A Falling Star, page 15
part #3 of Wintercombe Series
‘Of course,’ Alex said. He left Pagan snatching mouthfuls of grass, and came over to stand by her, very close. She was tall, with her father’s height, but she had to tip her head back to look into his face. He made no effort to help her into the saddle: instead, he bent his head and kissed her.
It needed an almost superhuman effort of will not to respond, when every separate sense screamed at her to give in to the flood of desire weakening her resolve. Her arms ached to pull him closer, to bend her body pliantly against his, to return the kiss with all the passion she had so far kept hidden. But her grandmother would be watching — had he delayed the moment until he was certain that Silence could see what he did? — and Louise had much liking and respect for her. Deliberately, she pushed her leg forward and trod as heavily as she could upon his foot. Then, as he checked, she ducked and twisted smoothly out of his grasp and stood a few feet away, smiling, her hair only a little disarrayed and her breath just slightly disordered. ‘I asked you to help me mount,’ she said, putting as much acid as she dared into her voice. ‘Not to try and mount me.’
She had thought he would be angry: instead, to her surprise, he laughed, and turned on her the enchanting boyish grin which she had never received before, and which made her catch her breath with sudden, cheated regret. ‘My apologies, sweet Louise — but you don’t exactly seem unused to gentlemen taking liberties.’
‘They don’t usually try more than once,’ she said pointedly. ‘Believe me, Cousin, I have dissuaded more importunate would-be wooers than there are stars in the sky, and I am quite capable of doing damage, if necessary. And I would not wish to hurt you, unless forced to it.’
Alex was looking at her with a rather quizzical expression. ‘You’re lucky I don’t laugh in your face. I’ll grant, you’re tall and strong for a woman, but when it comes to sheer brute force, you surely couldn’t prevail against a man, however puny he was.’
Louise looked him up and down, and smiled. ‘My mother taught me a trick or two — and she broke a man’s arm once, when he tried to force himself on her. But I would not have it come to such a pass between us, Cousin — I had much rather we were friends. Now, will you help me mount?’
‘Trouble,’ said Alex unexpectedly, and grinned. ‘Something tells me you bring nothing but trouble — but then the same could be said of me. If I promise not to try and rape you for at least an hour, will you let me assist you to mount, sweet Louise?’
And, laughing despite her misgivings, she allowed herself to be helped into the saddle. And whether Silence, riding up at that moment with her face set in the calm, mild mask that gave nothing away, had seen her nephew’s embrace of her granddaughter, could not be discerned.
For the rest of the way to Shepton Mallet, during all their stay at the comfortable and welcoming inn, and the short miles to Glastonbury the next day, Louise took good care to keep close to her grandmother, and to avoid any chance of being alone with Alex. She was not a fool, after all, and would not let her heart — or baser feelings — rule her essentially practical head.
It was not easy to ignore the lift of her spirits when he rode alongside her, or entered the room, or to repress the power of her response to his presence. But she was strong-willed and determined, and rode the last stretch of highway to Glastonbury with perfect decorum, chatting to her grandmother, and watching the astonishing, tower-capped cone of rock that was Glastonbury Tor grow ever closer.
The Wickhams lived on a manor farm called Longleaze, west of the town, with many acres of lush pasture land reclaimed from marsh, on which the horses grazed, and a long low house built on the side of a hill, well above flood level, and surrounded by barns and stables. This family were the only other relatives that Louise had so far met, for they alone had lived close enough to attend her uncle’s funeral, and Rachael — whom she called ‘Aunt’, though in fact they were no blood kin at all — was Nat’s twin. Her husband, Tom Wickham, had died some years ago, leaving her with four surviving children. The eldest, John, known to his family in Somerset fashion as Jan, now managed the farm, and his wife, Bathsheba, attempted without much success to assert herself over her three small children and her forthright mother-in-law. The second son, Samuel, had run away to sea on a Bridgwater ship eight years ago, to the great grief of his mother, and the youngest, Ben, who had not attended the funeral, was only eighteen and apparently a simpleton. There was also a daughter, Jane, who was married and lived in Wells.
Alex had sent Lawrence Earle on ahead to warn of their arrival, and the entire family were waiting for them at the gate. Rachael, gaunt and unsmiling, stood at their head, wearing a dark grey gown whose stark severity was only emphasised by her old-fashioned and distinctly Puritan cap, collar and apron. Beside her, Jan’s wife Bathsheba, plain, plump and pleasant, attempted to keep Cary and Tom, aged four and three, in check until the horses had stopped. Hovering in the background, his broad face oddly distorted, was undoubtedly the lack-witted Ben.
Jan was in his thirties, and despite the closeness of their relationship, he did not look like Alex at all, being brown-haired and much shorter, with a rather diffident expression in his blue eyes that was very far from the other man’s habitual arrogance. He walked with a noticeable limp, the result of a bad kick some years ago. He reminded her a little of Charles, although to judge from his worn and serviceable russets, he did not share Charles’s love of good clothes.
The horses were whisked away for a rub down and a drink, and Jan’s eyes followed Pagan as he was led towards the stables. Then Silence and her companions were drawn into the warm, inviting comfort of the farmhouse, and a savoury mixture of aromas announced that dinner would soon be ready. Louise relinquished her bags to a tiny smiling maid, and allowed herself to be shown to her chamber by Jan’s wife.
Over dinner, which was plentiful and delicious, she was able to study the Wickham family in greater detail. Rachael was a rather forbidding woman, who rarely smiled: it was difficult to remember that she was Nat’s twin sister, for there was little resemblance in her thin, rather bitter face, save in the brilliance of her blue eyes, which Nat, Alex and Phoebe also shared. Clearly her sons, even Jan, went in some awe of her, and her daughter-in-law and the two small grandchildren — there was a baby too, whose cries had occasionally resounded through the house — seemed quite cowed in her presence. Curiously, it was the simpleton, Ben, whom Rachael seemed to treat with indulgent kindness. She did not scold him when he interrupted her almost interminable grace or slobbered his food, or leaned across Bathsheba to reach a dish he wanted, knocking over a glass of wine in the process. He’s like a child, Louise realised with sudden clarity, an overgrown child who will never be adult. But there was nothing pathetic about Ben. He was obviously as strong as an ox, short and thickset with bulging muscles, and yet from his smiles and laughter and thick, almost incomprehensible speech, he was both loving and loved. Louise thought of another idiot, the child of the baker in the village nearest to the château, who was stoned and taunted by the children, abused and ill-treated by the adults, and she knew that Ben was fortunate indeed.
He had greeted her with a wet, slobbery small boy’s kiss, and had said several times, ‘Louey. Pretty Louey!’ Really, she had thought, smiling in return — he had Rachael’s blue eyes, rather puzzled, but determined, and a shock of dry dusty-looking brown hair — he was just like her little brothers. It was not easy to understand what he said, but he had taken her arm and uttered several urgent words, of which only two came clearly. ‘See horses!’
‘They’re his pride and joy,’ Jan had told her, coming to her rescue. ‘Ben is so good with them — he treats them like children, and they thrive on it. You show Cousin Louise the horses after dinner, Ben?’
‘After dinner, yes,’ said his brother, grinning widely, and revealing irregular and rather discoloured teeth. ‘Show Louey horses — foal!’
No one had made excuses for Ben, or tried to hide him away: he was simply accepted for himself, and the two small children seemed to regard him as a larger version of themselves. They, however, were obviously not granted the same licence at mealtimes, and sat bolt upright on their stools at the end of the table, unnaturally well behaved.
It was plain, too, that Rachael thoroughly disapproved of Alex. She must have known, from Lawrence Earle, that he was one of the party, and yet a look of surprised dislike had been very plain on her face when she saw him ride up to Longleaze. Louise, munching a very tasty meat pie, watched with amusement as Alex set himself to charm his aunt. It was beautifully done, obvious but not blatantly so. He drank only in moderation, his wit and flights of fancy were at no one’s expense, and his manners impeccable. Once, Louise caught her grandmother’s eye. Silence gave her a tiny, secret smile, let her eyes slide sideways to Alex, sitting next to her, and very slightly winked. Louise felt a niggling jab of annoyance. If he was capable of such courteous behaviour, why did he not employ it more often?
She knew the answer already: because he did not care. Nothing seemed to penetrate that carapace of wit, intellect and arrogance. Even in his cups, he gave nothing away. Then she remembered suddenly that song sung drunkenly and desolately to a sleeping, unheeding house. Perhaps that showed that he could be hurt: but if there was a way through his armoured outer self to a different, softer Alex within — if indeed such a person existed — she had no idea of how to find it.
After dinner, she would have liked to have joined the others in the warm, snug parlour, to rest and digest the meal, but Ben was insistent, and she did not want to disappoint him. At Silence’s suggestion, she put on the heavy Brandenburg coat that she wore for riding in cold weather, for it was chilly outside and would be dark in a couple of hours. Then she followed Ben outside to the stable yard that lay alongside the house, around three sides of a square. It was obviously new, and handsomely built, with stalls and looseboxes within, plenty of windows, and a hayloft above. Louise looked around her with pleasurable anticipation. This was all evidence that Jan Wickham was an extremely competent and knowledgeable breeder of horses.
Ben towed her inside. Like the stables at Wintercombe, there was a passage running all round the three sides of the block, with stalls ranged alongside, and looseboxes at either end. He stopped at once by Pagan, who was pulling hay from his manger with his usual lazy elegance. ‘Beautiful — Alex’s horse — beautiful!’
‘His name is Pagan,’ said Louise. She had realised that Ben, although rather deficient in speech, was by no means lacking in understanding. ‘Isn’t he lovely? I rode him yesterday, and it was like being carried along on a cloud.’
‘Fast?’ said Ben eagerly. Without waiting for her reply, he pushed past her into the stall. Pagan’s ears flickered, but he continued to munch hay. Louise, hoping that Ben was aware of the dangers of entering a stallion’s space, even that of a gentleman like Pagan, stood warily just outside, ready to take action.
She need not have worried. With a grace surprising in such a clumsy-looking person, Ben stepped up to Pagan’s head, moving slowly and smoothly, crooning under his breath. The grey ears twitched again, and then the stallion, his interest aroused, abandoned the hay and swung round to investigate. Ben’s stubby hands reached up to stroke the soft, whiskery nose, and then drew the lovely head down so that they were face to face, almost touching, while that wordless sound went on and on, lifting the hairs on the back of Louise’s neck.
‘See — friends!’ said Ben suddenly, and turned on her a wide, joyous smile. ‘Pagan and Ben — friends!’
And to judge from the sleepy, silly look on the big stallion’s face as the underside of his jaw was gently scratched, he spoke the truth.
Most of the Longleaze horses kept indoors at this time of year were mares heavily in foal, awaiting the birth. One or two had already been born, beautiful long-legged, delicate-looking creatures surely destined for a gentleman’s stable. Ben knew the names of them all, and proved also to have a pocket full of sugary sweetmeats, congealed into a sticky lump which he carefully pulled into pieces and gave to each eager animal. It was plain that the horses were his life, and plain also that, despite his supposedly limited intelligence, he was far more skilled in handling them than many grooms or stable lads with all their wits about them.
She was leaning over the partition of the last loosebox, admiring one of Jan’s two resident stallions, when a not unwelcome voice said, just behind her, ‘He’s good, I’ll grant you — but not as good as Pagan.’
Trying not to appear startled, Louise turned. Alex stood just behind her, clad in the pale grey suit he had worn for dinner. He smiled at her, and nodded in the direction of Ben, who was sifting tangles out of the chestnut stallion’s flaxen mane with his stubby fingers. ‘Does he disconcert you?’
‘No,’ said Louise, quietly but indignantly, and hoping that Ben had not heard. Since he was utterly absorbed in his task, and singing to himself, it was unlikely, but she had already conceived a great affection for him, and did not want him hurt. ‘Of course not,’ she added, with genuine admiration. ‘He is wonderful with the horses — almost as if he were one himself.’
‘He birthed his first foal when he was ten,’ said Alex. ‘Most people would dismiss him as of no account, a beast, something less than human. But the prosperity of Longleaze is due in no small measure to his skills. Jan was telling me about the bay mare two stalls down, with the chestnut colt foal — it was a breech birth, and both would have died if not for Ben.’
‘Perhaps if a foal is born while I am here, I can watch,’ said Louise thoughtfully. ‘They would never let me, at home — it wasn’t considered proper for a lady to see such things.’
‘You may find that Jan thinks the same.’
‘Well, if he does, I’ll just have to convince him that I’m no lady,’ Louise said, with a flashing, flirtatious smile. She was having some trouble controlling her breathing, and her hands were prickly with sweat, although the warmth of the stables was not to blame. She turned away from him, afraid that, despite all her care, the strength of her desire for him would show in her face, or voice, or gesture. ‘Ben?’
‘Yes, Louey?’ said the boy, swinging round eagerly. ‘Oh, Alex — hullo, Alex — Pagan my friend!’
‘You’ve seen him, then?’ his cousin said. ‘What do you think of him?’ His manner was easy and friendly, as one expert to another.
‘Good,’ Ben told him, his head nodding enthusiastically up and down while his overlarge tongue tripped over the words. ‘Good foals — better than Amber — better than any!’ He glanced at the chestnut, who was standing quite calmly beside him, looking bored, and added, ‘Sorry, Amber.’
The stallion blew heavily and stamped a foot. Ben drew down his golden head, whispered something in one large furry ear, which flicked attentively, and then released him with a gentle pat. He returned to the door of the loosebox with a broad and beaming smile. ‘Like Amber. Ben’s favourite. Good horse — good foals.’
‘Perhaps I’ll be able to buy some of your young mares,’ said Alex. ‘For Pagan to serve. I’ve already spoken to Jan about it, and he suggested I discuss it with you. Are there, say, four or five fillies who show promise?’
They were soon deep in horse talk, and despite the limits of Ben’s powers of speech, seemed to understand each other very well. Louise listened for a while, unwilling to be excluded, yet also reluctant to leave Alex’s presence. Which, she told herself with sudden annoyance, is quite ridiculous — he will be gone tomorrow, and you probably won’t see him again for months, by which time, with luck, this inconvenient infatuation will be past and gone.
With sudden resolution, she turned and walked out of the stables, noticing, with some exasperation, that neither Alex nor Ben seemed to be aware of her departure.
*
He left the next morning, having reached an agreement with Jan to the satisfaction of both parties, and of Ben, and with him went Henry Renolds and three fine fillies, two bays and a brown, that would, with luck, be the foundation mares of the new breed of St Barbe horses. Pagan curvetted and pranced skittishly, as if well aware of his own destined role, and relishing it. And despite all her good intentions, Louise felt a real, sharp sense of loss as she watched Alex diminish, surrounded by horses, into the distance of the road back to Wintercombe.
Quite apart from anything else, life would be tolerably dull without his company.
She found it difficult to converse with Bathsheba, and her Aunt Rachael, though perfectly courteous, did not possess the warm friendliness of Silence, or indeed of Amy. The children, however, were delightful when away from their grandmother’s intimidating presence. Louise, who missed the younger members of her own family more than she cared to admit, greatly enjoyed playing with them and teaching them silly songs and rhymes in French. She also spent much time talking horses to Jan, and to Ben, and conceived a plan which, at the end of five rather hectic days, finally brought its reward, in the shape of a very pretty mare, a golden dun with black points, mane and tail, five years old and as gentle and willing a mount, said Jan with pleasure, as any lady could wish for.
Such quality, of course, did not come cheap, but Louise had a substantial allowance from her generous stepfather, besides her own small inheritance from her father, and could well afford it. Indeed, she thought, as she rode the mare at a decorous canter around the damp home paddock, savouring her smooth action and responsiveness, the wonder of it was that she had put up with the deficiencies of poor Nance for so long.
She thanked Jan profusely for his efforts on her behalf, and he waved her away with a diffident, shy grin. ‘No trouble, Cousin. It’s a pleasure to see you suited so well — and she’s a fine mare, she’ll give you many years of willing service, and good foals too if you’ve a mind. Do you plan to put her to Pagan?’
