by Lou Kuenzler
Everyone at Birtwick was either furious with me or laughing in my face. As far as being a stable boy, I had made a total mess of that. James was right. It was a carnival … and I was the fool. I had barely even been allowed near a horse since I had ridden Black Beauty. All I had done was sweep the yard and carry hay.
Still – I’d show them! I’d be the finest stable lad Birtwick Park had ever seen.
Chapter Fourteen
By the time the laundry girls finally sent my dry things back, it was mid-afternoon.
Yet again, my stomach rumbled with hunger. I had missed lunch and nobody had thought to send any food up to me in the loft.
I stomped down the ladder, pleased to be in my stable lad’s clothes again and making an extra point to swing my arms like a boy.
“Right, you can start there,” said James, pointing to the stable with three little stalls where Merrylegs was tied up and Black Beauty had his big loose box. James handed me a leather bucket full of brushes and combs. “Groom all four until they shine. There’s Beauty and Merrylegs. Justice the old cob. And Ginger too – watch yourself around her; she has a quick temper sometimes.”
“Grooming?” I’d hoped I’d be exercising the horses. I dreamed of nothing except riding Beauty since that first moment in the field.
“Yes, grooming,” said James. “Unless you’re too grand, of course. Did you never brush a horse at Summer’s Place?”
“Er, yes, of course I did,” I said quickly. In truth, I had never groomed a horse in my whole life. Old Thomas or one of the stable boys had always done that for me. But at least it was a step up from sweeping the yard.
I glanced around the stable. Black Beauty was already gleaming from where James had groomed him last night. Justice’s cobby, roan coat looked too thick to ever shine. And although Ginger was a brilliant bronzed chestnut, she raised her back heel and flattened her ears as soon as I stepped near her stall.
Was that really how bad tempered the boys thought I was?
“You first then, Merrylegs,” I said stepping quickly sideways to avoid Ginger and patting his dappled rump as I squeezed in beside him. I had brushed Merrylegs’s mane and tail at home before, just for fun, often plaiting it in the same way I played with Jemima and Arabella, my dolls.
I began there now, running a wide metal comb through his coarse grey hair. When his mane was tangle-free and his tail was as bushy as a fox, I stood back to admire my work.
Perfect! Then I brushed his neck and back, especially the big dapple spots on his rump. There was a strange hooked thing in the bucket but I had no idea what that was for. Perhaps to clean the brushes? But there was a jar of oil and a thick brush like an artist would use. I knew this was to oil his hooves.
“There!” I said, kissing the end of his nose. “Just wait until the young ladies of the house see you.” I’d been told they were away for a few days but would return tomorrow. “They’ll say you’re the smartest pony in the whole of Birtwick Park.” He was the only pony, of course. Even Justice was over fourteen hands. But I didn’t tell him that.
I was very proud of the way Merrylegs looked, but knew that if I wanted prove to everyone that I was a proper stable boy, it would have to be difficult Ginger I tackled next.
“Good girl, steady now!” I said, slipping in to the stall beside her.
When James found me, I was pressed up against the manger in the back of Ginger’s stall. Her ears were flat and she would not let me past her to escape.
“Look!” I cried, holding up my arm. “She bit me. Hard.” There were spots of blood seeping through the clean white cotton of my shirt.
“We’ve only had her here six weeks,” said James, squeezing in beside me. He patted Ginger’s flank, whispering to her gently as he edged past. “She bit me on her first day too.” He pointed to a scar above his elbow. (Doris and Daisy would be pleased to know his sleeves were indeed rolled up.)
“You should sell her,” I said sulkily. “Six weeks is long enough to learn her lesson. What’s the point in keeping a bad-tempered mare who can’t be tamed?”
The pain was throbbing in my arm.
“Perhaps you’re right,” said James. He let Ginger nuzzle her nose in his palm. She seemed as calm as Merrylegs now, with her ears pricked forward showing off her pretty head. “I reckon we’ll try her with kindness for a little longer first,” he said. “She’s had a hard life so far. The dealer who sold her told Mr Manly said she had been poorly treated and badly beaten at her last home.”
“That’s terrible,” I said, feeling calmer now. “I can’t understand why anyone would be cruel to an animal.”
James nodded, patting Ginger and pushing her gently to one side so we could pass. “Go back into the stall and give her some oats,” he said. “Just a little handful, mind. Not so much as to spoil her, but enough to show you want to be her friend.”
I was nervous to go back inside alone. But, sure enough, Ginger let me pass without a fuss. She ate the oats from my hand and, although she did not nuzzle me when they were finished, she kept her ears pricked forward all the time.
“You were right!” I beamed as I stepped out of the stall.
But James was frowning at me with his hands on his hips.
“What have you been doing all this time?” he asked. “Justice is not groomed yet.”
“Well…” I stammered.
“And Beauty is not groomed either,” he said.
“Er…” I’d hoped he wouldn’t notice that. He’d made Beauty’s black coat gleam like a raven’s wing himself last night.
“And the pony?” He spun around and looked at Merrylegs. “Why is he only half done?”
“Half done? I spent over an hour. He’s perfect,” I cried.
But James was already leading Merrylegs out of his stall into the light.
“Look at this,” he said. It was true. The oil was patchy on his hooves. I could see that now.
“And here?” He ran a hand along Merrylegs’s belly. “You’ve only brushed his top and sides but underneath he’s caked with mud.”
“Ha!” I half laughed, hoping James was joking. Although I should have known better by now. “What does it matter if he’s not clean underneath? Nobody will see it there.”
“It matters,” said James, “because Miss Flora and Miss Jessie will want to ride their new pony tomorrow. If he has dirt under his belly it will rub against his girth and make him sore.”
“Oh…” I had never known that. I thought horses were groomed just to make them pretty.
“And his hooves!” James lifted Merrylegs’s feet. “You haven’t cleaned them out. He picked up the strange hook thing from amongst the brushes. “What’s the matter with you, Joe Green? Have you never seen a hoof pick before?”
“A hoof pick?” So that is what the funny object was. “Of course I have,” I lied. And I did remember now that one of the stable lads would always lift our horses’ feet before Father or I went out for a ride.
“It is your job to look after this pony,” James said. “Mr Manly and the master may think you are a fine horseman and perhaps you can ride passably well, but you know nothing about how to care for a horse. Nothing at all.”
“Fine! I’ll clean out his hooves!” I snatched to take the pick from James’s hand but he thrust a pitchfork at me instead.
“You can do the mucking out,” he growled. “That should keep you busy until you learn how things are done around here.”
“You mean, I’m not allowed to work with the horses at all? I won’t get to ride them?”
“Ride them?” James laughed. “You can muck them out and clean their tack. If you learn how to do that properly, I might just let you lead one around the yard. But I wouldn’t raise your hopes. Not before Christmas.”
He pointed to a steaming pile of dung Merrylegs had left on the cobbles. “Get started. You’ll need a broom and shovel too.”
I watched as he led Merrylegs away.
I was fuming. I wanted to hurl the pitchfo
rk on the ground. But what James had said was right. I could ride a horse but I had no idea how to care for one. Was I spoiled? Had I been spoiled all my life?
“Tough day?” asked Sid, appearing behind me with the wheelbarrow. He was on one of his endless trips between the muck heap and the kitchen garden where they used the horse manure to help the vegetables grow. “Chuck that in here if you like.” He pointed to the pile of dung I had shovelled up and I threw it in his barrow.
“Thank you.” I tried to smile.
Sid was right. It had been a tough day. James thought I was useless. And I’d made an enemy of Caleb. But I had found friends too, I think. Although Sid and Wilf liked to tease and joke, they were kind. And the horses were wonderful. There was Merrylegs, of course. And I had almost made a friend of Ginger. But it was Beauty who leant over his loose box door, watching me wherever I went. He whinnied softly now as if he understood how unhappy and foolish James’s harsh words had made me feel. As we looked at each other, my spirits lifted. I knew there was something special – a connection between us. I’d felt it the very first moment I saw him – as if, after everything I’d lost, Beauty had come into my life for a reason. It was as if I had come here to Birtwick specially to find him.
I made myself a promise, there and then. No matter how hard the work was, or how difficult pretending to be a boy became, I would stay here and get to know Black Beauty better. Maybe one day, I would even get to ride him again.
Chapter Fifteen
As spring turned into summer at Birtwick Park, things did slowly begin to get better. I worked hard and it was not long before I could harness a horse, pick its hooves and make a bran mash. Caleb called me “Slow Joe” because all my tasks took so long at first. But Mr Manly said, “Better done well than done hasty.” As I grew stronger, I could shovel as much muck as lazy Caleb, for all his muscles and showing off. While he was rough with the horses, I was gentle.
Caleb didn’t sleep in the loft with us at night. He stayed alone in a little stone bothy at the bottom of the kitchen garden.
“He says it is because he snores,” Sid explained. “Which he does,” said Wilf.
“But really, it is so he can slip out at night and go poaching with his friends from the village,” said Sid.
I didn’t care if Caleb slept in the pigsty just so long as he kept away from me. I dropped exhausted on my mattress at the end of each day and slept like a hibernating bear at night. My pale skin was more freckled than ever, speckled all over like a hen’s egg from the sun. But I was happy. Happier perhaps than I had ever been. I loved being with the horses all day – even Ginger let me groom her now without a fuss – and I liked hard work and keeping busy.
Every once in a while I would think of Aunt Lavinia and The Slug. The first few times I saw a smart carriage pull up at the front of the big house, my heart would leap into my mouth at the thought it might be someone sent to fetch me back, guessing perhaps that I had come with Merrylegs to his new home. But I soon stopped worrying. Maybe Aunt Lavinia would just tell people I had gone to be a companion to Lady Hexham as they planned. After all, the old lady was a recluse. Nobody would have any idea if I was there or not. And who would ask anyway? Only my dear old Nanny Clay, and she was in Fairstowe, the pretty-sounding village, with her nephew.
It was a good thing Nanny Clay couldn’t see me now. I’d had to trim my hair again to keep it short above my ears like a boy. But so far I had remained undiscovered. There had been one dreadful sunny afternoon when Wilf and Sid wanted me to go bathing in the lake; I’d thought they would drag me there, but in the end I managed to convince them I was sick and escape back to the loft. Most evenings, while the others washed themselves in the water trough, I sneaked away to a stream at the bottom of the orchard. They decided I was shy and teased me mercilessly, but I was getting better and better at passing myself off as a boy. Perhaps, where I gained my love of horses from Father, I had inherited a little acting skill from Mother too.
One morning, I spread my feet apart and swaggered over to the churn stand. I took a gulp of milk, drinking straight from the pail, and belched as loudly as any real stable lad ever could.
I turned around, expecting the boys to laugh, thinking I was one of them. But James was furious.
“Watch your manners,” he growled. “This is a stable, not the gutter.”
Perhaps belching like a bullfrog was going a little too far … even for a boy.
“Now go and saddle Merrylegs,” said James. “Miss Jessie and Miss Flora want to ride him in the orchard this morning. You can keep an eye on them while you’re mucking out the stables. Mr Manly has gone to Newmarket for a few days to see about a new mare. He asked me to run Justice down to the village on an errand with the cart.”
“Yes. Right away,” I said still blushing from my enormous belch and pleased that gentle Mr Manly hadn’t been here to witness it too.
“And clean the sidesaddle,” James added. “I am told the mistress may wish to take Beauty out later.”
“Really?” I raised an eyebrow. The mistress of the house was a great source of fascination for me; Black Beauty belonged to her but she had become ill recently and had not been seen outside.
“Doctor White was here yesterday and I believe there has been some improvement,” said James.
I was pleased. I’d only met the mistress once or twice but she seemed kind. And I liked Squire Gordon more and more. I also liked their children, Miss Jessie and Miss Flora. Although I had been jealous at first, I had to admit they adored Merrylegs and he was fond of them too.
Miss Jessie, the eldest, was still a few years younger than me and little Flora’s stirrups barely reached the bottom of the saddle when she was riding the tubby pony. They were both more suited to Merrylegs than I would be now – especially as I had grown half a head taller since the spring. Billy’s trousers now fitted me well.
As soon as Merrylegs saw the girls coming towards the yard, he whinnied with excitement.
“Traitor!” I whispered, patting his neck. But really I was just pleased he was happy and busy, as we both were at Birtwick Park.
“Darling pony!” Miss Jessie held out a sugar lump and paid no attention to me, holding Merrylegs’s bridle. I couldn’t blame her. I still blushed with shame when I thought how I hadn’t known Billy the stable boy’s name back when I had been grand Miss Josephine at Summer’s Place.
Little Flora was different though.
“Good morning, Merrylegs,” she cried, standing on tiptoes to throw her arms around his neck. “Good morning, Joe.” She grinned up at me, showing the gap where she had lost her baby teeth. “Did Merrylegs snore in the night again?”
“Most dreadfully! Like a roaring dragon.” I sighed. It was a joke we always shared.
“You are lucky, Joe,” she said, as I helped Miss Jessie mount. “I wish I could be a boy. Then I could sleep above the stables every night.”
“You never know!” I grinned. “Perhaps one day you will…”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Miss Jessie clicked her tongue to tell Merrylegs to walk on. “It wouldn’t matter if you were a boy or a girl, Flora. You would have to be a servant to sleep out here in the yard. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?”
She still didn’t look at me as she gathered her reins and trotted towards the orchard.
“I wouldn’t mind anything as long as I could always be with Merrylegs,” whispered Flora, slipping her hand into mine as we followed under the arch. “Pay no attention to Jess. She is just in a bad mood because our cousin Aubrey is here. He is a boy. A horrid one…”
“Oh dear. Cousins can be like that,” I said.
“He’s been trying to shoot the doves out of the nursery window,” explained Flora. “And he says he wants to ride Merrylegs later on.”
Flora was right. Aubrey was not a nice boy. He came down to the yard just as I was untacking Merrylegs after the girls had ridden him in the orchard for an hour. Jessie had gone back to the house but I had given li
ttle Flora a comb and she was plaiting Merrylegs’s tail.
“Take that silly girl thing off,” cried Aubrey pointing to the little sidesaddle. “And fetch something a man can ride with!”
A man? He didn’t look a day older than me and he was thin as a ferret.
“Do you wish to go for a ride, Master Aubrey?” I asked politely.
“Yes. Hurry up and saddle this fat little thing!” He slapped his hand hard on Merrylegs’s rump.
“Perhaps we can find you something more suitable,” I said. “Merrylegs has already been out with the young ladies this morning.”
“He is dreadfully tired,” agreed Flora.
“And you are perhaps a little tall and strong for him. He is a child’s pony,” I said, hoping to appeal to Aubrey’s pride. Justice was still out in the village with James but I spotted Caleb leading the black and white farm cob in from the field.
“Perhaps Badger would suit?” I said, pointing to the piebald. He was a steady old thing of fourteen hands and had taken Miss Flora’s friends often.
“For me?” Aubrey snorted. “I wouldn’t be seen dead on a fat painted nag like that. It is only fit to be ridden by gypsies and drovers!”
“Ooh! I wish I was a gypsy.” Flora clapped her hands with excitement. “Merrylegs would have a brightly coloured wagon and we would trot along the lanes all day. You could come too if you liked, Joe. At night we would make a fire and…”
“Shut up! Why don’t you go back to the nursery?” snarled Aubrey.
I wished I could say something … or better still, toss him head first into the muck heap. But as a servant, the best I could do was smile kindly at Flora and wait for Aubrey to give me my orders.
He glanced around the yard as if checking for something better than Merrylegs after all. Luckily I had just filled Black Beauty’s hay rack and he was in the back of his loose box where he could not be seen or I am sure the boy would have wanted to take the fine horse out at once. But Ginger was looking out of her stall.
