Alchemist's Apprentice (14 page)

‘Ready?'

‘Ready.'

‘Right. Here we go. Hup, Bessie.'

The mare stepped forward and took up the slack in the rope, then leant her massive bulk into the collar. The roller tightened and stretched beneath Jack's thighs and the wither pad lifted. He found himself praying to Hermes not to let it break; not to let them all down at this final hour. And it seemed that, for once, his prayers were answered. As he felt himself moving, the colt scrabbled with his forelegs, digging out chunks of peat and rushes with his feet and flinging them past Jack's knees into the mire.

‘Steady, Bessie. Easy now.'

The colt's head went up and down as he struggled harder and Jack hung on to his mane for all he was worth. Then suddenly, with a great, tearing squelch, they were free. The colt staggered and stumbled on to his knees but somehow regained his balance, then leapt and plunged across the last few sucking yards until he reached firm ground. Bessie whickered and turned to welcome him, nose to nose.

Keithly untied the rope and recoiled it. ‘Fine foal she'll have if she's taken from him,' he said.

The other two laughed, but Jack was dumbstruck. The farmer had been right. The colt was alive and well, but he was trembling with exhaustion and cold. Whatever was on his mind now did not include Jack, who sat astride him as though he were old Dobbs. Nor did he resist when Keithly stepped quietly up to him, slipped a halter over his head and handed the lead rope to Jack.

‘Now,' he said. ‘Let's get moving again.' He turned to the boys who were holding the two ponies out of the way. ‘You two get home and take the ponies with you. Jack and I can keep going and get that fellow home before he gets troublesome again.'

With surprising agility he sprang up on to Bessie's back and set her off along the edge of the bog. And as though he were still tied to her, the colt followed.

I
T WAS FULLY LIGHT
the next morning and snowing hard when the strange pair rode into the Duke's stable yard. No one made a move to stop them. Even though the Arabian colt was mud-covered, snow-flecked and wobbling with exhaustion, it was impossible to mistake him for any other horse. Stable boys scattered to get his loose box set fair and heat water for a mash. A runner was dispatched to the house to inform the Duke. Then the head groom took the halter rope from Jack's numb fingers. ‘Well done, lad. Down you get, now.' Jack was about to comply, but Keithly had other ideas. ‘Stay where you are,' he said, his voice calm and authoritative. ‘We have some business to settle with the Duke before any reins are handed over.' He moved Bessie's imposing bulk closer to Jack and the colt, and the groom backed off.

‘The horse has had a bit of a scare and got cold,' he went on. ‘He needs some attention, but he'll last another few minutes.' There was a commotion at the back gates of the yard and the Duke appeared in his dressing gown, escorted by a pair of elderly deer-hounds and closely followed by most of the household staff. He had eyes for nothing but the Arab colt and he stood for a long time in silence, appraising his condition. Jack sat quite still, trying to be invisible, trying not to look and feel like a thief. Nothing moved in the stable block except for the dogs which snuffled around in the piles of freshly-swept snow. Eventually the Duke looked up, not at Jack, but at Keithly.

‘I know you, don't I?' he said.

‘Indeed, you do,' said the farmer. ‘I'm Adam Keithly and my father was John. Your father settled lands upon mine for service rendered to him, if you remember. I met you on many occasions when we were boys.'

Gordon nodded thoughtfully. ‘I think you had the better of me in the steeplechase once or twice,' he said.

Keithly laughed. ‘I did, but not often. And we no longer keep good horses. The land is only fit for sheep and cattle.'

The Duke looked slightly embarrassed. ‘In any event,' he said, ‘I thank you for bringing back my horse. How might I repay you?'

‘By giving me a good breakfast, sir,' said Keithly. ‘And as for the lad here, you can settle the Musgrave estate upon him.'

Gordon's face fell and he turned to look at Jack. Gradually his jaw dropped and an expression of horror came into his eyes. With an effort of will he composed himself and turned back to Keithly.

‘We'll find something for the lad, of course,' he said. ‘Would he like a pony, perhaps? There's a grand little gelding that my youngest has just grown out of.'

Keithly shook his head, and the look in his eyes permitted no compromise. ‘Your daughter's hand and the Musgrave estate,' he said. ‘That was the prize, and the lad will accept it.'

Jack closed his eyes and wished he could disappear into the darkness behind them. The world seemed to be full of a great roaring, but when he dared to look again there was no sound at all. Instead there was a ghastly hush as the Duke stared straight at him with a look akin to hatred on his face.

The colt moved restlessly, as though he, too, was made uneasy by the atmosphere. Jack slipped down from his back and hid behind him, away from the Duke's scornful gaze.

Keithly broke the silence. ‘It's all fair and square. The boy hunted long and hard for the horse and he was the one to find him. He has brought him back alive and well, as you specified in your offer. There would seem to be no doubts outstanding. We all know you wouldn't go back on your word.'

Jack peeped out beneath the colt's neck. Gordon was red in the face and seemed to be struggling with some terrible anguish. He wanted to relieve him of it, to refuse any reward at all, but to do so would have been to undermine his friend, the farmer, and that he could not do. The Duke took a deep breath and seemed to come to some sort of decision.

‘Listen, Adam,' he said. ‘Why don't you and I step inside and have a talk about this?'

But Keithly was unyielding. ‘There's nothing to talk about,' he said. ‘Does the boy get the reward or doesn't he?' When the Duke still said nothing, he added, ‘I assume this is the horse you're looking for, is it, Neville?'

Gordon was defeated. ‘Yes, yes. Of course it is.' He turned to the nearest stable boy and bellowed at him. ‘What are you waiting for? Get the colt inside and rugged up before he dies of the cold!'

The yard erupted into action, with people everywhere racing for buckets and brushes and straw. Keithly turned to Jack and winked at him with a broad smile of satisfaction.

‘I'll have that breakfast, if you don't mind,' he said to the Duke. ‘The snow is settling fast and I'm a long way from home.'

Jack and the farmer were given a huge breakfast in the kitchens at the back of the great house. It was a wonderful meal after the long, freezing ride, but there was something about Keithly's demeanour that troubled Jack. He was far more satisfied than he ought to have been.

‘One of your boys could have had this,' Jack said.

‘The breakfast?'

Jack nodded. ‘And the rest. I can't marry his daughter, we all know that.'

‘Oh, but you can, Jack. And you will. Mind, now, if you get any trouble you tell me, hear?'

‘But I couldn't have brought back the horse without you. The reward is as much yours as mine.'

‘No, it isn't. And in any case, I want none of this big house muck, nor I don't want it for any of my lads. My father was sold short by this family, but what I have out of it is good enough for me and for my boys. We have all we need.' The satisfied smile returned to his face and he went on, ‘And you will have all you need, and more. And as for the Duke, I imagine he'll be a while living this down.' He laughed out loud and stood up to wash the smell of kippers from his fingers. ‘I have Bessie back, too, which is worth a lot to me. And I'd better get her home before the blizzard blocks my road.'

Jack stood up and followed him to the door. He would have gone with him, but Keithly stopped him. ‘No. Don't you understand? This is your world now. You have to stay here.'

But it didn't feel at all like his world to Jack. As soon as Keithly was gone, he was collared by the housekeeper and ordered into the hottest and deepest bath he had ever taken. The water brought the circulation back into his fingers and toes far too fast, so that he moaned and whimpered with the pain. When it was finally over and he was beginning to relax and enjoy the fuggy warmth, it was time for him to come out and get dressed. The only clothes that could be found to fit him were cast-offs from the housekeeper's eleven-year-old son. The boots he was given to wear strangled his feet and made him feel clumsy as a carthorse. By the time he was fit to be presented in the drawing room he was in a state of acute embarrassment and had to be physically restrained from making a run for it.

The Duke and his wife were waiting for him. The largest fire that Jack had ever seen was blazing in the hearth. He could feel the heat from the doorway where he stood for a long minute before allowing himself to be coaxed nearer. He could not, however, be induced to sit on the upholstered armchair that was offered to him. Instead he stood in the middle of the room, shifting from one foot to the other and wringing his hands.

The housekeeper left. The gentlefolk looked at Jack long and hard. Finally, Lady Gordon sighed.

‘You and your fine ideas,' she said. Jack glanced up, unsure whether or not he was being addressed, but the lady was facing her husband. Her eyes were red and puffy, as though she had been crying.

‘I assumed that it would take a good horseman to catch the colt,' the Duke replied. ‘I couldn't see any harm in having a good horseman in the family.'

‘You couldn't see anything beyond getting your horse back and that's the truth.' Lady Gordon shook her head, still in a state of disbelief. ‘You're going to have a fine time explaining this to Eleanor.'

Gordon groaned quietly. After a long pause, his wife sighed again. ‘I suppose it could be worse,' she said.

‘How?' said her husband.

‘Well, at least he's young. Still malleable in body and mind. We might make something of him yet.'

Jack wondered if they considered him deaf. He felt a bit like a horse being offered for sale.

‘You could be right,' said the Duke. ‘And perhaps he does have the makings of a good horseman. If he were a bit stronger he might make a useful jockey.'

A hard stare from his wife silenced him. She turned to Jack, who dropped his eyes instinctively.

‘How old are you?'

‘Fourteen,' said Jack. ‘Or no, maybe fifteen by now. I think I'm probably fifteen.'

‘Don't you know?'

‘Not exactly.'

‘Well, when is your birthday?'

‘My birthday?' said Jack, perplexed. ‘But only little children have birthdays.'

Lady Gordon shook her head, bemused. ‘No birthday? We shall have to give you one, then.' Her voice seemed a little brighter. ‘I should enjoy that, I think. And what about your name?'

‘Jack.'

‘That won't do, either. We shall have to come up with a name for you as well as a birthday. Edwin, perhaps, or Edmund.'

‘Cyril?' suggested her husband. ‘Cedric?'

‘Or James. James would suit him well, don't you think?' She clasped her hands in pleasure. ‘In any case, we have plenty of time to work out the details and make a gentleman of him. Eleanor is still only fourteen and they are both too young to be married. We need to give them at least two years. And by that time, things may look very different.'

‘Very different indeed,' said the Duke. ‘This is all quite splendid!' He smiled radiantly at his wife, with the air of a man who had just been let off a particularly nasty hook.

The sun still hadn't set on that same day when Jack found himself standing on the threshold of his new life. Behind him, a blizzard blew. In front of him, the wide, flagged hall of his own manor house invited him to enter and take possession of it. There were wolfhounds already in residence and in the tree-lined pastures surrounding the house, small groups of brood-mares huddled in sheltered corners, their tails to the bitter wind.

It was more than Jack had ever dared to wish for. He was to be like Master Gregory with his grand house, his servants, his fine horses. All this was to be his, and for nothing, it seemed, beyond taking Nell's advice and daring to dream.

The estate manager was still holding the door open. The housekeeper and two serving maids waited inside for Jack to acknowledge them. He could smell the smoke of blazing hearth-fires and the sweet aroma of roasting meat. All he had to do was to put one foot in front of the other and his previous cold, hungry existence would be behind him, shut out in the deepening snow. Why should it be so difficult?

The wind snatched at his hair. Never had the presence of Hermes seemed so close, or so real. Jack shivered, glanced back at the gathering dusk and stepped forward into his new life.

T
HAT NIGHT JACK SLEPT
poorly. His new circumstances were impossible for him to believe, and his mind was so confused by them that he lost the distinction between dreams and reality. Early the next morning, Jack and the estate manager, Adam Corbett, rode the four miles between Musgrave House and the manor in the landau. The day was cold and hazy and the horses' breath plumed around them, dampening Adam's jacket and the fine wool of the riding cape that the maid had laid out for Jack. As they passed the cottages of the Duke's tenants and labourers, women and children nodded solemnly to them and Jack did his best to hide his face inside the folds of his cloak.

When they arrived at the manor-house, Adam took the horses round to the stable yard. Jack stood uncertainly at the foot of the marble steps for a while, then lost his nerve and followed. The first thing he saw was the Arab colt looking out over his door.

There were voices in the tack room but no sign of any staff. Talking quietly as he had done that day in the marsh, Jack approached the young horse. He looked very different now. His chestnut coat gleamed from a thousand brushstrokes and his fine mane was without snarl or tangle. A proud light glinted in his clear, black eye.