The Smallest Man

by Frances Quinn

  ‘I can ride! I will be able to, when I can walk again. This is a waste of my time. Tom,’ he clicked his fingers at the coachman, ‘drive on.’

  I took a deep breath.

  ‘Your father thought you’d find it quite easy to learn,’ I said. ‘But if you don’t think you could manage it…’

  His face reddened.

  ‘Manage it? I’ve ridden horses you wouldn’t dare get within a mile of, you stupid little squirt.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Right. Go on then. Show me. And then I’m leaving.’

  I mounted the smaller horse. In the years since I’d learned to ride Shadow, I’d mastered the art of showing a new horse what I needed from it, but you never knew with horses. If she decided to ignore me now, my chance would be lost. But when I signalled for her to move off, she did. I walked her for a minute to get her used to me, then urged her on. She hesitated, just for a second – come on, don’t let me down now – but then she took off and we raced round the field at full tilt. It felt so good to be as one with a horse again that for a moment or two I lost myself in the ride. I glanced back; Robert was sitting forward, watching, but the look on his face was still hostile. I had to do something more if he was going to believe I had anything to offer.

  The far end of the field was bounded by a hedge, a high one. Can I do it? Jumping with an unfamiliar horse was risky, but she was keen, this one, I could feel it. I steered her round and back down to where the trap was waiting, as though I was going to pull up beside them, but then I kept going, turned her to face the far end and let her have her head. She soared over the fence, as though we’d been together for years.

  He couldn’t hide his surprise as we rode up to the trap.

  ‘People said I’d never be able to ride,’ I said, reining the horse in beside him. ‘I couldn’t use my legs, just like you can’t. But I learned, and I can teach you to ride again in just the same way.’

  He shrugged.

  ‘I doubt you can teach me anything. But since my father wants it…’

  ‘Right,’ I said, trying not to let my relief show in my voice. ‘Do you want to take the chestnut, or—’

  ‘No,’ he snapped. ‘Just explain what you do.’

  ‘But you’ll pick it up more easily if you—’

  ‘My father is paying you for this,’ he said. ‘So we’ll do things the way I decide.’

  He watched as I showed how I got my balance in the saddle and communicated with the horse through my movements. When I’d explained all I usefully could, I suggested he try for himself.

  ‘The chestnut’s a calm horse,’ I said. ‘Perhaps, just to start with, you could try sitting on her back, getting your balance?’

  It was the wrong thing to say. Of course.

  ‘You think I need a calm horse? A horse for a child?’

  ‘No, I just—’

  ‘I rode my father’s hunters, I’m not afraid.’ He sat back, and said to the coachman, ‘Enough for today, I’m tired. Take me back to the house.’

  * * *

  It was the one eventuality I hadn’t considered. I knew there was a chance Jeremiah’s method wouldn’t work for Robert, or that I just wouldn’t be good enough at teaching it. But it hadn’t occurred to me that he would refuse to co-operate. After all Jeremiah had said about how much he loved horses, I thought he’d grab at the chance to get back to them. But I should have realised. At the cottage that evening, eating my solitary supper of bean stew and stale bread, I thought back to the night he’d got trapped in the stable with the Arab stallion.

  ‘The horse must have been rearing up, and kicking out,’ Jeremiah had told us when he returned. ‘He was still in a right old lather when I got there – in all my days, I’ve never seen a horse’s eyes so wild. Took me a good half an hour to calm him enough to lead him out, and then there was the poor lad, right in the far corner of the stall, all shrunk up against the wall with his hands over his head.’

  No wonder he didn’t want to get close to a horse again; for all his bluster, the boy was terrified.

  * * *

  As I expected, Robert did everything he could to avoid getting on a horse. The second morning’s lesson was missed; Tom the coachman brought the message that Robert was suffering with a violent headache. The day after, I showed him again how to settle in the saddle, how to move off, and how to steer the horse, but when I suggested he try for himself, he snapped that I’d taken too long with my explanations; his father was going away to the north for a month, and he needed to get back to say goodbye before he left.

  Every morning that week, I demonstrated how to get the horse to walk, to trot and to gallop; he watched, and occasionally asked questions. But there was always a reason why he couldn’t try for himself: he felt unwell; the horse looked a little lame; the ground was too soft. On the Friday, the excuse was that a new doctor was coming from London.

  ‘My father says this one attends all the best people,’ he said. ‘He’ll have the answer. So this is really just a waste of my time.’

  Whatever the doctor’s answer was, it didn’t work. We spent a second week with me trying to teach and Robert putting up a pretence of learning, and at the end of it, with less than six weeks left to Jeremiah’s trial, it was obvious we were getting nowhere.

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  There was no hope of teaching Robert to ride if I continued with what I was doing. Sir Peter was still away, and even if he hadn’t been, I doubted very much it would help my case, or Jeremiah’s, to go and tell him his son was too scared to get on a horse. I spent an anxious Sunday alone in the cottage, turning over and over in my mind what I could do. And in the end, I decided my only hope was to take a risk.

  * * *

  When the trap pulled up the next morning, I felt sick with fear.

  If this goes wrong, it’s finished.

  As usual, the second coachman got down from the grey, and went to lead her over to me.

  ‘You can let her graze,’ I said. ‘Both of them, in fact. We won’t be needing the horses this morning.’

  Robert leaned forward.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘We won’t be riding,’ I said. ‘Today I want to tell you a story.’

  ‘I hope this won’t be a waste of my time,’ he said, but there was relief in his eyes. For once he didn’t need to find an excuse.

  I told him how, when I was ten, I thought a faerie could make me grow. How I thought, every day, about what it would be like after she cast her spell and I became like other boys. And how she’d turned out to be an ordinary person, not a faerie at all.

  ‘I was stupid to believe she could do magic. Or that magic could make me grow. But I wanted it so much, I would have believed anything.’ I took a deep breath. ‘And you’re the same. You want to believe the doctors can make you walk again. But how many have there been? Your father would pay a fortune to the doctor who could cure you, yet none of them have. And that’s because they can’t.’

  Robert’s face reddened.

  ‘Are you calling me stupid?’

  ‘Not stupid. Just desperate, like I was. But they can’t make you walk, just like nothing could make me grow. And while you go on believing they can, you’re wasting your life.’

  The two coachmen looked at each other. Robert was stiff with anger, his hands gripping the sides of the trap.

  No point stopping now.

  ‘If you learned to ride again,’ I said, ‘you could go out with your father, you could even hunt. You wouldn’t be mouldering away in that room, just—’

  ‘Enough,’ he said. ‘My father wouldn’t expect me to stand for this. You can consider yourself dismissed. Tom, take me back.’

  ‘If you give up now,’ I said, ‘you’ll be stuck with this half-life for ever. Or you can stop being afraid and learn to be your father’s son again. It’s up to you.’

  With that, I turned and walked away.

  * * *

  By the time I got back to the cottage, I was certain I’d gone too fa
r. Did I really think Robert would listen to me? Wasn’t it far more likely he’d wait till his father got back and tell him what I’d said? And how would Sir Peter react when his beloved son reported that I’d suggested he was stupid, and taunted him about his fears? He’d be away for another few weeks: I should leave now, just get away, and take my chances on the run. I’d tried to save Jeremiah, and if I’d failed, he’d want me to try and save myself, I knew that. But I couldn’t do it. I didn’t think there was much chance of my plan working now but, if nothing else, I could make one last plea to Sir Peter for Jeremiah, who’d done nothing wrong.

  * * *

  I took a long time to find sleep that night and, as a consequence, the dawn light slanting through the windows didn’t wake me. So when there came a knocking on the door, I was still asleep, and for a few moments, it worked itself into my dream: I was back at the palace, we were all in the chamber but Jeremiah was outside the door, knocking and knocking, but no one else seemed to hear it.

  Then I woke and realised the knocking was real.

  They’ve come for me.

  As I tried to think what to do, a voice shouted my name. It took me a moment to recognise it: Tom, the coachman. But they wouldn’t send him to get me…

  I hurried to open the door.

  ‘The young master’s waiting,’ he said. ‘We’ve been out there twenty minutes.’

  * * *

  His face was so pale as the two coachmen lifted him onto the horse. His poor legs hung uselessly, and he gripped the reins so hard the veins in his hands stood out. Like mine, that first time I sat on Shadow, when the slightest movement seemed certain to send me tumbling to the ground.

  I mounted the other horse.

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘We’ll start with how to sit.’

  * * *

  Robert never once mentioned the conversation about the faerie, and I didn’t either. But now he was willing, I pushed him as hard as I could, knowing the weeks to Jeremiah’s trial were slipping away. He was a difficult pupil; when things went wrong, it was always my fault, and more than once I was threatened with his father’s wrath for pointing out his mistakes. But he didn’t give up. As he regained his confidence, some of the bitter anger left him, and when he mastered something that had been giving him trouble, he’d forget his dignity enough to give a whoop of delight. It made me smile, because I knew how that felt; Jeremiah had given me the same gift, all those years ago.

  We did it in four weeks. One crisp November morning, I watched him trot the chestnut around the field, and held my breath as he urged her on. As she surged forward he sat tall in the saddle, and I couldn’t help letting out a cheer as he circled the field twice, his hair flying in the wind.

  ‘My father will be back tomorrow,’ he said as he pulled up. ‘Wait till he sees what I can do.’

  ‘He’ll be proud of you.’

  His cheeks flushed red.

  ‘It will serve a purpose, until I can walk again,’ he said. He seemed about to ride off, but then he stopped and looked down at me. ‘I wanted to say… I hope my father pays you well.’

  I think it was as close to thanks as he could let himself get, but that was closer than I’d expected.

  ‘So do I,’ I said.

  * * *

  Now I had to see if Sir Peter would keep his word. I sent a note with Tom the coachman, simply stating that payment was due, just in case Robert should catch sight of it. It was two days before he brought a message back.

  ‘The master’s had to leave for London – important business. He’ll see you on Tuesday next.’

  That was only a week ahead of Jeremiah’s trial. What if he hadn’t remembered the date?

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I need to see him before that.’

  ‘Can’t be done,’ said Tom. ‘He left at first light.’

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  All I could do was wait, and hope. Confined to the cottage, alone, I couldn’t distract myself from worrying about what was going to happen. In the space of an hour, I would go from telling myself that surely Sir Peter was a man of his word, and soon Jeremiah would be free, to being certain that when I went to the house, I would be met by soldiers and taken away.

  When Tuesday came, as Tom had instructed, I presented myself at the front door, squaring my shoulders, ready to play my role again. A maid showed me into the same room where I’d made my bargain with Sir Peter.

  He was standing by the fireplace, reading a document, and he turned as I walked in.

  ‘You’ve come for your payment,’ he said.

  ‘I kept my part of the bargain,’ I said. ‘I trust you’ll keep yours.’

  ‘I’m a man of my word. But in this case, the terms have changed.’

  My heart plummeted.

  ‘But I did what I promised. I taught your son to ride again.’

  ‘Do you want to know where he is now?’

  Surely he hadn’t hidden himself away in his room again?

  ‘He’s out on his horse,’ said Sir Peter. ‘I’m making him take a groom with him, just for now, but that’s more to calm my fears than anything. He’s riding as well as he ever did.’

  ‘Then you’ll get Jeremiah out?’

  ‘Already arranged,’ he said. ‘He’ll be on his way home this morning.’

  I’ve done it. Jeremiah’s safe.

  He looked down at his feet, and scuffed the toe of one boot on the other.

  ‘And you can tell him his place here is secure,’ he said. ‘I was, perhaps, a little unfair to him, before. My son is very precious to me, and I was angry. But what happened wasn’t his fault.’

  ‘Thank you. I know he’ll be relieved.’

  What did he mean then, about changing the terms?

  Don’t let him see you’re afraid.

  ‘As to the other part of our bargain,’ I said, ‘you’ll honour your promise, I hope? I’ll leave the county, and you can forget you ever saw me.’

  ‘Well, that was what we agreed, yes.’

  He’s going to hand me over to them.

  ‘But it turned out that I’ve been able to do better than that.’

  He handed me the paper he’d been reading. I looked at the words, but at first I couldn’t take in what it said. When I did, I stood there, rooted to the spot, scanning the document over and over again, in case there was a trick that I hadn’t spotted.

  ‘You did more than you promised – you gave me my son back,’ he said. ‘And I pay well for good service. So I made some enquiries in London. With all the fighting this summer, money’s short. You’d be surprised who they’re willing to come to terms with, if there’s a substantial fine in it. And it was a substantial one, you being a friend of her Catholic majesty, but fortunately I’m a man of means. So your crimes are paid for. You’re a free man.’

  * * *

  At that moment there was only one place I wanted to go. My face turned to the wintry sun, I headed for the Canterbury road. I hadn’t gone far when I saw him in the distance, loping along on those long, spindly legs. I ran to meet him, waving my arms, forgetting that for Jeremiah, potential disaster lay round every corner. By the time I reached him, worry was written in every line on his face.

  ‘What is it?’ he said, when I was close enough to hear. ‘Is it Sukie? Is little Michael ill?’

  ‘They’re fine,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you.’

  ‘Then why… what are you doing out here?’

  ‘I’m safe,’ I said. ‘I’m free, and you’re free, and we’re all safe. At last.’

  * * *

  We spent a last evening together in the cottage. Jeremiah was keen to fetch Sukie and Michael home, and now that I could travel safely, I’d decided to head for Oakham, in the hope that Sam was back there. We planned to set out at dawn, and journey as far as London together.

  ‘There’s no need for you to leave us,’ he said, as he set down his bowl after a third helping of bean stew. Food had clearly been scarce in the gaol.

  ‘
There is,’ I said. ‘You’ve been more than kind to me, you and Sukie, and I’ll miss you. But you don’t want a cuckoo in the nest any longer.’

  ‘Well, after what you did for me, Nat, there’ll be a home with us any time you want it. And Sukie would say the same.’

  He smiled when I told him what I’d said to Robert to get him on a horse.

  ‘That’s most likely the first time anyone’s told that boy a truth he didn’t want to hear,’ he said. ‘About time too.’

  ‘Well, it did the trick, anyway.’

  ‘Do you ever think, Nat, about how things would have gone if she really had been a faerie? I mean, if there were such things, and she could have granted your wish?’

  ‘I stopped believing in faeries a long time ago.’

  ‘Because the way I look at it now, if we’d been just like other folks, what kind of lives would we have had? Not the ones we got, that’s for sure. I’d never have met my Sukie, or got myself a good friend like you.’

  ‘I don’t suppose I’d ever have left Oakham,’ I said. ‘I’d never have had any reason to.’

  Even as the words came out of my mouth, the truth of it seemed astonishing, that I could have stayed in that little town, seeing the same faces I’d always seen, and never knowing what else there was. I’d wanted the faerie to grant my wish so badly, but what a life I would have missed if she had. And it’s hard to explain what happened in that moment, but the best I can tell you is that it was as though I’d been looking in a mirror, and then Jeremiah tilted it, showing me a different reflection – but one that had been there all the time. For as long as I could remember, I’d longed to be like everyone else, but everything good in my life had come from being just as I was. All the people I’d met, the friends I’d made, the things I’d done. And most of the bad things had come from my own stupid shame over the way God had made me. Even Crofts’ taunts and jibes had only struck home, with all the terrible consequences of that, because I believed them.