The Pretty Horse-Breakers Read online

  Candida wanted nothing for herself. As long as she had Pegasus, which her father had given her when he was only a foal, she was happy.

  The foal had been a birthday present, bought from a travelling horse-coper. He had grown from an adorable, rather gawky long-legged animal into a coal-black stallion of unbelievable beauty and elegance. Candida knew whenever she rode him that she was admired and envied by everyone who came their way.

  Yet now Pegasus had to go.

  There was nothing else left to sell. When her father had taken that five-barred gate in the rain on his way home from The King’s Head, he had broken his neck and Juno, with two broken legs, had to be destroyed.

  It was then that Candida found that the house was mortgaged. Furniture had to be sold to pay the creditors, fetching a pitiful sum. Many of the pieces that her mother had cherished and loved had been bought by the villagers more out of kindness than because they attached any value to the well-polished wood or the carvings on which the gilt had been chipped away by age.

  Some of the items had belonged once to her father’s parents, who had died when he was still very young and Candida had always believed them valuable. But caring for one’s possessions was a very different thing, she discovered, from obtaining money for them.

  When everything was disposed of and the debts paid off, there was nothing left save a few personal belongings of her mother’s and Pegasus.

  At first she fought in a wild panic against the thought of disposing of him, but she realised that she had to make some provision for old Ned. He had been with her father and mother since they were first married – groom, handyman, nursemaid and cook.

  He was too old at nearly seventy to find another job. He must have some source of income in his retirement and the only way she could provide that for him was by selling Pegasus.

  It was Ned who had told her there was to be a horse fair at Potters Bar. In her misery at her father’s death she had no time to think of anything but coping with the mortgage, settling the tradesmen’s accounts and deciding which of the few clothes and books her mother had left behind she would keep for herself.

  “A horse fair at Potters Bar?” she had repeated almost stupidly.

  “Ay, Miss Candida. ’Tis the annual one and the dealers and some of the gentry from London comes to it. You often get a better price there, they say, than anywhere else in the country.”

  She felt as though Ned’s words stabbed at her heart, so that she almost cried out with pain. Then she knew, looking into his kind old eyes, that he was thinking of her, that she must have money on which to live or at least to keep herself until she could find employment of some sort.

  “I suppose I could be a Governess,” Candida murmured beneath her breath, wondering at the same time how she could secure a position without a reference.

  But whatever she decided to do, she had first to sell Pegasus. It was not possible for her to travel round the country with her horse and besides she must ensure that Ned did not starve. It was, she thought, almost a sacred trust imposed upon her by her mother.

  “He is such a dear little man,” she had often said. “What would we do without him, Candida? He can turn his hand to anything.”

  It was indeed Ned who had made certain that there were always fires in the house, lit from the wood he managed to collect without cost from adjacent estates. It was Ned who brought in a snared rabbit when there was nothing else in the house to eat.

  “You have not poached it?” Mrs. Walcott would ask sometimes in horror, knowing the heavy penalties for anyone who poached game.

  “I ’ave done no trespassin’, if that’s what you mean, ma’am,” Ned would reply. “If the poor creature strayed onto our land, that be his own foolishness!”

  There had been an occasional pheasant that ‘strayed’, and more than once rook pie had helped them over a particularly lean period. Always it was Ned who provided what was necessary. He could not now be allowed to go to the workhouse because he was too old to find other employment.

  ‘I am young,’ Candida told herself, ‘I will manage somehow.’

  When she reached Potters Bar and saw the horses travelling towards the fair, when she heard the bustle and noise of the fair itself, she felt as if she was taking the horse she loved to the slaughterhouse.

  A number of hay carts had been drawn up to make a rough circle in which some horses were being paraded, while others were being walked round on the outside. Some were rough animals led by a dark-eyed gypsy or a vacant-looking farm yokel with a straw in his mouth.

  Others, with their coats brushed until they shone, their manes and tails combed and trimmed, were ridden by grooms in the livery of a local Squire or mounted by a tradesman’s son dressed in polished boots and smart pantaloons.

  There was a babel of innumerable voices punctuated by loud guffaws from those who had already visited the local inn and the shrieks of children rushing about, stimulated by the excitement of their elders and getting under the horses’ hooves and in everybody else’s way.

  For a moment Candida felt at a loss.

  The only thing she really wanted was to turn round and ride for home and then she remembered that home was no longer hers – already it had passed into alien hands and tomorrow she must remove herself and her few meagre belongings. It was with a sense of relief when she saw Ned waiting for her by the entrance to the ground.

  “Ah, there you be, Miss Candida,” he said, coming up to take Pegasus’ bridle. “I’m wonderin’ what could ’ave ’appened to you.”

  “I could not hurry, Ned,” Candida answered honestly.

  “I knows that, miss,” he answered. “’Ere, you jump down. I’ve seen a gentleman who might be interested, he’s bought two or three of the top-notchers already.”

  “Yes, you take Pegasus,” Candida said as she slipped to the ground.

  She put out her hand to touch the horse and instantly he turned his nose to nuzzle it against her neck with a gesture she knew so well. At his touch she felt that she could bear it no longer.

  “Take him away, Ned,” she said and her voice broke on the words. “I cannot bear to watch him go.”

  She walked into the crowd, her eyes blinded with tears. She did not want to see or hear what happened, she only knew that everything she really loved had gone from her. First her mother, then her father and now Pegasus. They had been her whole world – now there was nothing left, nothing, except emptiness and a sense of despair that made her only want to die and put an end to her suffering.

  How long she stood there with the crowd milling round her, seeing and hearing nothing but her own misery, she had no idea, until suddenly Ned was at her side.

  “’E wants to buy ’im, Miss Candida, you’d best come and talk to ’im. I’ve got ’im up to seventy-five guineas, but I thinks ’e would go a mite ’igher if ’e saw you.”

  “Seventy-five guineas!” Candida repeated.

  “It ain’t enough for Pegasus,” Ned insisted, “an ’undred is what I ’oped for. Come and talk to the gentleman, Miss Candida.”

  “Yes, I will talk to him,” Candida agreed vaguely.

  She suddenly felt that if she had to sell Pegasus she would sell him only at his proper worth. She would not allow him to be insulted by being knocked down for the paltry sum of seventy-five guineas. Ned was speaking the truth when he said there was not a horse to touch him at the whole fair – there would not be, there could not be, there was no animal in the world like Pegasus!

  Without saying anything further, she followed Ned through the crowds to where in a corner of the field she saw Pegasus held by a groom. Beside him was the gentleman whom she knew must be the person interested in purchasing her horse.

  At first glance Candida recognised his type all too well. That he was a man accustomed to being with horses was obvious. He almost looked like a horse with his long lined face and weather-beaten skin.

  The fit of his coat and breeches and the neatness of his legs with their polished boots told
her that he had always ridden and ridden well. A man who would be a hard rider to hounds, a man who undoubtedly knew a good horse when he saw one and would never make a mistake.

  “This be the owner of Pegasus, sir,” she heard Ned say and she looked up to see an expression of surprise on the man’s face.

  “My name is Major Hooper, ma’am. I am interested in your horse.”

  “Are you buying him to ride yourself?” Candida asked in her soft voice.

  She saw that it was not a question he had expected her to ask.

  “I keep a livery stable, ma’am,” he replied. “I cater for the Nobility and the smartest ladies in town. Your horse will be well looked after, my grooms know their job.”

  “And Pegasus will stay with you?” Candida enquired.

  “Unless I am offered an exceedingly large sum for him,” Major Hooper said, “then he will go to some Ducal stables. He is a fine animal. I promise you, ma’am, that he will not be degraded into pulling the mail or sent to some Posting house.”

  Pegasus had turned to nuzzle his nose against Candida’s cheek and she patted him gently. Then, looking at Major Hooper in what he described to himself as a scrutinising manner, she said,

  “I believe what you tell me, but this is a very exceptional horse, unusual in many ways.”

  She saw a faint smile twitch his thin lips as if this was something he had heard often enough before.

  Impulsively she cried out,

  “Wait, I will show you.”

  She made a gesture to Ned, who understood. He helped her into the saddle, then, taking the reins, Candida guided Pegasus into the next field away from the crowds. There were few people there, only a number of farmers’ carts with their horses tied to a fence awaiting the return of their owners.

  Candida put Pegasus through his paces. She made him trot, first in an ordinary manner and then throwing out a foreleg at each step. Then at her command he knelt, rose, turned round and round, first one way and then another, until with a touch of her whip, he stood up on his hind legs and walked, pawing the air in front of him.

  She trotted him round once again and then back to Major Hooper.

  “Those are only some of the things he can do,” she said, “and you should see him jump. He takes any fence, however high, as if he had wings.”

  She had concentrated so hard at showing off Pegasus that she had no idea that Major Hooper was watching not only the horse, but her. Now, as she looked down at him from the back of the big black stallion, he took in every detail of her appearance – the small, oval face crowned, beneath a weather-beaten riding hat, with hair such as he had never seen before on any woman.

  It should have been pale gold, the colour of ripening wheat and yet in it there was a hint of fire, a touch of red, which made it appear to have captured the rays of the sun.

  It was perhaps the red in Candida’s hair that was responsible for the whiteness of her skin, which was like the petal of a Madonna lily. Smooth, soft and utterly flawless, it was not the skin of a girl who had lived all her life in the country and had it not been for her shabby habit and battered broken boots, Major Hooper would not have believed it possible for a woman to have such a skin without resorting to artifice.

  But if her hair and skin were sensational, her eyes were even more so. Dark-lashed, they seemed unnaturally large in the thinness of her face and though he tried he could not determine what their colour might be.

  When he had first seen her he thought her eyes were flecked with green, but now, because she was anxious concerning his decision, he thought that they were almost purple.

  ‘My God, she is lovely!’ he muttered to himself and then, as Candida dismounted, he said abruptly,

  “Why are you selling him?”

  He saw the elation that had been in her face at Pegasus’ performance vanish as though a dark blind had been drawn over a lighted window.

  “I have to,” she answered briefly.

  “I am sure you could persuade your father to keep him, you match each other so well.”

  “My father is dead,” Candida replied in a low voice. “You don’t suppose I would part with Pegasus unless I was compelled to do so.”

  “No, I can understand what he means to you,” Major Hooper agreed. “I have worked with horses all my life. They become a part of one, especially if one is fortunate enough to own a horse like this!’

  “You understand then,” she whispered.

  His sympathy had brought the tears back into her eyes and Major Hooper watching wondered if any woman’s eyes could look more expressive or more in need of a man’s comfort.

  “It’s a pity you cannot show off Pegasus yourself,” he said suddenly. “You would get a proper price for him in London, far better than I can offer you, if you were riding him yourself.”

  “I would do that willingly,” Candida said, “but how? I have no knowledge of London.”

  “What would your family say if I offered to take you there?” Major Hooper enquired.

  “I have no family,” Candida replied. “Walk Pegasus round the field, Ned. I would like Major Hooper to see him once again at a distance.”

  Ned took the bridle and did as he was told. As soon as he was out of earshot Candida said,

  “I will be frank with you, sir. I have to provide for Ned. He has been groom to my father and mother for twenty-one years, I cannot leave him penniless. Anything you give me for Pegasus will provide for his old age. I can only beg you to be generous.”

  “And what will happen to you?” Major Hooper enquired.

  She looked away from him across the field to where Pegasus, in high spirits, was pretending to shy at a piece of paper blowing in the wind.

  “I will find employment of some sort,” she said vaguely. “Perhaps I could be a Governess or a companion.”

  Major Hooper suddenly slapped his whip against his riding boots and the sound made her start.

  “I will give you one hundred guineas for Pegasus,” he said, “if you will come to London with me and show him off in my school.”

  “School?” Candida queried.

  “I have a riding school attached to my livery stable.” Major Hooper explained. “Many horses that I purchase need further breaking before they are competent to carry ladies in a side-saddle for their rides in London and on Rotten Row,”

  “I can help you do that?” Candida asked.

  “Yes, and you can show Pegasus off to those who are interested,” Major Hooper said.

  “I would love to do that, it sounds too wonderful. Are you sure I shall not be any trouble?”

  “You will be no trouble,” he assured her.

  “But – my – clothes,” Candida stammered.

  “Everything will be seen to,” he promised. “You can trust me not to let you down on that score.”

  “Oh, thank you, thank you!” Candida cried. “I can stay with Pegasus! I cannot tell you what it means to me!”

  “I can understand that,” Major Hooper said unsurely, “and now I should be getting back to town. If you come with me, it will make things easier.”

  “At once? Do you mean now – just as I am?” Candida asked.

  “I’ll see that you are not wanting for anything when you reach London,” Major Hooper said. “If you have any luggage of any sort, then perhaps your groom can bring it up to you tomorrow. I’ll pay his expenses and give him now a note of hand for one hundred guineas, which he can change at a bank. It would not be wise for him to carry such a large sum about with him.”

  “No, indeed not,” Candida replied, “it is very kind of you to be so thoughtful.”

  “I’m used to such dealings,” Major Hooper said. “May I be frank, ma’am, in saying that never before have I been fortunate an finding at a country fair of this sort such a magnificent animal or such a very attractive owner.”

  He saw Candida blush at the compliment. Just for a moment the lily whiteness of her skin took on the soft pink of a rosebud. Then she smiled at him and he could only
think once again that he had never seen such fantastic eyes.

  ‘My God, I’ve got a bargain!’ he said to himself, as he watched her run across the field towards Ned to tell him the news.

  Not even the dowdy thread worn habit could disguise her grace and Major Hooper, a man little given to sentiment, found himself muttering beneath his breath,

  “She’s lovely and she’ll pay for it! Poor little devil!”

  Chapter Two

  As Candida drove into London beside Major Hooper in his fast yellow and black phaeton, she felt that a new world was opening before her.

  It was not long before the green fields of Potters Bar gave way to suburban houses with flower-filled gardens and then the increasing traffic told her that they were nearing the great City, which she had visited only twice in her whole life.

  It was the horses that interested her more than anything else. She stared at a pair of well-matched roans drawing a ponderous family carriage gleaming with brass, the cocked-hatted coachman wearing many-tiered driving capes. On another such vehicle the horses’ heads were held high by bearing reins and there were a brace of powdered flunkeys on the dicky seat.

  Sometimes, as they flashed by, she would have a glimpse of an attractive face at a window or the rosy-hued nose of a rich owner.

  Then her eyes would be attracted to the chestnuts drawing a fashionable Victoria open to the afternoon sunshine and conveying a vision of fashion holding a ridiculously small lace-trimmed sunshade.

  She found it hard to take her eyes also from the riders on horseback. Their sleek, well-groomed mounts made her wonder how Pegasus would compare with them, but it was a question with an easy answer as he was undoubtedly incomparable.

  “We don’t pass any shops,” Major Hooper commented, thinking that, as Candida turned her head eagerly from side to side, she was, like so many women, window-gazing.

  “Are the shops only in the centre of London?” Candida asked.

  “The ones that will interest you are,” he replied. “I live the Park side of St. John’s Wood – a very fashionable quarter at the moment.”