by G M Mckay
“Now, how on earth did you get in there, you scoundrel?” she called after him and shook her head. “That’s a puzzle; these doors are hardly ever opened.”
I flushed beet red and was just about to confess that I’d done a bit of my own exploring when I saw Aimee watching me closely with what could only be a look of brooding suspicion on her face. I smiled at her weakly and chose to say nothing.
I pretended to be interested as Belinda told me all about the fabric on the beds and the make of the antique tables, but my mind was really wondering about that strange look I’d seen on Aimee’s face. Why would it matter so much if I poked around a little? Nobody was even staying in these rooms and it wasn’t as if I’d stolen anything.
“Most of these paintings are of your ancestors, dear. Some of them were quite famous, as you probably know.”
She pointed to a grey-haired man wearing a high collar, his blue, slightly-crossed eyes staring dreamily off into the distance. “This one is your Great, Great Uncle Herbert who had a hand in designing the pickle grabber.”
“Pardon me?”
“Oh, you know, that spiky claw-like thing that grabs pickles out of the jar. He invented that, or something similar to it. Surely you know that story.”
“Mother never mentioned it,” I said, pressing my lips together to suppress my laughter. I had a feeling that Mother would have rather been tossed off a high building than admit to being related to a pickle-grabbing inventor.
“And here’s Mad Edna–I can’t remember how she’d be related to you dear—who was locked up by her husband for communing with spirits. It was probably just an excuse to steal her inheritance and marry someone else; it was a rather common practice in those days, I’m afraid. That’s how Aimee’s distantly related, aren’t you Mad Edna’s descendant, dear?”
I was certain that she hadn’t meant it rudely, but Aimee’s face suddenly flushed and her eyes glittered with angry tears.
“Oh, I didn’t know you were a cousin of mine, Aimee, that’s wonderful,” I said quickly, trying to be kind.
She turned her gaze on me, and it was all I could do to keep from taking a few steps back at the barely concealed fury in her eyes.
“Distant,” she said, taking a few short breaths to calm herself. “Very, very distant. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have chores to finish.”
She scuttled away, her shoulders hunched as if she were suddenly carrying a heavy burden.
“Oh, never mind that one,” Belinda said, frowning after the young maid. “She’s always getting caught up in some drama or another. She was such a sweet, meek thing when she first came to the house, too. She’s a far-off cousin, and an orphan, so Ruth of course did the right thing and took her on when she turned up on the doorstep looking for a job. Ruth hired her to do light work around the house and even insisted that Aimee finish her high school diploma.
“Ever since she met that boyfriend of hers, though, she’s not content with what she has; she’s gotten all these wild ideas above her station in life. I told her she should just be grateful for a roof over her head, but she didn’t think much of that, I can tell you.”
No, I imagine not, I thought, feeling sorry for Aimee. Belinda’s a little old fashioned to be talking about people staying in their stations in life. That’s something Mother would say.
I followed Belinda through the rest of the tour for what ended up being the most interesting family history lesson I’d ever had. I’d never dreamed that I had so many criminals, mad inventors, and thieving scoundrels in my past but apparently, I came from a long line of brilliant but borderline murderous ancestors. Mother had definitely overlooked whole branches of my family tree when she was busy telling me to be more ladylike so I could do the family credit.
When Belinda finally paused for breath, I asked the question that had most bothered me. “Where did all the paintings and figurines of Evangeline come from, though? Some of them don’t look that old.”
“Oh, some of them came from your ancestors over the years. Your Great, Great Grandfather Alocious had the stained-glass window made. And your Great Aunt Ruth herself has gathered a huge collection of the smaller pieces. One of her greatest passions is to add to her stock. She swears they’ll be worth a lot of money one day. Dark Lady souvenirs do a brisk trade in the village and there are a few talented local artists around. She brings home new pieces at least once a month and some she has specially commissioned. Besides the horses, they are her pride and joy.
We paused at the end of the hall where the stained-glass window stood and I regarded it warily, at least glad that the dog had stayed in its original position this time.
“This, of course, is the house’s crowning glory. It took over a year for the artists to make it. Alocious designed every bit of it himself and oversaw the installation. He was very proud of it. Now, if you’ll just follow me back here.”
She ushered us behind the stairs where a set of large doors that I’d somehow overlooked stood open.
“This is the ballroom and it also served as a dining room for the larger dinner parties. We, of course, have a smaller dining room as well for when the guest list had less than forty people. This house has seen its share of galas, I can tell you.”
“Amazing,” I said, taking in the huge expanse of highly polished wooden floor. It was designed in a half-circle and the far side was all curved windows with built-in seating beneath them. When Belinda flicked a switch the chandeliers overhead danced with a thousand lights. Not one, but two grand pianos stood in the far corner on a raised stage. I could imagine all the shoes that must have danced across that floor in the last few hundred years.
“You can almost hear the music of those bygone times,” Belinda said, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, how I wish I could have been there when the house was in its glory days. It must have been magnificent. Your Great Aunt Ruth isn’t one for parties and socializing. She prefers the quiet life. I always hoped I’d see the day when a new heir would sweep in and restore the place to the way it was before. Can you imagine?”
“Yes,” I agreed, glancing over at her rapt expression as she stared around the empty ballroom with her hands clasped reverently in front of her. “It must have been quite something.” Secretly, though, I was with Ruth on this one; I would much prefer to read a book or be out in the barn over going to parties and talking to strangers.
“Oh, you must think I’m a sentimental old lady.” She laughed and patted me on the arm. “But I love this beautiful old house. It has its own personality and I know it would love to see its old glory days restored.”
After that, we saw the less formal dining room and the breakfast room, a small room for playing billiards, and a half dozen sitting rooms for various purposes that I couldn’t fathom. In the back there was the kitchen, laundry and a mudroom, Belinda’s suite and servants’ quarters with rooms for Aimee, Estelle, and Jacob.
That’s funny, I thought as Belinda pointed out Jacob’s closed door. I swear that Aimee ran upstairs to get his medication. And then she definitely led him upstairs once he was feeling better, too. Why would he have two rooms?
I didn’t have too much time to think about it because Belinda was leading me back to the kitchen and toward a set of narrow stairs that led upward from the servant’s quarters.
“Oh, I think we’ve taken quite enough of Jillian’s time,” Aimee said loudly, appearing behind us. “Besides, Ruth always said the upstairs is closed to tours, we shouldn’t take anyone up there.”
Belinda turned and the two of them locked eyes in some sort of staring contest, which Aimee, by sheer willpower, somehow won.
“Oh, fine,” Belinda said, huffing in irritation. “Actually, there is one more room down here I haven’t shown you. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it right away. Betty told me what a bookish young thing you were when you were a child. “Come this way.”
She led me back almost all the way to the big entryway and opened a small door on the left, so unobtrusive that it looked just
like a door to a narrow closet.
“Oh,” I said, clapping my hands together in amazement like a little kid. “It’s fantastic.”
“There, you see, I thought you’d like it. This was your great, great grandfather’s private library. Ruth uses this one sometimes, too, but she has her own, cozier, one upstairs for everyday use. You can visit here as often as you like.”
“I love it,” I said breathlessly, looking around at the towering stacks of leather-bound books rising all around me from floor to ceiling. It was a big room but didn’t feel imposing. It had plush chairs and a fireplace and a thick carpet on the floor. A big display cabinet stood in one corner, packed full of trophies and cups from various horse shows. On the very top shelf were more of those tiresome Dark Lady sculptures.
Dozens of photos of horses proudly posed with winning ribbons covered the far wall. Some were faded with age and some were quite new. Great Aunt Ruth definitely knew how to breed some top class horses.
The adjoining wall had a different theme; paintings, and old black and white photos of barns and rolling landscapes covered the entire surface, and I went closer to inspect them.
“Those are all of Dark Lady Farm at different points in history. See, this was what the barn looked like before the renovations.”
“Oh,” I said, studying the photo she’d pointed at. It was an old sepia-coloured photo showing the interior of a much smaller barn. The stone wasn’t crumbling, it looked newer and better kept. Sleek horses looked out over the stall doors, pricking their ears for the camera.
“That one looks just like the little colt I met,” I laughed, looking at the awkwardly disproportioned yearling in the last stall.
“And this painting here shows what it looked like at a much earlier time.”
Actually, it looked pretty much the same as the pre-renovation photo except for the bright whitewash on the stone and the grooms wearing funny-looking clothes who stood near the horses’ heads. This time a bold-looking red horse stood in the colt’s stall, his eyes staring out of the painting with a commanding air.
I narrowed my eyes at him. He looked strangely familiar; But Belinda started talking again before I could ask about him.
“There are all sorts of books in here, some of them were even written by your ancestors. After dinner, you’ll have to curl up in here and we’ll light a fire and you can do some exploring.”
“Thank you,” I said, truly delighted. “I’d like nothing better. But right now I better head out to the barn. They’re probably waiting for me.”
“Of course, dear, run along,” Belinda said. “We’ll see you at supper.”
I thanked Belinda for my tour, and then headed out to the barn, suddenly a little annoyed with myself for leaving Bally grazing alone by himself for so long while I was enjoying exploring the house. He was a steady, dependable horse, but he was still my responsibility and I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to him.
He wasn’t where I left him, but I heard voices and laughter coming from the big indoor arena behind the stable area.
The door was open and I tip-toed inside carefully, not wanting to startle whatever horses were in the ring. I needn’t have worried, though, because Gil was riding Bally at the far end and Xan was casually seated on an elegant bay horse, his reins bunched in one hand while he waved the other one around to illustrate some funny story he was entertaining Estelle with.
“And then … and then I just told him …” He laughed, hardly able to finish and then broke off when he saw me. “Jilly! You’re just in time to see me ride. Estelle’s been generous enough to split the horses between me and your stable boy there, so there should be plenty to entertain you with.”
“It was hardly me being generous,” Estelle said, “you’re both doing me a huge favour by exercising the horses at all. I really don’t know what I would have done if you three hadn’t have shown up. I’m sorry we were so rude to you earlier; we’re very protective of Ruth and she’s spoken strongly about not trusting her relatives before. Clearly, she didn’t mean you, though, especially since you say she sent you a letter to come visit, Xan.”
She batted her eyes at him and his cheeks flushed pink.
“Don’t worry about it, many of our relatives are completely nuts,” Xan said firmly. “I don’t blame old Ruthless, I mean, Great Aunt Ruth one bit.”
Estelle looked a little startled at the nickname, but regained her composure quickly, beaming up at Xan with shining eyes. It was weird how quickly those two had hit it off, especially with the way Xan teased me so mercilessly about having Gil for a best friend. Estelle worked in the stable just like Gil but that didn’t seem to faze Xan one bit.
“Hey, are you planning to exercise that horse or just stand there and look pretty,” Gil said, cruising past with Bally in a ground-covering extended trot.
Xan gritted his teeth and wheeled the dark bay around, causing the animal to jump sideways in surprise.
“Easy on his mouth,” Estelle said sharply, gripping the top board of the arena tightly in both hands until her knuckles turned white, “he’s sensitive.”
Xan loosened his reins immediately and gave the bay a cursory pat on the neck, shooting a glare at Gil’s retreating back. “Sorry,” he said, “I’m still getting used to him.”
After that, he rode more cautiously, ignoring Gil and taking time to figure out how to give the horse underneath him a good ride. The large animal moved with big, powerful strides across the ring but his mouth was light on the bit and I could see Xan’s face light up when he realized that he could communicate with him with the barest of touches.
“That’s great,” Estelle called, “he’s listening to you now.”
She sighed deeply, caught my glance and smiled ruefully. “Isn’t it awful when you first let other people ride your horses? I always feel like I’m sending an unprepared child off with a stranger.”
“I know what you mean,” I said, because that was the way I felt whenever one of the sale horses I’d trained left our stables. But I didn’t feel that way right now; watching Gil ride Bally was a pleasure and I never doubted for a single second that my horse was in the best of hands.
“That horse is Baron, one of my favourites. You probably met him in the woods that night after I fell off. I’ve been with him since he was a baby. He was born here.”
“He’s lovely,” I said, watching Xan work the horse in a smooth serpentine pattern back and forth across the ring. Xan loved being outside, galloping fast and jumping anything in his path; doing ring work really wasn’t his thing but his forehead was furrowed in concentration and he looked like he was giving it his all.
“Yes,” Estelle sighed heavily. “I’d do anything to buy him.”
Her voice trembled a little and I looked over to see her lower lip quivering.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Is he for sale?”
“They’re all for sale,” Estelle said, regaining her composure, “for the right price, that is. But Ruthie, er, your Great Aunt Ruth, has held on to him the longest … probably for my sake, really. The thing is that he’s so talented; I’m a decent rider, but he’s got the ability to jump the really big fences and I don’t. He’s world class and I’m, well, just average.”
“I doubt that. Great Aunt Ruth wouldn’t keep you here riding her horses if you were just average.”
“I’m talented, I suppose, but I’m not brave enough when the fences get much over four feet. Even the thought of riding the higher courses makes me ill. Still, I’ll hate to see him go. He and I have a special bond.”
I watched Xan and the big horse thoughtfully. Xan was fearless but his coaches were always bothering him about his lack of discipline; he acted like he was allergic to hard work sometimes and expected his horses to perform without him schooling them consistently. Maybe, if he really put his mind to it, he could be the second rider that Ruth and Estelle needed. Maybe that’s why Ruth had sent him the letter in the first place.
Gil and Xan rode five horse
s each, including Rigel, who only pulled a few tricks this time, and by the end both riders were red-faced with exertion. And we still had to bring everyone in from the pasture and feed them.
Estelle sat on a hay bale in the aisle and reminded us where to put each horse as we led them in one by one and got them tucked away in their stalls.
She’d already assured me that she would appreciate any grooming or ground-work I could do with the horses so, after I’d collected little Damascus from his field, I grabbed a box of brushes and slipped back into his stall.
He looked surprised that someone was paying attention to him and was very interested in the grooming kit. He gently picked up each brush and held it between his little teeth for a second, bobbing his nose up and down playfully as he tasted each one.
“You are adorable,” I told him, as I worked a curry comb over his fuzzy coat. When I was a child, Mother had tried to force me to let the grooms get all my horses ready so I wouldn’t get so dirty, but right from the beginning I had rebelled. I didn’t put my foot down very often but, where the horses were concerned, I stubbornly resisted and somehow usually managed to get my way. Spending time with them was blissful and getting dirty had never bothered me one bit.
The colt’s spiky little black mane stood straight up the air and I did my best to smooth it to one side, laughing when it popped right back up again like it had a mind of its own.
“Do you remember how to pick up your feet?” I asked gently, frowning when I noticed his pint-sized hooves were overdue for a trim. I slid my hand lightly down the inside of his leg and waited a few beats for him to respond. He lifted his foot suddenly and held it way up in the air, wobbling on his unaccustomed three legs.
“Good boy,” I said, picking the dirt out of the tiny hoof swiftly and returning it to the ground before he could fall on me.
I laughed at his astonished expression and scratched him in that nice spot behind his ear that most horses seemed to love. He sniffed the hoof pick carefully and then let me lift and clean his back foot, and then the two on the other side. I went slowly with him, giving him lots of time to find his balance. I had the feeling that he was the type of horse that would need lots of patience and encouragement at each stage in his training. Some horses could be rushed through the process and turn out relatively unscathed, but others who were more sensitive could be easily ruined by thoughtless handling.