The Regency (62 page)

‘
Don't be so cruel,' Héloïse said peacefully. 'It is a very
proper, ladylike occupation.'

‘
So is getting married. Do you suppose she'll meet someone
on one of these genteel sketching-parties? At least this Wickfield
seems to be fixed in one place for a week or so — enough
time, surely, for Mathilde to fall in love? Hard to do, I grant you, in a carriage travelling from place to place, but nothing
could be more conducive to love than a large stretch of still water and a young woman's face under the shadow of a lacy
parasol.'

‘
Perhaps Mathilde does not want to get married,' Héloïse
suggested.

‘She had better,' James growled.

‘
Why, love? May she not live with us? She makes herself
very useful.’

For answer he put his head under the brim of her sun
bonnet and kissed the end of her nose. 'I like having you to
myself.'

‘
Fanny seems to be enjoying herself, too,' Héloïse said as
they resumed walking. 'This Mrs Pendlebury seems to be
taking a great deal of trouble to make her happy. She must be
a good-natured woman.'

‘
I'll give you odds,' James said with a smile, 'that she has
an unmarried son.'

‘Oh, James!'

‘
Don't sound so reproachful. It's human nature — Fanny's
a great heiress.'

‘
Well, I'm glad at least that she has lent her governess to
Fanny. It makes me feel more comfortable.'

‘
Does it? Doesn't it strike you that if Fanny writes so
complacently about being saddled with a governess, there must
be something wrong with her? I suspect she's some poor, down
trodden drudge whom Fanny has already wound completely
round her thumb.'

‘
You are in a destructive mood today, my James,' Héloïse
said severely. 'There is no pleasing you.’

He stopped and took her in his arms.
You
please me,' he
said, kissing her eyes and nose and mouth. 'Marmoset — little monkey-face — my black, black princess —’

Kithra whined a warning an instant before Durban's
hesitant cough. They broke hastily apart as he appeared very
slowly around the corner of the butterfly bush.

‘
Yes, Durban, what is it?' James asked the ex-trooper in a
dangerous voice.

But Durban was too good a servant to have interrupted
them for nothing. His usually well-schooled face held a hint
of concern. 'It's the old horse, sir,' he said. 'I think perhaps
you ought to come and have a look at him. He was off his feed
this morning, and I think maybe he's got a touch of colic.’

*

The horses had been stabled at the Fauconburg Arms in the
village, a few minutes walk from the cottage, and though the
cost of stabling included the services of the ostler, Durban did
everything except the mucking-out himself, partly to keep
himself occupied, and partly because he didn't trust anyone
he hadn't trained himself.

Besides, a horse as old as Nez Carré needed his routines.
He had always been fit and healthy, never ailing a thing, except lately a slight stiffness first thing in the morning,
which was only to be expected in old age, for man or beast.

‘
He's always been a good doer, sir, you know that,' Durban
said, unbolting the door of the stall, 'and usually he's kicking
the door for his feed as soon as he hears me coming. But this
morning he seemed listless, and when I put it in front of him,
he sniffed at it, and wouldn't eat.’

James went in, and Nez Carré turned his head and whickered
softly in greeting. The cold hand unclenched from his heart
for an instant — he's all right, he's calling to me — and
then closed down again as his horseman's eye told him all was not well. There was that slightly tucked-up look to the big bay
body, the preoccupied look in the great brown eyes, the
patches of sweat dulling the coat which Durban groomed so
thoroughly every day of his life that a white glove passed over
it stayed white.

‘
Hullo, old man, what's up with you?' James said, going up
to Nez Carré's head, stroking the square nose and pulling the
long ears. Nez Carré nuzzled his hands, nudged him in the
chest, and then turned his head away, resuming that inward-
looking, preoccupied stare. 'His ears are cold,' James said to
Durban, who was standing inside the door, turning his hat
round anxiously in his hands as he studied the horse from a
different angle.

‘
I think it is colic, sir,' he said quietly a moment later. 'Do
you see that spasm?’

James laid his hands against the horse's smooth, barrel of a
flank, and a moment later felt the slight muscular contraction.
At the same time, Nez Carré grunted softly.

James bit his lip. Colic was always worrying, though nine
times out of ten a dose of medicine cured it in an hour or so.
‘What's he been eating?'

‘His usual feed,' Durban said. 'I mixed it myself.’

‘No-one else could have given him anything?’

Durban shrugged. 'I don't see why they should, sir.’

‘
And the oats — they weren't musty?'

‘
I looked over all the feed bins here, sir. They all seemed
perfectly sound and dry to me, otherwise I wouldn't have
used them.'

‘
No, of course not. Well, perhaps it's just a touch of the
gripes. We'll give him a drench. I'll do it myself, Durban. You
get the rugs on him, will you? And rub his ears until I get
back.’

James mixed his and Durban's favourite recipe of turpentine
and linseed oil, epsom salts and whisky, and the familiar,
comforting smell rose up to him as he poured it into the slim-
necked bottle that was always to be found somewhere in every
tack-room. Nez Carré had always disliked being drenched,
and he resisted this time with a vigour which heartened
James. He couldn't be feeling so very bad if he attempted his
usual trick of holding the drench in his cheek in the hope of
spitting it out at the other side as soon as his head was
released. Durban pushed his head further up, and James
tapped the old horse lightly on the throat, and Nez Carré gave
the involuntary gulp which sent the medicine down where it
was needed.

‘That'll fix you, old man,' James said, rubbing the long ears
consolingly. Nez Carré nudged him again, and then sighed
and raised his tail hopefully, but passed only a little wind.
‘Still, that's a good sign in itself,' James said.

‘I think he looks better already,' said Durban.

But by dinner-time, Durban was forced to call James back
again. The drench hadn't worked, nor the second dose he had administered on his own authority.

‘
He's paining now, sir, every few minutes,' he said. James
looked at the damp coat, the distressed eyes. Nez Carré was
groaning, too, at each spasm, a low groan ending in an
involuntary grunt, which frightened James; and as he looked,
the horse turned to stare along his side, and raised a hind foot
to paw at it.

‘
Has he passed anything?' Durban shook his head. 'We'll
try one more drench,' James said helplessly.

Nez Carré hardly struggled this time, too preoccupied with
his internal discomfort. 'We've got to walk him round,' James
said. 'Get an extra rug, will you. He's sweating, and the last thing we want now is for him to catch cold.’

They took him out into the stable yard and began to walk
him round. The other ostlers and grooms had all heard the
story, and from time to time a head would pop out from a
doorway to give a look of anxious sympathy. Nez Carré
walked round quietly after his master, groaning now and
then, and occasionally stopping to try to paw his side.

The long summer afternoon drew towards dusk. The two
men were weary now, taking turns in keeping the horse
moving, as he grew more and more reluctant. The sweat had
creamed on his neck, and his ears and face were dark with it.
As the light began to fade they took him into the loose box
which the head ostler had cleared for them, and continued to
walk him round it on a thick bed of straw.

At seven o'clock James sent Durban off to get some dinner,
and Durban knew better than to argue. He walked back to
the cottage to give a bulletin to the waiting household, and
brought back a packet of food for James, cold meat and
bread. James thanked him, but put it aside, trudging round
and round with the horse as though to save his soul.

Even in the half-hour he had been away, Durban could see
that the horse had worsened. He was groaning all the time
now, stumbling a little as he walked, following his master in
blind trust, trying to walk away from the pain that always
came with him. James talked as he walked, leading Nez Carré
with the sound of his voice, encouraging him, rousing him
when he tried to lie down.

‘
No, no, old man, keep walking. You mustn't lie down.
Come on, Nez Carré, come on, boy. Walk on.’

But Durban looked at the shivering, sweating animal
stumbling past him, and knew it was no good.

‘Sir,' he said gently, urgently, 'sir, he's suffering.’

James rounded on him furiously. 'He'll get better!' he cried. 'Don't you look at me like that! He's going to get
better!'

‘Sir, it isn't fair on him.'

‘
Fair on him? What the hell are you talking about? What do
you want to do, condemn him? Give him a chance. He'll get
better. He's strong, he's a fighter. Come
on,
boy!' as Nez
Carré trembled and tried again to lie down. 'Walk on, Nez
Carré. Walk on!’

Durban let it be. 'All right, sir. But let me take him for a
bit, while you eat your supper.'

‘Go to hell!'

‘
You won't help him by starving yourself. Ten minutes, to
eat your supper.'

‘
You go to hell! You don't care about him. Get away from
me, butcher!’

He looked almost wild. Durban retired to the corner of the
box. There was nothing he could do now but wait.