by Lou Kuenzler
“I wonder what your name is?” I whispered, letting him get used to the sound of my voice. “Maybe Ebony? Or Midnight? Just plain old Blackie, perhaps?” No. None of these seemed quite right. It would have to be something grand and beautiful. I had never seen a horse like him.
Still whispering, I ran my hand down his leg. He seemed to trust me at last and obediently lifted his hoof as I unlooped the tangled rein.
“There, that’s better isn’t it?” I said, holding the loose reins like a rope. I kept one hand close to the bit in his mouth. But, as soon as I tried to lead him forward, I realized we would have to do something about the saddle too. It was still hanging upside down underneath his belly.
I took one hand from the reins and patted his neck, moving gently towards his back. I had to stretch up to reach. He was so much bigger than Merrylegs. Fifteen or nearly sixteen hands perhaps. He was only a little smaller than Father’s hunter, Magnum, but of a much lighter build.
I patted his back and sides all around the upside-down saddle, stroking and soothing him. He turned his head to watch but didn’t shy away.
At last, I was brave enough to give a tug, but the saddle wouldn’t shift. I would have to try and unfasten it instead. As I pulled aside the leather flap I saw what had made the saddle slip in the first place. The strap holding the girth was almost frayed right through and hanging by just a few strong threads. I fumbled with the buckle.
Thump! The saddle hit the ground. The big black horse sprung forward again in fright. But I still had hold of the reins.
“Steady,” I coaxed, stretching out my hand until he let me rub his nose again. “You’re not a fighter, I can see that. You’ve had a fright. But look – now that silly old saddle is gone.”
I glanced across the big field towards the stable block where the men were watching.
“Well done, lad,” called one of them and I smiled to myself. I had almost forgotten I looked like a boy.
“Come on then,” I said, leaving the saddle lying in the mud and walking the magnificent horse beside me. “Time to take you back home.”
Everyone had said Squire Gordon had a fine stable at Birtwick Park. But I had never dreamed of a horse as magnificent as this.
Chapter Nine
I was heading down the field, leading the big horse as placidly as a lamb when I saw Mr Manly waving his arms. He had joined the group of men on the other side of a long stone wall which ran between us.
“Well done there, young fellow!” he called out, breathing hard from running. He had no idea who I was, of course, or that just ten minutes ago I had been hiding beneath his load of hay. “It is a great service you have done us,” he hollered over the wall. I gave him what I hoped was a boyish grin, not daring to speak.
“Quite so,” boomed a well-spoken man in pale riding breeches who I assumed must be Squire Gordon himself. “But I am afraid there is no gate down here, lad. You cannot get him home this way.” He pointed to the high stone wall between us. The horse must have jumped it when he bolted. It was sharp and jagged. I glanced at his legs and ran my hand softly along his belly. He was lucky not to have cut himself to shreds on the way over.
“It would be best if you could bring him round by the lane. There is a gate just beyond that little wood in the far corner of the field.” Mr Manly raised his arm, pointing towards a group of trees behind me.
“We’d be most obliged if you could bring him home that way, young chap,” added the squire.
I grinned like a jack-o’-lantern. They had called me lad and fellow and now young chap. They were convinced I was a boy! If I could just bring the squire’s horse home safely, surely I could at least ask about the stable job…
“Right away,” I answered, surprised how loud and deep my voice sounded as I tried my best to holler like a farmer’s son.
“He’s a big horse, but he won’t hurt you,” called Mr Manly. “Don’t worry about Black Beauty. He’s as good as gold.”
“Black Beauty!” I smiled, stroking the white star in the middle of the horse’s forehead. “Of course that is your name. It is perfect.”
I turned his head, ready to walk back across the field. I was afraid he might dig his hooves in as I tried to lead him in the opposite direction to home. But he seemed to trust me. I clicked my tongue and he followed without even a tug on the reins.
“Thank you, Black Beauty,” I whispered, glowing inside. “Let’s get you back to Birtwick. We’re going to be the very best of friends, I am sure.”
We walked calmly back across the field and slipped behind the wood, out of sight of the stables.
“Stupid knot!” I must have tugged at the thick rope tied around the gate for at least ten minutes. Still it would not budge. Whoever had tied it had pulled the knot so tight there was no way to get my fingers inside and wiggle it free.
“If only I had a knife,” I groaned, searching the ground for a sharp stone.
Black Beauty jostled me with his nose. It was as though he was trying to tell me something.
“That’s not going to help.” I laughed, but inside I started to panic. Mr Manly and the squire would wonder what was taking me so long. They would think I had stolen the beautiful horse if I didn’t return to the stables soon. I’d wanted so much to be quick, to prove to them that I was reliable – the perfect boy to be a stable lad. Now they’d scold me for dillydallying and send me off with a clip around the ear.
Perhaps if I really was a boy, I would know all about knots. I remember Father telling me once that sailors have at least a hundred different ways to tie a rope at sea. All I knew was how to unpick tangled embroidery … and that was only because I went wrong so much.
“Stupid thing!” I kicked the gate and cursed as loud as any sailor. With the gate tied tight, our path was blocked.
“There’s no point fussing.” I sighed. “Our way is barred and that’s all there is to it. What else can we do?”
I turned and stared helplessly across the landscape.
As Beauty shook his head and fidgeted, I had a sudden thought. He couldn’t jump over the gate – especially not on to the hard lane beyond – but where the field rolled away to the left of us, I saw there was a broad ditch at the bottom running along beside the soft ground of the meadow beyond. If we could just get across that, it would lead us straight up to the stables from the other side. Any horse as strong as Beauty could jump it easily.
“What do you think? Will you let me ride you?” I looked up into his eyes and Beauty stopped fidgeting right away and stared back at me. Perhaps it was because my voice was serious all of a sudden, but he seemed almost to sense how desperately I needed his help. I felt a connection between us in that moment – as if we had made a bond.
“All right,” I said. “We’ll do it!”
If I stopped to think about my plan I would lose my nerve. I climbed on to a fallen tree at the edge of the wood and scrambled on to his back from there. The minute he felt my weight, Beauty skittered and swished his tail. He probably wasn’t used to being ridden bareback and I certainly wasn’t used to riding like this either.
“Ready?” I said, gathering up a bunch of his soft jet-black mane along with the reins. “Let’s get you home.”
With one tiny squeeze of my legs he was off – shooting forward so quickly I almost fell right back over his tail. But I clung on tight, gripping his bare flanks with my knees.
As we cantered away across the field, I wanted to shout for joy. If riding stout little Merrylegs felt like being on a rocking horse, clinging to Black Beauty was like flying through the sky on Pegasus. The ground flattened out, and my heart soared as he broke into a gallop, his hooves barely seeming to touch the earth at all.
Thank goodness I had practised riding like a boy. But never before had I ridden bareback. There was a small tight knot of fear right in the pit of my stomach but, more than that, I felt fluttery with exhilaration. My fingertips – and even my toes deep inside the heavy borrowed boots – seemed to fizz with exciteme
nt.
The men were shouting as we galloped into view of the stables again. I wasn’t sure if they were yelling for me stop, turn back or carry on. But I paid no attention, blocking out their voices like the cawing of crows.
I had made my choice to bring Black Beauty home this way. It was too late to change my mind. I had to get us both there safely. All my concentration was focused on just one thing. We had to leap the huge ditch at the bottom of the meadow.
Chapter Ten
I clung to Beauty’s neck. The closer we galloped the wider the ditch began to look. I swallowed hard. It was as broad as the dining table at Summer’s Place.
By now, Aunt Lavinia would know I was gone. Never again would I have to sit across that same table, watching Cousin Eustace slurp runny yolk from his soft boiled eggs. The thought of that made me feel braver at once. Here I was about to leap bareback over a chasm, but I would rather jump a pit of snakes than face another dreary meal with Aunt Lavinia and The Slug.
“Steady now,” I warned Black Beauty. We needed speed to clear the ditch but mustn’t rush it.
At the very last moment I let him have his head, holding more of his mane than the reins. “Go on, Black Beauty, I trust you!” I whispered.
His ears pricked. It was as though he understood. Up, up, up we flew.
Time seemed to freeze as if someone had held the hands of a clock. I let out a whoop of excitement as the wind whistled past my ears. The sound surprised me. It was a noise I had never made before. A sort of wild cry.
Then thud. We landed safely on the other side. I hit my chin hard against his neck. But Black Beauty was brilliant. He barely broke his stride as we galloped on.
A great roar went up from the men. Perhaps it was a cheer or perhaps a gasp of shock. I wasn’t sure.
“Steady, Beauty.” I pulled on the reins. Now we were clear of the ditch I slowed him to a canter and then to a gentle trot. By the time we were close enough to see the faces of the men, I had calmed him right down to a walk. But my stomach was squirming with a fear far worse than galloping bareback or leaping a giant ditch. I was about to have to prove myself – as a boy.
Ten minutes later, I was beneath a magnificent stable clock, stammering out my request to Squire Gordon.
It was half past four in the afternoon. Back home, Aunt Lavinia would have rung for tea in the stuffy drawing room, pulling the curtains closed to spare Eustace from the light.
Squire Gordon tugged at his dark moustache as he stared down at me in surprise. “What’s this you say? You want a job, lad? Here? Working with the horses?”
“Yes, sir,” I mumbled, half in fear and half to keep my voice low and gruff like a farmhand. “I – I heard there was an opening.”
I was standing in front of the squire and Mr Manly in the airy, red-brick stable yard. The other men – gardeners and shepherds – had wandered back to their work while a dark, moody-looking stable boy scowled at me and led Black Beauty away. I had no idea why he should look so angry… Perhaps he disapproved of the jump I had made.
I explained at once how I had been unable to loosen the knot on the top gate and had decided it best to ride Black Beauty home. There had been so much fuss and chatter, so many questions as everybody clustered around Beauty, checking him for wounds and scrapes, that I wasn’t sure yet if I was to be scolded for foolishness or praised for being brave.
My legs were still shaking from the great leap over the ditch and it did now seem a reckless, daredevil thing to have done.
“You certainly took matters into your own hands,” said the squire with a sigh. “I do not know if that makes you irresponsible or quick thinking.”
I lifted my head, making sure to look politely at the squire, but said nothing, just as I had seen the youngest servants do many times when Father spoke to them at home.
“You brought Black Beauty safely back to us. And for that we are grateful,” he said. Then he spoke to his coachman. “What do you think, Manly? We do need a new stable lad but it is up to you to choose whom we employ. The stables are your domain. You are master here.”
Mr Manly said nothing for a moment, but towered over me like a great bear. I might have turned and fled if it wasn’t for the fact that his eyes were kind and full of light.
“Hmm,” he said at last. “Tell me, young fellow, have you worked in a stable before?”
“I – I have been around horses all my life,” I said. That at least was true.
He nodded, as if pleased with the answer. “And your folks?”
It took me a moment to realize he was asking about my parents.
“I – I’m an orphan,” I said. With Father dead and a runaway mother who had left me so long ago, I might as well have been.
“And where is it that you have come from?” asked the squire.
“From Summer’s Place.” Again, I decided truth – or at least a slice of it – might be best. If questioned, I could describe our estate better than any other. “It’s beyond the Beacon hills, sir. The stables have been all closed up since the old master was … since he was killed.” The words caught in my throat but the squire put his hand on my shoulder.
“Terrible business. Terrible…”
“I have come from there just now,” said Mr Manly. “If I had known you were heading this way I could have given you a lift on the hay cart.”
“Oh … how kind.” I felt my cheeks flush scarlet.
“I was collecting this little chappy for the young ladies. Maybe he is a friend of yours?” said Mr Manly, leading me into a stable with three stalls where horses could be tied up and a big loose box where another could stand free. Merrylegs raised his head from the first stall and whinnied with excitement.
I longed to rush forward and throw my arms around his neck. But I just nodded quickly.
I noticed the tall, dark-haired stable boy still scowling at me through the bars of the loose box where he tended to Black Beauty. What had I done to make him look so furious?
Forcing myself to hold back, I stretched out my hand and rubbed Merrylegs’s nose as he nuzzled against me.
“I’m sure the children here will be very happy with him. Merrylegs is a wonderful pony,” I said.
“And he’s pleased to see you,” Mr Manly said with a smile. “That’s better than any reference written down on paper. If you were cruel or lazy or wicked, he would shy away and lay his ears down flat against his head.”
Good old Merrylegs!
“So what do you think, Manly?” said the squire. “Shall we give this young lad a chance? He’s a fine horseman. We’ve seen that from the way he rode.”
Mr Manly nodded. “I have never seen Beauty so well matched,” he said in his deep gentle voice. “It was as if you and the young horse were made for each other, lad. Quite extraordinary.”
Pride was bubbling up inside me like a spring. They thought I was well-matched with the magnificent Black Beauty.
“You’re the bravest young chap I’ve ever seen,” agreed the squire, clapping me on the back. “You wouldn’t catch me leaping a ditch like that without a saddle…”
“Really?” I did a little dance of joy. I couldn’t help myself. A good horseman? Me?
The squire laughed but Mr Manly cleared his throat.
“I can’t give you the job until I know one more thing,” he said.
I stopped jiggling and my heart froze in my chest.
“What is it?” Would it be something I could answer? Or something only a real stable lad would know?
“Well,” said Mr Manly, taking a step closer. “We do not even know your name…”
“Oh! Is that all…” My heart started thudding again and I smiled as the coachman held out his huge hand for me to shake. I could not be Josephine any more of course – or Josie. But I had planned for this, remembering how Farmer Sewell always pretended to greet young Master Joseph when I rode past his farm like a boy.
“My name is Joseph Green,” I said. “But … but they call me Joe.”
&nbs
p; Joe Green. I liked the sound of that.
“Welcome to Birtwick Park, young Joe,” said Mr Manly. “The job is yours, provided you do it well.”
“Thank you! I won’t let you down,” I said. “I promise.” But I had to steady myself against the side of the stall for a moment.
I had done it. My new life – Joe Green’s new life – was about to begin.
Chapter Eleven
Squire Gordon and Mr Manly strolled to Black Beauty’s loose box and peered over the door. I followed, almost skipping; I was so happy about my new job. Then I remembered to take big, heavy steps and stride like a country boy.
Black Beauty turned his head and stared at us with his eyes bright and his ears pricked. He was none the worse for our adventure and seemed to be enjoying the careful grooming the stable boy was giving him.
“How did he come to bolt in the first place?” I asked.
The stable lad shot me a look as sharp as a dagger.
“The saddle slipped while he was galloping. Gave him quite a fright, so I hear,” said Mr Manly.
“Nobody’s fault. Could have happened to anyone,” said the squire.
But as the stable boy bent his dark head to brush Black Beauty’s hock I saw his breeches were covered with fresh wet mud.
So he had been the one riding Beauty … it looked like he had taken quite a tumble. But there was no need to glare at me as though it was my fault. I had saved his skin by bringing the horse home safely.
At least he seemed to bear Beauty no ill will. He patted him and stepped out of the loose box.
“Listen up, Joe,” said Mr Manly. “This here is James Howard, our senior stable lad. Whatever he tells you to do, you do it. He will be in charge of you from now on.”
“Pleased to meet you, James.” I held out my hand but the boy just grunted. I guessed he was only a year or two older than me but my head barely reached his shoulder.
“We’ve decided to give young Joe a chance,” said Squire Gordon. “It seemed only fair after he saved the day just now. And he rode Black Beauty home with such great skill.”
