Clémentine had therefore said nothing more, but Canèda, because she was so close to her mother, realised that she was worrying and she thought it pathetic that, after all these years of being exiled by her family, she still worried over their possessions, especially the vineyards on which their fortune was based.
Privately she had thought in her heart that it would teach them a lesson if they suddenly became poor like her father and mother and now from what Madame de Goucourt had said she thought that was exactly what had happened.
“What you are saying,” she said aloud, “is that the stuck-up Comte de Bantôme, my grandfather, needs Harry’s and my help to launch his grandchildren into the Social world. And what of the help they gave us when we needed it?”
“I can understand that you feel bitter, Canèda,” Madame de Goucourt said softly, “and I knew how much your mother minded, even when she was so happy, that she was isolated from her own people. We French are very close to one another and the family means a great deal to us.”
She paused before she went on,
“Although your mother was the happiest woman I have ever known in my life, I think sometimes she longed with one part of her for the closeness of her parents, her brothers, her sisters and, of course, their children, some of whom will be about the same age as yourself.”
She paused again.
“The de Bantômes are a very large family and I think you would enjoy knowing them and they you.”
“They are not going to know me, except as an avenging angel,” Canèda answered, “and because that is what I intend to be, I want your help, madame.”
“My help?” Madame de Goucourt asked in astonishment.
“It’s quite simple,” Canèda replied. “I want you to come with me to France.”
She saw a sudden light come into the Frenchwoman’s eyes, which told her that the invitation would not be refused.
Then she added,
“I intend, madame, to teach a lesson not only to the de Bantômes but, if it is possible, to the Duc de Saumac as well. And it will be one he will never forget!”
Chapter 2
With its white sails billowing out in the wind, The Seagull nosed its way slowly into the port of St. Nazaire.
Canèda had been on deck since dawn as they sailed past Belle Île and entered the harbour.
She was so excited that she had found it almost impossible to sleep since she had left Folkestone. It was there that the late Earl’s yacht had been moored in order always to be ready to carry its owner across the Channel anytime that he wished to go.
She was certain that Harry would soon avail himself of this new toy, but there were so many other distractions among his possessions that he had been quite content for Canèda to see and use The Seagull first.
The Seagull had been commissioned by their uncle only three years before he died and therefore it was of the most up to date design. To Canèda’s delight, there was plenty of room to carry quite a number of horses besides a travelling chariot.
She had been a little apprehensive lest the sea should be rough and the horses upset, especially Ariel, but Ben, who was in charge, had been very reassuring.
“Now you leave it to me. Miss Canèda, I means my Lady,” he said. “The horses’ll be all right, I’ll see to that.”
Canèda knew he meant what he said, and there was no doubt that Ben was a wizard not only in training the horses but in looking after them.
When Canèda was fourteen, she had rushed into her father’s study to tell him that there was news of a circus coming to the small market town that was only two miles from where they lived.
“We must see it, Papa. You must take me to the circus!” Canèda had cried.
“I hate to see wild animals in captivity,” Gerald Lang had replied.
“It is not the wild animals I want to see,” Canèda answered, “but a poster hanging up in the village says that there is a performing horse that will obey every command she is given, which makes her the cleverest animal in the world.”
Gerald Lang had looked sceptical, but because Canèda was so insistent that in the end he promised to take her to the circus.
He knew exactly the tumbledown show it would be, consisting of a few mangy old horses, some clowns who were not very funny, a Ringmaster who doubtless owned the circus and drank away his financial troubles and if they were fortunate a couple of acrobats.
But he was well aware that for Canèda, living very quietly in the country and especially with Harry away at school, it would be a delight that would rival Ashley’s Circus in London.
Clémentine Lang had said she was too busy in the house to accompany them and father and daughter had set off.
They travelled in the old-fashioned gig, which Gerald Lang drove with an expertise and a flourish that made Canèda aware that he should have had an up to date chaise with two or even four superlative horses.
The gig had been the only form of transport they could afford, but as far as she was concerned she was so happy to be with her father that nothing else mattered.
They reached the small town and Gerald Lang saw that there was the usual collection of farmers’ wives selling their wares in the marketplace with the townsfolk taking a long time to make up their minds whether they should buy an old hen suitable for boiling or a more expensive fat chicken to roast.
There were turnips, beets and cabbages brought in from the countryside, pats of golden butter, honeycomb and inevitably rabbits and hares that had been trapped or snared, regardless of what time of year it was.
Canèda was not interested in the market that stood in the middle of the town.
She was waiting breathlessly for her father to drive to where, in the field that sloped down to the river, the circus had been erected.
There was a big tent that let in the rain in bad weather and there was a sawdust ring with rows of rickety seats round it They had gone for too many months without repair and at any unexpected moment were likely to precipitate to the ground those who sat on them.
There was a band playing and to Canèda the Ringmaster in his red coat, top hat and cracking his long whip, was very impressive as he introduced his performers to an audience that consisted mostly of gaping children, a few farmhands and some giggling girls.
The first turn was quite ordinary, at least to Gerald Lang, and consisted of four grey horses with feathers on their bridles and ballerinas perched precariously on their backs.
He thought that the horses looked as old as their riders and there was certainly not much skill in raising a leg above a frilly ballet skirt while holding on tightly to the front of the saddle.
But Canèda’s small face was rapt with enjoyment and Gerald Lang said nothing but watched his daughter rather than the performers.
The clowns made her laugh and there was an acrobatic turn that made her hold her breath.
Then the Ringmaster announced,
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, you’ll see the most sensational, the most intelligent, the most unusual horse in the world. Her name is ‘Juno’ and she understands every word that is said to her. She also can dance in a manner that no other horse has been able to do in all my long experience of them.”
There was applause from the crowd as Juno came into the ring.
She was black with a white star on her nose and Gerald Lang saw that she had once undoubtedly been a very fine mare but was now getting old.
Riding her was a small jockey with an ugly impudent face, a disarming grin and twinkling eyes. He made her perform as if she was a musical instrument in the hands of a Master of the art.
Juno waltzed in time to the band and then she danced the polka, which had just become fashionable. She walked on her hind legs and answered questions by shaking or nodding her head.
Finally when jumps had been erected round the ring, Juno sailed over them in a style that made Canèda clap her hands wildly at such a brilliant performance.
The enthusiastic applause of everyone in the big ten
t made her rider decide that she should take the jumps once again and now with a roll of the drums she started off, taking each fence in a way that made her seem almost to fly through the air.
Quite suddenly when she reached the last fence of all, she rose off the ground, seemed to stagger and the next moment, almost before anyone could realise what was happening, she crashed down on the other side of the fence in a crumpled heap.
There was a scream from the women in the audience, a groan from the men and Canèda clutched at her father’s hand.
“What is happening, Papa?”
“Her heart, I should imagine,” Gerald Lang replied.
“Oh, she cannot die!” Canèda cried. “Please, Papa, see if there is anything you can do. I could not bear that beautiful horse to die in such a manner.”
Because Gerald Lang knew only too well what his daughter was feeling, they went round to the back of the tent as Juno was dragged out of the ring and the clowns went on to take the audience’s mind off the tragedy.
There were a few grooms with the small man who had been riding her when Gerald Lang and Canèda reached them, but it was obvious at first glance that there was nothing anyone could do for the mare.
Juno was dead, because her heart, as Gerald Lang had rightly suspected, had given out.
Canèda crouched down beside the mare and as she did so she saw that the small jockey who had been riding her in his gaudy theatrical costume was now kneeling on the other side.
He was crying unashamedly, tears running down his ugly lined face and his despair was in itself very moving.
“I am so sorry,” Canèda said softly.
“She were a wonderful ’orse.”
“Have you been with her long? Canèda enquired.
“For ten years, miss,” he replied. “I started to train ’er with ’er first Master and when ’e dies ’e gives ’er to me. She were mine, me very own.”
“I know what you must be feeling,” Canèda said softly, “and there is nothing I can say, except that I am so very sorry for you.”
She could understand that he was desolate over losing such a magnificent horse and one who was so clever.
“I’ve got someat to show you, miss, if you’d come with me,” the jockey said.
“Yes, of course,” Canèda agreed.
He rose to his feet and, as she rose too, she found her father standing beside her.
“He has something to show us, Papa,” she said, slipping her hand into his.
Gerald Lang nodded but did not speak. With his daughter he followed the jockey with his red-and-gold-braided coat until they came to a battered tent where all the horses that worked for the circus were housed.
The greys were already back tethered to posts, but still wearing their feathers on the fronts of their bridles as they would be wanted in the finale. But there was one end of the tent shut off from the rest, which appeared at first to be empty until, as the jockey walked into it, Canèda saw something moving.
It was then that she was aware of what he had brought her to see. It was a foal of about six or seven weeks old and already it showed the good breeding of its mother.
As Canèda stroked its neck, it nuzzled its black nose against her and she heard her father say,
“What are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know, sir, and that be the truth,” the little man answered. “Juno were me livin’, so to speak, and it’ll be a year or two afore I can do anythin’ with Ariel and that’ll be too soon for most circuses to be interested in ’im.”
There was something both helpless and hopeless in the way he spoke and Canèda suddenly knew what she wanted.
She rose, moved closer to her father and, putting her hand on his arm, looked up at him with pleading eyes.
“Please – Papa.”
She knew even as she spoke he was thinking that they could not afford it and yet because she knew instinctively that it was not only what she wanted but what would please him too, she said again,
“Please – ”
Gerald Lang was well aware that the old groom who had looked after his horses ever since he had been married was really past working and should have been retired ages ago.
He had, however, been afraid of what a younger man might cost him and he had already discussed with his wife how they could not afford to pension off the old groom and pay someone to take his place.
But he could not bear to refuse his daughter and he knew how much the foal could mean to her when she had few amusements and little companionship when Harry was away at school.
“Supposing for the time being,” he said to the small jockey beside him, who still had tears on his cheeks, “you and Ariel come and stay in my stables. That will give you time to get over the death of Juno and think about your future.”
“Do you mean that, sir?”
“I mean it and we will be expecting you later tonight, or tomorrow morning.”
The expression of gratitude and relief on the little man’s face was pathetic.
“Me name’s Ben, sir, and your kindness be someat I’ll never forget.”
Only when they had left the circus, after giving Ben directions to The Manor, did Canèda say nervously,
“You do think he will come? Supposing he wants to stay with the circus?”
“I have a feeling he will come,” her father answered.
“I feel the same. I will look after Ariel and leave Ben plenty of time to see to your horses.”
“Of course,” her father replied. “That is part of the bargain.”
Canèda put her cheek against his arm.
“Thank you, thank you,” she sighed. “How can I ever thank you enough for being so kind?”
“I am just wondering what your mother will say,” Gerald Lang replied a little ruefully.
Clémentine had understood.
She could never bear to see people suffering and, when Canèda told her how Ben had cried, she had known that it would have been impossible for her husband and daughter to walk away without trying to help.
Ben had arrived with Ariel and without his theatrical clothes he had seemed strange and insignificant.
He may have been small, but the Langs found that he was immensely strong. He never seemed to tire and he never appeared to stop working.
Gerald Lang had never had his horses groomed better or looked after in a manner that could not have been improved on even in the finest stables in England.
What was more, from the very first Ben seemed to settle down and make the place his home almost as if he had been born there.
And as for Ariel, words would fail Canèda every time she thought of him.
He grew prodigiously in the first year, changing from a small foal into a beautiful creature who looked as if he had stepped straight out of mythology.
He had beautiful lines, a fine head and a coat that shone as if it was made of polished ebony.
He grew and grew and by the time he was two years old one of the sights of the countryside was that of Canèda, looking very small but very lovely, riding an enormous black stallion that appeared too spirited for her to handle.
But from the moment Canèda and Ben came together they started to teach Ariel the same tricks that had made his mother, Juno, so extraordinary. And a great many more.
Ariel would obey both Canèda and Ben and they would vie with each other in thinking up new things for him to do, teaching him not by threats or through fear, but with love.
Sometimes Canèda felt as if Ariel thought up his own tricks and was ready to perform them almost before she had been able to explain to him what she wanted.
“He understands, he really understands!” she would say to Ben, who would scratch his head and say, “Animals, Miss Canèda, can be a sight cleverer than most folk, especially ’orses like Ariel and Juno.”
The little man had loved Juno and Canèda suspected that he sometimes cried at night because he missed her so.
She often felt a little guilty becaus
e she had the feeling that Ariel preferred her to Ben and he might feel that she had taken Ariel away from him.
But Ben put her right on this.
One day she said to him,
“You are happy here, Ben? You would never leave us, would you?”
There was a touch of anxiety in her voice because she felt afraid that Ben might want to go roaming again and it would break her heart to lose Ariel.
But Ben had nodded his head.
“I be ’appy, Miss Canèda, ’cos your father, your mother and you treats me as one of the family. You’ve made this an ’ome for me as you ’ave for Ariel and that’s all any man could ask.”
When Canèda had told her mother what Ben had said, she had answered,
“Ben is a dear little man and he is good. No one could have the control over a horse that he has and not be a good man. Animals, especially horses, sense better than we can what a man is like in his soul.”
It was Ben who had chosen which horses, which grooms and which outriders should accompany Canèda on her trip to France.
Harry, who also looked on Ben as one of the family, had taken him aside to say, “You will look after her Ladyship and see that she does not get into any trouble?”
“I’ll do that, my Lord,” Ben promised.
“I don’t approve of her going off on this wild goose chase,” Harry went on, “but she has set her heart on it and so I have agreed. But if anything goes wrong, you are to bring her home immediately. Do you understand, Ben?”
“I understands, my Lord,” Ben replied, “and ’er Ladyship won’t come to no ’arm if I can ’elp it.”
“I trust you, Ben,” Harry said, putting his hand on the little man’s shoulder.
*
The yacht, with the wind in her sails, was moving slowly but surely into the Harbour as Ben came up to join Canèda.
“We have made it, Ben,” Canèda said, a note of satisfaction in her voice.
“Yes, I knows, my Lady. What now?”
“When we have taken the horses off and the carriage is ready, we will set off for Nantes, where we will stay the night.”
Love in the Moon Page 3
