by Lou Kuenzler
“How about that one?” Aubrey took a step forward. Ginger laid her ears flat against her head as if sensing danger. It was something I had not seen her do for many weeks now.
“Perhaps not!” Aubrey darted behind Merrylegs. He was obviously a coward as well as a bully. “I asked you to prepare this fat pony ten minutes ago,” he said, clicking his fingers at me. “What is keeping you, boy?”
“Sorry, Master Aubrey. I will be right back.” I turned towards the tack room to fetch a different saddle for Merrylegs.
“And bring me a whip while you are at it!” cried Aubrey.
My heart sank. Poor Merrylegs. But what could I do? I was just a servant.
Chapter Sixteen
The odd thing was, by the time I came out from the back of the tack room carrying a saddle for Merrylegs, the pegs where we kept the whips and riding crops were quite empty.
“How very strange,” I said loudly as I heard a rustle and saw a small blonde figure disappear behind a horse blanket hanging on the wall. “I think the rats and mice have been here. But whatever do they want with all our whips?”
There was a little giggle.
“Ah! I think I hear them squeaking,” I said.
The giggle grew louder.
“I shall have to send in the terriers later,” I said with a great sigh. “Perhaps I will ask kind Miss Flora to lend me Frisky.” He was her own little dog. “But for now I must hurry out and tell Master Aubrey that a dreadful thing has happened and no whips can be found.”
“Ridiculous. What sort of stable has no whips?” snarled Aubrey.
“You may check for yourself if you like,” I said, seeing Flora slip out of the tack room door.
“It is true,” she called. “There is not a whip in there. Mother will not allow it.” Her eyes grew wide as she added to the story. “The thought of a horse being beaten makes her feel quite ill…”
“No wonder she is always in her bed,” muttered Aubrey under his breath. “I never heard anything so silly!”
“Don’t worry. You won’t need a whip to make Merrylegs get going,” I assured him as he mounted. “He is much more spirited than he looks.”
“We shall see about that,” said Aubrey, kicking his legs so hard I heard them slap against the saddle. He yanked Merrylegs’s head around until half the bit was out of the side of his mouth.
“Careful!” I begged. But Aubrey did not hear me. He was too busy shouting at Merrylegs to “Giddy up!”.
I still had Beauty’s sidesaddle to clean for the mistress, but every time I lifted the blacking on my cloth Flora tugged at my sleeve.
“Go out to the lane, Joe,” she begged me. “Go and see if Merrylegs is coming back. Check that he is all right.”
“I have to polish this saddle for your mother first,” I said. Although inside, I was as worried as Flora and kept glancing out into the yard, listening anxiously for the sound of Merrylegs’s little hooves on the stones.
“Mother won’t mind,” said Flora, tugging my sleeve again.
“Maybe not. But James will,” I said.
At last the saddle was gleaming. I knew I should whiten the linen girth as well but it was already spotless. When Flora tugged at my sleeve again, I gave in.
“Come on, then!” I said. We ran up the steep lane. But, as we passed the orchard, I saw that Aubrey had taken Merrylegs in there.
“What is he doing?” I asked.
The boy was galloping Merrylegs up towards the high gate in the far corner and then back again. He had taken a long thin hazel stick from the hedge and was using that as a home-made whip to thrash poor Merrylegs with.
How dare he?
“Wait here!” I told Flora as I dashed between the trees.
“Stop that at once, Aubrey!” I cried. I did not care who was servant and who was master now. He could not beat my poor little pony like that.
“Get back!” he roared, lashing the whip at me. “This stupid brute will not obey me.”
“Obey you?” What was he trying to make Merrylegs do? He had already spun him around and galloped away again. Then I saw the plan.
Aubrey was trying to make Merrylegs jump the gate. It was uphill and quite impossible. Even Black Beauty could not have made a leap like that.
“Damn you, Merryfoot, jump!” roared Aubrey.
“His name is Merrylegs and you mustn’t beat him,” wailed Flora running towards us.
“Keep back,” I warned her as Merrylegs swerved sideways and slithered down the hill. No matter how hard Aubrey whipped him, he knew he would break his legs if he tried to make the jump; this could only end in danger for one or both of them. I had to stop this. Catching hold of the reins, I pulled them to a halt. Aubrey’s face was a mask of astonishment.
“What on earth – what on earth do you think you’re doing? Out of my way, stable boy.”
“No! You must not make Merrylegs take that jump.” I made my voice very loud and firm, to quell the nerves I felt inside. This could cost me my job – but I had to say something. “It is too difficult a jump for any horse, let alone a little pony. Please, you mustn’t try it.”
For a moment, Aubrey just stared at me, and then with a sudden wrench he yanked the reins out of my grasp and turned Merrylegs. I gasped as the reins tore through my hands, and stumbled, nearly falling.
“How dare you!” Aubrey was thin and wiry, but he was strong. Although Merrylegs was bucking now, he pulled his head around again and galloped him back up the hill.
Clever Merrylegs had plans of his own. He charged forward as if he was going to take the jump at last. Then he skidded to a stop and thrust his head between his legs.
Aubrey flew through the air. For a moment I thought he would shoot right over the gate itself but he landed head first in the thorny hedge.
“Help!” From the way that he was wriggling and thrashing about, I could see that nothing was broken; only his stupid pride was hurt. “Get me out of here,” he cried.
But I ignored him. We all did.
Merrylegs was already nibbling grass and swishing his tail as if nothing had happened, while Flora fussed around the little pony and kissed his ears.
“You poor darling,” she cried.
“Come on, trouble!” I patted him too as I took hold of the reins. Then I saw the long thin hazel whip lying on the ground. I picked it up and broke it over my knee.
“You won’t be needing that again,” I said, leaving Aubrey still bellowing upside down in the hedge.
We began to walk down through the orchard when I gasped; James was standing there with his hands on his hips. I didn’t even know he was back from the village yet. The squire was beside him.
They were both frowning, with faces like thunder.
My heart, already leaping in my chest, began to pound. This was it. Of all the foolish things I had done since arriving at Birtwick Park, this had to be the worst. I had left the squire’s nephew buried in a thorny hedge without even trying to get him out. It didn’t matter that he had been cruel and stupid and mean. It didn’t even matter that he had put Merrylegs’s life at risk. I would be dismissed and sent on my way. The squire would have to teach me a lesson and James would do nothing to defend me.
“Daddy!” Flora ran into her father’s arms. “You mustn’t be cross with Joe,” she cried. “Or with Merrylegs. Aubrey was being a pig. He was beating Merrylegs and trying to make him do an impossible jump.”
“Well,” the squire looked at me over the top of her blonde head, “while I’m sure it would have been better to help the young man out of the hedge – and, Flora, you really must not call your cousin a pig – we saw everything that happened. And no, I am not cross. At least not with Merrylegs … or with Joe.”
“You’re not?” I couldn’t help but gasp out loud.
“No. That is no way to treat a horse and it looks like Aubrey needed to learn a lesson,” said Squire Gordon, as we saw the boy trudging down the orchard towards us. Leaves and twigs were still sticking out of his hair
and coat and he was crimson with shame. “I don’t think he will ride like that again.”
When Aubrey reached us, the squire turned his stern face on the boy. “Through your foolhardy riding, young man, you have put poor Joe here in a fix; he had to choose between disobeying you or protecting the pony.” Aubrey scowled. “Shake hands with him and apologize.”
“Sorry!” Aubrey grunted and stared at his boots, grudgingly putting his hand in mine. He tried to pull away again almost at once. But I did not let go. I kept my head held high until he was forced to lift his eyes and look up at me.
“I do not need an apology,” I said. “But you should say you are sorry to Merrylegs.”
“Yes!” cried Flora, darting forward and pummelling her fists against her cousin’s chest. “You will never ride him ever, ever, ever, ever again.”
When we were back in the yard I thought that James would scold me for sure.
Instead, he handed me Black Beauty’s bridle.
“I will settle Merrylegs. You go and tack up Beauty,” he said gruffly.
“For the mistress?” I asked.
“No. For you. The mistress is still unwell. Beauty will need exercise.”
“You mean … you want me to ride him? You want me to ride Black Beauty?” I gasped.
“Don’t look so surprised. You ride well, even if it is all wild circus tricks!” James smiled at me and his grey eyes lit up.
I glowed with pride.
“You did right to protect Merrylegs today, Joe,” he said. “Good work.”
Chapter Seventeen
I couldn’t believe it. My heart was in my throat and my whole body was shaking with excitement. I was about to ride Black Beauty.
James held Beauty’s head while I mounted. It was the only part of riding like a boy I had any difficulty with, but I put my foot in the stirrup and sprang on board as lightly as I could.
Beauty danced and pranced and shook himself.
“He’s been shut inside too long,” said James. “Go up by the common and the highwood, then back by the watermill and the river. That should take the tickle out of his feet.”
“Thank you!” I couldn’t believe I was actually riding Beauty again at long last. “I’ll take him slowly to start with,” I promised.
James nodded. I knew he would be watching me from the yard and I longed to prove to him there was more to my riding than what he called “circus tricks”.
I made Beauty walk as we passed under the archway and along the drive. He swished his tail and played with his bit. He was still prancing as we passed the gatehouse but I wouldn’t let him trot. I wanted Beauty to get used to the feeling of me in the saddle. He needed to sense that I was in charge of him and calm – this would be no wild bareback gallop today.
Then, as soon as we were through the village, I squeezed my legs and let Beauty go on up the lane at a spanking trot. It was wonderful to hear his hooves on the ground and fall into a natural rising rhythm with his stride. But, as he twitched his ears at the brow of the hill, I knew we were both desperate for a sight of the common and the soft earth where we could gallop at last.
Riding bareback had been an exhilarating adventure, but galloping with a saddle was even better. We were in control, like one person – horse and rider – joined together. At first we went flat out, then slowed to a canter past the highwood. Flat out again until we saw the watermill, and trotted slowly home along the river.
“Welcome back,” said James as we walked calmly into the yard. He laid his hand on the Beauty’s neck and listened to his breathing. “Well done,” he said, nodding approvingly. “You have worked him well, but rested him properly and not tired him out.”
“He was fleet as a deer,” I cried, leaning forward to throw my arms around Beauty’s neck. “The lightest touch of the rein and he turned. The tiniest squeeze of my leg and he was off.”
James shook his head and laughed. “You enjoyed it then?” he said. But, for the first time, I did not feel he was teasing me or telling me off. He knew what I meant.
“You can take him out again tomorrow, if the mistress is still unwell,” he said. “If the master doesn’t ride I will join you on Ginger.”
As I carried the fine French saddle back to the tack room, it seemed to weigh no more than a feather. I wanted to throw it up in the air and turn a cartwheel. I wanted to shout so loud that everyone in the big house would hear me.
I had ridden the most beautiful horse in all the world and James Howard thought I had done it well.
It was a fine afternoon and, after a quick rub down, James decided to let Beauty have a graze in the home paddock with Justice, Merrylegs and Ginger.
We stood leaning on the gate and watched them for a while as they scratched each other’s necks and swished their tails under the trees.
For a long time neither of us said anything. Then James shook himself as if he had been lost in a dream.
“It would break my heart if ever I couldn’t be around horses,” he said.
“Me too,” I agreed.
I realized suddenly that it was true; with my father dead and my mother lost to me, this was what really mattered now. Horses – and especially the wonderful Black Beauty.
The mistress had not improved by the following morning and James and I did take Ginger and Beauty out for a ride together. It was fun to watch the horses prick their ears and trot along side by side. Ginger was quite used to Beauty from the stables and didn’t try to nip him or bite.
The next day was the same and James even let us race the horses at a gallop on the common. Beauty and I won by a nose. James said I should have gone away to Newmarket with Mr Manly to see if I could be a jockey, I was so small and light.
I felt proud as anything and only boasted a little to the twins about my victory when we all settled down to sleep in the loft that night.
It seemed my eyes had only been closed for a moment when we were woken by a terrible shouting from down below. The stable bell was ringing and a footman had come running from the house.
“Wake up! Wake up!” he cried. “James Howard, come quick! The master needs you.”
James leapt to his feet and we all hurried down the ladder.
“You must take this note to the doctor,” said the footman. “It is from the squire. The mistress has taken a turn for the worse and you must bring help at once.”
James took the note and scrambled back up to the loft to pull on his coat and breeches. “I’ll go this minute,” he called. “Joe, saddle Beauty for me. He is the fastest horse we have. It is a fair gallop to Doctor White’s house. Eight miles at least…”
The twins held a lantern each as I dashed into the tack room to grab a saddle and bridle and then to Beauty’s stall.
“I’ll push Beauty to his limits and then take the journey home more slowly,” said James, as we worked frantically to tack him. “The doctor will come on his own bay mare; make sure she is made comfortable, Joe.”
“I will,” I promised.
“Good luck, James.” Wilf glanced at the sky. “At least there’s a bright moon so you can see where you’re going.”
“Hurry,” said Sid.
I stretched out my hand to touch Black Beauty’s nose but before I could reach him, James had turned the horse’s head and galloped away.
“Take care!” I called, but my words were lost in the wind.
Chapter Eighteen
Half the estate seemed to be awake that night. Lamplight flickered in the windows of the big house.
The only person missing from the commotion was Caleb and we all knew where he was on such a bright moonlit night – poaching in the wood.
Two hours ticked by. The twins dozed. I paced up and down. I even groomed Merrylegs by lamplight just to pass the time.
Then I heard it.
Hooves on the driveway. The gatekeeper shouted, “Hello!”
I dashed out to grab the horse by the bridle so the doctor could go straight to the house, when I saw that it was not th
e bay mare he was riding; it was Beauty.
“My own horse is lame,” puffed the doctor. He was a heavy man with a belly like a beer barrel. “I took this fellow and he did you proud.”
Poor Beauty was dripping with sweat.
“Your lad James is coming back by foot,” grunted the doctor as he heaved himself out of the saddle. “I reckon he will be some time.”
Then the doors were flung open and he disappeared inside the house.
Beauty’s legs were shaking so much I could barely lead him to the stable.
“We’ll take a couple of horses and ride out and meet James,” said Sid, slipping a halter on Justice as his brother ran to fetch Badger.
The two boys both clambered on to the big piebald cob. Sid held out his arm, leading Justice behind them for James to ride home.
“I don’t know much about nags,” said Wilf, kicking his heels. “But poor Beauty looks fit to boil.”
“Like a pot on fire,” said Sid.
“Please. Be quick!” I begged as they trotted away. I knew Beauty was in a terrible state and I desperately wanted James to come back and tell me what to do.
But for now I was alone. I would just have to manage the best I could.
I flung open the loose box door and led Beauty inside. The boys were right. The poor thing was as hot as a stove. I grabbed a cloth and began to rub his chest. There wasn’t a dry hair on his body, sweat ran down his legs and steam rose up from his back.
His sides were heaving and he hung his head and made a deep panting sound from his throat.
“Oh, Beauty. What do I do?” I cried. It could be another hour before James and the twins were back. If only Mr Manly wasn’t still away at Newmarket. Even if Caleb was here that would be something…
I had no idea what was best to do for a horse as hot as this. I tried to think what old Thomas would have done when I was still living at Summer’s Place. There must have been a hundred times I had brought Merrylegs home lathered with sweat, his flanks heaving as he puffed like a bull. In truth, of course, I had no inkling what Thomas would have done. Hard as I tried, all I could remember was the nod of his head as he took hold of my pony’s bridle and led him away. “Very good, Miss Josephine, I’ll make this fellow nice and comfy,” he would say as I dashed inside for a soak in the tub and a glass of barley water with Nanny Clay.
