PUCK

The rest of the day passes in a rush. There are prize ceremonies and money, journalists and tourists. There are congratulations and handshaking and so many voices that I can’t hear any of them. There’s tending for my cut — My, that’s nasty, Puck Connolly, and how did a horse give you that? You’re lucky it’s not deep — and pampering of Dove. It goes on for hours and hours and I can’t get away from any of it to anything important.

After the sun has disappeared, I learn that Corr has been given a makeshift shelter in one of the coves on the beach because he cannot walk back to the Malvern Yard. I manage to escape from the mob and make it partway down the cliff path. There in the twilight I see Sean Kendrick sitting against the cliff, eyes closed, and I would have gone to him, but fair-haired George Holly is already shaking him awake and coaxing him away. Even from here, I see that Sean’s expression is wrecked by everything that he’s lost. Holly gives me a far-off nod to send me on, but it’s not until Sean meets my eyes that I lead Dove back toward home.

Finn catches up to me on the way home, skipping a little until he falls into step with me. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. For a few moments we walk in silence, the only sounds the pad of our feet on the dirt, and Dove’s hooves occasionally chipping pebbles as she walks. Dusk makes everything seem smaller around us.

“You’re frowning,” he says finally.

I know he’s right; I can feel the furrow between my eyebrows. “I’m counting, that’s why.” There’s not much joy in it, though. The numbers always come up the same: enough for us to save the house, not enough for Sean to buy Corr, even if Malvern would let him.

Finn says, “You should be celebrating! Gabe says he’s making a feast for us at home!” Even after this long day, he can’t keep the spring out of his own step. He’s like a colt on a windy day.

I do my best to keep the sting out of my words, because none of this is Finn’s fault, but a crumb of bitterness creeps in. “I can’t celebrate while Sean Kendrick’s down there with a broken horse he can’t afford because of me!”

“How do you know Sean Kendrick even wants him still?”

I don’t have to be told. I know Sean still wants Corr. It’s never been about the racing.

Finn glances over and gets my answer in my expression. “All right, then,” he says. “Why can’t he afford him?”

Saying it out loud makes it worse, though. I explain, “Sean had to win to get the rest of the money. He didn’t have enough.”

For a long moment, there’s just the slap of our shoes again, the scrape of Dove’s hooves, the wind gusting across our ears. I wonder if Holly’s taken Sean away from the beach. I wonder if Sean will sleep down there. He’s usually so pragmatic, but not where Corr’s concerned.

“Why don’t we give him some money?” asks Finn.

I swallow. “I didn’t win enough for both the house and Corr.”

Finn rummages in his pocket. “We can use this.”

When I see the fat wad of bills in his hand, I stop so fast that Dove rams her head into my shoulder. I demand, “Finn — ! Finn Connolly, where did you get that?”

I can see that Finn’s having to try very hard not to show me a smile. The effort of it gives him the frog face like nobody’s business. I can’t stop looking at the roll of money in his hand, nearly as fat as the purse for the race.

He says, “Forty-five to one.”

It takes me a long moment to puzzle out where I recognize the number from — the chalkboard at Gratton’s. Suddenly, I understand where the rest of the money from the biscuit tin went.

“You gambled on —” I can’t even finish the sentence.

Finn starts walking again, and now there’s a bit of strut to it. He says, “Dory Maud said you were a good bet.”