Brothers at Arms (15 page)

He knew Josh felt the same, but what surprised Charlie was that he did not know anything about farming. Matthew Norbery had forbidden him to take an interest in the estate, on pain of death.

It was not fair, and yet Charlie could not make Josh realise his brother would not know what went on in his absence.

He was determined they would have a gallop to shake away the doldrums. They would have to do it soon because they had been riding for two hours and Charlie knew Dr Hawley would call a halt to return to Linmore. The most likely place would be at the convergence of the upper and lower rides that overlooked the village of Middlebrook. If they were lucky, he might let them ride part of the way along the upper level, which encircled the side of the hill, until they reached the path leading down to the drovers’ road near the back gates to the park. There again, he might not.

Oh well, here goes
, thought Charlie.
It is now or never.

He practised the move in his mind, but there was no way of warning Josh this was the time to make a dash across the hillside. He hoped he would not take a tumble.
Serve him right if he did.

He gave a quick glance over his shoulder. As he expected, Dr Hawley was engrossed in the slim book of verse he always carried. Charlie tightened his grip on the reins, dug his heels in the horse’s side and gave a yell. To his ears, it sounded like triumph, and the startled horse threw him back in the saddle. There was no time to regret his decision; he had to retain control of the animal.

From the sound of thundering hooves, he knew Joshua was following. With his experience in the saddle, it would not take long to overtake. The thought spurred Charlie on.

He laughed in delight over his shoulder, and felt his thick black hair flowing free in the breeze. The black strip of ribbon must have pulled loose when his hat blew off, somewhere along the way. The freedom from restraint was exhilarating.

Their horses were neck and neck, each determined to win the race. They glanced at each other, laughing a challenge. Suddenly the unthinkable happened. Charlie looked ahead and saw, to his horror, a flash of colour right in the path of their horses.

He dragged on the reins, knowing Joshua was doing the same, but the closing rate of approach gave no time to do more than shout a warning.

“Clear the path ahead,” he yelled, and vaguely heard Joshua’s voice, echo the same desperate words.

It was too late. They were on the figure, and beyond as the horses thundered past, still neck and neck, with neither rider seeing what happened to the unfortunate person in their path.

Their flight ended in confusion a few hundred yards down the slope, beyond the brow of the hill. Charlie’s hands shook so much he could scarcely grip the reins. He felt sick and icy cold. Joshua looked as ashen-faced as he felt.

One after another, they slid from the saddles and sat on the ground with head in hands while the horses grazed a short distance away. They had their race, but the pleasure evaporated. The warmth had gone from the day. What would they do if they had killed someone? They ought to go back but were scared of what they would find.

“Was it a man or woman?” Joshua said, glancing back over his shoulder.

“I couldn’t be sure,” Charlie replied. “Was it on your side – or mine?”

Joshua shook his head. Not knowing made it worse.

“Shouldn’t we go back and see if they are all right?”

“I don’t know,” said Charlie. “Doctor Hawley wasn’t far behind us. He would surely stop. He’d know what to do – wouldn’t he?”

“I expect so.” Joshua did not sound very sure.

Waiting was agony and the consequences of their actions assumed alarming proportions. Charlie’s imagination magnified every sound and thought. Eventually, they could bear it no longer.

As one, they gathered their disordered wits together and looked for their horses. Seeing them grazing further down the hill, they plodded the distance, and were halfway back along the path when Dr Hawley rode into view – still reading his book of poems. They did not know what to think.

Surely, if the person were injured, he would not have left them there. Maybe he could not do anything to help – but he would at least have said a prayer. They waited, expecting the tutor to scold, but when he spoke, it was in the calmest voice.

“Now that you have had your gallop, gentlemen; you will take the next turn down to the village, and return along the drovers’ road in single file.”

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison. However much they wondered what happened, it was obvious Doctor Hawley did not intend to indulge their curiosity.

After a while, Charlie wondered if they imagined the whole thing. They did not attempt to run away again, nor did they say a word to anyone. His greatest fear was that they might be deprived of future visits to see Miss Hawley with her lemonade and orange-zest biscuits. That was the worst punishment he could imagine. It did not bear thinking about.

Every day that Charlie took riding lessons, Sophie followed them to the stables, and in the months following when they went out across the park with Dr Hawley. They knew she watched them leave the stable yard and was waiting on their return.

Ed Salter had told them that her interest in Lucy and Julia’s riding lessons did not extend beyond the second day, which led them to wonder what she did in their absence. Charlie was anxious when she missed several of Dr Hawley’s classroom lessons.

“I wonder where she’s gone. She’s usually here with us.”

“Maybe she went to the stables with the other girls.” It was the best suggestion Joshua could make.

“You could be right,” said Charlie. “We’ll go there before luncheon.”

When they arrived in the stable yard, Sophie was perched on the mounting block, enthralled by everything she could see. The next day they found her in the same place, and every day for the following two weeks. It became so predictable, it hardly seemed worth going, until one day when they went to the stables, she was nowhere in sight. Instead, they found Shelwick, waiting for them.

“We’ve got a problem with your sister, Master Charlie.”

Charlie ruffled up at the gruff sound in the groom’s voice.

“What do you mean? She’s not hurt, is she?”

“No,” the man snorted. “Quite the reverse, though it’s more by luck than anything else. I’ve never known one so young be so contrary. Where the other girls ride ponies, your sister took it into her silly little head to groom the Master’s bay gelding. That great brute could have kicked her out of his stall. He’s done it often enough with the stable lads.”

“What happened? Did he hurt her?” Charlie was beside himself.

“If I hadn’t seen it myself, I’d never have believed it. There she was, crooning away in her weird little voice, and that old devil of a horse let her brush him, like he was the most docile creature in the stables, which he ain’t.”

They sighed with relief.

“The trouble was, young Jem saw her and told her to move away from the animal. She answered back when he went to pick her up, and the horse tried to trample him underfoot – almost as if it was looking after the girl. I dunno what she said, but it sounded like gypsy talk to me. They have their own language that animals understand.”

“Where is she?” Charlie’s voice sounded funny.

“We left her there, talking to the horse. It was more than we could do to get her to come out. I doubt she was in any danger.”

Charlie tried to sneak past, but the groom caught his arm.

“Come you here, Charlie. You don’t seem surprised. I reckon you know more about your sister’s knowledge of horses than you let on. You’d better tell me first, because Squire Norbery will have to know.”

Joshua looked at Charlie’s troubled face, and guessed he was debating what to say. His muffled voice was barely discernible.

“There were gypsies on the hillside near the convent where Sophie went to school. When the nuns beat her, she climbed over the wall and ran away. They always found her in the camp. She did it several times in the year before we came here. Poor little girl, I think it was the only time she was happy.”

Early summer 1795

When Squire Norbery summoned Joshua and Charlie to the stables, with express instructions to take Sophie with them, he gave no hint of what lay ahead. It was within a month of her tenth birthday, and Tom knew from his observations in the year since he brought the children from Ireland that Sophie would attend him, but on this occasion had no idea how she would react. That was why he wanted her brother to be there.

She drifted across the stable yard beside the boys, wearing the same grubby black frock and mutinous expression she always wore. No matter how many times she changed her clothes in a day, she never looked tidy. Her black hair seemed permanently tangled and her scuffed boots looked suspiciously like something Charlie might once have worn.

Tom waited until the head groom led a dark brown pony from the stalls. Not one smoothly brushed and neat, like the younger girls would have ridden. This was a perfect match for Sophie, with a suitably ruffled coat, and a disposition best described as truculent.

Sophie turned a wary glance in his direction, and for the first time since her arrival at Linmore, she cried. She did not know whether to run to the horse, or to him. She stood, looking from one to the other, her face a picture of disbelief.

“Is it for me?” she breathed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, Uncle Tom… thank you, I’ve never had anything like this before.”

“Yes, Sophie, it’s for you.” Tom’s eyes felt similarly moist, but to overcome his emotion, he said in a brisk tone, “Now, young lady, you have to play your part. Shelwick will teach you to ride and groom the horse, but it will be your responsibility to care for the animal. Do you understand?”

“Oh yes, sir – thank you, sir,” Sophie said, her eyes shining, and then dashed off to hug the pony.

Tom knew he was right to suppose she would not want a quiet little filly to ride. She needed a mount that would test her resilience.

He called after her. “I think you’d better borrow some of Charlie’s old breeches for when you are working in the stables.”

The smile she turned on him was beatific.

“There is one more thing, Sophie. When Shelwick has decreed you are fit to ride to hounds; you may have a riding habit, but I will leave the design to you.”

Sophie nodded, but her attention was elsewhere.

True to his reputation of being a hard man, Tom Shelwick gave her strict instructions about her duties. “Now, Miss Sophie, it is no good you thinking you can come as and when you feel like it. With Squire Norbery’s permission, I’d like to start tomorrow. What time do your lessons finish?”

The girl scowled at him. “I can go to there anytime,” she said. “This is far more important.”

Everyone laughed, thinking Sophie would tire of her responsibilities, but she proved them wrong. The next morning, and every day thereafter, she was in the stables before breakfast, clad in a pair of her brother’s old breeches, ready to break her fast with the stable lads.

She spent two hours following Shelwick’s rigid training schedule, and then groomed the horse until its coat shone and brushed its shoes. Afterwards, she learned how to feed the animal, mix mash, cut chaff, recognise ailments, and apply compresses to strained ligaments. She had never looked happier.

None of the stable lads seemed surprised when the animal let her do as she wished. She forgot everything but the job in hand, and the pride she felt showed in the work she did.

On the few odd occasions when Sophie deigned to visit the nursery classroom, she arrived late for lessons, smelling of horses and shocked the governess with frequent lapses into the language of the stables.

One day, Joshua rode into the stable yard with Charlie. Usually, Sophie gave her brother first consideration, but on this occasion, she ignored them. Shelwick was in full flow, and her eyes did not leave his face for a minute.

Charlie stopped to watch. “D’you know, Josh?” His voice was strangely husky. “I haven’t seen her look like that for years. Our pa was strict with her, and she would do anything for him. I reckon Shelwick has earned her respect; and knowing Sophie, that’s not an easy thing to do.”

Right from the first, Sophie knew no fear. Tumbles came thick and fast, but she climbed doggedly back into the saddle. Once she broke her collarbone, and Shelwick banned her from doing any grooming, but she was determined to make him change his mind. Even with her face grey with pain, she pleaded, cajoled and cursed. She stamped her feet with impotent rage, but to no avail, the head groom was immovable.

“Don’t you come here shouting at me, missy,” he said. “It’s more than my job is worth to let you kill yourself.”

When she snorted and turned away in disgust, the groom called after her retreating figure, “And remember to bring some better manners the next time you come, otherwise you won’t ride any horse in my care.”

Forced to capitulate, Sophie stalked out of the stable yard. For the duration of her stormy convalescence, she made everyone’s life a misery, until Shelwick allowed her back in the saddle. Only then was she happy.

When Squire Norbery asked for a report on her progress, Shelwick shook his head. “I’ve tried me best, sir, but there’s no stopping her. The silly little wench throws her heart over every time. Lucky it was only her that was hurt and not the horse.”

The same obstinacy showed in the design of her riding habit. Sophie had no time for girlish notions of propriety. She knew what she wanted and stated her preference, but the dressmaker refused to comply. A battle of wills raged between them, which each was determined to win.

Eventually, someone had to adjudicate. Tom Norbery knew a side-saddle was an anathema to Sophie. The black riding habit she wanted was of a military style, with a divided skirt. The matching hat, a shako, was similarly severe.

Tom made his judgement, knowing he had given her carte blanche in the design, and was not about to renege on his promise. Admittedly, the style was bold for a female, but from what he could see, culottes were eminently suitable for riding. When he approved her choice, Sophie crowed with delight, but then he attempted to placate the dressmaker’s offended sensibilities.