Finding Black Beauty

by Lou Kuenzler

  “Yes, please,” I said, grinning with the warm joy that was growing inside me. Ginger was in a terrible state, but we could help her. “She needs rest and plenty of grass,” I explained. “She’s dreadfully thin. And she can barely breathe. Her wind must be damaged. Her legs are swollen badly, but if we can take her to the country…”

  “I do not have thirty pounds,” said Mother.

  “But…” For a moment I was confused. Then I saw what she meant. “Oh. You don’t have thirty pounds in cash.” I was thinking fast. “Well that’s all right; we can explain to the driver about your jewellery. We can tell him you’ve just got to sell something and then…”

  “Oh, Josephine darling.” She sank back on to the couch. “I cannot sell my jewellery.” Her voice sounded cold and flat.

  “Please, Mother,” I begged. “The money’s not for me. It’s for Ginger…”

  “Stop! I cannot sell my jewellery because it is not worth anything.” She stretched to the dressing table and grabbed a string of pearls. “Paste.” She let them fall into her lap and lifted a gold bracelet. “Painted tin! See?”

  “And the rubies?” I asked, a thick foggy sickness rising in my throat.

  “Just red glass,” said Mother with a sigh. “It’s costume jewellery. All of it. I wore the pearls to play Desdemona. The rubies were for Lady Macbeth. This” – she picked up the thick gold bracelet again – “this was for Cleopatra. Surely you realized that?”

  “Like the black wig?” I had been an idiot. It was all just pretend. “But I don’t understand,” I said slowly. “You said you could rescue Beauty. You said we could buy a country cottage. I thought you were rich?”

  “Well, I’m not.” She folded her arms. “Honestly, Josephine. All this country cottage and everything. Finding Black Diamond…”

  “Beauty. His name is Black Beauty!” How is it she could learn a hundred lines in a day but she couldn’t learn that?

  “Yes, Black Beauty,” she said, with a wave of her hand. “Well, we might have to delay that a little. You see, now is a very difficult time for me.” Tears were filling her eyes. “I want Neville to cast me in his next play, Romeo and Juliet. And people are so cruel, darling. They are saying that I am too old to play Juliet.”

  I swallowed hard. Trying to breathe.

  “Excuse me?” Ivan the set painter was standing nervously in the doorway. “There’s a cab man outside, waiting with a horse. He wants to know if you are you going to buy her or not?”

  “No.” I buried my head in my hands. Poor Ginger. I had promised to save her and I couldn’t. “Tell the cab man we cannot buy her after all,” I whispered. “Tell him we have no money.”

  I saw Ginger again, one last time.

  It was late in the evening, about a week later. I was walking across Trafalgar Square with my board when, as I reached St Martin’s church, a big flat cart rattled past. I glanced up and saw that a horse was lying on the back, half covered with a piece of ragged sack. I think I knew it would be Ginger even before I could force myself to turn my head and see for sure.

  She raised her neck a little and tried to look at me. But the effort was too much. Her head fell back.

  “Don’t,” I said, leaping down from the kerb as the cart stopped in traffic. “Don’t try to move, Ginger, old girl. I’m here.”

  She sighed gently as I stroked the long streak of white fur which ran from her forelock to her chestnut nose. I thought of how often James had stroked that same white blaze. “Like a splash of spilt milk,” he used to say.

  “You remember James, don’t you?” I whispered. Ginger sighed again – a long, deep rattling sigh. Then her big brown eyes flickered closed. “Shh!” I laid my hand on her cheek. “Just rest now.”

  The cart moved off and I watched it weave through the traffic. I did not try to chase after it. There was no point. Ginger was dead.

  Perhaps, as she had slipped away, she remembered Birtwick, the only place she had ever been happy. Perhaps Ginger imagined she was galloping over the common; one last ride with James on her back, racing with Beauty and me.

  “Goodbye,” I murmured as the cart disappeared around the corner at last. “At least you’re at peace now, Ginger.”

  And the bells of St Martin’s church began to ring.

  Chapter Forty-one

  After Ginger, I stopped searching the streets for Beauty. There was little point now. Even if I found him, I would only let him down, just like I had let Ginger down.

  Mother and I mostly kept out of each other’s way. Now the promise of the country cottage was shattered, we didn’t seem to have much to say.

  She was busy, anyway. She had convinced Neville she would make a wonderful Juliet. And she was right.

  I watched rehearsals, hidden in the back row of the stalls, as she skipped and laughed and threw her head back, making herself seem like a young girl no older than Doris. Only a year or two older than me … certainly not old enough to have a grown daughter of her own. She was beautiful, her bronze hair tied back in a simple plait. She glowed with the happiness she always had when she began a new part.

  The night the play opened, I watched her steal the show. She wore a sky-blue dress and a “diamond” tiara made of sparkling glass. People’s heads turned as she moved across the stage. Grown men wept when she was buried with her Romeo and the audience rose to their feet and cheered for her at the end.

  “Your greatest performance ever, my dear Valentina,” cried Neville.

  But for me, although Mother’s part was beautiful and romantic and sad, it was the nursemaid who moved me most. When young Juliet was in trouble it was never her mother, Lady Capulet, who helped her; it was always the rosy-cheeked nurse. As I watched I could only think of one person.

  “Nanny Clay,” I whispered and, while everyone was laughing at the funny old nurse, I burst into tears. Suddenly I wanted the person who had always cared for me the most. I wanted her desperately.

  “Mother, I need to talk to you,” I said, next morning.

  “Not now, darling. I have four gentlemen to see me in the lobby. The papers are saying my performance was sensational, you know.”

  “It was. You were brilliant,” I said, and reached up to kiss her. It was true; she was a wonderful actress, but I realized she had only ever been playing the part of mother to me. “Good luck. And … goodbye.”

  “What a funny little thing you are, darling,” she said, tucking a curl behind my ear. My hair had grown almost to my shoulders again. “I’ll see you later.” Then she kissed the top of my head and hurried away.

  When I slipped out of the Bard Theatre half an hour afterwards, I left a note behind a string of pearls on her looking glass. I knew she would understand. It was a little bit like the note she had left for Father once.

  Darling Mother,

  I am leaving London. I love you and I will miss you but I know the theatre is the only life that makes you happy. I would never want to take that away from you. Do not look for me. Perhaps I will find a country cottage of my own.

  Your dearest daughter,

  Josephine.

  Then I walked towards Charing Cross, where I knew Mac was often waiting with Pinky and the cab. Sure enough I found him on the corner and waved. His big face lit up with a broad grin.

  “Found that horse of yours yet, lassie?”

  “No – and I realize now that I never shall,” I said. “I am done with London.”

  Mac nodded. He did not try to change my mind. Perhaps he had feared my search was hopeless all along.

  “Do you know where the village of Fairstowe is?” I asked him. “I need to get there. I want to find my old nanny.”

  I had always remembered the name of the place where Nanny Clay told me she was going to live with her nephew when Aunt Lavinia sent her away. It sounded so pretty. I hoped she would be waiting for me.

  Mac listened attentively as I told him of my plan, and then looked at a scruffy road map he kept rolled up under his seat.

 
“You might just be in luck, lass,” he said with a whistle. He said he knew a cabby who was driving to a town not far from Fairstowe that very day.

  “Your nanny may have moved on since,” Mac warned me gently. “It’s been some time.”

  “I’ll take my chance,” I said.

  “I’m sure Ben will give you a ride,” said Mac. “The town he’s going to is about ten miles on past Fairstowe. There’s a fellow there buys and sells old cab horses. Ben’s grey mare isn’t as strong as she was; he wants to go down and have a look for something new.”

  I closed my ears. I didn’t want to listen to any more talk of tired old cab horses. So long as Ben was going to Fairstowe, that was good enough for me.

  “Thank you, Mac,” I said, hugging him until he blushed as bright as Pinky’s coat. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

  Mac’s friend Ben was a small, jolly man and, although his grey mare was old and slow, the journey passed swiftly enough. It was a glorious spring day and we soon left London behind and were trotting along country lanes, with white cow parsley in the hedges and daisies along the side of the grassy verge. Ben told funny stories about growing up far away from London with wild black ponies in the Yorkshire dales.

  We stopped near a stream and ate bread and ham for our lunch, then drove on for another hour until we reached the edge of a pretty village with no more than seven or eight houses, a big thatched-roof farm and a pub.

  “Here you are. Fairstowe! Is this the place?” asked Ben.

  “I hope so,” I said.

  “I wish I could stay and see you settled,” said Ben. “But if I’m going to get to this horse dealer in Newton, and be back to London by night…”

  “Go,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

  As Ben trotted away I saw a farmer with a black-and-white collie dog opening a gate on to the lane. Perhaps he would know something about Nanny Clay’s nephew.

  “Excuse me,” I called. “Is there a young man who lives near here called Clay?”

  “Nathan Clay? First cottage on the left. Chickens in the garden. You can’t miss it,” said the farmer.

  I knocked on the door and it was opened by a young man wearing a cloth cap and a farmhand’s smock. I could hear a baby crying in the background.

  “My Auntie Joan did come,” he said. “But she didn’t stay. We had little enough room to begin with, and with the baby…”

  “Oh!” My heart sank like a stone in a well. “So Nanny Clay’s gone?” I said.

  “Not far! Don’t look so worried,” said Nathan. “She’s up there at Hexham Hall. Big house. On the hill.” He stepped out on to the path and pointed over the fields.

  I saw a grand white house with a sweeping driveway between a row of trees and lush green parkland stretching out on every side.

  “Hexham Hall?” I knew that name. “Not Lady Hexham?” I said, remembering the old lady who Aunt Lavinia had tried to send me away to be companion to.

  “That’s the one.” Nathan nodded.

  “Lady Hexham who never goes out? The recluse?” I asked.

  “Recluse? Not any more!” Nathan chuckled. “Not since Auntie got her hands on her. They’re opening up the house, having guests to tea and all sorts now!”

  I laughed. “Good old Nanny Clay.” I should have guessed. No one would be allowed to shut themselves away while she was in charge.

  “Well, bless me,” said Nathan, looking at me hard. “You must be Miss Josephine.” He smiled politely and took off his cap. “Auntie spoke of you so often.”

  “Yes – I am Miss Josephine.” I was wearing a pretty green dress that had been made for one of the fairies in A Midsummer Night’s Dream and my short hair was tucked behind a neat Alice band of emerald ribbon. Perhaps, I did look a bit like the young lady of the manor again, the girl Nanny Clay used to know. She would never have believed it if she had seen me as Joe Green the stable lad.

  “You get on up to that house as fast as you can, miss,” said Nathan with a smile. “Old Auntie Joan will burst with joy to see you again.”

  “Thank you! I will…” And I began to run along the lane, over the fields and up the sunny slope towards the big white house on top of the hill.

  Chapter Forty-two

  As soon as Nanny Clay put her arms around me, I remembered the scent of her lavender soap. I remembered the comfort of those broad shoulders. But I had forgotten how wide her big blue eyes grew when she was shocked. And she was shocked … plenty of times, as I told my tale, up in the little nursery at the top of the grand white house. If the walls had been yellow instead of cream, I might have believed us home again in Summer’s Place.

  “You slept in a stable? Oh, Josie.”

  And she cried and hugged me so tight I could barely breathe when I told her how James and I had rescued the horses and escaped from the fire.

  When I told her about my time with Mother she said nothing but cleared her throat and sighed a lot.

  “I don’t blame her,” I said. “She tried her best to be a good mother. But she loves theatre with such passion… I know how it feels to care about something so much, I really do.”

  Nanny Clay cleared her throat and sighed again. “As long as you’ve come to understand her. That’s all that matters,” she said. “I know you love her. She is your mother.”

  I wanted to tell Nanny Clay that she was my mother too. I wanted to tell her how I felt when I saw Lady Capulet and the Nurse in Romeo and Juliet. But I knew she would only be embarrassed. Instead, I let her gather me into a hug and laid my head on her shoulder. “I love you, Nanny Clay.”

  “I love you too, pet. And I’m sorry you never found your horse,” she said. “I am sorry about poor Black Beauty. He must have been very special…”

  “Thank you,” I whispered. I had forgotten how it is to be with someone who listens to every word you say, and understands things which are not even spoken out loud. It was as if Nanny Clay had looked inside me and seen my heart was broken into a thousand tiny pieces. She did not try to make me feel better. She did not tell me I was silly – that Black Beauty was only a horse. She just let me talk and, as I talked, she tried to understand.

  “Well, pet,” she said when it was dark outside at last and I had almost talked myself hoarse, “we had better introduce you to Lady Hexham. We must convince her to let you stay. But Lord knows how you will make yourself useful to her.”

  “I think I might have an idea about that,” I said with a grin.

  “Good gracious, Josie.” Nanny Clay’s eyes grew wide with worry. “Whatever are you planning now?”

  “You want to be my stable lad?” Lady Hexham was a big woman, who looked a little like a sad walrus. But she peered at me with her small bright eyes and smiled. “All right, Josephine. Why not?”

  “I will tell you why not, Your Ladyship,” said Nanny Clay firmly. “First of all, Josie is the daughter of Sir Charles Green … and secondly … well, as you can see, madam, she is a girl.”

  Lady Hexham nodded her big grey head. “She is the daughter of a baronet; but unless she is too proud to work…”

  “I am not too proud,” I said quickly. “I love working in stables. I want to be around horses for the rest of my life.”

  “Good.” Lady Hexham smiled again. “That’s settled. I shall need someone to open up the stables.” She leant forward. “My goddaughter, Miss Ellen Blomefield, is an orphan and I am her guardian. I neglected her when … well, when I could not face the world and shut myself away. But now I have invited her to live here at Hexham. Ellen is seventeen and very pretty. I am sure that she will want to hold parties and gallavant around the countryside in a carriage. We will fill the stables for her … and for the young men who’ll come to visit. After all, she is to inherit my fortune and will be quite a catch.”

  Lady Hexham laughed so much she began to wheeze.

  “But that’s wonderful,” I said, beginning to pace up and down the drawing room, my head bursting with ideas. “There is a good hay
loft, a carriage shed and plenty of fine stalls – a little white wash and it will look as good as new in no time. Then there are the horses you will need…”

  “First, something sensible to pull a little trap for me,” said Lady Hexham. “Nothing too fancy. But if I am to go out and about in the world, as your dear old Nanny Clay insists I must, then I shall begin by taking a turn around the country lanes. As I remember, they are very pretty at this time of year.”

  “Oh, they are!” I said. “We shall find you the perfect horse, a true gentleman…” My voice caught in my throat for a moment; I couldn’t help thinking about poor Beauty. But I took a deep breath and carried on. “There’s a bank of honeysuckle just before Fairstowe village that you can smell from the top of the hill. And the woods will be full of bluebells in a week or two.”

  “This is all very well,” said Nanny Clay firmly. “But the problem still remains. Josie cannot be a stable lad. She is a girl! She cannot go back to chopping off her hair and binding her bosoms and all that nonsense.” She folded her arms over her own enormous chest. “It just won’t do.”

  “You are right, as always,” said Lady Hexham. “Josephine cannot be a stable lad.”

  “No! That’s not fair,” I cried. “Please! I can do the job as well as any boy. I promise you, I can.”

  Lady Hexham held up her podgy pink hand.

  “If you cannot be a stable lad, you will just have to be a stable girl,” she said, wheezing with laughter and she smiled at Nanny Clay. “It is 1877, you know. We’ve had a queen on the throne for forty years … the country seems to be doing fine under the rule of a woman; I am sure my stables can cope with a girl for a groom.”

  “Thank you!” I fell to my knees and kissed Lady Hexham’s hand as if she was Queen Victoria herself.

  “Honestly!” said Nanny Clay. But she was laughing too.

  As we left the drawing room, Lady Hexham rang a little silver bell.

  “Ah, Wilson,” she said as her butler appeared. “Send word to the dealer in Newton. Tell him to bring something quiet for Josephine to look at. She is to be my new groom, you know.”