by J M Hemmings
Smiling amicably, she dismounted and walked her horse over to him. She seemed to be possessed of an ease of manner and a subdued exuberance that verged on the flirtatious, yet William immediately sensed that there was more to her than mere charm and beauty. Indeed, just from the look in her eyes, it seemed as if he could tell that in her soul there existed something that mirrored his own fascination with everything surrounding them in this three-dimensional devil’s illusion, this exquisite and vast and nightmarish thing whose name was life.
‘Stable boy,’ she said as she reached him, her features slipping into an expression of understated disdain, ‘do you not stand in the presence of a lady?’
‘I, er, I apologise most um, most sincerely, m’lady,’ he stammered, rising to his feet, and almost tripping over himself in his haste to get up.
‘I wonder if you handle your horse with as much grace as your speech and gait would suggest,’ she teased, a glint of playfulness glimmering in her eyes.
Her lips parted in a sudden flash of a smile; a flirtatious exposing of perfectly straight, ivory white teeth.
‘I, um, I would have you know that I am the best horseman on my master’s estate,’ William declared in response. Something like bravado swelled his breast, and silvers of confidence began to return to his swimming head.
The girl seemed unimpressed, though. She smiled, half-mockingly, and tossed her head, showering her shoulders with a cascade of dark chestnut hair.
‘Oh are you now, stable boy? Better than your master? He is Sir Gordon MacTaggart, is he not?’
‘Aye, and aye!’ William answered, his heart boosting hot courage through his formerly constricted veins.
The girl laughed, and William could have sworn he saw something inviting glimmering in her eyes as she did so. She seemed to enjoy these light-hearted japes, and certainly appeared to delight richly in laughter itself. William, no stranger to witty exchanges of banter, quickly regained his composure, but as he thought of what he had just said, regret splashed a blush of embarrassment across his cheeks.
‘M’lady, I, erm, I must apologise most profusely for my, er, my slight against my master. I, er, I just…’ he spluttered, trailing off into mumbled confusion.
He could not meet her amber eyes; the striking beauty of them was at once too intense and overwhelming.
‘I’ll not tell your master of your slight,’ she said, seemingly unaware of William’s crippling nervousness. ‘This is a fine animal,’ she continued, changing the topic as she ran her fingers over the mane of William’s horse as it drank. ‘Sir MacTaggart breeds them for the Queen’s cavalry regiments, does he not?’
‘Aye, m’lady. This magnificent beast is destined for the battlefields ay Europe. It’s my job tae take care ay em, an’ also tae train ‘em in the arts ay jumping an’ dexterous movement, it is.’
‘The battlefields of Europe,’ she mused. ‘And what would a stable boy know of battlefields, pray tell?’
‘Nowt, m’lady,’ he readily admitted. ‘Nowt but tha’ men become heroes or corpses thereupon.’
Again her lips parted ever so slightly, and in the pits of her dimples and the glimmer of her eyes something beyond mere amusement sparkled.
‘Heroes, or corpses, you say? You strike me as having a poet’s soul.’
Her interest in William appeared to be growing; the girl was evidently a lover of poetry and the beauty of words.
‘I, um, Sir MacTaggart, m’lady, he instructed us in letters, y’see. I know how tae read an’ write, aye, an’ I certainly dae appreciate a good yarn or poem.’
‘Do you now? Perhaps I should hire you as my tutor then. My current master of letters is an abominably boring old creature, and all we ever read are histories of the ancient world and genealogies of lords and ladies.’
William raised his eyebrows with surprise.
‘You dunnae get tae read no novels, m’lady?’
‘Heavens no! My tutor regards novels as base entertainment for common plebeians.’
William blushed visibly at this, and the girl was quick to pick up on it. Her own cheeks then reddened, and it suddenly seemed as if her confidence was perhaps lacking.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said hastily. ‘I honestly meant no offence. I was simply repeating the words of my tutor, with whom I do not agree anyway. I myself firmly believe that all people should be free and equal, liberated from the bonds of the station of their birth in this ridiculously divided society.’
William shrugged and beamed a smile at her.
‘There’s no need tae apologise, m’lady. It’s just how the world is.’
She took her hat off and ran her fingers through her hair before speaking.
‘Let’s talk about novels again, why don’t we? As I mentioned, my tutor is of the opinion that they’re nothing but mind-rot. Do you fill your head with “mind-rot”?’
William felt excitement crackling its sparks within him now that he had the opportunity to converse on a topic with which he was familiar.
‘I suppose I dae, m’lady, although that’s not how I’d refer tae it, exactly. Ye have nae read no Charles Dickens then? He’s a mighty fine storyteller, he is!’
‘I’ve heard his name, but my tutor has nothing but bad things to say about the kind of things he writes,’ she answered, sighing whimsically. ‘You, know I rather envy you. If only I could while away my hours with “mind-rot”, as that ghastly old twit calls it, rather than the inane drudgery of arithmetic, Latin and ancient history.’
‘Tha’ sounds, er, most unpleasant, m’lady.’
Out of the blue, she shot a smouldering look straight into William’s eyes, catching him completely off-guard and sending charged static crackling across the surface of his skin.
‘Call me Aurora, rather.’
‘M’lady?’ stammered William. ‘I er, I couldnae possibly call you by your first name, it would be most disrespectful ay me, I er—’
‘I insist,’ she said firmly, and her tone suggested that there would be no further arguing over this point. ‘And what should I call you, rather than “stable boy”?’
‘My name’s William, m’lady. William Gisborne.’
‘William. I like that name. And honestly, enough of this “m’lady” nonsense. “Aurora”, please!’ she insisted with a smile. ‘Now, as I mentioned earlier I have a rather dire need to, well, to step into the forest for a moment. William, please take Robert’s reins while I, er, you know…’
‘Of course, of course … Aurora. Why, your Robert’s a magnificent beast, he is.’
She handed him the reins, and as she did so her gloved hand brushed his skin, ever so lightly. That millisecond of physical contact was enough to jolt liquid fire through his body with the abrupt violence of a gunpowder keg exploding. He gasped involuntarily and hoped that she hadn’t noticed the damning redness of his cheeks as a blush spread across them; his usual effortless confidence seemed to have all but deserted him.
‘Robert was a gift from my father for my sixteenth birthday last October,’ she remarked, showing no indication of having noticed the crimson hue of William’s face.
‘A fine gift indeed, m’lady,’ William mumbled awkwardly as Aurora turned on her heels and strolled with casual grace into the trees.
He could not help but stare after her as she went, noticing the slimness of her arms and the straightness of her back beneath her tight-fitting riding blouse. Her buttocks and long legs were hidden beneath the billowing folds of her long dress, but it took little imagination on William’s part to conjure a rather vivid picture of how exquisite they must have looked. Her dark hair, tumbling its silky, wavy length down her back, shimmered in the honeyed sunlight as she moved, majestic and full as any lion’s mane.
William’s heart raced, but at the same time a strange dryness parched the inside of his mouth. Even after Aurora had disappeared into the trees the image of her angelic face remained, burned behind his eyes, indelible as tattooed ink beneath the skin. Over and over he heard the
sound of her voice ringing in his mind, her every syllable resounding with a perfect musical pitch, and whether his eyes were open or closed, a vision of her entrancing, almost bronze-coloured eyes hovered before him in a glorious mirage. He closed his own eyes and breathed in deeply of the chilly forest air, drinking in its earthy essence and wallowing in both the bliss of his surroundings and the afterglow of her presence, letting time creep along like sap oozing from a slow-bleeding tree.
‘William?’
‘I, er, uh, m’lady?’ he spluttered as her voice jolted him back to the present.
‘I’ll need the reins if I am to take Robert.’
‘Apologies m’lady,’ he stammered, thrusting the reins with nervous clumsiness into her hands.
‘It’s “Aurora”, remember?’ she replied with a bemused grin. ‘Not “m’lady”. Please, no more of that.’
‘Er, yes, yes Aurora.’
‘You must understand, William, that I’ve had quite enough of all of these put-on manners and forced etiquette and insincere graces,’ she declared with a sad sigh. ‘That’s why I came out here for a ride, as long a ride as I could take, far longer than my father would ever allow me to go, if he knew … to escape all of that humbug for a time. And what a time it has been! The forest is such a magical place, is it not?’
‘It’s one ay m’ favourite places, tae be quite sure.’
She looked up at the sky and then across the tops of the trees, drinking in the sight of their sun-blazed tips burning like an ocean of candles against the pre-dusk sky.
‘I shall have to bring my paints and easel out here sometime to capture this beauty. The way this light falls through the canopy of leaves from above, and rests upon the carpet of leaves below—’
‘Like a gentle drizzle ay’ molten gold, it neither burns nor sears, for this light is cool, though no’ yet cold; Father Sun’s gift ay’ his flaming tears, for soon will he sink intae the fire, the western horizon’s funeral pyre.’
Somehow William had found and gripped a sliver of courage; a force deep within him had brought up these words of poetry, and he had been able to utter them with a calm, intense sincerity. Aurora, despite having been interrupted mid-sentence, stood in silence, staring intently into William’s eyes. For a few terrifying seconds he could not discern whether it was awe or indignation that fired her gaze, but then a delighted smile broke out across her lips and put his worries to rest.
‘You are a poet, William! Why, that was most exquisite!’ she exclaimed, genuinely impressed. ‘Is it one of your own compositions?’
‘Aye, it is,’ he replied, unable to suppress a shy smile dusted with glowing pride. ‘And it pleases me greatly tae know that you like it.’
‘I adore it, William. I honestly do!’
Their eyes met for a brief moment, and each held the other’s gaze fast. Each also felt a reciprocity of blazing energy travelling back and forth, from grey eyes to amber eyes and then back again, probing gently into the depths of the cloaked soul beneath. Aurora was the first to disengage; this was fortunate for William, for he was not sure if he could disengage.
‘As much as I enjoy your poetry, William, the hour grows late and I must return, lest father begins to worry. And he does worry so, very unnecessarily, I may add, when I return late,’ she continued, rolling her eyes melodramatically. ‘Farewell! Perhaps we shall meet again.’
‘I … I…’ he stammered as she mounted her horse, the awkwardness returning to him in a paralysing rush.
Panic dug its freezing shards of shrapnel into his flesh as she wheeled her horse around, and a flighty desperation took hold of him. He understood the sheer impossibility of the fantasy he was entertaining in his mind, but something forcefully insistent was screaming through the wall of doubt that he must not let her go.
‘Wait m’lady!’
‘It’s Aurora, silly!’ she laughed, flashing him a beguiling smile over her shoulder.
‘Aurora,’ he said, speaking her name with a nervous reluctance that was nonetheless bolstered with quiet confidence and resilience, ‘allow me tae escort ye back to your father’s estate. Please m’lady. There … there, um, there has been talk ay a great wolf in these woods, y’see,’ he lied.
‘A wolf, William? There have been no wolves in these woods for a hundred years!’
‘Aye, tha’s what most people think,’ he continued, his cheeks reddening to a deep crimson. ‘But the woodsmen at Sir MacTaggart’s estate ha’ been talking ay having seen one in recent weeks. A big, mean-looking monster, aye. I couldnae let you ride unescorted through these darkening woods with the risk ay wolves about, m’lady.’
‘Really William?’ she asked with a sceptically raised eyebrow, and a deepening of her delectable dimples. ‘And how would you protect me, should we come across this savage wolf of the woods? You have neither musket nor sword on your person.’
‘Why, I’d offer m’self tae the wolf. He could eat me while you got away!’
Aurora chortled at this, and the deep orange afternoon light danced in her faery eyes.
‘You are quite the epitome of chivalry, William! But would Sir MacTaggart not be most upset should you return well after dark with one of his horses? My father’s estate is six leagues from here, and that will take you very far from your home.’
‘That doesnae matter. It is my duty as a gentleman tae escort you safely home. I, well, apologies, m’lady, as you can see I’m no esquire, just a lowly stable hand, but Sir MacTaggart has done his best tae instil some manners intae the likes ay me.’
‘I do not wish to have your inevitable punishment hanging over my head, William, and I shall be quite all right to make it home on my own. This is by no means my first ride in these woods.’
Desperation once again stabbed through William’s belly with the unbending force of a lance.
‘I insist, Aurora. Please,’ he pleaded.
An inviting sparkle danced in her eyes.
‘Well, if you insist, I suppose that I cannot deter you. Come, we must depart at once then, for the sun is already beginning to sink low in the sky.’
‘At once, as you command!’ William cried. With nimble agility he sprang onto his horse, eliciting a gasp of surprise and an impressed giggle from Aurora.
‘You are quite the horseman!’
‘‘It was no idle boast!’ William replied, grinning broadly as confidence bloomed within him. ‘I’m the finest horseman ay Sir MacTaggart’s estate!’
‘Well you certainly have some skill in mounting a horse … but what of the riding of one?’
‘I’ll show you, Aurora! Which way lies your father’s estate?’
‘South, along the course of this stream.’
‘Then south I’ll go! Catch me if you can!’
William took off at a gallop, whooping with glee as he did, and Aurora laughed and spurred her own horse on behind him. He raced through the forest at full tilt, leaping his mare over rocks and fallen logs, ducking and dodging the branches and twigs that slashed like sabres and lunged like bayonets at his face and body. Raw exhilaration fuelled his joyously hammering heart, like some eager steam engine stoked with the finest grade coal, the sensation amplified by the heady, carefree ecstasy and exuberance of youth, and he let out a wordless shout of unbridled joy as the wind battered his chest and face and rippled through his hair.
Of his friends, the former chimney sweeps who had been sent to Sir MacTaggart’s estate, William had turned out to be the best rider of the bunch. He had taken to riding like a duck to water, and nowhere did he feel more alive, carefree and energised than when he was tearing along at breakneck speed on horseback. Sir MacTaggart had noticed the boy’s talent from an early age, and had given him special privileges with regards to the horses, eventually making him head of the stables and allowing him the freedom to ride where he liked once a week.
After a few minutes of furious charging through the trees, William came to a section of the forest where the stream split in two. Here both watercourse
s broadened and deepened; the horse would have to plunge through the water, which looked as if it would come up to its flanks.
‘Aurora’s dress’ll get soaked, it will,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Aurora,’ he called as he turned to look behind him. ‘I—’
There was nothing behind him, however, but the long, shifting shadows thrown by the dying light.
Oh no … William, you half-wit! You’ve gone and left the poor lass behind with your bloody stupid pell-mell riding!
He turned his mare around and sped back in the direction from whence he had come, peering frantically through the falling gloom to try to catch whatever glimpse he could of Aurora.
‘Aurora!’ he shouted hoarsely as he rode. ‘Aurora!’
He crested a rise in the land, and a wash of relief immediately slowed his magma-pumping heart as he caught sight of her. He sprang off his horse, landing with acrobatic ease on the stony ground, and then knelt down and bowed his head low as she approached.
‘M’lady … I, I must apologise most profusely. It was a terribly ungentlemanly thing for me tae dae, gallopin’ off like that like a hound after a hare. I beg your forgiveness.’
She reined her horse up next to him, removed one of her feet from a stirrup and presented her boot to him.
‘Kiss my foot stable boy, and all will be forgiven.’
‘It would be the greatest honour ay me life tae kiss your boot, for a simple fellow such as m’self,’ he responded. At once he rose, and with trembling hands he cradled her boot and brought his lips down to kiss the leather.
‘William!’ she exclaimed, jerking her foot out of his hands. ‘It was but a jest! I’ll not have you kissing my boot.’
He fell to his knees, and a tightness wrapped its iron fingers around his throat.
‘Aye,’ he replied softly. ‘I know, m’lady. One such as m’self is unworthy ay … ay an empress like you. I should ne’er hae presumed tae … oh, crikey, I feel like such a fool now…’
