The Pretty Horse-Breakers Read online

  He glanced at her sharply as he spoke, as if he expected her either to challenge the statement or to show that she was aware of something that he implied. The lovely little face turned up to him showed no emotion other than the ordinary interest that any young girl might have shown in his conversation.

  “It is a good position then for your livery stable?” she asked innocently.

  Major Hooper’s lips twitched as he replied,

  “My customers are all around me.”

  “That must be very convenient,” Candida remarked, no longer attending, but watching a young gallant, his top hat at a saucy angle, coping with his stallion that had shied at a coster’s barrel.

  Pegasus was being ridden to London by one of Major Hooper’s grooms. He had bought three other horses at the fair, but Candida had known without being told that the chief groom would be in charge of Pegasus.

  It had been a poignant moment when she had said goodbye to Ned, but he had been so overwhelmed and grateful at the vast sum of money she had bestowed on him that he was almost incoherent.

  “You will be able to rent that cottage you like in the village,” Candida told him. “And I am sure there will be lots of small jobs you can do, which will bring you in other money from time to time.”

  “Don’t you a-worry your ’ead about me, Miss Candida,” Ned replied, “’tis you I be a-thinkin’ of.”

  “I shall be all right,” Candida replied with a bravery which, though cleverly assumed, did not deceive Ned.

  “Are you sure you be doin’ the right thing, miss?” he asked, pulling her a little to one side so that Major Hooper could not overhear what he said.

  “It’s an opportunity to be with Pegasus,” Candida replied, “and Major Hooper seems a nice man.”

  It was not exactly the word she would have chosen to describe Major Hooper. She did not really know quite what she felt about him. At the same time he seemed frank and open.

  Besides, if she did not go with him, what was the alternative?

  She had no knowledge of domestic bureaux from which fashionable ladies engaged their servants nor did she think that her appearance in London, ill-dressed and without references, was likely to find her anything but employment of the most inferior sort.

  Besides this she was certain that her youth and her looks would be against her. She was not conceited, but she was well aware that Society ladies did not usually fill their houses with attractive young women who were not by birth intended to be domestic servants.

  No, there was nothing else she could have done but accept Major Hooper’s offer and indeed she was deeply grateful to him for the chance to remain with Pegasus and to know that for a short time at least she would be able to ride her horse.

  It was not long after six o’clock when finally they reached the wide, well cared-for streets of St. John’s Wood.

  Major Hooper tooled his phaeton skilfully into a narrow Mews with stables on either side of the cobbled roadway. Finally they came to a large door surmounted by an arch on which was inscribed Hooper’s Livery Stables.

  “Here we are!” Major Hooper exclaimed.

  They drove through the gateway and Candida found herself in a square stable yard surrounded on all sides by horseboxes. Their occupants were looking out over the half-open doors and she had a quick impression of dozens of attractive and elegant horses, more than she had ever seen in one place in her life before.

  It seemed to her as though all the horses watched her descent from the phaeton. She had a feeling that they welcomed her with more enthusiasm than human beings could possibly have shown.

  Without waiting for Major Hooper, she walked towards the nearest horsebox and stroked its occupant, a young bay. He was quiet and gentle to her touch and she knew at once that he was the type of horse that any woman, even an inexperienced one, would be happy to ride.

  She looked to the right and left. There were long vistas of bays and chestnuts, greys, blacks, some with a distinguishing white blaze upon their forehead.

  There was a flush on Candida’s cheeks and a sudden light in her eyes as she turned towards Major Hooper,

  “Fancy you having all these fine horses!” she cried. “They are indeed magnificent! No wonder you have so many important customers. Yours must be the best stable in the whole of London!”

  “It is perhaps the best known,” Major Hooper said and again there was a faint undercurrent in his voice, which however escaped Candida’s attention.

  “How long will it be before Pegasus gets here?” she asked. “And where are you going to put him?”

  “There are two or three empty boxes at the far end,” Major Hooper replied, making a gesture with his hand. “In the meantime I must find somewhere for you to live.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Candida said, “but I have no luggage.”

  “I’ve remembered that too,” Major Hooper assured her. “It need not trouble you. I’m going now to see a lady who I know wall be delighted to accommodate you and to provide you with all that is necessary. But first I would like to speak with her alone.”

  “Yes, of course,” Candida agreed.

  “So I am going to leave you in the riding school,” Major Hooper said, walking across the stableyard.

  Candida followed him. There was another arched doorway that she had not noticed at the far end of the yard. It was not as large and impressive as the doorway from the Mews, but, when Major Hooper opened the door and she followed him in, she gave a cry of delight.

  She found herself in a large riding school lit by a glass roof. It had been modelled, although she was not aware of it then, on the Imperial Riding School in Vienna.

  The school had been built, she was to learn very much later, by an elderly Peer who had been besotted by the beauty and the equestrian prowess of his mistress. He liked to see her put his horses through their paces, but, as he preferred to watch her ride, as Lady Godiva had ridden, in the nude, it had been essential that they should have a private place in which she could perform.

  When the Peer had died, Major Hooper had been able to buy the riding school at considerably less than it had cost to erect. The panelled walls were still painted pale blue and in the gallery in which the Peer had sat to watch his naked Venus, the seats were covered in blue brocade. There were mirrors on the walls to reflect the houses and their riders from every angle.

  “What an unexpected place to find in London!” Candida exclaimed.

  “It is useful,” Major Hooper answered, “and you will be able to exercise Pegasus here. As you see, I have erected some high jumps. I have at the moment two or three horses that may be sold for quite considerable sums if I can satisfy their prospective owners that they can stretch out over a high fence.”

  “Pegasus can do that,” Candida said proudly and then she almost bit back the words, realising that Pegasus might be sold if he took the fancy of some rich Nobleman who wanted an unusual mount.

  As if he read her thoughts by her sudden silence and the look of anxiety on her face, Major Hooper said reassuringly,

  “Don’t worry, I’m not considering selling Pegasus as yet.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Candida cried. “Thank you! Thank you! He is the only thing I have left. I can never tell you what I felt today as I rode towards the fair knowing I must lose him.”

  “I can understand,” the Major said kindly. “Now go up to the gallery. If anyone comes here, which is very unlikely since the school is closed, I want you to keep out of sight. You are not to speak to anyone, man or woman. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, of course,” Candida said in some astonishment.

  He watched her climb the staircase that led to the gallery, before he walked out of the riding school. Hearing him close the door firmly behind him, she walked to the end of the gallery and sat down in a corner on one of the brocaded blue seats.

  There was still a glint of sunshine coming through the glass roof and she appraised the jumps one by one, calculating how she would ride Pegasus up to t
hem.

  She was so intent on her thoughts that she gave a start when suddenly she realised that there was someone in the school. She had not heard the door open, but now she saw a lady mounted on a rather frisky chestnut and holding him in check as she bent to speak to the gentleman standing beside her.

  “I will put him over the jumps,” Candida heard the lady say, “and you can judge for yourself.”

  “I am prepared to believe you, Lais, you know that,” the gentleman answered. “It’s just the price that bothers me.”

  Remembering Major Hooper’s instructions not to be seen or to speak to anyone, Candida drew back further into the corner and sank a little lower in the chair she occupied. She realised it was very unlikely that the people down below would see her. She could look down at them, but it was far more difficult for them to look up and see her, small as she was, crouching in the corner.

  She watched them both with interest and curiosity.

  The lady riding the chestnut was lovely. Candida thought that she had never seen anyone so attractive before.

  Not only was her face with its high cheekbones and long dark slanting eyes so arresting but also the shining dark chignon on which was perched a high hat swathed with an emerald green veil that floated out behind as she rode.

  Her riding habit was green too and Candida thought that she had never seen one cut with such close-fitting shoulders or such a tiny pulled-in waist. The emerald velvet skirt of the habit moved when she jumped to display a narrow coquettish boot with a high heel, to which there was strapped a twinkling spur with a sharp point.

  As the chestnut approached the fences, the rider used her silver-handled whip sharply, and Candida knew as she watched that here was one of those women who enjoyed supremacy over a horse and would exert it even to the point of cruelty.

  At the same time there was no doubt that the lady in the emerald green habit could ride – and ride magnificently. Round and round the riding school she went, increasing her pace until finally she was almost galloping between fences and yet somehow lifting her horse over them with such skill that Candida found it difficult not to clap as she drew the animal to a halt with almost unnecessary severity.

  “Bravo! Bravo!” the man watching her cried. “That was well done, Lais. If anyone genuinely deserves the title of a ‘Pretty Horse-Breaker’, it’s you.”

  “I am gratified by your approval, my Lord” Lais replied mockingly. “Well, are you going to buy Kingfisher for me?”

  “You know damn well I am,” the gentleman answered, “although Hooper is asking a hell of a price.”

  “Not really,” Lais replied. “You can lift me down.”

  A groom appeared from the shadows and took the horse’s bridle. Lais put down the reins and held out her arms to the young man, who lifted her from the saddle.

  As he did so Candida gave an audible gasp. The horse’s flank was red with blood and she knew that his rider must have driven in her pointed spur at every jump.

  ‘How could she be so merciless?’ Candida asked herself and thought if anyone treated Pegasus in such a fashion she could not endure it.

  Below, the gentleman, having taken Lais in his arms, did not put her down. The horse was led away and now his arm tightened round the slim elegant body and his lips came down hard on the laughing red mouth.

  “You little witch,” he said. “You inveigle me as usual into spending more money than I intended.”

  “Am I not worth it?” Lais asked.

  “You know you are,” he answered hoarsely.

  “Well, if you are not satisfied, there are others who will be,” she told him coolly and extricating herself from his arms she turned towards the door.

  “Damn you! You know as well as I do,” the gentleman exclaimed, “that I can refuse you nothing, “although the Devil knows what my father will say if I land up in Dun Street.”

  “That’s your business,” Lais said, but her inviting smile somehow softened the harshness of the words. “Now I must go and get dressed for dinner.”

  “You are dining with me?” he said eagerly.

  “I suppose so,” she replied with a provocative glance, “that is if I don’t find a better invitation when I return home.”

  “Curse it, Lais, you cannot treat me like that,” the gentleman expostulated, but now the door of the riding school closed behind them and Candida could hear no more.

  She sat looking down wide-eyed at where they had been. Never had she heard a gentleman speak to a lady with so many swear words in his conversation and now Lais was no longer there to bemuse her with her elegant clothes and fashionable appearance, Candida realised that her voice had not been very cultured.

  ‘Perhaps she is an actress,’ she thought, ‘that would account for her good looks and for her sensational habit.’

  She had hardly noticed the gentleman, but remembering now that he had spoken of his father she thought that he appeared very young. He too had been dressed in the height of fashion, top hat on the side of this head, gold-mounted cane in his hand, pale elegant pantaloons surmounted by a wide skirted coat and a dazzlingly fancy waistcoat.

  It was what Candida guessed gentlemen of the Nobility would be wearing in London, but she had not realised how graceful they could look.

  The conversation between the pair who had now left the school was very puzzling and yet there was no doubt how well Lais, whoever she might be, could ride –

  *

  Only a short distance away from the livery stable, Major Hooper was raising the polished knocker on the door of a porticoed house in one of the quiet streets off Regent’s Park. The door was opened almost immediately by a powdered footman wearing a discreet livery with silver buttons.

  “Evening, James,” Major Hooper said. “Will Mrs. Clinton receive me?”

  “She is alone, sir,” the footman replied.

  “That is what I wanted to know,” the Major replied. “I will show myself up.”

  He ran the stairway two at a time and opened the door of the U-shaped drawing room.

  The room was lit by gas, but the light was soft and seductive and made the woman rising from the fireplace to greet him seem younger and more attractive than her years.

  Cheryl Clinton had been on the stage when she was taken under the protection of a rich and successful businessman. She had progressed from him to a distinguished Nobleman, who in turn had passed her on to several other gentlemen well-known in the Clubs of St. James’s Street.

  It was only when her charms were fading a little that Cheryl Clinton made the decision to go into business for herself. Her first protector had taught her a great deal about money and how to handle it. Subsequent gentlemen on whom she had bestowed her favours had given her an inside knowledge of masculine taste in the frail female.

  She had also learnt of the extreme laziness of the wealthy and the aristocracy when it came to exerting themselves in pursuit of their desires.

  Cheryl Clinton set herself up to introduce gentlemen who could afford it to the type of young woman they wished to know and whom it was far too much trouble to find for themselves.

  Cheryl Clinton had in her youth met Mrs. Porter, whose boast it was that she had introduced Harriet Wilson, then the head of her profession, to the Duke of Wellington.

  She had been shocked later on to hear that Mrs. Porter had fallen on bad times. This was something she had no intention of doing herself. If she made money, she intended to keep it.

  Mrs. Clinton was convinced that it would be easy to make money if one was expensive enough. She had discovered during the course of her life that men would always pay for the best and, if she provided the best, then she would ensure that she obtained the best price.

  Every evening Cheryl Clinton could be found in her charming drawing room in her quiet, well-ordered house in St. John’s Wood. Gentlemen would arrive to call on her. They would sit gossiping on general topics, imbibing a glass or two of champagne. Then, the formalities over, they would come to the point.


  “I know exactly what you want, my Lord,” Mrs. Clinton would smile, “and I have the very girl to suit you. As a matter of fact she is a young married woman and her husband is away from home. You will find her very accommodating.”

  As she spoke, she would touch a little silver bell by her side. James would open the door and a note would be despatched to the house of a pretty young grass widow, who seldom lived far away.

  There would be more champagne and more conversation until the lady in question arrived, when his Lordship would escort her to dinner in one of those restaurants that had discreet supper rooms upstairs.

  Mrs. Cheryl Clinton contrived it all very cleverly. In fact she was by now so well known in the West End of London that practically every introduction of importance was handled by her.

  “Well, Major,” she said as Major Hooper entered the room, “this is a surprise! I was not expecting you this evening.”

  “You must forgive my calling on you just as I am,” Major Hooper said, “but I have been at the horse fair at Potters Bar all day and have had no time to change.”

  “I am convinced that what you have to tell me is important,” Mrs. Clinton said with a smile. “Please sit down. Will you have some champagne?”

  Major Hooper shook his head.

  “No thank you, I must hurry or your attention will be occupied elsewhere. Mrs. Clinton, I have found something unusual and I might almost say unique – a girl who is lovely, unspoilt and inexperienced. She is a really beautiful creature, far more beautiful than any of those who have patronised my stable in the last ten years.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Mrs. Clinton teased him. “Who is this paragon?”

  “She is a lady of breeding,” Major Hooper said bluntly, “with a horse such as every riding man dreams of possessing, an animal that occurs once in a lifetime.”

  “I am not interested in the horse,” Mrs. Clinton countered gently.

  “That I know, but they go together. I promise you that this is a couple such as you have never seen in your life.”