The Regency (25 page)

She went back to his box and looked at him over the half-
door. Nimrod turned his head to look at her, and laid back his
ears unwelcomingly. He was a big horse, nearly sixteen hands,
looking massive and strong in comparison with Honey's
narrow body and slender legs. But Fanny had no fears. To control him from the ground with only a headcollar might
present problems, she thought, but she had been in the saddle
since before she could walk, and she firmly believed there was
no horse she couldn't ride.

His bridle and training-saddle were on the rack inside his
box. Fanny looked around, but there was no-one nearby, so
she unbolted the door and slipped inside the box, pulling the
door to behind her so that she could simply push it open when
she had Nimrod tacked-up and ready. He watched her with a sidelong eye, and as she approached him, he swung his hind
quarters round towards her and laid his ears back. He had
had enough attention for one day, and wanted to be left alone
with his hay-rack. Fanny spoke to him and tried to come
round the other way, but he moved over, his eye shewing
white, and lifted a foot suggestively.

She paused for a moment in thought, and then put her
hand into her pocket slit and fumbled for a titbit. Nimrod's
ears came forward, and he watched her calculatingly. She
drew out a piece of carrot and held it out on her hand, and
took a careful step towards him. He did not move, and foot
by foot she approached him while he watched her over his
shoulder. Then at the very last moment, when she was about to take the last step and catch hold of his headcollar, he laid
his ears back, whirled around, and dashed past her, knocking
her aside. She stumbled back against the wall, and stared in
horror as the big horse butted the half-door with his nose, and
feeling it give, shouldered it open and clattered out into the
rotunda.

Instinct started her after him, and even as she ran for the
door, she heard the sounds from outside, the clatter and skid of Nimrod's shoes on the bricks, the sound of a bucket being dropped, the shout of 'Loose horse!', the confusion of voices giving each other directions. She reached the door in time to see Nimrod veer away from a groom's outstretched hand and canter away, head up, nostrils wide, enjoying his moment of
freedom. He skirted the central fountain-bowl, heading for
the doorway to the outside, but, thank God, there was a
groom there with a pitchfork, who waved it threateningly,
making the horse breenge and slip a little on the bricks. More
people and more shouts, and Nimrod, wildly excited now, was
circling the fountain for the third time, when James appeared
at last.

‘
What the devil — ! Silence! Everybody stand still! Still, I
said!’

At his ringing command, all movement ceased, and Nimrod,
finding no-one was pursuing him, slowed from a canter to
a trot, looking about him for someone to continue the game.
Round he went a fourth time, and embarked on a fifth, and then grew bored with the solitary occupation, and
slithered to a halt, snorting, turning his head this way and
that.

‘
Everybody stand still,' James said again, and pulling out an
apple from his pocket, he held it out visibly in his hand, and
walked steadily towards the horse. Nimrod snorted and
stamped his forefoot, but his nostrils fluttered as he caught
the scent of the apple, and his ears came abruptly forward as
James covered the last few feet and stood right beside him.

Fanny's nails dug into her palm with tension, expecting every
moment that the horse would leap away again, wondering
why her father did not make sure of his capture, grab the
headcollar at once. But James, apparently confident, took time to bite the apple in half, while Nimrod, eager for the
treat, nudged at him with his muzzle, and finally made a little
whickering noise of impatience. James slid the first half of the
apple under the enquiring lips, and only as he gave Nimrod
the second half, did he finally, gently, take hold of the head-
collar.

As if released from a spell by the gesture, everyone began
moving and speaking at once; except for Fanny who stood her
ground miserably at the open door of Nimrod's box as her
father led the horse back towards her. She stepped aside as
James led the horse in, and when he came out again, carefully
bolting the door, she kept her gaze on the ground, unable to
meet his eyes, feeling her face hot with shame.

His feet came into her view. 'What the
devil
did you think
you were doing?' he asked quietly, but his voice was quivering
with anger. Fanny could not speak. 'Are you quite mad,
Fanny? Do you know what it would mean if he'd slipped and come down? He might have broken his knees, or his leg, and
that would have been the end of him. Don't you know we're
running him in the Gold Cup? Were you deliberately trying to
ruin his chances?’

Tears began to course down Fanny's cheeks, but she lifted
her head at last, driven to speak in her own defence. 'I was
trying to help!' she cried. 'You said you wanted him walked
round, and S-Salton was too busy —’

James was not listening. 'Help! You call it helping to let a valuable horse loose out of its box two days before the most important race of the year? Ned was right — this is no place
for children! I'm packing you off home this minute. You've
been in the way all day, but I never thought —'

‘But Papa,
please
listen —'

‘
Be quiet, Fanny. I won't have any arguments. You're
going straight home, where you belong. I suppose I'll have to
send someone with you, and that will be another pair of
hands lost to me! Here, you, Alton, put Missy to in the gig,
and drive Miss Fanny back to Morland Place. See she's
handed over to her ladyship or the governess, and then come
back as quickly as you can. There's enough for everyone to
do, without having you driving about the country all day.
Jump to it, man!’

*

Brought home in disgrace by a very embarrassed and reluctant
groom, Fanny wished as she had never wished before that the earth would open and swallow her, that a thunderbolt
would descend and blast Morland Place and everyone in it to
smithereens, or that she could go instantly into a decline so
rapid and unmistakable that nothing would lie before her but
an affecting death-bed scene, where her tearful father would
beg forgiveness for being so unkind to her.

None of these interesting possibilities intervened, however.
Alton drove the gig into the yard, and was preparing to wind
the reins and escort Fanny into the house, but she was deter
mined to avoid
that at
least. She jumped from the gig as soon
as it stopped, and ignoring his shouts, ran into the house and
up the stairs as fast as her legs would carry her; and along the
passage to her room, where she slammed the door behind her
and flung herself across her bed to weep the hot tears of
passion and humiliation.

For a while she knew nothing but the soreness of her heart;
but as the storm began to abate she realised that she would
not be left alone for long. Alton would tell, and soon everyone in the house would know. Uncle Ned would say 'I told you so',
and her smug cousin Hippolyta would look shocked and pious
because
she
would never do anything bad like that; and worst
of all that little beast Sophie would be Papa's favourite, and
Fanny would simply die of grief. Any minute now one of the
maids would come in and summon her downstairs for a
sermon, and she couldn't bear it; she
wouldn't
bear it!
She began to grope for a handkerchief; and sure enough,
the door opened behind her.

‘Go away!' She cried out hoarsely, her face still buried in the
bedclothes. 'I won't come down. You can tell them that! I
don't care!’

There was no reply; but quiet footsteps crossed the room,
and a large, dry handkerchief was pushed into her fingers,
smelling of the lavender-water Miss Rosedale always used.
The bed creaked and Fanny felt the mattress tilt under her
as her governess sat on the edge of it, and she flung herself
over resentfully, turning her face away from the unwelcome
intrusion. She still couldn't find her handkerchief, and was
forced, reluctantly, to make use of the one she had been given.
'I wish you'd go away,' she said bitterly.

Miss Rosedale drew breath. Now comes the sermon, Fanny thought.

But 'Poor Fanny!' Miss Rosedale said with cheerful sym
pathy. 'That was bad luck. The groom told me what happened
— and when you only meant to help, too! I know how you
must feel — it happened to me once.’

The sympathy was harder to bear than a rebuke. 'I don't
believe you,' Fanny said rudely, her head still turned away.
'Your father didn't have racehorses.'

‘
No, it wasn't horses, and it wasn't my father, but it was
the same sort of thing,' Miss Rosedale replied in an everyday
tone. 'It was my mother that I upset. She had some beautiful
hand-painted china which she really loved — her most
treasured possession, in fact. My father had bought it for her
years before, when they first got married. One day I over
heard her saying that it was a pity it had got so dirty, and that
the white background was quite grey. I thought I'd wash it for
her, as a surprise, so I got a bucket of hot water and soda
and stood on a chair in front of the chimney-piece and started
lifting the pieces down, putting them into the bucket so
carefully, because I didn't want to chip them.’

Fanny was listening now, despite herself, and when Miss
Rosedale paused, she only just managed not to prompt her.
Miss Rosedale continued unasked. 'Well, what I didn't
know was that the china hadn't been reglazed after painting,
so all the delicate birds and flowers and butterflies simply came off in the water. That was why it hadn't been washed
before, of course — but that had never occurred to me. And
as the last straw, just as I was lifting down the last piece — a
particularly fine vase, the jewel of the collection, my mother
came in and saw what I was doing, and let out such a shriek
that I dropped it, and it shattered on the hearth into a thousand
pieces.’

Miss Rosedale's voice was sadly reflective. 'I loved my
mother so much. Of course I realised later that she wouldn't
have said all those things had she not been upset, but at the
time I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me.’

There was a pause, and then the bed bent as the governess
stood up. 'I was thinking, Fanny,' she said cheerfully, 'that
it's much too nice a day to eat indoors. I think we should
excuse ourselves from dinner, and ride out to Bur Field, and
see if we can find those Roman footings we were reading
about the other day. We can take some bread and meat and have an
al fresco
meal, and come back over Low Moor and
through the Whin, and have a good gallop. I've brought up
some hot water, so wash your face and put on your habit, and
I'll order the horses for half an hour's time.’