Lord Augustus

by Mary Kingswood

  He had no wish to approach the stables just yet, so he stopped to lean on a rail and admire a particularly fine pair of mares, their foals gambolling energetically. He had not been there long when a small man in a well-fitted coat and polished top boots approached him.

  “Help you, sir?”

  “Thank you, but I am just admiring these fillies. Excellent bearing, and the foals look promising, too. Lord Augustus Marford.”

  “Ah, thought so. Johnny Waterbury, head groom here. Very kind of you to speak so well of our handiwork, my lord.”

  “This is a larger enterprise than I had supposed. How many mares do you have?”

  “Forty three at present, my lord, and seven stallions, all individually chosen by the marquess, may God rest his soul.” His voice wavered as he spoke. “Had a ten-year plan for breeding, to enhance the speed and stamina, and at an earlier age than the common way. This is his lordship’s life’s work, here in these fields, my lord. A tragedy — that’s what it is. To cut a man off in his prime like that, before his work here is done. A tragedy.”

  “My clergyman brother would say that one should not question God’s will in such matters,” Gus said gently.

  “Indeed, and I do not question it,” Waterbury said. “I grieve for the loss of a good man, as anyone would do who knew him as I did. But the horses… everything we have worked towards… to be destroyed and cast aside as if all of it were nothing. And then there will be no memorial to him, my lord. Once the horses are gone, and the grooms have left, and everything is shut up… why, there will be no memory of him, and it will be as if he had never lived.”

  ~~~~~

  After a hasty breakfast with Edgerton, the two men paid a more formal visit to the stables, and were shown the stalls and feed stores, the workers’ accommodation and the office, where the marquess had kept his stud records and plans for future breeding. His notebooks spread over shelf after shelf of the bookcase, each filled with the marquess’s neat hand, recording the history of every horse, its strengths and possible weaknesses, and potential matings between the fastest horses.

  “Where did they all come from, these horses?” Gus asked Waterbury. “For they did not pass through Tattersall’s, that much is certain. Darrowstone bought a few hunters there, but no racing stock.”

  “These are all northern-born horses,” he said. “Used to the weather here, and not bothered by a bit of snow. That’ll give them an advantage when they go south to race, or so his lordship reckoned.”

  “An interesting idea,” Gus said. “Do you not agree, Edgerton?”

  “It may be so, who can tell? Are you going to read those books all day, Marford, or might we make a start on listing the stock?”

  “Of course. Might I look at these another time, Waterbury? There is much to interest me here, and I should like to understand Darrowstone’s philosophy.”

  Edgerton laughed. “Philosophy? Truly? In horse breeding?”

  “Why not? To put it in less grandiose terms, I should like to know how the marquess was thinking as he chose which horses to buy, and which mare to put to which stallion. I have not had much to do with stud work before, and it intrigues me. But I shall read these when I am at leisure. By all means let us make a start.”

  For three days, they industriously examined every single horse owned by the late marquess, inspecting teeth, lifting feet to examine hooves and running expert hands over flanks and rumps and manes. Then, in a notebook of his own, Gus wrote down the horse’s details and Edgerton’s valuation. Gus had not been at Tattersall’s long enough to be trusted with this important aspect of the work, and since the horses were auctioned he could not quite see the point of it. They fetched whatever price a buyer was prepared to put up, and that was an end to it. But in this case there was a point, because the very best animals would be walked all the way to London to be sold to the wealthiest stud owners. The rest would most likely be sold locally, for lower prices. Yet as he looked around at the lush paddocks and gleaming coats of the well-cared-for occupants, he was aware of a pang of regret that such a carefully devised enterprise should be broken apart.

  The morning of the fourth day was spent laboriously writing a long missive to Tattersall’s, detailing their findings.

  “Now we must wait and see what they say,” Edgerton said, as they emerged from small inn room that acted as the local post office. “We have a few days at leisure now until further instructions arrive. Shall we begin our investigation of High Morton’s public houses? Or something livelier, perhaps? Do you not wonder what these northern women are like?”

  “I shall stretch Jupiter’s legs, I think,” Gus said. “It is too long since he was given a run.”

  “Pfft, let your groom exercise him.”

  “No one rides him but me. He is too evil-tempered to leave to the grooms.”

  “What a strange fellow you are, to prefer your horses to the company of womankind,” Edgerton said. “Well, the loss is yours. We may compare our afternoons this evening, and we shall see then which of us has had the pleasanter time.” And with a cheery wave, he disappeared down the main street.

  Gus hastened back to the castle, his spirits rising with every step. At last! He was so accustomed to riding every day, that the loss was keenly felt, especially here where the country was open and wild and calling to him. From now on, a ride every day would be an absolute necessity. He ordered the horse saddled and went to change. When he returned to the castle stables, he heard the commotion even from outside.

  Jupiter was still in his stall, snorting and kicking up his heels. Three grooms were holding his head, while Gus’s own two grooms tightened his girth and made final adjustments to the bridle.

  “He’s terrible wild, milord,” Fred Carson, one of his grooms, said.

  “So I see. Where is the best place to let him burn off his megrims?”

  “There’s an exercise track around the edge o’ the stud fields, milord. Or through the southern gate to the gallops on the cliffs.”

  “That is no good. I dare not take him anywhere near the stud horses. He will wreak havoc in this mood, jumping all the fences into the paddocks and terrifying the foals. Nor can I go west, through the town. What is through the eastern gate?”

  “A steep path to the beach, milord.”

  “That will never do, either.”

  “Beyond t’northern gate is woods, milord,” one of the other grooms said. “Very quiet, no one goes that way much, these days. Too many gates to jump or open, but ye’ll not regard that, I reckon.”

  “No, a gate is no obstacle to Jupiter. Right, to the north it is then.” He swung himself into the saddle, as the horse reared and then kicked again. “None of that nonsense! Easy, now. Very well, stand away and open the gate.”

  As soon as he was released, Jupiter shot out of his stall and towards the open door. Gus knew better than to try anything clever with him except to point him in the right direction, and that was enough of a challenge to keep him fully occupied for some minutes. At first the beast seemed determined to head for the sea, and it took all Gus’s strength to dissuade him from the notion. But at length he got the animal pointing towards the north, and let him have his head. They raced out from the encircling trees into the open park, Jupiter still snorting and tossing his head, but eventually he settled to the gallop. Ahead, another belt of trees hid the northern gate, but the gravel drive pointed the way, and the symmetry of the castle was such that Gus knew exactly what he would find — a small lodge with a hedged garden, and the high gate standing wide open.

  Except that it was closed.

  Jupiter burst out of the trees not twenty yards from the great iron gates, skidded to a stop, reared and whinnied in rage. Spinning as he dropped down, he reared again, and when that did not answer, began to kick his heels.

  “Gate!” Gus yelled, trying desperately to hold on as the horse reared again. “Gate, dammit!”

  A small figure in an apron bobbed up from behind the hedge, where she had presumabl
y been weeding. She dashed out of the lodge gardens, and raced to pull open the gate. Before one side was even half open, Jupiter bolted for the gap, still snorting and kicking. The figure screamed, so close that the sound echoed in Gus’s head and then, somehow, the horse had squeezed through and was away, galloping as if the devil was on his tail.

  For a while, Gus simply hung on, happy to let the beast expend his energy. Besides, there was only one route, a wide track under high trees, with no risk of a low-hanging branch. The thud of hooves on the soft earth and the horse’s heavy breathing were the only sounds. They came upon a low wall, with a five-barred gate set into it, but Jupiter sailed over it without breaking stride. Not much further on was another gate, and then a third, but the horse never faltered. Gradually, both horse and rider settled into a steady rhythm, and Gus laughed out loud in exhilaration. Oh, the joy of a fast horse! There was no feeling on earth to beat it.

  Gradually, as his concentration was needed less on his mount and his thoughts were free to wander, he remembered the small figure in the apron, and that piercing scream. Had she been hurt? Was she even now lying unconscious, or even dead, before the gates? But there was nothing to be done about it, for there was no point trying to turn Jupiter until he had released the first burst of energy.

  The trees thinned and the ground began to rise. The track forked, but Gus let the horse choose its own way and before long they emerged from the woods onto open grassland, longer tufts swept by the salty breeze. For there to the east was the sea, a dull grey today, seabirds wheeling over the cliffs. And a little way ahead, the craggy ruins of the original Castle Morton, a couple of towers still standing in obstinate defiance of the corroding sea and wind.

  Jupiter slowed and Gus reined him to a halt, gazing about him. Beyond the castle ruins, the land dropped away again and he longed to explore, to see if the cliffs hid a sheltered cove, or a fishing village, or perhaps, on the far horizon, the smoky haze of some great town. Instead he turned and trotted the horse back the way they had come, jumping the gates more circumspectly now. The great iron gates beside the northern lodge stood wide open, and to Gus’s relief no crumpled figure lay beside them.

  He loosely wrapped Jupiter’s reins around the bars of one gate, for he was docile enough not to wander now, and knocked at the front door of the lodge. Within moments the door opened and a face peeped out at him, then, recognising him, the door opened fully to reveal the aproned figure he had seen before.

  He had not had time to observe her previously, but now he saw a slender young woman, wearing a matron’s cap although she was not much above twenty. She was pretty, too, with a heart-shaped face and wide blue eyes.

  “I am come to proffer my apologies,” Gus said. “Are you uninjured? My horse did not kick you?”

  “Oh, no, sir! I was well able to jump aside, and your horse was not close enough to hurt me. I beg your pardon for screaming, but his abrupt movements startled me and it just burst out, you see.” To his surprise, her accent was good. He had expected the lodgekeeper’s wife to be a local woman, of low standing, but, now that he looked more closely, he realised that her clothes, though simple, were of good quality.

  “That is entirely understandable, under the circumstances,” Gus said, tempted to smile at the serious manner with which she apologised for screaming when faced with a bolting horse. “He is an evil beast when he has been kept indoors for a few days. I should have screamed myself, in your position.”

  She giggled at this, raising a corner of her apron to hide her mouth. “But he is a beautiful creature, sir! I wish more such might pass this way, for there is nothing like a fine horse at a gallop for raising the spirits. One cannot repine when there is such magnificence in the world. What is his name?”

  This was so much in accordance with Gus’s own feelings on the matter that he smiled at her in delight. She was clearly a woman of excellent perception. “Jupiter, and mine is Lord Augustus Marford.”

  “Oh!” The apron rose again, this time to hide her confusion. She bobbed a curtsy. “Beg pardon, my lord. I did not realise.”

  “How should you, indeed? May I have the honour to know whom I am addressing?”

  She coloured at his politeness, and bobbed another curtsy. “Mrs Edward Walsh, my lord.”

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Walsh, and I am happy that you have taken no hurt from our first encounter. I plan to ride each morning at eight from now on, so it might be best to leave the gates open at that time.”

  “Indeed I will, my lord.”

  Gus made his farewell, and rode Jupiter at a more moderate pace back to the stables, wondering how a well-bred woman came to be living in a Castle Morton lodge, and what cause she might have to repine when there were no horses for her to admire.

  But when he mentioned her name to the duke that evening, he sneered and said only, “A charity case. One has to do something for these poor foolish creatures.”

  After that, he would say no more about her, and Gus could only assume that she was a distant relative who had fallen on hard times, perhaps married beneath her. But it puzzled him, all the same.

  4: Two Dinners

  Gus was restless. A fast ride on Jupiter usually burnt away any petty worries and left him feeling full of life. That evening, he ached all over from struggling to control the horse, the duke’s company had been even more boring than usual, and Edgerton had finally returned close to midnight, very much the worse for drink and insufferably pleased with himself.

  “It seems to me that your afternoon was a lot less… relaxing than mine,” Edgerton said with a smug grin. “Wrestling with that fiend of a horse of yours, a dull ride in the woods, and then a terribly civil conversation with some servant or other… you are such a slow-top, Marford. Was she pretty, this gatekeeper’s wife? Maybe I should go and call, eh?”

  “Leave her alone, Edgerton,” Gus said, sharply. “I cannot say who she is, but her accent proclaims her gentry, at least.”

  “Oh ho, so is that how it is?” Edgerton said, winking. “Very well, dear boy, she is all yours.”

  “You are drunk and offensive, and one can only hope that both states will be improved by a night’s sleep,” Gus said. Edgerton only laughed.

  But the next morning Gus woke refreshed and leapt from his bed as enthusiastically as usual. He had given instructions the previous day, so Jupiter was saddled and ready for him when he reached the stables. The horse still reared once and kicked out twice, but Gus could tell it was more for form’s sake, because the creature felt it was expected of him and he had a reputation to maintain as the meanest horse in any stable.

  This time it took no more than a tweak of the reins to persuade the horse to head north, and although he put his head down for the gallop, it was not the mad headlong chase of the day before. Through the copse, Jupiter slowed of his own accord, the memory of the previous day still in his mind, no doubt. But there was the little lodge with its trim garden, and beyond it the gates stood wide open. Jupiter needed no urging, for he snorted and sped up, his own pleasure in the ride just as great as Gus’s.

  This time they took the other fork, away from the ruined castle, and found themselves in a wide meadow filled with the purple fronds of rose bay willow herb. Jupiter cantered on contentedly until they came to farmland and a view over a wide river valley, housing what looked like a thriving township of mills and manufactories. Not wanting to broach the farmer’s crops, Gus turned aside on a rutted farm track that led him by a circuitous route back to the ruined castle, where he turned for home.

  When he reached the lodge, the young wife was there, hanging washing on a line between two apple trees. She turned at the sound of their approach, and dropped into a curtsy.

  “Good day to you, Mrs Walsh,” Gus called, reining Jupiter to a halt. “A fine day for a washing.”

  “Good day, my lord. Indeed it is, and a fine day for riding. Did you go all the way through the woods? There is a splendid view of the old castle from the far end.”
>
  “Indeed I did. I went first a little inland, to a place with a view of a mill town.”

  “Oh, that would be Drifford!” she said, clapping her hands together excitedly. “That is where I lived, before… before I came here.” Her animation slid away, and he wondered again about her history, and whether what had happened before was what caused her to repine.

  “It looks a prosperous place,” he said, but when she did not answer, he went on, “Then I rode past farms and came in time to the ruins on the cliff. A bleak place it seems to me. Who would want to live in such a situation?”

  “Anyone who had an interest in keeping the savage Scots at bay, I should imagine,” she said, with such a twinkle in her eyes that he laughed out loud.

  “That would have been a powerful motivator,” he said. “I am thankful we no longer have to worry about the wild men of the north coming down upon us, be they the Scots or the Vikings. Let us be glad that we live in civilised times.”

  “Are we civilised? I suspect we have some way to go yet. But do not let me detain you with my chatter, my lord. The breeze is quite cool so early in the day, and I should never forgive myself if Jupiter were to take a chill.”

  He gave a small bow as he made his farewell, and she bobbed another curtsy. He wheeled the horse and trotted slowly off, his mind pondering her words. Why would she feel the world was uncivilised, and what had happened to her… before?

  ~~~~~

  That evening, the duke was not alone. Gus almost jumped in astonishment at the sight of a lady sitting in a chair opposite the duke, the chair that Gus had almost come to regard as his own. She was in her thirties, so thin and pale of complexion that in her white muslin gown she looked like a veritable ghost.

  “Ah, there you are, Marford. Come and meet my daughter-in-law. Edith, this is Carrbridge’s brother.”

  She nodded politely. “Lord Augustus.”