Mistress of the Moor: A gripping gothic romance mystery

by Abigail Clements

  Ready at last, I went out of the house and headed toward the stables by way of the big barn. In the barn I found a somewhat greasy Roger sitting on a box, eating a sandwich, and gazing adoringly at Kittiwake. He rose to his feet as he caught sight of me.

  ‘Thanks for the lunch. I’d forgotten all about it,’ he said. ‘My goodness, you do look smart.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I replied.

  ‘Ormerod told me that you were going to take Honey out,’ he went on. ‘Take care, I gather he hasn’t had very much work lately.’

  ‘I’ll be careful,’ I said. Then, changing the subject, I said, ‘Congratulations on this morning.’

  His concern had made me feel warm and cosy inside. Why, I asked myself, should I find this man so attractive and so irritating at one and the same time?

  ‘I did very little, really,’ he said. ‘All the difficult work was done by Sir Joshua. Anyone could have done my part, even you.’ He chuckled.

  There, he had spoiled it again; he did not seem able to resist these little witticisms. I said goodbye and left him standing there, a sandwich in one hand, a spanner in the other, and grease all over his overalls.

  I found Ormerod waiting for me when I got to the stables.

  ‘Honey’s all ready for thee, miss,’ he said. ‘He’s in the loose box. Shall I get him for thee?’

  ‘No thank you, Ormerod, I’ll get him myself.’

  ‘Then thou’ll be needing this,’ he said, handing me an apple. ‘Where do thou fancy going?’

  It was not just idle curiosity. If ever anyone took a horse out, Ormerod always wanted to know their intended route so that in the event of an accident he would know where to look for them.

  ‘I’ll take him down Howl Moor to Wheeldale Beck and then ride clockwise round the boundary. I might try a jump or two over Blawath Beck.’ I smiled, knowing that he would caution me.

  ‘Well, thou be careful if thou are going to do any jumping, Miss Emma. He’s had very little work for long enough. I’d sweat him a bit before I’d try jumping him if I was thee.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Ormerod,’ I said, smiling again. ‘I’m not going to take any risks.’

  ‘I hope not, Miss Emma, but I’ve heard thee say things like that before. Thou’s a gradely horsewoman but I reckon that thou’s as much out of practice as Honey.’

  ‘I promise I’ll be good,’ I said.

  I went into Honey’s loose box. He was standing there tacked up and ready. As soon as he saw me, he nuzzled me and started to sniff around for the apple. I gave it to him, and he was munching away at it as I led him out.

  ‘Shall I check the girth?’ Ormerod was not really offering, he was reminding me. One of the first lessons I ever learned about horsemanship was that you never leave your girth to anyone else, but you always check it yourself. I lifted up the saddle flap and pulled the girth leathers up another hole.

  ‘Ready, miss?’

  I nodded. He made a stirrup with his hands, and I put my foot into it. Then, with no effort at all, he lifted me into the saddle.

  As soon as Honey felt my weight he started to dance. Gently I pulled the reins, talking to him all the time. In a moment or two he was standing still, though he was still tossing his head.

  ‘I told thee he was fresh,’ said Ormerod. ‘I should take him into the paddock for ten minutes first, and then if he’s still tossing about I’ll slip a martingale on him.’

  Ormerod was right, of course; he always was about anything to do with horses. A little schooling first, before we went out, would be a good thing for both of us.

  The gate of the paddock was open, as there were no other horses out at that time, so I walked Honey in and started him circling. He behaved magnificently. I walked, trotted and cantered him, first to the right and then to the left. Then I cantered a few figure eights to see whether he would change his lead leg as we changed from the right to the left hand circle. Honey was absolutely perfect. When I came to the final test and asked him to stand, he stood stock still. It was like the old days all over again. I could feel the powerful beast beneath me, excited and wanting to be off but all the time waiting for the command, the pressure of leg or whip or the gentle tug on his mouth.

  ‘Thou’ll do,’ said Ormerod, who had been leaning over the fence and watching us critically. ‘Take him out now and give him a bit of work.’

  We turned out of the paddock and set off at a slow trot down Howl Moor. The land starts to fall away quite rapidly not far from the house, so we slowed to a walk until we arrived at Wheeldale Beck. I then turned north and headed at a gentle hand canter along the bank of the stream. We arrived at Nelly Ayre Fosse after about a mile. Who Nelly Ayre was, I have no idea, but a fosse is a ditch, and I must say that I was tempted to try a couple of jumps there. But remembering Ormerod’s warning and knowing that he had been right, I decided that Honey had better have a good gallop first. So it was that I turned Honey towards an old Celtic burial ground which lay about two miles to the east over fairly flat country.

  I let Honey have his head. He stretched out and swept over the ground in long effortless strides. My father always used to say that the finest sight in the world was a stretch of open country seen over the top of a horse’s head. There was no country more beautiful than the Yorkshire moors, and no horse quite so fine as Honey. Within about five or six minutes we had arrived at the two mounds which were our destination, and I reined him in gently. He fought for his head, and it was a little while before I could get him to stand. Even then, he was tossing his head and pawing at the ground with his right forefoot. However, even this stopped after I had talked to him a little. Once he had completely calmed down, we set off again at a walk. He was sweating a little around the neck, but it was nothing much; he was obviously in very good condition. Every now and then he would pull at his bit, indicating that he wanted to be off again, but I had decided that I would cool him down a bit first before trying anything energetic.

  We went south as far as Northdale Scar, walking slowly below the cliff which climbed away toward Crag Stone Rigg. Then, walking all the while, we turned east toward Blawath Beck. I rode Honey into the stream, and though he hesitated a little at first, he was soon enjoying himself, splashing his way through the water. After a hundred yards or so, I took him out onto the far bank and continued downstream. On my left was a thick wood, the north end of Pickering Forest, now turning brown and scarlet and gold as the autumn hues took over from summer. To my right, standing on top of Two Howes Rigg, I could see Goathlands, now glowing pink in the afternoon sunshine.

  I knew the spot for which I was looking. I had known it since childhood and I succeeded in finding it with very little difficulty. It was a point at which the stream was about ten or twelve feet wide, with a wide grassy bank on either side. I stopped and walked Honey to the water’s edge in order to let him have a look at the jump.

  ‘Do you think you can still jump it, Honeybunch?’ I asked him, patting his neck.

  I turned and trotted him away from the stream and at about thirty yards, swung him round to face the stream once more. Horses either love to jump or else they hate it and will never jump. Honey was one of those who loved jumping, and as I turned him I knew that he had got the idea. His ears pricked and his body all aquiver, he was pulling hard at the bit and wanting to be off.

  I touched him with my whip and let him have his head. He needed no further encouragement but jumped off immediately into a gallop. The stream was rushing toward us, I felt him gathering himself for the leap and then rising to the jump, and then I started to swing my body backwards for the landing …

  Everything went black.

  Chapter Nine

  I have no idea how long I lay there, though I suppose it could not have been for more than a minute or two. When I came to, I was lying on the north bank of the stream, half in and half out of the water. I was in a very dazed condition and quite unable to focus my eyes on any object. It was with great difficulty that I dragged myself two or three
feet up the bank so that I was clear of the water.

  For a few minutes I sat there on the bank, holding my head in my hands and waiting for normality to return. Gradually I gained possession of my senses, and the first thing I did was to crawl back to the stream and throw cold water over my head. This served the purpose of clearing my head at least sufficiently to allow me to think. I took stock of the situation. What had happened? The answer was obvious: I had put my horse at a jump and failed to make it. There was nothing remarkable about that, since everyone who rides expects to come off occasionally. This was by no means my first fall, although it was a pretty bad one. I shuddered a little as I looked at the stream. If I had landed just a couple of feet farther back, I might have struck my head on the large stones which lay only inches below the surface. The result of that could have been fatal, as I might quite easily have drowned in the shallow water. I shuddered at the thought of how close I had been to complete disaster.

  After a little while, and feeling a little better, very slowly and somewhat unsteadily I clambered to my feet. I bent each leg and flexed my fingers. There did not appear to be anything seriously wrong. I would, of course, be a mass of bruises, but everything ‒ arms, legs, and so on ‒ seemed to be in good working order. I looked around for Honey, but of course there was no sign of him. In the manner of his kind, he would have returned directly to his stable. It was then that I spotted my saddle. It was lying in the water a few inches from the edge. Slowly I walked over to where it lay and pulled it out of the stream. I found the effort quite painful, but it told me what I wanted to know. The girth had snapped off at the leather straps which attach it to the saddle. Well, I thought as I recovered my breath after that exertion, it was not bad horsemanship or a bad horse, but bad equipment. It gave me some satisfaction to realize that Ormerod would not be able to blame me for this.

  I decided to leave the saddle where it was, since there was no point in trying to take it back to the house. In my bruised and battered condition, I doubt if I could have carried it, anyway. I picked up my top hat from where it lay and looked at it sadly; it had been a nice topper but now it was all battered and ripped. Thank goodness I was wearing it, I thought; at least it had served its purpose. I put it down beside the saddle, picked my way gingerly up the bank, and painfully started off in the direction of the house.

  I looked forward to my walk with a complete absence of enthusiasm; it was about a mile from Blawath Beck to Goathlands, and most of the way was uphill. I felt so miserable; my body was a mass of aches and pains, I could feel the bruises starting, and I knew from experience that they would get worse. My beautiful broadcloth habit was all muddied and covered with green slime, and it clung to me with a cold and clammy embrace. To top everything, I was soaking wet from the waist downwards. However, I realized that I had to get back as soon as possible. The faster I could get into a hot bath and soak away those aches and pains, the sooner my bruises would cease to trouble me.

  I looked with distaste at the rising moorland that stood between me and Goathlands. Goathlands stood far off in the distance. I plodded on step by step. I wanted to cry, but I could not spare the energy.

  I could not have been going for more than a hundred yards when away to my right I saw two riders. They were about a mile from me when I spotted them trotting along the top of Northdale Scar. I realized straight away that they must be looking for me. Honey must have been seen when he got back to the stable yard. Seeing him there saddleless, Ormerod would have at once arranged for a search. How wise of him, I thought, always to insist on knowing where one was going if one took a horse out alone.

  I waved in the direction of the riders; it was only a moment before they saw me. One of them pointed toward me, and they set off in a brisk canter in my direction. As they got a little nearer, I recognized Henry and Ormerod.

  Henry, riding a big black mare, soon left Ormerod behind on his stocky Irish Cob. As Henry got to me, he leapt from the saddle. Letting the mare go loose to be picked up by Ormerod, he rushed over to where I was standing.

  ‘Emma, are you all right?’ he cried, his voice full of concern.

  ‘I think so,’ I replied. ‘I had a fall.’

  ‘Are you all right, Miss Emma?’ Ormerod had caught Henry’s mare and ridden up and dismounted.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Ormerod,’ I replied.

  ‘Ormerod saw Honey come back into the yard,’ said Henry. ‘We’ve been terribly worried. What happened?’

  ‘I was trying a jump and I think the girth broke,’ I answered. ‘You’ll find the saddle down there by the beck.’ I indicated the direction from which I had come.

  ‘Don’t bother about that now,’ replied Henry. ‘The first thing to do is to get you back to the house. Do you think you can manage to sit in front of me, or would you rather walk?’

  ‘I’ll try sitting in front,’ I said. It would not be comfortable, but I certainly did not want to walk if that was at all avoidable.

  ‘Right,’ said Henry. ‘I’ll mount, then you can put her up, Ormerod.’

  He got back onto his horse, sitting behind the saddle. Ormerod asked him to wait a moment while he moved the saddle as far forward as he could, and then he lifted me up gently and sat me on the saddle. He adjusted the left stirrup leather so that I could get one foot in and thus give myself a little balance. Henry then put one arm on either side of me and held the reins in front of me.

  ‘Do you think you’ll be all right like that?’ he asked. I assured him that I would.

  ‘We’ll start right away,’ he said, turning to Ormerod. ‘You get the saddle and catch us up.’ We headed off up the hill at a slow walk.

  Ormerod went off in the direction of the beck to collect the saddle. I started to thank Henry for his kindness and concern, but he stopped me, telling me that I was not to talk but to try and relax until we got home. In a few minutes Ormerod rejoined us, with my saddle slung over his horse’s withers and my poor topper in his hand.

  ‘I fear thou’ll not be using this again, Miss Emma,’ he said, indicating the hat.

  I smiled at him but did not reply. We rode on in silence. It was not too uncomfortable for me. I held on to the mounting lock on the mare’s mane while Henry’s arms on either side of me gave me added support. Ormerod rode alongside us, grim faced and silent. I knew exactly what was worrying him. Whatever went wrong with the horses, he always regarded it as his own personal responsibility, and here he had been presented with a broken girth. In Ormerod’s mind, he and he alone was responsible for my fall, though I did not envy the grooms when he made his inquiry.

  At last we arrived at the front of the house. Ormerod helped me down, and then Henry dismounted and handed his mare to him. Ormerod led the animals away.

  ‘Now then, coz,’ said Henry. ‘Do you think you can make it upstairs, or would you like me to give you a hand?’

  ‘I’ll be able to manage,’ I said. ‘Thank you for coming for me, Henry.’

  ‘Can’t take chances, can we?’ he said, smiling. ‘Now, you go up to your room, and I’ll find Dr. Harrison and tell her to come and have a look at you.’

  I was about to protest that I did not need a doctor, but Henry was already on his way.

  Slowly and painfully, for my bruises were beginning to hurt by that time, I made my way upstairs and into my sitting room. When I got there I rang for Letty and stood, dripping, in front of the fire.

  ‘Oh, miss!’ said Letty as she came into the room, regarding me with astonishment. ‘What happened, are you all right?’

  ‘I fell off my horse, Letty, but I’m all right,’ I reassured her. ‘Now be a good girl and get me a pot of strong tea and then run me a hot bath while I drink it, meanwhile I’ll get out of these wet things.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ She scuttled into the bedroom, returning a moment later. ‘I’ve put your dressing gown out. I’m so sorry, miss.’ She ran off.

  Poor Letty, she really did sound concerned. Well, it was nice to know that she cared.

 
I limped into my bedroom and stripped off my wet clothes. I was just slipping into my dressing gown when Letty came back.

  ‘Dr. Harrison is here, miss, she says Mr. Henry said she had to see you.’

  I had no particular desire to see Dr. Harrison, but it was not possible to be rude. After all, she had taken the trouble to come over and see me, so I went back into the sitting room and greeted her.

  ‘How do you feel, Miss Waldron?’ she asked, her tone cold and businesslike.

  ‘A bit bruised, but apart from that I feel all right. I told Henry not to bother you.’

  ‘I am sure that you will allow me to be the judge of whether or not my presence is necessary,’ she said. ‘Were you unconscious at all?’

  ‘I don’t recall, I’m not really sure,’ I answered. ‘Everything was very hazy for a time, I may have been knocked out, but I couldn’t say for certain.’

  ‘I see,’ she said. ‘If you had been unconscious it is quite likely that you would not recall the fact that it occurred. Tell me all that you can remember about the accident.’

  ‘Well, I do remember putting Honey at the jump, and then I was lying on the bank, and that’s about all.’ It did not seem very much but it really was all that I could recall.

  ‘I understand,’ she said, taking my pulse as she spoke. ‘Well, I don’t think that there is anything serious, but I should like you to take it easy for at least the rest of today. Have a hot bath and go to bed, and apart from a little stiffness, you’ll feel a lot better tomorrow morning.’

  She left me. It was kind of her to come, but I did find myself wishing that I could see her smile just once.