She was staring up at him, and he was staring down at her. She was thinking he was the strangest servant she had ever met, the strangest man. She had never heard anyone talk like this; he didn’t use her name, and he wasn’t, well, he wasn’t deferential, yet he was kind. She sensed his kindness; it was in the story about this other girl. She didn’t know whether to believe him or not but she wanted to believe him because she was so unhappy. She had caused Stephen to be sent home. She hadn’t meant to do anything bad, really she hadn’t, but she knew now she should never have kissed Stephen. Her papa’s anger had terrified her and she had been sick all over the bedroom floor.
They had now reached the gate of the meadow and he brought her eyes wide and her hands trembling when, thrusting the horses’ reins into them, he said, ‘This must be the field. Just hang on to those for a minute while I open the gate.’ And when he had opened the gate he called to her, ‘Come on, bring them in.’ Just like that, ‘Come on, bring them in’: no Miss or Miss Annabella. And he was assuming that she could lead horses.
She did not look at the horses before she started to walk; if she did she knew she would drop the reins; but she kept her eyes on the strange man’s face. Then she was through the gate, and he closed it and stood looking about him. Pointing towards the broad trunk of a fallen tree, he walked away from her, saying, ‘Fetch them this way; we’ll have a sit down for a minute.’
As someone mesmerised, she followed him, her arm held to its fullest extent, and the horses docilely followed her.
When she reached the trunk he took the reins from her hand and led the animals towards another tree where he secured them loosely, then patted their muzzles.
He now made to turn away from them and towards her, but as if they had spoken to him he looked back at them, and with one eye still on her he put his ear down to the muzzle of first one horse and then the other, an’ nodded at them, after which he walked towards her and, his black eyebrows raised, he said, ‘Do you know what they tell me?’
She shook her head.
‘They like you.’
She laughed. She opened her mouth wide and she laughed as she had done last night before she had kissed Stephen. She had thought this morning that she would be sad for the rest of her life but here she was laughing again, and this strange groom was laughing with her. He was a funny man, so very amusing. Never, never had she met anyone like him, and when he indicated that she sit on the log and he sat beside her the breach in propriety was not lost on her but she could do nothing about it, she didn’t want to do anything about it. She said to him, ‘Did you have horses in Ireland?’
‘Horses? Oh yes, we had horses. Princes they were, every one.’
‘You were a groom there?’
He moved his head twice before he said, ‘No; I couldn’t say I was a groom. You see the people I stayed with from a child, they trained horses, broke them in, made them into racers or carriage horses or whatever they were suited for.’
‘You did not live with your parents?’ she asked.
He jerked his chin upwards before saying on a little laugh, ‘No, I didn’t live with my parents, but I was brought up by a grand couple, John and Margee McLaughlin. He was the trainer for Mr Fielding and he taught me all I know about horses. And Margee, she was a great woman, she had second sight. Do you know that? She had second sight.’ He turned and nodded to her and she asked him now, in a voice scarcely above a whisper, ‘What is second sight?’
‘Oh.’ His black brows now went up to the black quiff of hair lying on his forehead, and he said, ‘It’s the power to tell the future, it’s the power to tell another human being what’s going to happen to him. Do you know something?’ He leaned towards her. ‘She told me I’d land in this very house. She did, she did that.’
His face looked serious but she had a great desire to laugh again. He was indeed the most amusing person she had ever met, ever dreamed of meeting. She made her face remain straight as she asked politely, ‘Where are they now?’
‘Margee is dead, and John, well, he’s travelling the roads in Ireland. I went with him for a while, but a tinker’s life wasn’t in my line.’
‘You became a tinker?’ She knew what a tinker was, a man who went round the towns grinding scissors and suchlike on a wheel. ‘Why did you become a tinker and leave the horses?’
‘Oh, Mr Fielding, he met hard times. He had houses in both England and Ireland and it was very expensive, so he closed up the Irish establishment and that was that, and when I found the road wasn’t for me I thought I would come to this country and see what it was like.’
She said now politely, ‘A lot of Irish people come to this country; Mr Rosier has a lot of Irish people in his village.’
‘Has he now? But I’m not Irish.’
‘You’re not?’
‘No, no, I’m not Irish, I’m Spanish. Doesn’t my name tell you I’m Spanish, Manuel Mendoza?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’ She almost said Mr Mendoza.
‘Well, how were you to know, we’ve hardly but met?’ Now it was he who had to stop himself from adding something for he had almost said, ‘But I’ve got an idea that we’re going to be firm friends,’ for who knew but that the little miss might carry every word he was saying back to her ma and da. They were a funny lot in this country; some were too stiff with you and others took liberties. He liked neither way.
He said to her now, ‘By the way, do you know what a horse likes?’ and when she shook her head he went on, ‘It likes to feel a child, say of your build, sittin’ quietly on its back, just sittin’, neither the child nor it moving, just like you’re sittin’ there, just sittin’ at your ease sort of.’
‘Really!’
‘Yes, come on. Come on and I’ll show you.’
She hesitated for a moment before she got to her feet, and then she followed him as he moved away, and when they reached the horses a most surprising thing happened. The dark-faced amusing groom put his hands under her armpits and with an ‘Up you go!’ lifted her right on to the saddle. It was usual for the groom to cup his hands so that she could put her foot into the palms and this helped her to scramble up on to the animal’s back, a process she always found frightening and dishevelling. But here she was now sitting on the horse’s back, and it wasn’t going to move because it was tied to the tree.
‘Does that feel comfortable?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Push yourself a little further back. There, that’s it. Now lift your knee a little bit. Ah, now you’ve got it and you look very elegant, very elegant indeed. Now take your hand and hold the reins, so, and with your other hand stroke his neck. Go on, stroke his neck and have a word with him. Say “Hello, Chester,” ’cos this is Chester. Yes, an’ that one’s Sandy. I hardly know them meself yet. Go on now, talk to them.’
When she lowered her head and made a sound very like an unladylike giggle he put his head to one side and looked up into her face and said, ‘Don’t be shy, ask him what he had for breakfast. Say to him, “Did you have a good bellyful, Chester?” . . . Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ He shook his head at her. ‘You would never say that. A lady would never say that, she would say, “Did you have a nice meal, Chester?”’
She was laughing again, her mouth so wide now she had to put her hand over it.
For half an hour longer she sat on the horse and the new, strange and entertaining groom talked to her; then once again she was leading the horses, but out of the field now and again they were walking along the drive in the same way as they came. But just before they came within sight of the house Manuel stopped and, looking at her, said, ‘Would you do me a great favour’ – and now he did add her title – ‘Miss?’ and she said, ‘Yes, Manuel, if you tell me what it is.’
‘Well, you know how you sat back there on top of Chester?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, would you do it again? You see, if we walk back into the stable yard your father will think I’m not earnin’ me way, you understand? I’m being paid to make you ride and it’s ten to one he’ll want to kick me from here to . . . ’ he omitted hell and submitted, ‘Shields, if he sees us walking in.’
‘Oh, I understand, Manuel. Yes, yes, I’ll sit on Chester.’ She didn’t term it riding him, riding was being bounced up and down, riding was seeing the ground from a great distance and knowing you’re going to fall on to it.
When he again hoisted her up into position she smiled at him and said softly, and with deep sincerity, ‘Thank you, Manuel,’ for it had come to her suddenly that it wasn’t his position he was worried about, he was thinking of her and how her father would react towards her if he felt she hadn’t made any progress at all.
Of late she wished more than ever to please her father because of late she had become a little afraid of him.
Manuel, looking up into the green eyes, thought, Poor wee thing, there’s joy in her but it’s been clamped down somewhat. He’d have to see what he could do by way of letting it escape now and again.
So, for the first time, Annabella returned to the stable yard on a horse feeling neither sick nor faint, and after once more thanking Manuel she ran into the house to find her mama, and when she was told her mama was walking in the grounds she dashed out again and kept running until she saw her at the far end of the pagoda.
Rosina saw at once that the child was happy and excited and she let her go on prattling about the kindness of the new groom. She had not thought it unseemly that they should sit together in the field on a tree trunk. She had observed them from the cover of the wood. She had also observed the man lifting the child on to the horse in the most unorthodox fashion and kept her sitting there for an unusually long time, making no effort to train her; yet apparently she had ridden the horse back into the stable yard. The young man’s methods may have been prompted by the fear he saw in the child, but to her mind even from a distance his manner expressed open familiarity. So now, taking Annabella’s hand, she told her that she was happy she had enjoyed her first lesson under the new groom, but she reminded her gently that no matter how kind or sympathetic servants might be they remained servants and therefore had to be kept in their place, and that place could only be made clear to them through the manner of their superiors. Did Annabella understand?
Yes, Annabella understood.
Rosina couldn’t tell her that in future she must not sit on a log with a servant because that would put herself in a position of having spied, but she felt she had made the point quite clear, and she had. But this did not stop Annabella from thinking that something nice and surprising had come into her life. Manuel, she considered, was more like a young person, someone like Stephen, even younger, although he must be all of twenty years old. No-one had made her laugh like he had and he was so kind, kind and gentle.
And she thought this way until a fortnight later when, entering the stable yard with her father, she came upon the most surprising scene.
Manuel felt he had been at Redford not only for two weeks or two months but for two years. He was not only doing the work he loved, he was being well fed and well quartered; no longer was he sleeping under the rafters, he now had a room to himself above the end stable. It was only a small room, some would consider it bare, but he preferred bareness, after sleeping six to a room in that rat warren in Shields, knowing that as soon as you jumped out of your bed another jumped in. What was more he was getting the amazing sum of thirty pounds a year and livery all found. The livery suited him. It was of a warm, tan colour matching his skin, and giving him a fine set-up look.
There was only one fly in the ointment. This centred around what he termed to himself as ‘them ignorant galoots in there’. They didn’t like the way he had jumped into his position and they weren’t past showing it. The womenfolk were all right, but then womenfolk were always all right towards him, too all right for comfort at times; they were out to hook a man and most of them were sluts at bottom. He was particular about the woman he was going to have permanently in his bed; about the others that came and went, well you hadn’t much choice. It was when nature piped you had to dance and take whatever partner was available at such times.
He had known for a few days now that things were coming to a head. They were skitting at him from behind their hands during mealtimes, talking about people sucking up to the master, foreigners an’ that. His stomach couldn’t stand such jibes for he sucked up to no man, he had no need; deep inside he was his own man, and always would be.
On this morning he entered the kitchen late for his meal. It had been a busy morning, they had been going at it hell for leather since five o’clock because the master was riding into the works at half-past nine, and Fairisle had to be got ready. Also, the mistress was taking the coach to Durham around the same time; and then the young miss was for her lesson. He had worked like two men polishing and strapping.
Armorer was going with the coach, taking John Heron with him, and as they both had to get spruced up he had said to Armorer, ‘Leave it to me and Danny and away and get your meal and changed. The coach will be glinting like a tiara, never fear.’ Armorer had laughed and thumped him on the back and said, ‘You’re a good bloke, Manuel; I bless those fellows who knocked you about,’ and they both had laughed. Armorer knew he had respect for him because he was a horse man and he returned it.
So now he entered the kitchen almost at the end of the meal and when Dorrie, the kitchen maid, smilingly placed a large bowl of porridge before him, he smiled his thanks at her and she hunched up her shoulders and giggled.
He was halfway through the porridge when his spoon halted in mid-air for a second before continuing its journey to his mouth. Faill and Cargill were talking in undertones but they were undertones that were meant to carry. He heard the name of the governess mentioned, then Faill saying, ‘Up in the world. I wonder if he puts his hand on her backside to hoist her?’ The porridge stuck in his throat. He knew they were skitting about the new order of things. Having taken the child out but once on his own, they were thereafter accompanied by the governess. She’d had her orders, too, that she must learn to ride but she was more scared of the animals than was the child, and so she was content to sit on the tree trunk while he took the child round the meadow. He was not averse to the governess being present; she was a comely looking young woman, older than himself by six years or more he’d say, but very pleasant, if a little stiff; however, he meant to do his best to soften that stiffness for she seemed a part of Margee’s prophecy. He saw her as a means to an end. He had another great desire in his life besides a desire to work with animals, and that was to be able to read and write, and who better to teach him than a governess?
When Faill and Cargill rose from the table they were still laughing but they didn’t speak until they reached the door that led into the yard; then Faill’s voice came to him, saying, ‘Put the devil on horseback and he’ll ride to hell, so they say, but put an Irish Mick on horseback and where does he go? I’ll tell you . . . ’
Faill never finished the sentence, he was so startled by the attack that even if he had been any match for Manuel he wouldn’t have put up a fight. He found himself lifted from the ground and pinned against the wall by a steel hand at his throat and another gripping his shoulder, and he hung suspended there for seconds like a rag doll until Manuel let him drop to the ground but still holding him as he growled, ‘What did you call me? Say it! What did you call me?’
Faill was unable to speak for the pressure on his throat, and when Cargill came to his assistance he was knocked on to his back by a side kick like that from a horse.
Manuel now took his hand from Faill’s throat and gripped his other shoulder with it, then he repeated the question, ‘What did you call me?’
‘Aa . . . Aa
. . . Aa . . . ’ Faill was gulping, drawing in great draughts of air. ‘Aa only said.’
‘Aye, go on.’ Manuel waited, but Faill just moved his head from side to side while he stared into the eyes that looked like blazing black coals.
‘You called me an Irish Mick. Well, let me tell you, I’m no Irish Mick. My name is Manuel Mendoza. What is me name?’
There was a pause before Faill muttered, ‘M . . . Manuel Mendoza.’
Manuel slowly took his hands from the shivering shoulders; then straightening his own back he looked about him. The kitchen door and window were crowded with servants; Cargill was lifting himself from the stones of the yard and holding his hip; and surveying the scene from the entrance to the yard were the master and young mistress.
‘What’s this, brawling?’ Lagrange came slowly forward. He kept his voice stern and his face straight but he wasn’t displeased. The fellow had lifted Faill up as if he was a child; he had amazing strength, yet he had shown not the slightest interest in the match last week, in fact he had been slightly scornful as he had watched the two best fighters in the county. He had no praise for the forty-five rounds they had gone; he had been amused that they had been so stupid as to get their faces flattened, as he put it; yet he could use his fists, that was evident, and he couldn’t see any local man standing up to them for forty-five rounds.
As he confronted the fellow he saw that he was still angry and noted to himself that he was a handsome individual, much more so when his face was ablaze. He demanded of him now, ‘What do you think you’re up to? Trying to kill someone?’
‘I am no Irish Mick . . . Sir.’ Again the pause that irritated Lagrange. ‘And I won’t be named as such. Me name is Manuel Mendoza.’
‘We’re aware of that, but the term Irish Mick is the common term applied to Irishmen around here.’
The Glass Virgin Page 13
