Their eyes held in silence. Lagrange’s body swayed with the movement of the horse. Manuel Mendoza’s shoulders hardly moved with his walking, for unconsciously he carried himself from his hips.
The horse had taken eight paces and the man hadn’t answered. Lagrange’s jaws were tightening, his face darkening, when the fellow said, ‘Very good.’ Yet he still did not add the required vocative. For a moment he thought of him as an unbroken horse that needed taming, yet the eyes looking back into his were those of no colt, rather those of an experienced stallion. He was puzzled by the fellow, intrigued, yet all the while irritated, but he warned himself he must not show this for he may this night have acquired a very remunerative sideline, a very necessary sideline to his strained finances.
Two
It was just getting light the following morning when Manuel Mendoza sat up on his pallet bed in the attic space above the hayloft and bumped his head against the roof. This did not cause him to put his hand to the top of his head but to the side of his cheek which under the bandage was throbbing painfully. When he moved his left arm it was only slightly stiff, and on this he drew in a deep breath. The knife had only seared the skin. But what matter a few scratches? He stretched his arms outwards, clenched his fists and, putting his head back on his shoulders, tensed his neck muscles; then getting on to his knees he looked out of the window.
He had fallen into heaven. It was right then what Margee had told him. He could hear her voice as if she were speaking this minute as she had read his palm, an unusual thing for her to do, for she didn’t waste her talents unless there was money in it. ‘You’ll end up in a big house, lad, with servants spillin’ all over the place. And,’ she had said, ‘many strange things’ll happen you, some bitter, some sweet, an’ some terrible. But where’re you be you’ll never have to call any man master.’
Well – the look in his deep brown eyes was sceptical – he had landed in a big house all right. She was right there. But the thing she had emphasised most was wrong, because he’d had to call a man master. ‘Call me Sir,’ he’d said . . . But what odds, he had landed in heaven and he’d call him God if he so demanded. He looked down on to the yard below, and the sight of the stables and the knowledge of what was in them stirred his blood.
He had been sleeping naked and now he hastily pulled on his torn shirt and trousers and, his feet bare, he walked softly across the floor and let himself down through the trapdoor into the hayloft. Then, groping his way between the bales, because it was dark on this floor and he hadn’t his bearings yet, he came to the open trapdoor, went down the short ladder to the ground floor, then into the yard.
He already knew that the harness room was next door for that was where they had fixed him up last night and brought him that fine meal. He now went slowly towards it and, opening first the top half and then the bottom, he entered before standing in awe looking at the things that appeared like jewels to him. The wood-lined room was dotted with pegs and hooks from which hung halters, snaffles, pieces of harness, bits, and brasswork. Then over against the far wall was a line of saddle trees holding the saddle pads. The smell of harness was perfume to his nostrils and the gleam of the leather warmed his soul.
Slowly he walked round the room touching one thing after the other as if they were sacred relics, and he stood for a moment with his two hands on the warm boiler looking at the banked-down fire in the rough stone fireplace to the side of it. Then he went out and into the stables.
A bay horse was lying in its stall and it turned its head and looked at him, then in two movements it rocked itself to its feet and, head up, stared at the strange intruder, snorting its disapproval.
Manuel, standing perfectly still, made a sound in his throat, then another, which he repeated at least half a dozen times before he began to move slowly forward. Now, hand extended, he touched the long, silk muzzle; he just touched it, no movement of the fingers at first, then slowly he began to stroke the cheek, his throat continuing to send forth the strange sounds.
He was aware that someone had been standing in the doorway for quite a while before moving, and then he didn’t turn his head until the voice said, ‘Eeh God sakes! Him lettin’ ya do that.’
‘Mornin’.’ Manuel turned and looked at the blear-eyed stable boy. It was the one called Danny Dinning. Danny did not give him a good morning in return, but said, ‘He’s wild that one. Mr Armorer, he’s the only one can handle him. Kicks hell out of everything at times; breaks up his box, the lot. Sakes alive! You know horses, mister. I forgot your name.’
‘Manuel. Manuel Mendoza.’
‘What’s this?’
Now they both turned towards the door and were confronted by Armorer who looked from one to the other; then, his eyes coming to rest on Manuel, he added, not unkindly, ‘I should have warned you, I’ll see to him. Best to keep your distance from him.’
‘He’s all right.’
‘That’s all you know.’ The coachman turned on Dinning, crying harshly, ‘Well! what you standin’ there for? Fifteen past five and not one of them watered yet. Do you want my boot in your arse afore you start?’
The boy scurried away and Manuel said, in a voice that held much more deference than when he had been speaking to Lagrange, ‘I’d be obliged if you’d put me to work.’
‘The master said nothin’ about you startin’ right away; you’re in a mess. How do you feel?’
‘Oh, stiff, that’s all. An hour or so strapping at them’ – he jerked his head back at the horses – ‘will soon put that right.’
‘You’re used to horses then? Not just Irish donkeys?’
Manuel’s face became straight, the look almost aggressive, as he answered, ‘Not just Irish donkeys.’
‘Oh well’ – Armorer jerked his chin up – ‘the Irish that come over here, they talk about horses but what they mean by horses are little snotty-nosed donkeys. But then, after yesterday’ – he nodded his head slowly at Manuel now – ‘you couldn’t have stopped that pair if you hadn’t have known what you were about. Well—’ He turned abruptly and walked along the stables, continuing, ‘Dinning and Heron muck out first thing, then they bring the water from the river. There’s a well and a spring but the water’s too cold for them. Everything’s weighed, chopped straw, bruised oats, barley dust, salt, the lot. I’ll show you later. Fairisle, Beauty and Sandy there,’ – he pointed to the three boxes one after the other – ‘they’re exercised between six and seven; after they get back they’re wisped and strapped, that’s after they’ve been washed if they’re mucky . . . Do with another hand here, I’m tellin’ you; you haven’t come afore time. Six horses, two carriages, we’re goin’ at it from Monday mornin’ till Sunday night. The master, he’s particular, finicky I’d say, where the animals are concerned; not above flinging the dandy brush at you and knockin’ hell out of the whole place if the turnout isn’t right, whether it’s Fairisle or the coach. That’s Fairisle; but you saw him last night. This other one’s Chester; you won’t recognise him but it was him and Sandy you pulled down yesterday. Then the one you were comin’ to terms with along there, the holy terror, he’s called Dizzy.’
And so Manuel followed George Armorer over his whole establishment listening intently to every word he said, taking in everything he saw. Nothing escaped him with regard to the horses or their surroundings.
And nothing escaped him either when at nine o’clock he went into the kitchen for his first meal.
All eyes were on him, especially those of the women. The cook sat at the head of the table and down one side, on her left, were the female staff, seven in all. The kitchen and scullery maids waited on the table, eating after the others were finished. Down her right side sat the seven men servants, the two stable boys coming at the bottom of the table, and between them and George Armorer an empty space had been left, and when Manuel came late into the kitchen because he had been washing
himself under the pump, Armorer beckoned him to the vacant seat.
No-one spoke to him, but the women, down to Fanny Pierce, the youngest, flicked their glances at him between giggles until brought to silence by the cook. The men, on the other hand, talked among themselves, yet everyone at the table was curious about the big, foreign-looking young fellow whom the master had brought in out of the night all bleeding and messed up and said he was to be the new groom. When, having finished his meal, Manuel rose immediately to his feet, excusing himself, but to no-one in particular, by saying, ‘I’ll away then,’ they all looked at his departing figure in amazement; it was usual to sit after the meal, if only for five minutes, and discuss the business of the house and any little titbit that would arouse interest, and in the case of a newcomer this would be the time they asked him questions about his last place of service, the conditions and so on.
Reeves, the first footman, was a man of position when in the kitchen and he was annoyed; the fellow acted already as if he was somebody, as if he had authority. Well, it was up to himself to show him just what his position was in this household. Thrusting his face forward and looking down the table towards Armorer, he said, ‘You’d better let him know how things stand; if you don’t I will,’ and to this Armorer replied coolly, for in his own sphere he felt equal to Reeves if not above him, ‘He’ll learn in his own good time. An’ what I’d better remind you on about afore you try on anythin’ is that he’s the master’s choice, private like. An’ something else you didn’t know, he’s one of his glass works men.’ And with slow emphasis he now ended, ‘An’ if anybody’ll be tellin’ him anythin’ it’ll be me.’ And on this he, too, left the table, and the company looked at one another and the women said, almost in one voice, ‘Fancy that!’ And the men talked together and they were all agreed that the fellow wouldn’t fit in. Master’s choice or no master’s choice, he wasn’t right somehow.
It was 10.30 the same morning when Lagrange brought Annabella into the stable yard. Manuel was in the act of leading Dizzy, ready saddled, from the stable, and Lagrange looked at him appreciatively calling, ‘Come here!’ The tone was imperious and although Manuel stopped the animal from moving on he did not leave it and come forward, but said, ‘I’d better take him back . . . ’ There was a split second before he added, ‘Sir.’
As Manuel went to turn the animal round Lagrange, after a moment’s consideration, called in the same tone, ‘No, bring him forward.’ It would have been much simpler for him to have gone up to the horse and the new groom but that would never have done, and in this case it was important that the fellow realised he had to bend the knee, metaphorically speaking, by touching his forelock. He, like the horse he was attending, had to be broken in if he was going to be of any use to him; yet he warned himself to go gently – there was no contract or bond between them as yet to hold him; he’d have to see to that as soon as possible.
A feeling of impatience, akin to anger, assailed him as he watched the fellow coax the animal forward, speaking to it in some gibberish. When it was within two yards distance he pulled it up but kept his knuckles moving slightly against the beast’s gullet while holding the reins short.
‘This is my daughter. I wish her to ride and ride well.’
Lagrange looked down at Annabella, and Annabella, her face white, her lips trembling slightly, looked at the new groom. He looked a very dark man and he had been hurt, but the eye that wasn’t swollen was smiling kindly at her.
‘You’ll take her every day, rain or shine, until she can ride. Put her on Chestnut to start with. I . . . I would see to her training myself but I haven’t the time.’ He did not say that he had taken her out but twice, the first time she had fainted and fallen off the animal, and he had blamed Rosina for putting her up to that refined trick, the second time she had wept openly and been sick over the animal’s mane. That had nauseated him and he had wanted to take his hand and knock her flying. With anyone else he wouldn’t have hesitated, and it was only the fear of what he might be driven to do that had prevented him from taking her out again. He had tried getting Armorer to teach her, but the man had said she couldn’t sit a horse and had dared to add he doubted if she ever would.
‘For how long each day, Sir?’
‘What? Oh, whatever you think necessary. An hour, two if you like.’ He wanted to warn him that there might be faintings and falls but he’d let him find out that for himself.
Manuel again looked at the child, and now with interest. He had heard she was but ten. She was very tall for her age, and much too thin to his mind, but what came over to him most forcibly now was her fear. He could actually smell it, and the animal could smell it too; he felt it in the quiver passing down its neck.
Lagrange was saying, ‘You don’t know your way about yet. One of them will show you the meadow, it’s off the east drive. There’s hurdles there, all that is necessary, but—’ his lips took on a twisted smile, ‘I don’t suppose she’ll be needing hurdles for at least a week.’
The fellow did not grin at his joke and again he felt a strong feeling of exasperation. He said abruptly, ‘About boxing. There’s a bout being held at Marsden, outside Shields, on Saturday, six o’clock. You should go and see it.’
Manuel looked at his new master and only stopped himself in time from saying, ‘Aw, it’s of no interest to me,’ for he had been quick to realise that fisticuffs meant a lot to this man, and the stable boys’ prattle had borne that out already. Very likely he would have left him to get on with it last night if it hadn’t been for his interest in the game, for if he had learnt anything about men, this man and his type did nothing for nothing, there was always a purpose in their every action. But this man had horses, and if he himself wanted to stay with horses, and aw, begod he did, for without the animals life was empty for him, then he would have to take an interest in boxing. But that’s all he would take; he wasn’t going to have his face battered flat to please this fellow or anybody else. But he’d let his new master come to this knowledge quietly. And so he parried now by saying, ‘If I can get leave, Sir.’
‘Oh that. I’ll see to it.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Well now.’ Lagrange looked down at Annabella. ‘What am I going to hear after this first lesson?’
Annabella swallowed deeply, then murmured, ‘I’ll try, Papa; truly I’ll try.’
‘That’s a good girl.’ He straightened her hat with the tips of his fingers, then looked down at the green cord habit that he had ordered to be made for her last year. The skirt was a little short now, indecent, the old faggot Alice had said.
He was standing with his back to the house but he knew without turning that his wife was stationed at one of the windows. Her first protest had been that the child’s lessons would be interrupted; that was until she had learned he was sending her out with a new servant, then her protest had taken energy. What! a man they knew nothing about except that he had worked for a few weeks in the glass works and had been prompt to stop the runaway horses yesterday. Moreover, he looked foreign. It was preposterous. When he had informed her that he was a good judge of men and that he could rely on his own judgement, she had answered that if the company he kept was the result of his judgement then no decent man would take it as a reference. He had thought, and often of late, if it wasn’t for the trump card he held in the child he’d have a much more difficult time with her than he had already.
Ten minutes later Rosina watched her daughter walking by the side of the dark-visaged groom who was leading two horses. There was something about the man, she told herself, that she didn’t like. She was suspicious of him. True, he had saved them from a bad accident yesterday, but he had also refused money, which was very odd in one of his class. Moreover, if he knew so much about horses why had he been working in a glass factory, why not an ostler’s or a brewery? She knew they were making for the east drive and the meadow and hastily she
went to her room and decided to take a walk in the grounds . . .
Manuel didn’t speak to the child until they were halfway down the drive and then, not looking at her but casting his eyes from one side to the other, he said, ‘It’s a beautiful garden you have here, Miss.’
‘Yes, yes, it is.’
‘You’ve a lot of beautiful flowers; I’ve never seen the like in Ireland and I’ve travelled over most of it.’
‘Oh.’
‘Do you know something?’
‘What? What did you say? I . . . I don’t know your name.’
‘Manuel . . . And I was sayin’, do you know something, an’ you won’t believe it but over there in Ireland I knew a little girl the same size as yourself an’ practically the spit of you, an’ you couldn’t get her near a horse either, she was scared out of her wits of them, just like yourself.’
‘Really! Did . . . Did she never learn?’
‘Oh aye. Oh aye, she learned, but it took some time. Once she knew what the animal was thinking she got on like a house on fire.’
‘What the animal was thinking?’
‘Yes. You see all animals, particularly horses, they want to like folks, they’re very affectionate, and if you don’t like them, well they sort of know, sense it like, and decide to keep their distance. They’re almost like people, horses, and you know yourself, if you don’t like somebody they’re not goin’ to like you in return.’
The Glass Virgin Page 12
