clicking sounds in his mouth, and Aggrieved reacted as if he’d been hearing those sounds since the day he was born and ventured into the ring and started walking, then went from a walk to a trot to a gallop. Then faster.

“Wow!” said Gerrard and Sydney, together.

After going once round the track, Jenks slowed the horse down, trotted it over to where the others stood, and dismounted. “Very nice horse,” he said, handing the reins back to Gerrard.

Who frowned. “Not very excitable, are you? That horse was going damned fast.”

Jenks smiled a little. “Not as fast as he could have done. I had to restrain him.”

“You did?” Gerrard was astonished. “What’s the fastest horse ever?”