Page 70 of A Duchess to Fight For
Victor came and auctioned off the horse. The gentlemen standing in front of the stall were unenthusiastic.
Victor knew Frederick had neutralized his auction, and Frederick took any gains Barton would have made away from him. There was nothing he could do about it.
When the long day was over, Cecil found Frederick at the carthorse stall. “A success?” he asked.
“Yes,” Frederick replied. “The men were reluctant to jump in. Come, let’s go out to the warehouse. We’ll wait for Hobart there.”
When all the horses listed for auction had finally been paid for and claimed by their new owner, Hobart no longer observed in the open. He had spent his downtime looking into corners and gaps in the wood for places he could hide.
Barton was pacing in a circle down an empty aisle of stalls waiting for Victor to finish with his customers. Hobart hid behind a group of stalls that had slats of wood missing. He waited, hoping he was at Victor’s meeting place.
Hobart observed that Barton got more agitated as the time he was made to wait wore on. He also observed the number of transactions Victor needed to handle. Of course it would take time. He couldn’t quite understand Barton’s impatience.
While they both waited, Hobart saw Barton continued to pace while occasionally throwing in a kick to the wood of the stalls. He also observed Barton’s poorly executed throw of an empty bucket that caused Hobart to believe the man never threw a ball as a child.
He saw Barton turn and throw up his hands. “What took you so long? I’ve been back here for hours.”
“You haven’t been back here for hours. The place just closed,” Victor said. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “I asked you to talk up two horses. Just two horses. And I took a loss on both of them.”
“I had unwelcome company at both stalls. Frederick Haddington and Percy Sinclair put doubt in the minds of the customers. When they were done, no one wanted to have anything to do with the horses.”
Victor raised his voice. “You are the one who is supposed to talk up the horse. You should have been able to overcome any objection. What are you here for if you can’t help?”
Barton shook his head. “I’m leaving now. Give me my money,” he said with his hand out.
“Your money?” Victor said and then laughed. “You owe me.”
“Pardon me, but I owe you nothing. Give me my money.”
“Barton, the gelding brought us up eight thousand, but the mare brought us down four thousand, and the carthorse brought us down five thousand. You owe me money.”
Barton threw his arms up in the air and began to leave, “I owe you nothing.”
Victor watched him go and shook his head. “God help me if he is beginning to unravel.”
Hobart heard his footsteps recede then left the property through the woods surrounding the east side. He went straight to the warehouse.
Sitting in his office chair with a whisky in hand, Hobart told Frederick, Percy, Cecil, and Kent what he heard. When he was finished and the men had wiped their stupid grins off their faces, he spoke.
“There’s something wrong here. Something we don’t know between those two. Barton sounded too desperate, and Victor seemed to treat him like a child or worse, someone you would talk to that way that belongs in bedlam. Barton was counting on that money. Except for today, they must make a lot of it for Victor to put up with Barton.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Barton was short on money. But he can afford to buy and so I’m wrong. The whole thing doesn’t make sense.
“Victor didn’t push Barton for the money he thinks Barton owed him. How much money could Barton make on a Sunday auction talking up horses? Must be enough to get him to stand around horse stalls every Sunday.”
Percy spoke, “So, our plan worked. We accomplished what we set out to do, and now we have more questions than answers?”
“That about covers it,” Frederick said.
