HartsLove

by K. M. Grant

  ‘There!’ cried Robin. Mrs Entwhistle began to fan herself.

  ‘Though actually,’ Daisy continued, ‘it’s worse.’

  ‘Worse?’ Mrs Entwhistle sat down with a bump.

  ‘Yes, worse,’ Daisy repeated. ‘You see, the intruder said he’d leave Robin a present. Isn’t that right, Robin?’

  Robin nodded.

  Daisy brought out the little bag and opened it. ‘I think this is it.’

  Jonas seized the bag and tipped the contents on to the table. Robin’s breath was a jagged high croak.

  ‘For God’s sake, boy! It’s just a dead bird!’ his father shouted.

  ‘But, look at it! Don’t you see what kind of a bird it is, Jonas?’ his wife whispered.

  ‘Birds are birds!’

  Daisy whipped the little corpse out of the way as Jonas crashed his fist down. ‘Be careful of the poor robin!’ she cried. ‘It must have died because its wings are withered and it couldn’t fly.’

  ‘A robin? What? A robin with withered wings? Oh, this is nonsense,’ cried Jonas, glaring at Daisy, then Robin, whose croak had dissolved into a whimper. ‘Don’t be such a sissy, boy!’

  Merle and Lilith were wailing. ‘We want to go home.’

  ‘Home? This is going to be your home!’

  Daisy approached Robin. She was holding the broken bird out to him, and on his other side Garth was stroking the Furious Boy’s arm. Robin took no notice of Garth, but there was something about the dead robin amid the breakfast crumbs that spooked him more than anything he had seen the night before – indeed, more than anything he had seen in his life. It was not that the robin looked tortured. It did not. But it did not look peaceful either. Its beak was open, as though death had crept up on it when least expected. In the milky glaze of its dead eyes, Robin’s own reflection was distorted. And those wings. Those pathetic, helpless wings. Robin would have run outside and ground the bird into the dirt if his legs had agreed to carry him. That stuff with the statue had been a joke, right? He knew it. He knew it. Yet there were Daisy’s withered legs, and she was looking so weird – almost as if she were sorry for him. He could not help running his hands up and down his arms. ‘I hate you all and I hate this place,’ he groaned. He glared at his father. ‘Can’t you see? This whole castle’s ugly and deformed, and if we live here that’s just what we’ll become. I don’t like it. I don’t want it.’

  ‘You’ll want what I tell you to want!’ shouted Mr Entwhistle.

  ‘I won’t,’ Robin shouted back.

  ‘Jonas! Jonas!’ cried Mrs Entwhistle. ‘The boy’s not well.’

  The girls backed away from their brother. ‘We don’t want to live here either. We don’t want to end up mad like him.’

  ‘But this is a castle! A castle!’ Jonas argued angrily. ‘It’s fitting. It’s our right.’

  His wife drew her tassles around her and forced herself to touch her son. ‘There, there.’ She turned on her husband. ‘There’s other castles,’ she snapped. ‘I’m not asking the neighbours round to meet intruders and dead things.’

  Mr Entwhistle thumped the table. ‘We ARE going to live here.’

  ‘We aren’t,’ said his wife. ‘Robin’s right. There is something rotten about this place, and if my boy’s permanently damaged –’ she shook her necklace at Charles as she pushed her children out – ‘I shall hold you personally responsible.’ Her husband was still thumping the table. ‘The carriage, Jonas.’

  Mr Entwhistle knew that tone. He carried on thumping even as he began to deflate. ‘I simply don’t understand what’s happened here.’ When he finally stopped thumping, he looked to each of the de Granvilles for an explanation. None was forthcoming. Mrs Snipper brought him his hat. ‘Goodbye, dearie,’ she said. Complaining, Jonas Entwhistle found himself chivvied out of the dining room. He was still complaining when the front door slammed behind him. As he got into his carriage, his complaints became more muffled until eventually they merged with the crunch of carriage wheels.

  In the long pause that followed, Charles retreated to the library and Daisy found herself surrounded.

  ‘How on earth did you manage that?’

  ‘Yes, how did you do that?’

  ‘Was there really a horse?’

  ‘That poor robin.’

  ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘On my bed,’ said Daisy when she could get a word in.

  ‘No, Rose meant before that,’ said Garth.

  ‘I didn’t find it before that. It was in a bag on my bed.’

  ‘Who put it there?’

  Daisy shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea. And there was a horse. It was The One.’

  ‘Of course, but how did you make him white?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Daisy said. ‘I really didn’t have anything to do with it. Nothing at all. It must have been Skelton. I absolutely swear it wasn’t me.’ She turned on the twins. ‘You two! How could you have giggled? You spoiled everything! We should never have needed The One or the dead robin.’ Her relief at getting rid of the intruders was quickly turning to concern. The One’s first gallop! In the dark and with a great lump of a boy on top of him!

  ‘We’re so sorry!’ cried the twins. ‘We didn’t mean to.’ They were mortified and nervy. They could not imagine how they had giggled.

  Daisy swallowed. What was the point of shouting at the twins now? ‘I’m going to the stables. I’ve got to see if The One’s all right,’ she said. Her crutches were leaning against the door.

  The twins hung back. The thought of The One being lame again was almost worse than the Entwhistles.

  ‘You really think it was Skelton? It doesn’t seem like him at all. What does he care about the place – I mean, really?’ Garth was running with Daisy. Rose and Lily hurried close behind. The twins followed reluctantly.

  ‘It must have been him,’ Daisy said, swinging as fast as she could. ‘Just because we don’t like him doesn’t mean he’s completely bad. I mean, he was helpful when The One was lame, and I suppose he doesn’t want to move from here either.’

  The One’s head was poking from his top door. Skelton came out of his house when he heard the chatter. ‘Is he all right?’ Daisy called as she unfastened the stable bolt.

  Skelton was taken aback by Daisy’s alarm. He was on his guard at once.

  ‘We’ve really come to thank you,’ said Lily quickly. She thought his feelings might be hurt by Daisy’s question, which did, after all, imply some criticism. ‘It was so clever of you to think of the whitewash. I mean, we thought of the statues, but a whole horse! We’re so grateful. It must have taken a while to wash the stuff off.’ She was beaming at him, and a beam from Lily was quite a beam.

  Up in the loft, Snipe scratched his lice and watched. that Lily’s beam was directed at Skelton did not bother him one bit. He knew it was his due, and took it as such.

  Skelton, who had only seen Clover and Columbine taking Tinker to the castle the day before, began slowly to understood why The One had been curiously damp when he had fed him earlier. He had thought the stable roof must be leaking, though he was not aware there had been any rain. He had looked about a bit but had not gone into the shed where the whitewash was kept. Had he done so, he might have been surprised to find a number of things not as he left them. As it was, he returned Lily’s beam and searched her face for more clues. ‘It was a good idea,’ he said in a tone that invited her to disclose a little more about what he was being thanked for doing.

  ‘You looked different all in black,’ Daisy said as she put The One’s head-collar on. ‘And how did you appear from the kitchen range and get The One painted and out at the front all at the same time? You must have had some help, and I can’t believe it was Mrs Snips.’

  Skelton, his face blank but his mind working furiously, tapped his nose. ‘Old Skelton has friends, you know,’ he said evasively.

  ‘What friends?’ Garth asked.

  ‘Garth!’ reproached Lily.

  Garth and Skelton scrutinised each
other. Skelton pointed in the vague direction of the church. ‘Some friends are silent friends, if you get my meaning,’ he said.

  ‘Of course!’ said Lily. ‘Father Nameless.’

  Skelton grinned at her. ‘Let’s say no more about it, eh?’

  The One stepped daintily into the yard and shook himself. In the sunlight, a few dried whitewash spots were still visible. Daisy flicked them off and ran her hands down his legs. They were cool and smooth. She felt his knee last. It was flat and only naturally warm. No damage – at least none that was visible.

  ‘I just can’t see Father Nameless helping Skelton,’ murmured Garth to Rose as they watched Clover or Columbine trot the horse across the yard, wanting to make up for their giggling.

  ‘Why not?’ said Rose. ‘After all, he’s going to lose his home too.’

  Garth did a series of slow cartwheels. The dead robin fell out of his pocket. Lily picked it up. ‘We must bury it with due honours,’ she said. ‘It died a hero’s death.’

  ‘It probably died of old age.’ Garth took the bird from Lily. ‘But let’s give it a funeral anyway.’

  The One stretched his legs. The night’s excursion had not upset him. He liked the foxy-featured man who had come for him out of the shadows. He also liked the whitewash, which had been delicious to lick. He did not like the wobbling boy, but he had not lasted long. The One smelled Snipe in the loft and stiffened, ears pricked, hopeful of further excitements.

  ‘He looks more like a racehorse today, missy,’ Skelton said.

  ‘He should rest, shouldn’t he? He shouldn’t work again so soon after his first gallop?’ Daisy found it hard to believe that one mishap with a rope could result in devastation but a mad caper in the dark result in nothing at all. Clover or Columbine did a great deal of running before she allowed herself to believe that all was well.

  ‘Quite right, missy,’ Skelton agreed. He could not imagine who had used The One, and right under his nose too. He was not angry, however. Whoever it was had done Skelton a favour. He pressed his advantage. ‘You know, I’d not have risked a gallop if I hadn’t thought the leg would stand up to it. But I was sure it would, and I want to do my bit for this old place.’ He coughed. ‘Training begins again tomorrow? The horse needs more fast work.’

  Daisy nodded. She did not feel she could do much else. She turned to Garth. ‘Do you think we could take down the “for sale” sign? Last night was all very well, but The One must never be used like that again.’

  ‘If you take the sign down, your father’s creditors’ll come running,’ said Skelton, wanting to demonstrate just how helpful he could be. ‘I’ll just shift it. It’ll be harder to see if a tree’s in the way.’ He winked at Lily.

  ‘You’ve been so obliging,’ Lily said.

  ‘Always a pleasure, missy,’ he replied. ‘As I say, we’ve got to stick up for the place.’

  By mid-morning, the sun was blazing properly for the first time that year and the valley almost purred. The children buried the robin and spent the rest of the day at the Resting Place. Clover and Columbine, still very repentant, read aloud funny bits from obituaries. The One idled beside them. Daisy held the horse at first, but as the sun grew hotter and he settled, eyes half shut, in the lumpy shade of the chestnut tree, she unclipped the rope and went to lie on the flat gravestone. Lily sat beside her, and Garth, who climbed into the chestnut tree, observed them both as he juggled. They talked amongst themselves about the night before, filling in each other’s gaps. Clover and Columbine apologised again for laughing. A stranger might have thought them very relaxed, not being able to see how their ears were straining all the time for carriage wheels. The Entwhistles would most likely not return but on a lovely day like this other intruders were a distinct possibility.

  By mid-afternoon, however, when nobody had come and Skelton had hidden the ‘for sale’ sign under the branches of an oak tree, the tension eased. After dinner that night, they all filed into Daisy’s room and sat under the cobweb. ‘All will be well,’ Daisy said. ‘All manner of things will be well.’ Nobody replied. They did not disbelieve her; they did not believe her either.

  19

  With only two weeks left until the Two Thousand Guineas, Daisy no longer slept. All would not be well. Though she urged The One to gallop when loose in the field, she knew he needed to gallop with a proper jockey. She was also beginning to realise that the horse’s arbitrary obedience, so charming to her, meant that he might not gallop the very second the starter shouted ‘off’, thus losing valuable seconds. When she spoke to him firmly he listened, but Daisy was not silly enough to believe that he actually understood. Yet what else could she do? Since the Entwhistle haunting, Daisy felt it should have been easier to consult Skelton. Rose and Lily certainly liked him better. Lily had even insisted that they invite him to tea to thank him properly. Yet The One still disliked the groom, and Daisy sided with the horse. She would not consult Skelton. She would just hope that the riderless gallops sufficed as preparation.

  Garth had marked out a curving racetrack amid the bumps and tussocks of the moor. According to Charles’s racing books, the Two Thousand Guineas course was straight whilst the Derby course ran left-handed. Daisy concentrated on the curve of the Derby course. The One must get used to galloping round left-handed corners. She did not want to admit that this was a waste of time since The One seldom ran true in any direction. Sometimes he ran to the left and sometimes to the right. Sometimes he ran straight. Occasionally, he turned right round and galloped back the way he had come. Daisy could not stop him and she doubted she would ever be able to.

  To practise a racing start, Garth requisitioned one of the old Hartslove standards. Standing on a small heap of stones, he raised the flag and dropped it as he imagined the starter would do. Sometimes The One responded instantly because the flag gave him a fright. Other times he would watch the flag with interest and canter at a time that suited him better. There were even times when he did not bother to canter at all. None of this was any good.

  Then there was the question of actually getting the horse to Newmarket for the Two Thousand Guineas, and from Newmarket to Epsom for the Derby. Even amidst her worries, Daisy would not admit that The One might fail in the Two Thousand Guineas and never qualify for the Derby at all. She concentrated only on the practicalities. In the rare moments when Charles was fit to speak, she tried to ask him about travel arrangements. He stood still. He murmured. Then he drifted away without answering. If she pursued him, he would stumble into a run. Finally, Daisy asked Rose to ask Arthur. Rose was shocked. ‘I can’t ask him. He’s helped us already, Daisy. Besides, you know what’ll happen if I do. He’ll pay the travel expenses himself. You know he will.’ Daisy did know. She did not really want Rose to ask Arthur. She was just putting off the inevitable.

  Skelton had been waiting for this moment. ‘The horse will go on the train,’ he said at once. ‘We’ll rent space in a van. You’ve been galloping, I hope? You’ve got the horse to do a proper racing start? Not much point taking The One south if he’s going to show you up now, is there? Shall I list Master Garth as jockey?’ He fixed Daisy with a look from under a new cap.

  Daisy did not pretend. What was the point? Skelton already knew the answers to his own questions. ‘You know Garth’s not riding. We’ll need a jockey,’ she said.

  Skelton could not resist. ‘Really, Miss Daisy? Never mind. I expect Master Garth’s too brave for a flat race. He’ll be waiting to jump those great big fences on a Grand National horse. I’m told that even men who’ve fought in wars quail when they see Becher’s Brook, but I expect Master Garth, with all his acrobatics, would relish the challenge.’

  Had Daisy had anybody else to turn to, she would have walked away. There was nobody. ‘We’ll need the entry fee as well as money to pay for the train,’ she said.

  Skelton took off his cap and scratched his head. ‘You asking me to stump up for everything?’

  Daisy bit her cheek. He was going to make her beg, and for
The One’s sake, and for Hartslove’s, she was going to have to oblige him. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’m asking you for the money. We’ll pay you back from the winnings.’

  Skelton replaced his cap. ‘I’m sure you will,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you will. You’ve left it very late, you know. Very late. I didn’t like to interfere.’ Daisy looked at her feet. ‘Luckily for you,’ Skelton continued, ‘I’ve been a bit clever. I’ve already sent the entry – fifty sovereigns.’ Daisy gasped. ‘Yes,’ said Skelton, ‘fifty whole sovereigns. You see why I’m anxious. We’ll just have to hope we’ll get a place in a van. There’s a lot of horses wanting transportation these days. I can only do my best. You remember, missy, that if we miss the race, it won’t be my fault.’ Daisy swallowed. How hopeless she was! She should have arranged all this weeks ago. And fifty sovereigns! She’d had no idea the entry would be so much.

  Skelton was enjoying himself. ‘Mind, even if we do manage the travel, the horse’ll hardly have time to get over the journey before the race, and we’ll be lucky to find a jockey down there who’s actually willing to take the ride. But you leave that to me, Miss Daisy. I’ll do what I can.’ He waited.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Skelton,’ Daisy said.

  It was worth fifty sovereigns to him to hear her say it so meekly, and what made it even more enjoyable was the fact that Skelton had already booked a place for The One on a train from Manchester and had already been in touch with a very particular jockey. Now he was properly in charge, things would go as he wanted them to.

  When Daisy showed Rose and Lily her ticket, they were dismayed. ‘Where will you stop the nights? How will you manage on your own?’ they asked in turn. ‘You should have asked Skelton if one of us could go with you. Will you come home between the Two Thousand Guineas and the Derby?’

  ‘I couldn’t ask Skelton to buy two tickets for us,’ Daisy said, her stomach churning now that everything seemed to be speeding up. ‘And no, I won’t be back between the races because there’s no time.’

  ‘We want to be there,’ said Lily.