by Jane Ashford
“And the other?” asked Lord Furness. “He looks younger. And smaller would be better, I think.”
“Aye, Fergus is just eight. A gelding. He’s a fine animal. Had it a bit rough where he was when we came upon him. Near starved he was, which is why he’s undersized.” For a moment Mrs. Fry looked fierce. “But he’s splendid now, aren’t you, lad?” She ruffled the pony’s pale mane, and he whickered. “Particularly since he’s found a friend in Molly.”
“I don’t want a chancy mount for Geoffrey,” said Lord Furness.
“Nothing chancy about Fergus,” the farmer replied. “He’s steady and strong, far more patient than I’d be, after what he endured.”
“You should take them both,” said Jean, moved by what she’d heard. “Tom could ride Molly.”
“I have plenty of mounts for Tom to use. He’s tall enough for a horse.”
“Yes, but see how they like to be together.” The ponies clearly knew they were being discussed, Jean thought. They were examining the strangers with wary interest. She could almost believe they realized their future was being settled.
“This pony is a means of transport and education,” said Lord Furness. “My decision will not be based on sentiment.”
“Of course not.” Jean searched for a logical reason, and found one. “But I’m sure Geoffrey would like Tom to be on his own level as he learns. Who likes to be loomed over? It might make him quite cross to be looked down on from horseback.”
Lord Furness gazed at her. His blue-gray eyes seemed skeptical, but a half smile tugged at his lips. Quite a charming half smile. Jean blinked and looked away as he said, “Check them both over, Bradford.”
The groom came forward and murmured to the ponies as he ran his hands over their legs, examined their teeth, and felt along their torsos. When he finished, he gave a nod of approval. Molly pushed at the man in a friendly way and then rested her head on Fergus’s back.
“Oh, very well,” said Lord Furness. “Both. What will you take for them, Mrs. Fry?”
“I’ll give you a good price for the two.” She gave Jean a sly wink as they started back.
An amount was agreed upon. Scones and tea were duly consumed. Afterward, Mrs. Fry sent Len out to the field with halters for the ponies. He brought them back and handed them over to the groom, ready to be led to the Furness stables, then turned to the barn to fetch the visitors’ horses.
About to mount up, Jean paused by the basket of kittens again. They tumbled over their mother, an adorable profusion. “That cat looks right smug, don’t she?” said Mrs. Fry from the doorway. “She came in from the road three months ago, dead of winter it was, took a look around the farm, rubbed up against my ankles, and settled herself down. A week later, she produced six little ones.” Resignation and fondness showed in the woman’s face. “Knew what she was doing, I reckon.”
Benjamin watched Miss Saunders gaze down at the kittens. As if pulled, she bent and picked one up, a gray striped tabby. It cuddled against her neck. Which looked like a rather pleasant thing to do, he found himself thinking. “Geoffrey would probably like a kitten,” she said.
“He’d train it to pounce on us from high places,” said Benjamin.
“Ah, cats have the advantage of being quite untrainable.” She held up the small creature and gazed into its green eyes. “You wouldn’t join in his pranks, would you? You’d teach him his utter insignificance.”
Benjamin laughed. “If you want a kitten, don’t use my son as an excuse. Just have one.”
Mrs. Fry nodded amiably. “They’re ready to leave their mother. I’m looking for homes for them.”
“Mew,” said the kitten.
With a slight shake of her head, Miss Saunders set it back among its littermates. “I have no place to keep a cat.”
For an instant, Benjamin thought he glimpsed desolation in her face. Surely not, over such a trivial issue? But he was nevertheless moved to say, “Take it. It can live at Furness Hall.”
“Really?”
“What’s one more cat?” He pretended carelessness, despite the amazing way she’d lit up at the offer. “We have them all about the stables, don’t we, Bradford?”
“Yes, my lord,” said the groom.
“I’ll get a basket for you to carry him home in,” said Mrs. Fry, clearly glad to have settled one of her charges. She disappeared inside briefly, returned with a small covered basket, scooped up the tabby, and closed him into it.
Thus, some while later, Benjamin and Miss Saunders walked through the front door of Furness Hall with a mewing package. Geoffrey popped out of the door at the back of the hall as soon as the door closed. He must have been lurking there. Was no one watching him? Didn’t he have lessons?
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Miss Saunders has acquired a kitten.”
“Can I see?” She opened the basket, and they peered together at the small creature. Looking envious, Geoffrey reached in to stroke it. “When the stable cat had kittens, I wanted one, but Cook hates cats.”
“She does?” asked Miss Saunders uneasily.
“She said they’re sneak thieves, and that I wouldn’t take care of it. But I would have.” He pouted at Benjamin. “How come she can have a kitten, and I—”
“Why worry about kittens,” Benjamin interrupted, “when you have a pony?”
Geoffrey froze. He stared up at his father as if afraid to move. “A pony?” he whispered.
“Bradford has taken it—them—around to the stables. We will—”
But Geoffrey was gone, with only the pounding echo of small feet to show he’d ever been in the front hall.
In the past hour he’d granted two people their wishes, Benjamin thought. Rather minor wishes, he’d have said. Particularly the kitten. And yet the effects had been rather stunning.
“I didn’t know Tab would upset your cook,” said Miss Saunders, closing the basket.
“Tab?”
She flushed. “I thought I’d name him Tab. He’s a tabby.”
His accidental houseguest was adorable when she was embarrassed. “Ah. I’m sure the cook will manage.”
“I can keep him in my room, out of her way. I’ll set up a sand box for him and feed him there. He’s really not old enough to wander about anyway. Unless…you don’t think he’ll feel imprisoned?”
Her voice vibrated with emotion far beyond what the situation warranted, Benjamin thought. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to have a home.” It seemed the wrong thing to say, because she winced.
“He can stay when I go,” she replied. “You said so. Geoffrey will take care of him. Obviously, he’ll be glad to.”
She hurried up the stairs with the basket before Benjamin could respond to this series of emphatic remarks, which had left him quite bewildered.
Six
Jean established Tab in her room without difficulties. She was adept at making friends with the staff in houses where she stayed, and those in Furness Hall supplied the kitten’s needs without much complaint. Cook grumbled quietly when asked for a dish of chopped meat, but relented when assured Tab would live in Jean’s room. For his part, Tab seemed content. After a thorough exploration of all the chamber’s corners and his meal, he curled up in the window seat and went to sleep.
Watching the rise and fall of his tiny rib cage, Jean wondered if she might take him along when she left here. A cat wasn’t much trouble. Many people liked them. And many didn’t, she had to admit. The latter tended to have very strong opinions. She shook her head. No, a polite visitor didn’t arrive with a pet. She came prepared to socialize and entertain. Even when she didn’t feel like either.
Jean turned at a brisk knock on her door, glad for the interruption. She’d come very close to moping. Which was unacceptable. She hadn’t even changed out of her borrowed riding habit.
Lord Macklin stood in the corri
dor outside. “I was just going down,” he said. “I thought you’d want to see Geoffrey’s first riding lesson.”
“I do indeed.” Jean came out, making certain the latch caught to keep Tab safe. She walked downstairs at the older man’s side.
“I had a surprising encounter this morning,” he said.
“I hope it didn’t involve Geoffrey and his hatchet.”
Lord Macklin smiled. “The tomahawk is securely locked away, I understand. No, I went walking, and I met an old friend in the village. The last person I would have expected to see in the country. I’d have said that she is an absolute fixture in London.”
“Did you lure her here with tales of some wrong that must be righted?”
The older man looked down at her. He and Lord Furness shared fathomless blue-gray eyes, Jean observed, and a disarming smile. “We may have spoken of the beauties of this part of Somerset. No more. Are you twitting me, Miss Saunders?”
He was years older and greatly respected, but Jean couldn’t quite let it go. “You are behind my presence here. Those conversations we had at the Phillipsons’… You steered them.”
“No.” The word was emphatic. “They evolved. Things you said, or almost said, turned my thoughts in a particular direction. I merely…continued along the path they laid out for me.”
Jean didn’t like the idea that she’d revealed things she was unaware of. What had he seen in her, or thought he’d seen?
“And I must say that the decision to come down to Furness Hall was wholly your own. Your…sudden initiative startled me.”
“And so you came after me.”
Lord Macklin gave her a half bow as they walked. “You are a most astute young lady. I did feel in some way responsible.”
“Aha.”
He laughed. “So what will you do now that you’ve extracted my confession?”
Jean wasn’t ready to be charmed. “Do you make a practice of interference? Even in the affairs of strangers?”
The older man shook his head as he opened the front door of the house for her. They stepped out onto the grass together. “I never have. Before. I beg your pardon if it seems that way to you, Miss Saunders. I was very concerned about my nephew. I felt I had to do something for him.”
“And your great-nephew,” said Jean.
“And Geoffrey, of course.”
She doubted this, though she believed he cared about Geoffrey now that he’d met him. Just as Lord Furness was recognizing his neglect. She’d accomplished that much. But there was another important point in what Lord Macklin had said. “You were concerned about Lord Furness?”
“I was.”
“Not am?”
“Thanks to you.”
Although this idea gratified Jean, she had to object. Lord Macklin’s expression wasn’t quite patronizing. He was too kind for that. But she detected a hint of complacency over his quite wrongheaded notion. “I don’t much care for being the something you had to do,” she said. “I’m not, in fact, a chess piece for you to move around the board.”
“Of course not.”
“Nor am I a helpless female who requires herding.”
“I can see that.”
“So no more evolving conversations. With me or about me.”
“I give you my word.” Lord Macklin shrugged. “In my own defense, I must tell you that I have four nieces, and I’m often called upon to make arrangements for them. To anticipate what might be needed to save time and trouble.”
“Their wishes being irrelevant to the process.”
“Of course not.” He looked chagrined. “They always seemed quite pleased with my plans.”
“Or resigned to their fate.”
“I really think not. I suppose I’d better ask,” he added ruefully.
“I’m not your niece,” Jean pointed out.
“Not at present.”
“What?”
“Ah, here is the famous pony.” With a few long steps, Lord Macklin left her behind. It was a moment before Jean followed.
Geoffrey bounced like a maddened hare on the cobbles of the yard, begging to mount up. Benjamin was glad to see that Fergus the pony took this enthusiasm equably. He didn’t shy or offer to nip at the wild little figure dancing around him, though he did follow the boy’s movements with a wary eye. There was no need for him—or Tom, who held the pony’s bridle—to intervene.
At last, Bradford appeared with the saddle Benjamin had used as a child. They’d had to hunt it up and clean it. “All right,” said Benjamin. “Geoffrey, watch how the straps work. A good rider knows everything about his mount.”
His son jerked to a stop and stared intently as the chief groom saddled Fergus, then stood aside. Benjamin reached for his son. “Now I will lift you—”
“I want to get up on my own,” Geoffrey declared.
Looking down at the militant, ruddy-haired figure, Benjamin found the words “you’re too small” dying on his lips. His son was too small to reach the saddle, but he obviously wouldn’t be told so.
“You can use the mounting block,” said Miss Saunders. “I often do.”
With a glance at Benjamin for permission, Tom led the pony over to the two stone steps in the middle of the yard. Geoffrey sprang onto the top and poised to leap.
“Set your hand on the front of the saddle,” said Benjamin. “And then throw your right leg over it.”
Geoffrey exhibited a moment’s confusion about which leg he meant, then obeyed. In the next instant he sat atop Fergus. The grin that lit his face was like nothing Benjamin had seen before. A critical inner voice suggested that he ought to be more familiar with the boy’s infectious delight.
Benjamin let him enjoy the sensation for a bit, then said, “Put your feet in the stirrups.” These had been shortened as much as possible on the child’s saddle and still barely sufficed. “Tom will lead you about at first to accustom you to Fergus’s gait.”
Tom clucked at the pony and started him off in a circle around the yard. Bradford observed from one side, Benjamin’s uncle from the other.
Geoffrey turned out to be a natural rider. Soon he’d taken the reins and was urging the pony along on his own. “I want to gallop,” he declared not long after that. “I bet I could race the dogs and beat them!”
“You must take things slowly,” Benjamin replied. “For Fergus’s sake.” He enjoyed the shift in his son’s expression as a budding rebellion died. “He needs to learn to trust you,” he added, cementing the idea. “You make friends with your mount first, and then he will do whatever you ask of him. Even very hard things, which are difficult for him. That’s a great responsibility. Do you understand what I mean by that?”
Geoffrey nodded. “How do I make friends?” he said in a subdued tone.
A small noise from Miss Saunders at his back made Benjamin wonder if she, like him, was daunted by the idea that Geoffrey had no friends. “You’ll groom him,” he answered. “And talk to him, bring him an apple now and then. But not too many treats, for fear of upsetting his stomach. Ask Bradford first. You’ll learn what makes a pony feel safe and what he can and cannot do.”
As Geoffrey nodded again, emphatically, Miss Saunders let out an audible sigh.
“And then, after a while, you can ride about the estate with Tom and Molly and the grooms,” Benjamin finished.
His son looked like a boy who’d glimpsed a heavenly vision. “I’ll work hard,” he said. “I’ll learn fast.”
“I’m sure you will.”
They watched for a while longer. Bradford offered Geoffrey some pointers about the way he sat in the saddle, and Geoffrey adjusted immediately. It was a pleasure to see, and yet a strain as well. As Geoffrey moved, frowned in concentration, and laughed, it was as if Alice appeared before Benjamin’s eyes, vanished, then reappeared. Over and over, like a flickering phantasm, forcing B
enjamin to wonder, for the thousandth time, at the cruelty of fate, which had decreed that the boy would so resemble his dead mother. Trusting the groom to end the session if the pony tired, he said, “I must go in. You’re doing very well.”
Turning, he nearly bumped into Miss Saunders, who had moved at the same moment. There was something odd about her face “Are you crying?”
“No. Of course not.” She swallowed. “Why would I be?”
Benjamin had no idea. And he’d reached the limit of what he could endure. He strode away, feeling his uncle’s eyes on his back. There were times when sympathy felt as onerous as judgment. He would retreat to his library refuge, Benjamin thought, and this time he would lock the door.
When she returned to her room after the riding lesson, Jean discovered that Tab had attacked the pile of writing paper on the desk, leaving tiny fang punctures on every page. At first she feared that this was a sign of displeasure at being shut up. But he seemed proud of his achievement, joining her to add a few more holes as she looked over the damage. On the positive side, the kitten had used the sand box for its designated purpose.
Jean tidied up the desk, changed out of the riding habit, and sat down by the window. Immediately, the scene in the stable yard rose in her mind. Geoffrey had looked so happy on his pony. His father’s expression, by turns fond and pained, had brought tears to her eyes. Whatever their difficulties, they were a family. They belonged in a way she didn’t. Any more than she belonged at the Phillipsons—or anywhere, really. Yet she had to be somewhere.
Whatever Lord Macklin imagined he’d learned about her, he didn’t comprehend her system of living. She depended on hospitality, going from house to house on an established yearly round. In the five years since her mother had died, she’d made herself a welcome guest, and she couldn’t afford to annoy her various hosts or cause gossip. It wasn’t, as many people must think, a question of money. Far otherwise. She had plenty of money. But as a young lady of independent means, one’s choices were actually quite limited if one didn’t wish to be alone. Jean swallowed. A person could be competent and confident and yet not wish to be all alone.