Devils And Unicorns

Chapter 9

Three months had passed since the Gold Cup and the death of Mighty Light. The post-mortem examination had confirmed that he had indeed undergone a low palmar digital neurectomy on the affected limb. The unfortunate horse was now at peace, but no such tranquillity reigned at Marsh Crossing. The sun shone as brightly as ever, and the ocean glittered beneath it the same beautiful shade of blue, but times had become direr than they ever had been.

Jersey Devil's foot had healed, but the interruption to her training had drained her fitness and she was out of form. In addition to this setback, Florence's enthusiasm for the filly had waned through no fault of the horse: she just could not bring herself to campaign a racehorse part-owned by Charlie Trent. Every time she watched Jersey Devil working on the beach, or even just walked past her stable, she was reminded of the currently unbreakable union between herself and the agent who had betrayed her. She had no funds to buy his share, and he had none with which to buy hers. The horse was trapped in limbo, and so was Florence.

On account of his cold spell and his subsequently increasing weight, Zac was finding it more and more difficult to get jobs, and his meagre earnings were barely covering the bills. Florence had noticed that he was spending longer periods of time up at The Quill and, while it was difficult to tell with Zac, he was unusually quiet when he did see fit to venture back to the yard for any significant period of time. She was starting to worry. If he lost his drive altogether, then their only trickle of income would dry up completely. Florence was determined for so many reasons not to sell Dissent, but as the days passed without any revenue she began to worry that she would be forced to do so.

Martha, having gotten over the shocking loss of Mighty Light, had now settled into a perpetual state of bitterness in which she attributed all of their problems to Charlie. Florence, such was her disappointment, was not inclined to disagree with her friend, even though some of the links were tenuous and even outlandish.

Charlie had made several attempts to establish contact since their parting at Perchborn, still insisting that he had possessed no knowledge of the neurectomy, but Florence had rebuffed them all and banned him in no uncertain terms from ever setting foot on her yard again.

In the bars at Ramnock and Bailey's Point, down towards Perchborn and even across Witchmill way, the grapevine buzzed with the news that the implausible association between Red Acreman's unlucky but intriguing daughter and the business' most notorious agent had finally come to an end.

"I might have to rent out the house," Florence told Martha as they were mucking out the stables one morning.

"Don't be stupid. Where would we live?"

"We'll have to move into one of the stables."

"And be neighbours with Squeaky? Good one, Florence!"

"Martha, I'm being serious."

Martha stopped shovelling forkfuls of ammonia-scented dirty straw into the wheelbarrow in disbelief, trying to digest what she had just been told.

"Live in a stable? Flo, I can't!"

"We're barely making ends meet as it is. None of the horses are earning anything. Zac has had to drop his fee again, and he's up to nine and a half stone now. Things aren't looking good."

"Well, Dissent is running next week! He might win!"

"Even if he does, it's only two thousand. It'll last us a fortnight; three weeks at the most. We've got the Reynolds bill due at the end of the month, for a start."

"Well I'll go over to Ramnock or Witchmill and tout for business. I'd rather sell my body than sleep in a stable," Martha huffed. Florence hoped that she was being flippant.