Was the trainer here? Perhaps behind the wall that had been erected as a backdrop for the performance? Aaron wanted to meet him. Had he trained the horses with a firm, caring hand instead of fear and pain? Was he short in stature himself, allowing him to easily train horses for female riders?
Perhaps God had a miracle for Aaron after all.
Once more the horse knelt and the faerie queen dismounted. The cluster of boys called out and pressed closer to the fence, rocking it until Aaron feared it might topple.
She stepped forward, shimmering from her head to her hem. Even her skin caught the light, covered in some sort of powder that gave it an unnatural glow and kept him from getting a clear look at her features.
A tightness squeezed Aaron’s chest as the faerie veered away from the center and walked toward the boy in the ill-fitting coat at the end of the fence. She extended the rose toward the lad, and a hush fell over the crowd, followed by a swell of displeased murmurs.
Aaron couldn’t help but direct a nod of respect toward the performer, though she couldn’t see him. She’d known who was enthralled by the show and who simply wanted to be entertained. That boy would cherish the flower until it turned to dust.
Soon the rider disappeared behind the wall. Aaron dropped two coins into the passing basket and cut through the crowd in search of the little boy. He was still on the far side of the area, clutching his rose to his chest while two boys in pristine tiny cravats stared him down.
Aaron knew that scenario as well.
He ignored the glowering boys and stepped up to the grim-looking lad. “Do you like horses?”
Eyes wide, the boy nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Aaron gave a sharp nod in return and pulled two more coins from his pocket. “My horse is stabled at the end of this row. His name is Shadow. He’s a chestnut with a white face and white socks on all four legs. Do you know what that means?”
The boy nodded and flicked a glance down at the coins before meeting Aaron’s eyes once more. “Yes, sir.”
“Shadow doesn’t always do well in strange, noisy places.” Surely God wouldn’t care all that much about such a harmless lie. “I’d like you to purchase him a treat, whatever you feel appropriate, and check on him for me. You can keep whatever you don’t spend.”
The boy pried one hand from the stem of the rose and slowly reached out to accept the coins. His fist closed tight and tucked up against his chest once more, a hint of fear edging into his face.
Aaron cut a look at the boys hovering nearby and tightened his jaw. He may not bear the name or the title, but there was aristocratic blood in his veins, and he could make himself look powerful and intimidating to those who didn’t know any better.
“If you have any trouble,” Aaron said slowly, “let me know.”
The boys scattered.
“Thank you, sir. I’ll make sure your horse is in fine shape.” The coins disappeared into a pocket.
After receiving a final nod of approval from Aaron, the boy ran off to enjoy the rest of what might very well be the best day he’d ever had in his life.
Aaron stayed in the shadows of the show’s ramshackle construction, edging around the enclosure to see the makeshift paddock and dressing area behind the rickety wall. Positioned on the end of the row, the lot extended far back, keeping Aaron from getting too close to the horses, unless he wanted to step fully into the blocked-off area.
In the farthest corner of the space, a short man with a shock of bright red hair brushed down the horses from the show. The faerie queen stood nearby, the green gown looking gaudy and cheap now that it lay motionless.
As the man talked, he gestured to the horse’s foreleg, then swept his hand out in a wide motion. Were they discussing that moment when the horse had reared?
The faerie nodded before patting the horse on the neck and moving away toward a wagon positioned to hold up part of the dividing wall.
Aaron kept his attention fixed on the white Andalusian he would have given a few teeth to get his hands on. He might even be willing to suffer bodily harm for a closer look. He’d heard about the horses and seen them in paintings, but this was the first he’d glimpsed in person. The Andalusian was as glorious as reputation claimed, though how it ended up in a traveling show and not the stable of a duke, Aaron couldn’t begin to guess.
The red-haired man led the horse in a circle, slowing each time they passed the corral. With each circle, that moment grew slower and slower, until the man was bringing the horse to a stop before continuing on. After three successful stops and starts, the man pulled something from his pocket and fed it to the animal before getting an affectionate nudge in the chest in return.
The trainer was on the smaller side, though not as short as most jockeys. He was wiry. Thin. He wouldn’t slow a racehorse down overmuch.
“You, boy!” The show’s narrator, wearing a tailored coat and an attitude of superiority, stalked across the lot to the horseman. Most likely he was the circus owner. Aaron couldn’t hear the conversation, but from the sharp arm gestures and the angry expression, it was easy to see he wasn’t happy.
Through it all the red-haired man calmly stroked the neck of the white horse. The angry man stomped away, mustache trembling with displeasure. “And be quick about it, or I’ll dock your pay.”
The horseman didn’t react, which meant he’d probably heard that threat before. Even if the man didn’t make a good long-term jockey, there was always room in Aaron’s stable for one who didn’t allow his circumstances to affect his care of the horses. He hadn’t been in either show, so it wasn’t a love of performing keeping him here. Aaron could offer him a better life.
The white horse was led into a fenced area already containing two draft horses and the brown horses from the show. Despite the beratement, the trainer didn’t rush his care of the animals, keeping his movements measured and easy until he finished. Only when he’d stepped out of the enclosure did he hustle off to take care of the requested business.
Everyone in Newmarket would think Aaron’s scheme mad. Teaching a horse to perform in such a way required considerable riding ability—ability that should be transferable, at least for a challenge race.
Aaron couldn’t pursue the idea without pondering it over, at least a little. Another rash decision would only make the situation worse. If it still seemed sound after the next show, he would act upon it.
Maybe.
Instead of joining the crowd for the next show, he circled around to the boundary of the back lot to watch the preparation of the horses.
The red-haired man stood by, the faerie queen at his side, as one of the brown horses pranced through the routine riderless. Aaron smirked at this final proof that he’d been right. The nymphs could have been sandbags for all the difference it would have made. The white horse had performed far more intricate steps, so the faerie was at least a superior rider, a distinction that didn’t matter to Aaron, though standing on a running horse was a very impressive trick.
The show concluded, and once more Aaron waited for the crowds to disperse. Would the trainer have a break soon? Could he catch him away from the circus?
“He no sell,” a thickly accented voice said from his left. Aaron turned to see one of the performers from the show. This close, he could tell she was far older than she’d appeared during the play.