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night before the race. Now, would you
say that Lord Swale is a coward?"
    "I would so, Miss Julie!" said Bernard stoutly. "And
a damned dirty coward besides, begging your pardon
for the strong language."
    "Bernard," she said, her eyes gleaming, "I am going
to teach this dishonorable wretch a lesson about the
Wayborns that he will never forget. And you're going
to help me."
    "Well now, Miss Julie," he said, scratching his shiny
bald head. "Sure I'd not advise a wee lass to be going
up against the likes of himself, and he the devil's
own limb."
    "I don't care if he's Satan's hound," responded
the wee lass. "He's grist for the mill now, and I'm the
miller."
    "More grist to his lordship than you'd think, Miss
Julie," said Bernard coolly. "Seven foot high, if he's an inch, with a blacker heart than Henry Tudor.
Sure, it's your own darling neck he'd be after breaking, Miss Julie, and never a pang of conscience."

    `It's very simple, Bernard," Juliet said firmly, cutting
through this Gaelic digression. "If Cary doesn't show
up for that race tomorrow, he'll be the laughingstock of London."
    Bernard sighed. "Faith, Miss Julie. Sure, it's only a
    "Only a race! Bernard Corcoran, I want you to
look at your master lying there bandaged from head
to toe, and then tell me it's only a race! He could very
well be crippled for life. He could die!" She shook her
head vehemently. "No, Bernard. It was only a race, but
now it's a matter of honor. I may be a wee lass, but I'm
still a Wayborn; Lord Swale will rue the day he ever
wronged my family."
    Bernard accepted the inevitability of trouble and
sorrow with a shrug. "Right you are, Miss Julie. But
what's to be done, short of murder?"
    "There's only one thing that can be done, Bernard.
Cary has to show up for the race tomorrow, and he
has to win."
    "Are you wise, Miss?" Bernard spluttered. "Begging your pardon, Miss Julie, but could it be that
you've taken leave of your senses? Sure, your brother's
half-killed with a broken arm."
    "I shall have to go in his place, of course. Thank you
for pointing that out to me."
    "Oh, now, Miss," Bernard protested. "His lordship
the Marquess would never consent to such a thing as
that, racing against a female. He's not what you'd call
modern."
    "So,"Juliet said, smiling calmly, "you would advise me
not to tell his lordship that I'm a mere female? I should let him think that I'm Master Cary? What an excellent
plan. Bernard, you are an absolute mastermind."

    Bernard guffawed. "Begging your pardon, Miss
Julie, but there's no mistaking your shape for the
young
    "They'll think I'm Gary indeed," said Juliet reasonably, "if I have his hat, his coat, his spectacles, his
curricle, his horses ... and his groom."
    "Oh, now, Miss," Bernard said softly, his eyes glowing, "that'd be a raking grand humiliation for his lordship, and no mistake. Though to be honest, I don't
know how you'd beat them grays atall."
    Juliet stiffened. "I drive just as well as Cary. Indeed,
I've beaten him dozens of times when we've raced
in the country, thank you very much, Mr. Bernard
Corcoran."
    Bernard shook his head regretfully. "Aye, but-"
    "And Lord Swale obviously knew himself outmatched," she interrupted him to point out. "Why else
would he hire mercenaries to break Cary's arm? I will
win that race tomorrow, Bernard. I will win it because I have to. I will win it because the honor of the
Wayborns is at stake. I shall be like one of the Furies
of ancient myth."
    "You'd not be content to roast him alive with your
eyes then?" he asked hopefully.
    "No, Bernard, I wouldn't," she said firmly. "Like all
swine, his lordship deserves to be roasted properlyin a fire with the sharp end of a skewer up his backside!" She cleared her throat delicately. "Begging
your pardon for the strong language," she added
without a hint of contrition.

     

Geoffrey Ambler, Marquess of Swale, could not
help his looks, but even the Honorable Mr. Alexander Devize, Swale's