Nevertheless, Dennis, and no doubt his cohorts too, backed Eclipse to distance Pensioner, placing âlarge sumsâ at 7-4 and 6-4. Eclipse landed the gamble.
As noted earlier, Kingâs Plates were the most valuable races in the Turf calendar, private matches apart. Even so, owners were starting to see little point in challenging for them if it meant racing against Eclipse. He walked over the course for the 100guinea prize at Guildford (5 June); he journeyed north, to Nottingham, and walked over there (3 July); then he headed further north, to York, for the hat-trick (20 August).We can picture him on his journey, perhaps with two grooms by his side. He is a national celebrity, and as he and his companions pass by inns on the route, proprietors and their customers come out to see him. At the inns where they stop each night, the senior groom gets a bed while the junior sleeps with the horse, to keep him safe.
At last, at York on 23 August, Eclipse met some competition,and recorded his most impressive victory. It should have been one of Dennisâs finest hours. Instead, he was in disgrace.
Late one night at Blewittâs Inn in York, Dennis was apprehended after disturbing in her bed a certain Miss Swinburne, whose screaming had wakened the house. Miss Swinburne was the daughter of a distinguished local citizen, a Catholic baronet. To compromise her honour was a serious affront.
The August issue of Town & Country magazine carried the titillating news, dating it 27 July: âA certain nominal Irish count, it is said, forced himself into a young ladyâs bedchamber in the night, at York, in the race-week, for which offence he has been apprehended and committed to York castle.â In its next issue, Town & Country amplified the story. âThe renowned Count Kâ, owner of âthe celebrated Eclipseâ, had passed the evening, and early hours of the morning too, at the coffee house, playing the dice game hazard. Returning tipsily to his hotel, he found his room locked. His solution to this problem was to barge the door open, only to discover, in what he had expected to be an empty bed, Miss Swinburne, terrified out of sleep by his crashing entrance. Typically, Dennis saw this as a delightful opportunity, and made a soothing overture.
âTis all one to me, my dear, â he gallantly averred. âSure we may lie here very cosily till morning.â
This proposal was the opposite of soothing for Miss Swinburne, who leaped out of bed and fled into the corridor, ânaked as she wasâ, yelling in horror. Fellow lodgers came to her aid. Realizing at last that to salvage this situation was beyond his powers of charm, Dennis retreated to his room, where he constructed a makeshift barricade. Miss Swinburneâs rescuers gathered outside the door, broke through his defences, and seized him.
The author of The Genuine Memoirs of Dennis OâKelly enjoyed himself when he got to this episode. His account had Dennis, onarriving in his room, drawing back the silken curtain of his bed, finding Miss Swinburne there, and gazing âwith astonishment and delightâ on her countenance. âThe chisel of Bonerotto! [ sic ] The pencil of Corregio! [ sic ] Never formed more captivating charms. For some time our hero stood, like Cymon, the celebrated clown, when he first beheld the beauties of the sleeping Ephigenia.â Dennis looked around for some means of identifying the intruder, but found only âa fashionable riding-dress, a watch, without any particular mark of distinction, and the other common accommodations of womenâ. Then, in what is one of the less credible passages of a generally unreliable book, Dennis became suspicious: what if this woman had heard about his vast winnings at the meeting and was out to use her feminine wiles to rob him? Drink exacerbated the dark thoughts typical of the late hour, and Dennis began shouting accusations at Miss Swinburne. When she shouted in
As noted earlier, Kingâs Plates were the most valuable races in the Turf calendar, private matches apart. Even so, owners were starting to see little point in challenging for them if it meant racing against Eclipse. He walked over the course for the 100guinea prize at Guildford (5 June); he journeyed north, to Nottingham, and walked over there (3 July); then he headed further north, to York, for the hat-trick (20 August).We can picture him on his journey, perhaps with two grooms by his side. He is a national celebrity, and as he and his companions pass by inns on the route, proprietors and their customers come out to see him. At the inns where they stop each night, the senior groom gets a bed while the junior sleeps with the horse, to keep him safe.
At last, at York on 23 August, Eclipse met some competition,and recorded his most impressive victory. It should have been one of Dennisâs finest hours. Instead, he was in disgrace.
Late one night at Blewittâs Inn in York, Dennis was apprehended after disturbing in her bed a certain Miss Swinburne, whose screaming had wakened the house. Miss Swinburne was the daughter of a distinguished local citizen, a Catholic baronet. To compromise her honour was a serious affront.
The August issue of Town & Country magazine carried the titillating news, dating it 27 July: âA certain nominal Irish count, it is said, forced himself into a young ladyâs bedchamber in the night, at York, in the race-week, for which offence he has been apprehended and committed to York castle.â In its next issue, Town & Country amplified the story. âThe renowned Count Kâ, owner of âthe celebrated Eclipseâ, had passed the evening, and early hours of the morning too, at the coffee house, playing the dice game hazard. Returning tipsily to his hotel, he found his room locked. His solution to this problem was to barge the door open, only to discover, in what he had expected to be an empty bed, Miss Swinburne, terrified out of sleep by his crashing entrance. Typically, Dennis saw this as a delightful opportunity, and made a soothing overture.
âTis all one to me, my dear, â he gallantly averred. âSure we may lie here very cosily till morning.â
This proposal was the opposite of soothing for Miss Swinburne, who leaped out of bed and fled into the corridor, ânaked as she wasâ, yelling in horror. Fellow lodgers came to her aid. Realizing at last that to salvage this situation was beyond his powers of charm, Dennis retreated to his room, where he constructed a makeshift barricade. Miss Swinburneâs rescuers gathered outside the door, broke through his defences, and seized him.
The author of The Genuine Memoirs of Dennis OâKelly enjoyed himself when he got to this episode. His account had Dennis, onarriving in his room, drawing back the silken curtain of his bed, finding Miss Swinburne there, and gazing âwith astonishment and delightâ on her countenance. âThe chisel of Bonerotto! [ sic ] The pencil of Corregio! [ sic ] Never formed more captivating charms. For some time our hero stood, like Cymon, the celebrated clown, when he first beheld the beauties of the sleeping Ephigenia.â Dennis looked around for some means of identifying the intruder, but found only âa fashionable riding-dress, a watch, without any particular mark of distinction, and the other common accommodations of womenâ. Then, in what is one of the less credible passages of a generally unreliable book, Dennis became suspicious: what if this woman had heard about his vast winnings at the meeting and was out to use her feminine wiles to rob him? Drink exacerbated the dark thoughts typical of the late hour, and Dennis began shouting accusations at Miss Swinburne. When she shouted in
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