by Lou Kuenzler
“I know one thing, if you’re hot, we must get you cool,” I said to Beauty, dashing to the pump to fetch a bucket of cold water.
“There!” He plunged his nose and drank greedily. “I’ll get you another.” Then I flung open the big window at the back of the loose box. “That will let some nice cold air in,” I said.
I ran my hand over his back; the water seemed to have settled him a little. I decided to feed him too and gave him a scoop of corn and some fresh hay.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” I said. It was common sense. Black Beauty was hot and tired. Now I had cooled him down and fed him. Surely that was the right thing to do.
I shut the loose box door so Beauty could rest and went to get a drink of water for myself. Merrylegs whinnied.
“Greedy boy,” I said. But I fetched him and Ginger a pile of hay. Then I filled a rack for Justice to have when he got back. There was no sign of anyone yet.
I took some hay to Badger’s stall and glanced up the road.
Still nothing.
I wondered back and popped my head over the loose box door.
Black Beauty was lying on the floor. His sides were heaving like bellows.
“Beauty? What’s the matter?” I flung open the door and knelt beside the shivering horse. He lifted his neck and tried to look at me, but his eyes rolled and his head dropped back to the straw.
He let out a long low moan and then kicked his legs wildly. I leapt out of the way.
He shivered and thrashed as if there were demons inside his belly.
“Shh! Beauty, steady.” I stretched out my hand trying to get close. But my heart was thumping. There was nothing I could do.
Then, at last, he was still. So still I thought he might be dead.
I crawled close and laid my head against his side. He was still breathing but his eyes were closed.
I jumped to my feet again and began to pace. Why wasn’t James back yet? Or Caleb, damn him?
Should I run to the house and fetch the squire? Would he know what to do to save Beauty?
I was halfway to the door.
But no. What if his wife was dying?
I shouldn’t disturb them.
I turned back … then spun around again.
I must go. I must fetch help.
The mistress had the doctor. He would do all he could for her. Black Beauty had nobody. Only me.
And I was useless.
I was on the drive, pelting towards the house when I heard the thud of Justice’s hooves thundering through the gate.
“James!” I cried. “James, come quick. I think I have killed Black Beauty.”
James leapt from Justice’s back and dashed into the stable.
He took one look at the poor horse lying on the ground and grabbed a rug. He threw it over Beauty and then ran to fetch another blanket and warm gruel.
“Sid,” he barked as the twins rode into the yard. “Run up to the house and fetch me some hot water. You too, Wilf.”
He did not ask me to do anything. He did not even look at me. All I could do was tie up the cobs and open and close the loose box door as James dashed back and forth to fetch straw and hot cloths.
“Stupid, stupid boy,” he muttered under his breath.
I know now that instead of trying to cool Beauty down, I should have kept him snug.
Instead of buckets and buckets of cold water, I should have given him a little warm.
Instead of flinging open draughty windows, I should have covered him with blankets.
But I didn’t know any of that. Not then.
At last, James sat back on his heels and began to stroke Beauty’s nose.
I crept forward and knelt beside him.
“I’m so sorry. I tried my best,” I stammered. “I just didn’t…”
“Didn’t what?” growled James.
I was too ashamed to raise my head but I could feel his angry grey eyes boring into me. All I could hear was the sound of Beauty’s breathing, rasping as he gasped for breath.
“I – I didn’t know what to do,” I admitted.
“Then you have no business in a stable,” said James. His voice was almost a whisper. I wish he had shouted at me and raged. As I lifted my head at last, I saw his back was turned again. He was bent over, gently stroking Beauty’s head.
“Ignorance is as bad as wickedness when you have a horse’s life in your hands,” he said.
Chapter Nineteen
All that night, I stayed curled up next to Beauty on the straw. He was quiet and breathing more steadily now, but when Mr Manly came home from Newmarket in the morning he sent for the horse doctor right away.
“Will he die?” I cried, as the strange little man listened to Beauty’s chest, poked him in the ribs and poured a draught of thick black medicine down his throat.
“Only time will tell,” said the veterinarian. “But with rest and good care he may pull through.”
For the next two weeks, I could hardly swallow my food, I felt so sick with worry. But I forced myself to eat and stay strong. I did my chores like lightning so I could spend every waking moment with Beauty. I wasn’t allowed to sleep in his stable again but I got up four times every night to check that he was all right. James was keeping a good eye on him too, but we did not speak to each other. In all that time he barely said a word to me.
Flora came to tell us her mother was growing stronger. She lent me a book of fairy tales and I sat and read them to Beauty for hours after supper each day.
I knew he couldn’t really understand, but I think he liked the sound of my voice. He would flick his ears and sigh as if listening to every word. Sometimes, when I paused, he would nudge my leg as if urging me to carry on.
“I am sure your favourite is Cinderella,” I told him. “How handsome you would look pulling a golden pumpkin coach to the ball.”
I thought the twins might laugh at me for reading to a horse. I wouldn’t have cared if they did. But they seemed to understand I needed to be with Beauty and help him to grow strong and well again. Often, when I was reading, I would see them perched in Merrylegs’s manger, listening too.
“Our old Ma used to tell us stories,” said Sid. “She can’t read, but remembered them all by heart.” I knew the twins missed their mother dreadfully. She lived about ten miles away on a smallholding with a cider orchard and a flock of white geese. She couldn’t afford to keep the boys at home, not with six brothers and sisters to feed.
“My favourite story is Dick Whittington,” said Wilf. “Lord Mayor of London! I should love to go to the big city one day.”
“My mother is in London,” I said, a picture of her face flashing into my mind. Then I remembered that I had told everyone I was an orphan. “I mean, she was there once,” I added quickly. For all I knew she might not be in London anyway by now. She could be anywhere.
“Did she used to tell you stories?” asked Sid.
I shook my head and began to read another tale. I had said too much already. But I did smile as I saw that I had opened the page on the story of Rapunzel, the girl who has all of her long hair snipped short.
Even Caleb did not laugh at me for reading to Black Beauty. Although he never came to listen to the stories, I often found that he had cleaned a harness I was set to do, filled a water trough or mucked out a stable – extra things so I could hurry through my chores.
We both knew if he had been there the night the doctor came, he could have shown me how to tend to Beauty. I think he felt guilty – and grateful too. If Mr Manly knew he was poaching in the woods, Caleb would have lost his job and been up before the magistrate, probably sentenced to a spell in jail. But there was nothing to be gained by blaming him. He told everybody he had slept through it all. And I said nothing. I still felt the true fault lay with me.
For now, I was pleased to have Caleb’s help with my work. It was good not to have him as an enemy. And he never called me “Slow Joe” again.
Only James did not come to hear the stories. He didn�
��t even speak to me unless it was to give me an order and tell me what to do.
He was right to be angry. I had put Black Beauty’s life in danger because I didn’t know how to do my job properly. I wasn’t a real stable boy; I was a pampered young girl who could ride well, but who didn’t know anything about horses. I’d had servants to do the hard work and look after them for me all my life. And my play-acting had nearly killed Black Beauty. His fever had passed, but he was still weak. He spent most of his time lying on the stable floor.
Then at dawn one morning, as I came down from the loft to check on him as usual, something wonderful happened. Perhaps Beauty had been waiting for me. Perhaps I was a few minutes late. Either way, he raised his head, leapt to his feet and whinnied with delight. After that, the shine came back to his coat. He grew quite fat, as he was not ready for exercise yet, and his eyes were bright.
Another month passed, and now he whinnied again every time he saw me. If Beauty knew I had put him in danger, he never showed it. The bond between us was stronger than ever.
“A full recovery! I knew Beauty was a fighter,” said Mr Manly leaning over the loose box door. “Yet, I don’t think he’d have made it through without your care, Joe. You’ve done great work tending to him, lad. Well done.”
“He never would have been ill in the first place if it wasn’t for me,” I choked.
“You don’t know that,” said Mr Manly kindly. “That gallop home with the doctor was enough to knock him sideways by itself.”
“I just wish I had known the right thing to do,” I said, rubbing Beauty’s nose.
“Well, now you do and it’s not a mistake you’ll make again,” said Mr Manly. “We’ll shape you into a fine stable lad yet. You’re learning fast, Joe.”
“Thank you.” For a moment I felt a warm glow, as though things might yet turn out right; but as I looked up I saw James walking past with a harness slung over his arm. He didn’t even glance in our direction. He certainly didn’t smile. I thought of what friends we had started to become when we used to ride Beauty and Ginger together on the common. Now that friendship was broken.
“I know he has been harsh with you,” said Mr Manly, following my gaze. “It is only because he cares so much for the horses. You are more similar than you know.”
“Similar? Me and James Howard? I don’t think so!”
If I had my wish, I would have kept well out of James’s way. But there was no avoiding him and a week or so later, we were thrown together again.
Squire Gordon brought the mistress to visit us in the yard. Although she was as thin as a sparrow and clung to the squire’s arm, her cheeks were rosy and she laughed with delight when she saw Black Beauty up and well.
“The doctor says I would have died for sure if he had reached me even half an hour later,” she said, stepping into the loose box.
She patted Black Beauty’s neck. “By galloping like a demon you nearly killed yourself, but you saved my life. Thank you.” She kissed his nose. “And thank you too.” She turned and smiled at James. “I know you rode very bravely to fetch help.”
“My pleasure, madam.” James gave a little bow of his head.
“Oh, do not look so worried,” teased the mistress. “I shall not kiss your nose like I did Black Beauty’s.”
James flushed scarlet. I couldn’t help but giggle. He shot me an even sharper dagger-look than usual.
“You two will be busy these next few weeks,” said the squire turning to us both. “I want you to exercise Ginger and get Beauty fit again so that my wife and I can ride together, just as soon as she is strong enough herself.”
“Very good, sir.” James did not look very happy at the thought spending time with me.
But I did not care about that. My heart leapt for joy.
I was going to ride Beauty again.
Chapter Twenty
Next morning, James and I got Ginger and Beauty ready for their first ride. We saddled the horses in silence but I couldn’t stifle the huge grin as we set out.
We began by walking them to the watermill and back. Then trotting through the highwoods. At last we had a canter on the common.
Black Beauty swished his tail and bucked. I think he would have galloped flat out if I hadn’t kept a tight hold on the reins.
“Whoa! Are you trying to throw me off?” I cried.
Black Beauty bucked again. I knew there was no meanness in it really. It was just that he was excited to feel well again and to be alive.
“Do you see that?” I said to James. “His spirit is as strong as ever.”
“It is a wonderful thing!” James beamed.
I thought we might be friends again then. But when I talked about the haymaking or pointed to a cow and her calf, James only grunted and he was as stern and gruff as ever by the time we returned to the yard.
Fine! Let him be like that, I thought.
We rode most days, but barely shared a word. The mistress and Squire Gordon rode often too.
“Black Beauty is as strong as an ox again,” said Mr Manly, one afternoon as they returned from a ride.
“I am pleased you think so too,” agreed the squire. “Now my wife is well, we plan to visit her sister next week. It is a journey of over forty miles. Do you think Black Beauty will be up to taking us in the carriage with Ginger?”
“I don’t doubt it for a moment,” said Mr Manly, but a strange look passed over his face. “Next week, you say?”
“Yes.” Squire Gordon did not seem to notice anything but the mistress dashed forward and patted Mr Manly’s arm.
“Don’t worry, Mr Manly, we will not need you with us,” she said.
“Of course we shall need Manly. Who else will drive the carriage?” asked the squire in surprise.
“Mr Manly’s wife is having a baby,” said the mistress. “It is due next week. I am sure he will be anxious if he is so far from home.”
“Oh no, madam! Do not trouble yourself.” Poor Mr Manly blushed red as Ginger’s coat.
“Good man. That’s the spirit.” The squire made to leave.
“Nonsense. I will not be persuaded,” said the mistress. “You must stay here, Manly. James can drive the carriage and Joe can come along on the box seat. After all, nobody can manage Beauty as well as Joe can.”
“That is true. Joe is a wonder with Beauty,” said Mr Manly. “I never saw a horse and boy such friends. And James can drive the carriage just as well as any coachman.” A little smile crept over his face and he blushed all over again. “If you are sure you could manage without me, then that would make Mrs Manly and myself very happy. It is our first child.”
“Then that is settled!” said the mistress.
“As you wish, my dear,” her husband agreed meekly.
The mistress clapped her hands. “How handsome you two young fellows will look on top of the carriage,” she said, smiling at James and me. “I shall see about some new coats for you both.”
“As you wish, my dear,” sighed the squire.
“What’s that?” I said, staring at the little green jacket with golden buttons which Doris had laid out for me on a bench in the laundry.
“It is your livery, silly. So you may look smart when you ride on the carriage,” she said.
“James ’as one too. But I’ve taken ’is to the stable yard already,” said Daisy. “I needed to be sure it was a good fit.” She burst into fits of giggles which Doris didn’t seem to find very funny at all.
“Hurry up, Joe. Are you going to try yours on or not?” she said, pulling me sharply by the ear.
“Ouch!” I yelped as she pushed me behind the little screen where I had got changed before.
“There’s breeches too. As pale as cream. So don’t go getting mucky fingermarks all over them,” she said.
I have to admit, James and I did look very smart perched high on the gleaming carriage with Ginger and Beauty in their best black harness.
“Good luck!” Flora called up to me after she and Miss Jessie had sa
id goodbye to their parents and the door of the carriage had been closed. “I do hope you don’t meet any highwaymen.”
“Oh, we are quite sure to!” I told her. “But don’t worry, I will fight them with my sword.”
“You don’t have a sword, Joe!” Miss Jessie laughed.
“Oh yes, he does.” Flora shook her head and looked very serious. “Before Joe decided to be a stable boy, he was going to be a pirate. He has a cutlass!”
“Ah-ha! Shiver me timbers!” I crowed, ignoring a sour look from James beside me.
“Gracious me!” Miss McKenzie, the girls’ governess, began to look quite worried and ushered them back towards the house.
“Look after Merrylegs,” I called.
“We will!” promised Flora. “The children from the vicarage are coming to ride with us this afternoon and they love Merry almost as much as we do.”
“Have fun!” I cried over my shoulder.
James elbowed me in the ribs. Hard.
“Will you be quiet!” he hissed. “This is a gentleman’s carriage not a fish wagon. You cannot sit up here and holler as if you were selling cockles and whelks on the shore.”
“Fine!” I straightened my back and sat tall. I would never get used to how servants are meant to be so silent. It’s always thought best when we don’t say anything at all.
As it was, James and I were still not talking anyway and he had to concentrate on driving the big carriage up and down the hills. He seemed always to be fiddling and clicking his tongue and pulling on the reins to keep the horses in the centre of the road, well away from the ditches.
I had no real tasks, so sat on the box and admired the countryside. It was the first time I’d had no chores and nothing to do for a whole morning since I first arrived at Birtwick Park.
I sat back and smiled, letting the sun warm my face and thinking how I wouldn’t swap the life of a stable boy for anything. Not now.