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“Entirely.” He would never speak to Flossy with such wicked candor, but it no longer surprised me that he treated me like one of his male friends. I knew more of his secrets than his sister did, and I’d helped him out of some difficult situations. I also appreciated and enjoyed this easy acceptance he had of me. Our relationship was unique to us and that made it special.
I watched as Mrs. Rigg-Lyon looped her arm through her husband’s and clutched him tightly. It was to no avail, however. He extricated himself and turned his back to her to speak to one of his teammates.
“Does she know about the mistress?” I asked Floyd.
“I’m not sure.”
“How doyouknow?”
“It’s common knowledge. Rigg-Lyon is a popular fellow with the lads.”
“Young men do like their sporting heroes,” I muttered.
He didn’t hear me. He was too busy cheering along with the rest as Mr. Rigg-Lyon and Mr. Hardwick raised the large silver cup in triumph again.
The players of the losing Elms team were the first to depart, leading their horses back to the stables beyond the mounting yard. Before he entered the building, Mr. Broadman kicked over a barrel. One of the grooms rushed to right it before taking the horse’s reins and leading it inside. The players all headed to another group of buildings closer to the clubhouse.
The Polo and Gun Club team soaked up the celebrations for a little longer before they also left. Mr. Hardwick strode ahead of the others, his back stiff. Mr. Rigg-Lyon called out to him to wait, but the vice-captain ignored him.
Spectators lingered for a while, enjoying the sunshine and good company. Once refreshments dwindled, the crowd began to thin. We collected our picnic basket and headed to the area set aside for vehicles. With our coats and goggles in place and the picnic basket on the back seat between Flossy and me, we were all set to go. Unfortunately, the automobile wouldn’t co-operate. The engine hissed then spluttered before going silent.
The mechanic opened the engine compartment’s doors at the rear of the Peugeot and quickly stepped back as steam billowed out. He thrust his gloved hands on his hips. Going by the frown on his brow, it was clearly going to take a while to fix the problem.
Flossy and I left him and Floyd to their mechanical problem. We strolled across the lawn to the lake, enjoying the club’s gardens without the crowds. As busy as the place had been earlier, it was now quite empty except for a handful of ground staff stamping down the divots on the playing surface.
I was contemplating dipping my toes in the water when we heard a shout.
“Help! Somebody help!” The voice was a man’s and it appeared to be coming from the stables.
I picked up my skirts and ran.
“Cleo!” Flossy cried. “Wait! It could be dangerous. Leave it to the men.”
I ran towards Mr. Broadman, who was furiously waving a hand above his head to attract attention. In his other hand, he held a polo mallet.
It was stained with blood.
I reached him at the same time as one of the grooms. “Sir? What’s the matter? Is it Hercules?” A look of panic came over him, but it was nothing compared to Mr. Broadman’s ashen face.
Mr. Broadman pointed the mallet into the stables. “He’s dead.”
“Hercules?” The groom pushed past him.
“Vernon Rigg-Lyon.”
The groom stopped just inside the door. “Sir?”
A middle-aged man strode towards us just as Flossy caught up. “I heard shouting. What is it? Broadman? Something wrong?”
Mr. Broadman swallowed heavily. “He’s dead. Rigg-Lyon. In the back.”
The newcomer charged past him, the groom on his heels. I followed.
“Cleo!” Flossy cried. “You shouldn’t go in there.”
“Stay here if you don’t want to come in,” I said over my shoulder.
I plunged into the depths of the stables, passing horses contentedly munching on feed in their stalls. I glanced back to see that Flossy hadn’t followed. She stood in the doorway, the sun silhouetting her figure.
