Old Sins Long Shadows (5 page)

‘
They moved there after helping me. They are making the most of the dry spell. What seems to be the problem?’ Customary country greeting undertaken, both men looked at the fine horse tied to the ring in the wall.

‘
Honestly, I don’t really know. She’s had all summer getting fat and lazy in the field and my first attempt at a good ride to bring her into fitness before the hunting season starts and she’s just not right.’

Daniel looked the animal over
. The mare was a fine specimen and, despite James’s description, was not carrying too much weight. ‘All her shoes are sound, she’s not had an injury, yet she acts up and is not fluid in her movements. Frankly I’m at a loss.’

Daniel looked in the horse’s mouth,
‘A horse can injure themselves in a field just galloping around when playing.’ He gave the horse a gentle rub on the nose as a thank you when he had finished and went on to feel its back, ‘What’s she like to canter on to the left and right?’

James thought for a moment,
‘I do believe she feels stiff when turning left, not so bad turning right.’

Daniel nodded slowly as if taking in the information and comparing it to his findings
. He started to feel each leg in turn, taking notice of the muscle conformation, the tenderness and the wasting. A dog’s joyful barking could be heard in the rose garden, beyond the courtyard wall but neither man took any notice.

‘
I think her problem is more long standing than you may think. Take a look at her front hoof, it is wider and forward growing, unlike the others.’

James stood in front of
the horse to get a better look.

‘
Are you saying she has been shoed poorly?’

‘
No, if it was the fault of the farrier it would be more than likely all the hooves would be misshapen. It is unlikely a farrier would do a bad job on just one hoof alone.’  Daniel stroked the horse along its shoulder, ‘See here and here. I can see there is muscle wasting and tenderness. It has resulted in your horse walking stiffly, which in turn causes the hoof to grow wrong. This has been going on for probably more than a year.’  James did not answer and Daniel looked up at him to discover why he had not said anything.

‘
Well, well, if that isn’t a sight for sore eyes,’ smiled James as he looked across the courtyard, his horse forgotten. Daniel followed his gaze to find the cause of his loss of interest. It was the girl he had hoped to see and she was walking gracefully into the courtyard, a King Charles trotting beside her and carrying a bunch of pink roses in her arms.

‘
Be back in a minute,’ James said and strode off to greet her. Daniel slowly stood, his teeth grinding not only for being so quickly dismissed as if he was a servant but also that James had the confidence and friendliness of manner to approach the girl, unlike himself. He watched, with irritation, as James easily struck up a conversation which made the girl smile and eventually laugh. No doubt he was complimenting her on how the rose of her cheeks matched the colour of the roses she held. Or perhaps he had just compared their beauty with hers to only find them wanting. James Brockenshaw had the gift of the gab, Daniel thought angrily, and he felt annoyed that this girl seemed to lap it up. What girl would not be flattered to have the attentions of a wealthy, and some would say, handsome man, although Daniel did not think he was. Daniel felt uneasy. James reminded him of a fox stalking his prey, his smile, his manners, his charm belying the deadliness of his intentions. Voices coming nearer brought Daniel suddenly to his senses and he realised that James was bringing the girl over.

‘
This is Lady Jane Gray, Lady for short,’ said James, patting the horse on the neck. Daniel stood at the side realising that James thought the horse was more important and warranted an introduction, unlike him. The girl avoided looking at him. For the first time he wished he had changed his shirt before coming to Bosvenna Manor. In comparison she was fresh, clean and tidy, wearing a pale yellow dress with tiny small green flower buds that matched her eyes.

‘
I’ve been trying to find out what is the matter with her. She’s a gentle horse. Come pat her.’

The girl looked a little alarmed as James took her hand and guided it under his to stroke the horse’s neck
. Daniel could not bear to look and focused his attention on the dog until the girl slipped her hand away and hid it underneath her roses once more.

Daniel returned to examining the horse and began to check the horse’s pelvis, perhaps a little more zealously than he would have otherwise, while James continued to focus his attention on the girl.

‘I warrant roses are your favourite flowers.’

‘
These flowers are for Lady Brockenshaw, sir. She asked me to pick them while I walked Charlie this afternoon.’

‘
Then tell me, what do you consider the most beautiful flower?  I would dearly love to know.’

‘
I do not have a specific flower as long as they are wild. A wild flower is more beautiful than anything cultured by man.’

‘
That cannot be,’ said James in all seriousness, ‘Man has cross bred plants to produce the clearest of colours and strongest of perfumes. Surely nothing can compare to what science can produce - the best of all worlds.’

The girl shook her head,
‘I disagree, nothing is more beautiful than nature intended. Nature, in its own way, has cultivated the wild flower over hundreds of years and it has resulted in flowers that are more varied, more pure and vibrant than any flower grown in a hot house. They can grow in the most inhospitable of places with a wider range of fragrances than any gardener or scientist can produce. But perhaps what I like best about wild flowers are that they have been allowed to be themselves, grow in a way that nature intended, without constraint. They are the more beautiful for it.’ 

Both men stood watching her, the horse
now forgotten. Her use of language had intrigued them both. One had been made the more curious by it, the other felt a great chasm open up between them. Her speech was articulate, educated and was quite unlike any other domestic servant within the house. It had been the first time Daniel had heard her speak.

‘
You sound as if man stifles growth and beauty,’ said James softly.

‘
I did not say that, sir,’ the girl replied, dropping her gaze then lifting it again to meet his. ‘A man has the power to if he chooses to do so … just as he has the choice not to.’  Daniel decided to move the horse to the side at that precise moment. His aim was to break the conversation between them and, as planned, the horse’s rump nudged James to the left. It worked. James laughed and for the first time included Daniel in the conversation.

‘
I think our gender has been firmly put in our place, Daniel.’  He looked back at Janey with renewed admiration. ‘This is Janey Carhart, my mother’s new maid.’ 

Daniel stiffly nodded and Janey acknowledge his greeting with a slight nod of her own
. So now he knew her name, but it was not how he envisaged learning it. In his mind he would have introduced himself and asked her, and she would have gladly told him herself. Instead he had learnt her name from James Brockenshaw’s lips - a man who she was obviously besotted with and Daniel could not hope to match. Particularly today where he was dressed in his work clothes and James dressed for riding. Today, where James had the ease of conversation and banter, Daniel felt, if called upon, he would have difficulty stringing a coherent sentence together.

‘
Daniel here thinks my horse has been lame for more than a year and I have not noticed.’ So he had been listening, thought Daniel irritably. ‘I fear Daniel must think I do not look after my horse well.’

Daniel did not like to be talked about as if he was not present and his irritation showed in the words he ground out.

‘I did not say that. Horses are prey animals, they put up with a lot of pain before they show it. Showing vulnerability in nature is the fastest way of being singled out and hunted.’

‘
Here speaks a man who has no vulnerability to show,’ laughed James, oblivious to the discomfort he was causing. Janey tried unsuccessfully to hide her embarrassment for Daniel which irritated Daniel all the more. It was time he was going.

‘
Your horse has chronic pain, from arthritis or injury, the cause does not matter. Her riding days are over.’  He picked up his jacket that he had taken off on his arrival, in preparation of taking his leave. James was shocked out of his teasing.

‘
Are you suggesting I have her shot?’

‘
You have the gift of putting words into people’s mouths. I recommend she retires to become a pasture buddy for the younger horses on your estate. They can learn from her and she will provide them with a constant security within the herd. She could also be put into foal. Her condition will withstand the weight of a foal inside her and her bloodline will then continue. However, she must never be ridden again. It would be cruel and painful for her and dangerous for you.’ Daniel hesitated, then, in a veiled invitation to place James in danger, added, ‘But you do as you wish. It is your horse.’

James and Janey watched Daniel stride away,
‘I fear Daniel lacks a sense of humour Miss Carhart,’ said James. He smiled down at her while she watched pensively Daniel’s receding figure, ‘May I escort you back to the servant’s hall before your roses wilt in this heat. Your face is too pretty to wear such a frown.’ He beckoned the stable boy over, ‘Stable Lady in a thick bed of straw, I will visit her later.’ The boy touched his cap and led the horse away. Later, he thought, he would give instructions for her to be shot.

Miss Petherbridge watched them from a second floor window. She pursed her lips in annoyance at the closeness Mr Brockenshaw displayed with the upstart Carhart servant. That girl was heading for a fall and Miss Petherbridge would make sure she was near at hand to give her a push when the time came. She checked the fall of the curtain and, once satisfied, continued her walk along the length of the corridor, her keys jingling at her belt, and the swish of her dress echoing about her.

James. James. James Brockenshaw
. Janey’s ink slid across the paper, sweeping elaborately the letters of his name. Somehow the action of writing his name brought him closer to her, forming an intimacy that did not yet exist. She wrote her own name, interlinking the Js like a sign of betrothal. She knew what they were…just silly girlish scribbles by the light of the candle, but as she lay in her bed ready for sleep it helped to calm her and make sense of the growing attentions he had showed her in recent days.

It had started that sunny afternoon when he greeted and introduce himself formal
ly to her, as if she was a lady. At first she was lost for words until his cajoling had made her laugh and any tension was broken. On escorting her back to the servant’s hall he had even kissed her hand. Thank goodness no one had seen. She had watched him walk away, touching the back of her hand to her lips, still feeling her skin tingle at his touch. She hugged the encounter to her breast like a precious secret and would always treasure the moment he had first seemed to notice her.

The following day she had seen him again
. While reading to Lady Brockenshaw he had entered the room looking for a broadsheet. When he saw her he had smiled at her - a smile just for her. A tender smile, a caring smile and she, Lord help her, had smiled back. How forward of her to smile at Lord and Lady Brockenshaw’s son. She should have stood and curtseyed or nodded submissively, but she hadn’t. She had smiled back at him like an equal and his smile had widened.

Now each time someone entered the room she held her breath in anticipation it would be James
. Janey shook her head in disbelief as she realised she thought of him by his Christian name. She must be careful for he had no interest in a servant such as her. Yet, she mused, when he looked at her he made her feel special, beautiful and desirable as though the class difference between them meant nothing.

Yesterday he had visited his mother in the library and found Janey reading to her
. Much to Janey’s horror he had decided to stay and listen. Lady Brockenshaw teased him about his new found interest in the ‘
Sonnets of the heart
,’ but was happy that her son chose to spend his afternoon with her. She had settled back in her chair to listen to Janey’s initial faltering words.

‘
Now, now Janey, don’t be put off by James. Poetry does not interest him. Before you finish the first lines, his nose will be buried in a newspaper,’ Lady Brockenshaw had reassured her. She had fondly patted her son’s knee beside her, ‘No offence, James.’

‘
None taken, Mother,’ James had replied. He had smiled at Janey, lifting a brow at the book in her lap. He had challenged her to continue. Crossing his legs, he had folded his hands in his lap waiting for her to start again. Janey had cleared her throat and once more began to read. Janey remembered how her soft voice had filled the air and James appeared mesmerized as she read a poem of love. It had seemed to Janey that the printed words transformed on her lips, coming alive as the author had intended them to do. Her audience had listened intently and did not speak again until she had finished, for to do so would have vandalised the beauty of the moment. Janey smiled to herself as she remembered looking up to see James staring at her. Lady Brockenshaw was talking but neither was listening as they looked at one another. He had mouthed the word
beautiful
and she had silently replied
thank you
. He had left shortly afterwards and although Janey watched for him he appeared to have left the estate and was not seen again until the following morning.