Chapter Fourteen

By the time the laundry girls finally sent my dry things back, it was mid-afternoon.

Yet again, my stomach rumbled with hunger. I had missed lunch and nobody had thought to send any food up to me in the loft.

I stomped down the ladder, pleased to be in my stable lad’s clothes again and making an extra point to swing my arms like a boy.

“Right, you can start there,” said James, pointing to the stable with three little stalls where Merrylegs was tied up and Black Beauty had his big loose box. James handed me a leather bucket full of brushes and combs. “Groom all four until they shine. There’s Beauty and Merrylegs. Justice the old cob. And Ginger too – watch yourself around her; she has a quick temper sometimes.”

“Grooming?” I’d hoped I’d be exercising the horses. I dreamed of nothing except riding Beauty since that first moment in the field.

“Yes, grooming,” said James. “Unless you’re too grand, of course. Did you never brush a horse at Summer’s Place?”

“Er, yes, of course I did,” I said quickly. In truth, I had never groomed a horse in my whole life. Old Thomas or one of the stable boys had always done that for me. But at least it was a step up from sweeping the yard.

I glanced around the stable. Black Beauty was already gleaming from where James had groomed him last night. Justice’s cobby, roan coat looked too thick to ever shine. And although Ginger was a brilliant bronzed chestnut, she raised her back heel and flattened her ears as soon as I stepped near her stall.

Was that really how bad tempered the boys thought I was?

“You first then, Merrylegs,” I said stepping quickly sideways to avoid Ginger and patting his dappled rump as I squeezed in beside him. I had brushed Merrylegs’s mane and tail at home before, just for fun, often plaiting it in the same way I played with Jemima and Arabella, my dolls.

I began there now, running a wide metal comb through his coarse grey hair. When his mane was tangle-free and his tail was as bushy as a fox, I stood back to admire my work.

Perfect! Then I brushed his neck and back, especially the big dapple spots on his rump. There was a strange hooked thing in the bucket but I had no idea what that was for. Perhaps to clean the brushes? But there was a jar of oil and a thick brush like an artist would use. I knew this was to oil his hooves.

“There!” I said, kissing the end of his nose. “Just wait until the young ladies of the house see you.” I’d been told they were away for a few days but would return tomorrow. “They’ll say you’re the smartest pony in the whole of Birtwick Park.” He was the only pony, of course. Even Justice was over fourteen hands. But I didn’t tell him that.

I was very proud of the way Merrylegs looked, but knew that if I wanted prove to everyone that I was a proper stable boy, it would have to be difficult Ginger I tackled next.

“Good girl, steady now!” I said, slipping in to the stall beside her.

When James found me, I was pressed up against the manger in the back of Ginger’s stall. Her ears were flat and she would not let me past her to escape.

“Look!” I cried, holding up my arm. “She bit me. Hard.” There were spots of blood seeping through the clean white cotton of my shirt.

“We’ve only had her here six weeks,” said James, squeezing in beside me. He patted Ginger’s flank, whispering to her gently as he edged past. “She bit me on her first day too.” He pointed to a scar above his elbow. (Doris and Daisy would be pleased to know his sleeves were indeed rolled up.)

“You should sell her,” I said sulkily. “Six weeks is long enough to learn her lesson. What’s the point in keeping a bad-tempered mare who can’t be tamed?”

The pain was throbbing in my arm.

“Perhaps you’re right,” said James. He let Ginger nuzzle her nose in his palm. She seemed as calm as Merrylegs now, with her ears pricked forward showing off her pretty head. “I reckon we’ll try her with kindness for a little longer first,” he said. “She’s had a hard life so far. The dealer who sold her told Mr Manly said she had been poorly treated and badly beaten at her last home.”

“That’s terrible,” I said, feeling calmer now. “I can’t understand why anyone would be cruel to an animal.”

James nodded, patting Ginger and pushing her gently to one side so we could pass. “Go back into the stall and give her some oats,” he said. “Just a little handful, mind. Not so much as to spoil her, but enough to show you want to be her friend.”

I was nervous to go back inside alone. But, sure enough, Ginger let me pass without a fuss. She ate the oats from my hand and, although she did not nuzzle me when they were finished, she kept her ears pricked forward all the time.

“You were right!” I beamed as I stepped out of the stall.

But James was frowning at me with his hands on his hips.

“What have you been doing all this time?” he asked. “Justice is not groomed yet.”

“Well. . .” I stammered.

“And Beauty is not groomed either,” he said.

“Er. . .” I’d hoped he wouldn’t notice that. He’d made Beauty’s black coat gleam like a raven’s wing himself last night.

“And the pony?” He spun around and looked at Merrylegs. “Why is he only half done?”

“Half done? I spent over an hour. He’s perfect,” I cried.

But James was already leading Merrylegs out of his stall into the light.

“Look at this,” he said. It was true. The oil was patchy on his hooves. I could see that now.

“And here?” He ran a hand along Merrylegs’s belly. “You’ve only brushed his top and sides but underneath he’s caked with mud.”

“Ha!” I half laughed, hoping James was joking. Although I should have known better by now. “What does it matter if he’s not clean underneath? Nobody will see it there.”

“It matters,” said James, “because Miss Flora and Miss Jessie will want to ride their new pony tomorrow. If he has dirt under his belly it will rub against his girth and make him sore.”

“Oh. . .” I had never known that. I thought horses were groomed just to make them pretty.

“And his hooves!” James lifted Merrylegs’s feet. “You haven’t cleaned them out. He picked up the strange hook thing from amongst the brushes. “What’s the matter with you, Joe Green? Have you never seen a hoof pick before?”

“A hoof pick?” So that is what the funny object was. “Of course I have,” I lied. And I did remember now that one of the stable lads would always lift our horses’ feet before Father or I went out for a ride.

“It is your job to look after this pony,” James said. “Mr Manly and the master may think you are a fine horseman and perhaps you can ride passably well, but you know nothing about how to care for a horse. Nothing at all.”

“Fine! I’ll clean out his hooves!” I snatched to take the pick from James’s hand but he thrust a pitchfork at me instead.

“You can do the mucking out,” he growled. “That should keep you busy until you learn how things are done around here.”

“You mean, I’m not allowed to work with the horses at all? I won’t get to ride them?”

“Ride them?” James laughed. “You can muck them out and clean their tack. If you learn how to do that properly, I might just let you lead one around the yard. But I wouldn’t raise your hopes. Not before Christmas.”

He pointed to a steaming pile of dung Merrylegs had left on the cobbles. “Get started. You’ll need a broom and shovel too.”

I watched as he led Merrylegs away.

I was fuming. I wanted to hurl the pitchfork on the ground. But what James had said was right. I could ride a horse but I had no idea how to care for one. Was I spoiled? Had I been spoiled all my life?

“Tough day?” asked Sid, appearing behind me with the wheelbarrow. He was on one of his endless trips between the muck heap and the kitchen garden where they used the horse manure to help the vegetables grow. “Chuck that in here if you like.” He pointed to the pile of dung I had shovelled up and I threw it in his barrow.

“Thank you.” I tried to smile.

Sid was right. It had been a tough day. James thought I was useless. And I’d made an enemy of Caleb. But I had found friends too, I think. Although Sid and Wilf liked to tease and joke, they were kind. And the horses were wonderful. There was Merrylegs, of course. And I had almost made a friend of Ginger. But it was Beauty who leant over his loose box door, watching me wherever I went. He whinnied softly now as if he understood how unhappy and foolish James’s harsh words had made me feel. As we looked at each other, my spirits lifted. I knew there was something special – a connection between us. I’d felt it the very first moment I saw him – as if, after everything I’d lost, Beauty had come into my life for a reason. It was as if I had come here to Birtwick specially to find him.

I made myself a promise, there and then. No matter how hard the work was, or how difficult pretending to be a boy became, I would stay here and get to know Black Beauty better. Maybe one day, I would even get to ride him again.