Much Ado About Lewrie

by Dewey Lambdin

  “Reminds me of the hired prad you ride in Hyde Park,” Lewrie said.

  “Come here, darling,” Jessica coaxed, adding a length of carrot to further entice the horse. That did it. The grey shouldered through its paddock mates in a trot and took the carrot from her flat palm, munching away as Jessica reached out to give her some tentative pats. A snort and toss of its head, and Jessica reached into her jute bag for a quartered apple, which went down well, too. More carrot, more cauliflower, another bit of apple, and, nectar of Heaven, a lump of sugar! There came a whicker of thanks and appreciation.

  “Looks stout,” Sir Hugo commented, peering the horse over.

  “There’s a likely mare yonder,” Hugh said, pointing up the line. “Let’s see her,” and they strolled beyond to the next paddock, but were stopped by a loud whinny from the grey, which pressed itself against the ropes dividing its pen from the next up the line, head-tossing and pawing the ground.

  “I think I’ve made a friend,” Jessica laughed, going back to give the dapple grey strokes on its nose, face, and neck, and playing with its mane.

  “If we must,” Charlotte could be heard whispering exasperation.

  “Father, could you and Hugh go with Charlotte and find her one that you think suits?” Lewrie bade. “Not too dear, if ya don’t mind.”

  He turned back to find the dapple grey rubbing its cheek against Jessica as she hugged it and cooed to it, whickering back softly.

  “Well, hallo, sir … ma’am,” the owner said, coming up and doffing an old leather tricorne hat. “Ya like Bobs, do ya? He’s a fine little horse, a three-year-old gelding, an’ as gentle as a baa-lamb. Fourteen hands as ya kin see. His dam was an ambler, which is why he looks a tad shaggy. His sire was a hunter. Bit of an accident, that.”

  “You’re from Liphook, sir?” Lewrie asked, grinning. “You’re the man I rented an ambler from, four years ago, while I was healing up.”

  “Oh, yessir, that I am! Thomas Jeffcock, an’ glad t’make yer acquaintance.”

  Lewrie introduced himself and Jessica, and shook hands with Mr. Jeffcock. “My wife is in need of a gentle saddle horse when we come down to the country. A baa-lamb, you say?”

  “Sweet as honey, sir,” Jeffcock boasted, “Bobs has took after people once he was weaned. Loves the attention, pettin’, groomin’, an’ his treats. Loves pears in the Autumn. My daughter and t’other kids’ve ridden him often. Mixed breed as he is, there’s not much of a market for him, so we had him gelded. He’s a bit of an imp, Bobs is, and loves t’play pranks. Like t’try him, ma’am?”

  “Oh, I would!” Jessica exclaimed quickly. “Have you a saddle?”

  “Well, not a lady’s saddle, ma’am, not here with me,” Jeffcock apologised. “I could ask round…”

  “A man’s saddle will do just as well,” Jessica told him, rubbing the top of the horse’s nose and pressing her cheek against his.

  “Well … if ya want,” Jeffcock said with a puzzled shrug. “Be back in a tick.”

  “You’re not going to scandalise the whole village?” Lewrie asked.

  “Yes!” she laughed, beaming impishly, “I think I shall!”

  A saddle and bridle was produced, cinched, then tightened once more after a knee against Bobs’s belly. “He thinks it’s funny to puff up an’ let the saddle slip,” Jeffcock explained. He half-knelt, offering cupped hands for Jessica’s left foot, and she swung up onto the saddle, looking left and right to slip her boot toes into the iron stirrups. “A good part o’ bein’ half ambler is that he got his dam’s endurance. He’s right happy at trot, lope, an’ canter, but gallopin’ for long don’t suit him, ma’am.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you, Mister Jeffcock,” Jessica said with a sunny smile, flicking the reins against Bobs’s neck. The gelding swung his head about to look her in the eyes, sniffed at her left boot toe, then nodded his head and set off at a walk up the lines.

  “She’ll never put him to a gallop,” Lewrie told the owner. “In Hyde Park, she rents a grey mare much like this’un.”

  “An’ do she ride astride in Lon’on, too, sir?” Jeffcock asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes, when she can get away with it!” Lewrie told him with a laugh. “Ehm … not much demand for a half-breed ya say, Mister Jeffcock?”

  “Bobs is more a pet, sir, spoiled an’ fed year round,” Jeffcock said with a speculative look. “Kids’ll be sorry t’see him go, but … I need the stable space for more likely horses that’ll fetch more. I’m thinkin’ … thirty five pound, sir.”

  “We’ll see how she likes him,” Lewrie replied.

  Sure enough, up the High Street and in the more open ground by the Red Swan, people were pointing, guffawing, smiling and tittering at the sight of a woman astride a less than impressive horse. That made no difference to Jessica, who was intent on her seat, and keeping her head up and her back straight, and her heels down. It didn’t seem to affect Bobs, either, who was now at a gentle lope, head up and nodding. He wheeled round just shy of the stableyard of the Red Swan and got reined back to a canter on the way back.

  Charlotte, Diana, and the Cavalry officers were sniggering as Jessica went past them, and Lewrie saw Charlotte sneering openly at the sight. Hugh hadn’t seen Jessica ride yet so he stood with his mouth agape; Sir Hugo and Charlie Chenery had, and merely shrugged.

  Bobs was well-gaited and obedient to light touches on the reins. He came to a walk, then a halt just by his paddock, and Jessica swung off and hopped down, beaming from ear to ear. “Oh, he’s perfect!” she cried, standing by Bobs’s head with the reins in her hands.

  “You’re sure, love?” Lewrie asked, grinning himself. “Mister Jeffcock, I’ve been called a fool who always pays full price, but in this instance, thirty five pounds will suit. Shake on it?”

  “Yessir, let’s do,” Jeffcock agreed.

  “Now, we’ll have to find something suitable for my daughter,” Lewrie decided aloud. “You have a horse, dearest.” In preparation for purchasing horses, Lewrie had gone to Coutts’ Bank and withdrawn £300, all in the new-fangled paper notes, unfortunately, that weren’t always welcome in the country, but Mr. Jeffcock was happy to fold the notes and stick them in a pocket of his corduroy waist-coat. And Bobs got another bit of carrot before he and Jessica joined the others.

  “That was what you were looking for, Dame Jessica?” Charlotte simpered. “An odd choice of horse, I must say.”

  “Exactly the sort of horse I sought, my dear,” Jessica rejoined with a too-sweet smile, listing Bobs’s good qualities. “And, have you found Miss Charlotte a proper mount?”

  “We have been discussing that fellow there, Dame Lewrie,” Capt. Courtney said, pointing to a tall roan. “Fifteen hands, well-formed, and perhaps has a touch of the Arabee in him.”

  “He’s beautiful!” Charlotte enthused.

  “He’s a stallion, girl,” Sir Hugo said dismissively. “Too much spirit for a young lady to handle.”

  “Looks more a steeplechaser to me,” Hugh opined.

  “Seventy guineas, though,” Sir Hugo added. “From the Embleton stables.”

  “Fit for the hunt, not a saddle horse,” Lewrie stuck in.

  “I could hunt, steeplechase,” Charlotte said with one of her patented pouts.

  “Haw haw haw!” Hugh roared, startling the nearest horses, “You have never ridden to hounds, sister, and when dared to gallop cross-country and Devil take the hindmost, you always begged off! You said it wasn’t ladylike!”

  “Something gentler, Charlotte,” Lewrie suggested, “perhaps a mare. Gallopin’ on a sidesaddle’s too risky.”

  “Definitely,” Jessica said with a deprecating laugh. “I confess freely that I am not a skilled horsewoman.”

  “Is that why you straddle a horse … ma’am?” Charlotte asked, making it sound close to a sneer.

  “Of course it is … my dear,” Jessica replied in kind.

  So much for peace, quiet, and “dear father,” Lewrie thought with a sneer of
his own; and she ain’t even got her horse yet! Should’ve made her sign a contract, or something.

  “Let’s look in the next paddock,” Lewrie suggested, but up rode Sir Harry Embleton, Bt., on his tall black charger, still looking imperious, with his left hand on his sword belt.

  “Sir Hugo, down from London, hey? Miss Charlotte, Hugh, back at home, what?” he intoned, looking down his nose. He ignored Lewrie and Jessica, turning his attention to the Army officers. “Miss Diana, my congratulations on your engagement. Now, who would these two fine fellows be?”

  He was introduced, and leaned back in his saddle, stretching out his elegantly booted legs in the stirrups. “Down from Aldershot, are you? Social visit? We’re about to run my battalion through its paces. I trust you’ll find my troopers able, hey?

  “But, if you’ve come to recruit,” Sir Harry added, “I warn you now. I’ll not have it. I will not give up a single man after training them, equipping them, mounting them, and arming them, hear me?”

  “Sir Harry, Colonel sir,” Captain Wilmoth spluttered, stunned by such a welcome, “We are not here to recruit. Courtney and I were invited to ride over to post our first banns this Sunday past.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Sir Harry warned them. “Lewrie.”

  “Sir Harry?” Lewrie had to reply.

  “Saw that shambles your wife was riding,” Sir Harry sneered. “And rather commonly, too. You here to buy horses?”

  “For Charlotte, now,” Lewrie told him.

  “Always happy to oblige my good neighbours, and long-time friends, the Chiswicks,” Sir Harry announced, with no change in his angry tone, “I’ve many fine mounts yonder. Take your pick, Miss Charlotte. For you, Lewrie, and Sir Hugo of course, one hundred guineas will obtain any horse you wish.”

  “Except for the ones you’re goin’ t’flog off on Horse Guards for remounts, Harry?” Lewrie said with a sly smile. “How much does the Army pay you apiece?”

  Harry Embleton’s face went red and flushed, and he rose in his stirrups, astounded to be “fronted” like that. His left hand with the leather quirt rose as if to strike Lewrie, but, considering his past experience with horse whips and reins, he lowered it just as quickly.

  “Goddamn your blood, Alan Lewrie!” Harry hissed, then sawed the reins to force his charger to back a foot or two and turn about.

  The ladies were scandalised by such a foul curse, the men sucked in their breaths at such a crude effrontery … and Lewrie let out a laugh, a long and loud one. “We’ll not be buyin’ anything from his stock,” Lewrie told the party. “Let’s go look elsewhere. And then, I think it’s time for some of Will Cony’s excellent ale.”

  * * *

  They found Charlotte a suitable horse, a dark brown mare with a set of white feet, white blaze on her nose, and light brown mane and tail. She seemed pleased enough, but the mare wasn’t a hundred guinea mount, but only fourty five pounds. There would be pouts and a rant later, Lewrie was mortal-certain.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  For the most part, the rest of the fortnight in the country went delightfully. Breakfasts simple and tasty, rides cross Sir Hugo’s acres, and up the gentle slopes into the woods for the vistas and the cooler air and breezes. Visiting calls upon those families in Anglesgreen friendly to Sir Hugo, and the Lewries, and receiving company for several hours. Fine suppers, music and singing afterwards, and even some impromptu dancing in the drawing room.

  Lewrie was happy to see Jessica revel in their brief taste of country life, on her morning or late afternoon rides on Bobs, going so far as to get out brushes and currycombs to groom her horse, instructed by Sir Hugo’s head groom. When inspired by something that caught her eye, she simply had to sketch it, fussing and peering over her work ’til satisfied with the composition and the likeness, humming sweetly with a half-smile ever on her lips.

  Visitors called upon them, too; Charlotte and Capt. Courtney, seemingly a couple, and Diana and her intended. They were invited to dine twice, and were led round the estate on a mid-day ride. Captain Courtney was surprised by the style of Dun Roman, not the two-storey brick pile usually found round Anglesgreen, but a one-level, expansive bungalow in the fashion of houses Sir Hugo had gotten acquainted with when serving in the East India Company Army. All found the wide and deep galleries front and back quite novel. And of course, the furnishings and decor were luxurious, if a tad exotic, with collections of Hindoo tulwars, daggers, and spears that covered the walls here and there, and the tiger skin rug, head, fangs, and all in one room.

  “Why’s Captain Courtney hangin’ round Anglesgreen so long? Does he not have duties at Aldershot?” Lewrie grumbled one mild and sunny mid-morning as they returned their mounts to the stables after a ride down to the village so Jessica could do some shopping to see just what was available in the stores.

  “He may be developing a fondness for Charlotte, Alan,” Jessica speculated, leading Bobs to his stall and giving him a hug and kiss.

  “Accompanying his fellow officer?” Hugh said, shrugging his own puzzlement.

  “Shopping,” Sir Hugo cackled. “He looks at everything as if he’s shopping, and valuing what things are worth.”

  “I’d have thought that Captain Wilmoth didn’t need his best man, if that’s what Captain Courtney is, escorting him all hours of the day and night,” Charlie Chenery said with a snigger. “Come to think of it, can they both stay away from their regiment for all three banns to be read at Saint George’s? What about the banns at his home parish, and introducing Miss Chiswick to his family, and the rest of her kin?”

  “Enjoy your fodder and oats, sweet Bobs,” Jessica said to her horse as he was un-saddled and led into his stall.

  “It is most peculiar, yes,” Sir Hugo agreed. “Once back in London, I’ve a mind to call upon some of my old friends at Horse Guards and ask about our Captain Courtney.”

  “You don’t imagine he’s a fortune-hunter, do you, Sir Hugo?” Jessica asked as she pulled off her riding gloves. “Weighing up what Charlotte might be worth?”

  “He very well might be,” Sir Hugo told her. “I’ve seen the sort in my days in the Army,” he said with a prim sniff.

  God help us if you haven’t, Lewrie thought, recalling Sir Hugo’s false marriage to his own mother, his abandonment of her when he discovered they weren’t really wed, and skipping off with her jewels, along with the man’s long career of wooing, even marrying, rich widows more lonely than wary! It wasn’t just stolen loot from the Far East that had bought Sir Hugo his house, his estate and acres, and all of his luxury!

  “And Charlotte may be gettin’ desperate,” Lewrie said. “Mean to say, she wasted two whole Seasons huntin’ a husband in London, goin’ after someone with a title, and most-like dismissin’ a myriad of suitable young men ’cause they weren’t lofty enough for her ambitions.”

  “Good Lord,” Hugh exclaimed, “is that the way she’s been going about it? What does she expect, the Prince of Wales?”

  “Unfortunately yes, Mister Lewrie,” Jessica said with a move and a toss of her head. “With Alan away, it fell to me and your grandfather to squire her round, when I couldn’t talk my way out of it, and your sister went about things with her nose in the air, curt and dismissive to most young men, and all but throwing herself at anyone with a title due them, or great wealth.”

  “And Governour heartily encouraged her,” Sir Hugo added. “He asked me, as a Knight of the Garter, to get her presented at Court! Trick her out in a tiara? I found them a perfectly good buttock-broker, for God’s sake! Charlotte, I was assured, was introduced to an host of men of good families, and good prospects.”

  “I’m sorry to say that, once home from arranged social doings, she sneered at them all,” Jessica confided to them.

  “And, what if this Captain Courtney does ask for her hand,” Hugh asked, “what will we do?”

  “If he turns out to be a mountebank, a fortune-hunter, I’ll tell her ‘no,’” Lewrie declared.

  “Aye,
father, make your enquiries, as soon as we get home. If she really wants him, she’ll have to coach off to Scotland, and God help her. She’ll still get her ‘dot’ of two hundred pounds a year, but it’s more than likely that it’ll go for her husband’s mess bills and fancy uniforms.”

  “Good,” Jessica stated with a firm nod, “She never listened to me, or heeded my advice. I’m the interloper who supplanted her mother, after all, near her age. She has been a trial, your sister, Mister Lewrie. I’d have thought that having Captain Courtney here, getting a new horse, seeing you, again, after such a long time, would mellow her, but … well, you’ve seen how dismissive she is of me.”

  “We all know, dear,” Lewrie said, taking her hands in his. “And I must say you’ve borne it like a martyr, and tried to befriend her.”

  “Hear hear!” Sir Hugo boomed.

  “Come to think upon it,” Hugh japed, “I’m even closer to your age, ma’am, haven’t known you a dog watch, but I like you!”

  “Oh, Mister Lewrie … Hugh … thank you for that!” Jessica said with a whoosh of relief, and a beaming smile. She gave him a tentative hug and a dry peck on his cheek.

  “Well, now we’re kin,” Hugh suggested, “it does sound rather awkward to call me Mister Lewrie. I would prefer Hugh. I must allow that I would feel uncomfortable calling you ‘mother,’ might I be given the right to address you by your given name?”

  “Oh, of course!” Jessica replied.

  “The Lord pity us all, about Charlotte,” Sir Hugo said with a deep sigh as they started to walk up to the house. “Ehm, do any of you feel peckish? Mistress Furlough told me that one of my cottagers got some fine fish from the stream.”

  “Fish sounds fine!” Lewrie exclaimed.

  * * *

  Other joys of the countryside were the rides that Lewrie and his wife took alone, with a blanket, a wicker basket filled with bread and sandwich makings, a mustard pot, and a bottle of wine, just ambling along ’til they found an open spot with a vista downhill to the fields and the village, or a shady spot up in the woodlot or forest atop the back acres, where they could talk, laugh, and kiss, or even nap and drowse, ’til Anson and Bobs got tired of cropping grass and nickered to be up and doing.