Chapter Five
Merrylegs snorted as my footsteps echoed on the stony stable floor. Every stall was empty now, except his.
So much had changed so quickly. Poor Nanny Clay was gone. So had all the horses, other than the pair to pull the carriage who were stabled in the coach house.
And first thing tomorrow morning Merrylegs would be gone too. “The coachman from Birtwick is coming to take you away along with a load of hay.” I sniffed, laying my head against his dappled flank. “But you’re not to worry.” I straightened up and made my voice sound as clear and strong as I could. I am not daft enough to think that horses understand every word we say, but I do believe they know when we are scared or calm, happy or sad. I didn’t want Merrylegs to leave knowing how desperate and hollow I felt inside.
“Birtwick Park will be a lovely home,” I said brightly, “I heard old Thomas telling Billy all about it. It is a nice estate on the other side of the Beacon Hills. Squire Gordon keeps a fine stable,” I explained, echoing Thomas’s words before I added an extra reassurance of my own. “I am sure the children will be kind and gentle, and excellent riders who won’t pull your mouth or jab you in the sides. You’ll be spoiled rotten with apples and bran mash and hay. . .”
Merrylegs turned and nuzzled me, looking for a treat already.
I held out the lump of sugar I’d slipped inside my handkerchief at breakfast yesterday. Before I threw the egg at Aunt Lavinia’s head. Before I knew this would be Merrylegs’s last day.
“Greedy boy!” I scratched him between the ears. “Think what a fine adventure for you this will be. . .”
He nuzzled me again and I held back my tears . . . right until the last moment when I kissed his soft grey nose and said goodbye.
As I hurried away through the empty stables, Merrylegs scraped his hooves on the floor and whinnied for me to come back.
“I’m sorry, boy,” I whispered. I did not want to let him see me crying. But it broke my heart to leave my little pony alone for the very last time.
It was dark outside. When I had dried my eyes, I crept into the house as quietly as a stable mouse.
But Aunt Lavinia was waiting.
“In here, Josephine,” she called from the drawing room. “A word.”
“Yes, Aunt,” I said, digging my nails into my palm and trying to remember my promise to Nanny Clay. I would hold my temper. But I would not apologize. Never.
“After your horrid little tantrum, I have been reviewing your position here,” said Aunt Lavinia. The sour-lime smile was back. “Your outburst yesterday morning was most troubling. Dear Eustace is so very sensitive. He cannot be exposed to such. . .”
“Violence,” said Eustace.
“Exactly. In light of the unfortunate events at the breakfast table, I have written a letter.” Aunt Lavinia waved a sheet of lilac notepaper. “I have asked Lady Hexham to take you on as her companion.”
“Please don’t repeat what I say like a parrot.” Aunt Lavinia sighed. “Honestly, Josephine, I shall have to ask Cook to find a piece of cuttlefish for you to chew on.”
Eustace seemed to think this was hilarious. I ignored him.
“Who is Lady Hexham? I don’t know anybody of that name,” I said. “Why would she want me to be her companion?”
“Of course you don’t know Lady Hexham!” Eustace snorted as if I had said something terrifically funny. “Nobody knows Lady Hexham. She is very old and never goes outside.”
“She is a recluse,” explained Aunt Lavinia. “She lives all alone in a big house. Nobody ever goes in and she never comes out.”
It sounded terrible.
“That is why she needs a companion.” Eustace snipped little his scissors in the air. “She gets bored all alone. It will be your job to amuse her.”
“But I know nothing of old ladies,” I protested. Surely this was some sort of joke. I couldn’t be sent away to look after a dusty old lady all by myself.
“It seems you know very little of anything.” Aunt Lavinia sighed, pointing to the crumpled pile of table napkins I had been asked to embroider. “No needlepoint, no music, no singing. Nothing but horses and hay!”
“Does Lady Hexham have horses?” I asked, hopefully. “I would gladly ride with her, or. . .”
“Horses?” Aunt Lavinia and Eustace were laughing.
“What use would a housebound old lady have for horses?” snorted Aunt Lavinia. “The stables were closed up years ago. Honestly, Josephine. I knew you were wilful and spoiled. Now I see you are stupid as well. It is a good job you will be going away from this place. Consider it an opportunity for self-improvement. You can spend less time in a stable and more time perfecting the accomplishments of a young lady.”
“B-but how long will it be for? Can I come home sometimes?” It wasn’t Aunt Lavinia and Eustace who I would miss, of course. But I couldn’t bear the thought of being parted from Summer’s Place. Especially not now spring was here – the hedgerows would be full of wild flowers and blossom. The orchard and the churchyard too. The churchyard where Father lay. Who would visit his grave if I was gone?
“Hexham Hall is many miles away,” said Aunt Lavinia. “You cannot expect to return here willy-nilly.”
“Then when?” I asked.
“Not until the old lady dies,” said Eustace with a horrid grin.
I felt a treacherous tear sting the corner of my eye but I would not let it fall.
“You must make yourself useful since your father left you so ill-provided for,” said Aunt Lavinia. “Eustace is master now. You cannot expect to stay here and beg for charity. We might be family but we are not fools.”
“Indeed,” Eustace snorted. Their faces blurred. I had a horrid dizzy feeling. I have never fainted in my whole life. But the drawing room seemed to rock and sway like a pirate ship on the sea. I clutched the back of a chair. Everything I had ever known had been taken from me. First Father. Then Nanny Clay. Next Merrylegs. And now Summer’s Place itself.
Somehow I managed to turn the door handle, escape into the hall, and flee.