The Pretty Horse-Breakers Page 8

  “I’ve already told you that some women are like that,” Major Hooper said briefly. “It is a pity because Firefly is a decent horse and well broken. The spur is hardly necessary.”

  “It wasn’t quite so bad the last time,” the Head Groom interposed.

  “No,” Major Hooper agreed. “And this will knock something off the price. I shall charge for two weeks’ veterinary treatment. That will teach her a lesson if nothing else does.”

  “That’s the way, sir,” the groom smiled. “Touch their pockets, it’s the only thing they understands.”

  “Well, I am thankful she has sent Firefly back,” Candida exclaimed. “Next time do please find him a kind owner, someone who will not treat a fine horse in such a fashion.”

  She did not see the glance that was exchanged between Major Hooper and his groom. She only knew as she walked away from the stall that she hated this dark attractive woman, who could treat any animal as she had treated the horse who had responded without a fault to all she had asked of him.

  Firefly’s flank was healed now, Major Hooper noted as Lord Manville entered the stall and the groom pulled off the saddlecloth.

  “Would you like to see him outside, my Lord?” the Major asked.

  “It’s not necessary,” Lord Manville replied. “If you assure me that he is sound in the wind and well-schooled, I will believe you.”

  “I have never sold you a dud one yet, have I, my Lord?” Major Hooper asked cheerfully.

  “You had better not try,” Lord Manville smiled. “Well, have him taken round to my stables. What are you asking for him?”

  “Only two hundred and fifty guineas, my Lord.”

  “That is fifty guineas too much, as well you know, Hooper,” Lord Manville retorted. “I will split the difference with you, I am not going to argue.”

  “Very good, my Lord. As a valued customer I’m only too pleased to meet you.”

  “So you should be,” Lord Manville said.

  He turned as if he was about to go and then said with a different note in his voice,

  “What about that animal you had in the Park this morning?”

  The two men moved from the stable into the yard.

  “As I told you, my Lord, he is not for sale.”

  “What is the plot, Hooper?” Lord Manville enquired.

  “No plot, my Lord, it’s only that they go together, they are inseparable as you might say, the rider and the horse.”

  “And I pay a fancy price for the introduction I suppose?” Lord Manville said. “Well, Hooper, I am not interested – not at the moment.”

  “No question of waiting, my Lord,” Major Hooper said, “there have already been a large number of enquiries, as you can imagine.”

  Lord Manville glanced up at him speculatively.

  “And you are waiting for someone like me to come along?” he asked quietly.

  “That is the idea, my Lord,” Major Hooper agreed.

  “Damn you, I will not be manoeuvred!” Lord Manville exclaimed. “I expect the price is too high anyway.”

  “You might think so, my Lord,” Major Hooper agreed, “but there are others who will not.”

  “Are you prepared to tell me what it is?” Lord Manville demanded.

  Major Hooper looked up at the stable clock.

  “It’s nearly half-past-six, my Lord. The riding school will be closed, and if you will go into the gallery I would like you to see something.”

  For a moment Lord Manville looked as though he would refuse, then unaccountably he laughed.

  “Very well, Hooper,” he said, “I will go along with your mystery and your new tactics. They are amusing if nothing else. But I have an engagement for dinner, so don’t keep me waiting more than ten minutes.”

  “I will not, my Lord,” Major Hooper promised.

  Trying to appear more languid and bored than he was in actual fact, Lord Manville let himself into the riding school and climbed up into the gallery.

  He seated himself in the centre on the chair that had been originally arranged for its builder. There was a smell of horseflesh and hay mingled with the dust of ages and the scent from many female riders had somehow become impregnated into the air.

  The sun was sinking and there was a golden glow over the school from its skylight, which gave it an air of mystery, as after only six minutes’ wait through the door at the far end came Candida riding Pegasus.

  She was wearing her dark working habit with only a crisp white blouse beneath it. She had no hat so that the sunlight caught the gleams of gold in her hair and seemed to halo her tiny pointed face.

  “I want you to put him over the jumps,” Lord Manville heard Major Hooper say. “I’ve heightened them a little.”

  “Yes, of course,” Candida replied. “It will do him good after all that polite trit-trotting in the Park today.”

  Her voice had an unexpected musical quality about it, Lord Manville decided and he thought he had never seen such an expressive little face as, with her eyes alight and her lips smiling, she took Pegasus over the fences.

  Round and round she went, increasing her speed a little, but never pushing the horse too hard. Her timing was perfect, it would have been impossible to fault her performance.

  “That’s enough!” Lord Manville heard Major Hooper say, “If you wait for me in the office, I will take you home.”

  “All right, I will wait,” Candida promised, “although I would be quite safe walking back myself.”

  She smiled at him as she rode Pegasus out of the stable and the doors closed behind her.

  Major Hooper stood waiting as Lord Manville came down from the gallery.

  The eyes of the two men met.

  “All right, Hooper, you win,” Lord Manville said. “How much for the horse – and the introduction?”

  Chapter Five

  Candida knew as soon as she entered the stableyard that something was wrong.

  It was not only the fact that Major Hooper greeted her curtly and did not look at her but she also saw the stable boys and the grooms clustered together and then starting apart when she walked towards them.

  Something had occurred, what was it?

  She ran after Major Hooper and caught up with him before he reached his own horse, which the grooms were bringing from his stall.

  “What has happened?” she asked with anxiety in her voice.

  He turned to look at her, but the words in which he would have answered her seemed somehow to die on his lips.

  “I know what it is,” Candida whispered almost beneath her breath. “You have sold Pegasus!”

  There was no need for him to confirm her suspicion, she could read it in the expression on his face.

  “How could you?” she asked piteously. “How could you have done such a thing after you promised me that you would not sell him?”

  “I promised you when we first met that I would not sell Pegasus at once,” Major Hooper replied. “You have had him for three weeks.”

  “Three weeks! What does three weeks count when he is everything I have, everything I love?” Candida cried.

  There was agony in her voice and tears in her eyes.

  Major Hooper looked away.

  “It is not as bad as it seems,” he said. “You go with him.”

  “With him?” Candida queried. “But how? What do I do and in what capacity?”

  “Mrs. Clinton will explain everything to you,” Major Hooper said shortly and, walking away from her, he swung himself into the saddle.

  He was clearly evading her and Candida knew that it would be useless to question him further. There was a reserve about him, something she had noticed before, which often made it impossible for her to obtain answers to her questions.

  She looked round, half expecting to find Pegasus to have gone already. But the Head Groom was leading him towards the mounting-block. She stepped onto it and then into the saddle.

  “I’m really sorry about it, miss,” the Head Groom said in a low voice, whic
h Candida knew was not meant to be overheard by Major Hooper. “But he couldn’t go to a better owner.”

  Candida wanted to answer him, but she was fighting back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Already Major Hooper and three grooms on other horses were moving out of the yard and there was nothing for her to do but follow them.

  They cantered round Regent’s Park in silence. All the time Candida was suffering the same agony she had endured that day when she had ridden on Pegasus to the horse fair at Potters Bar.

  She tried to console herself by remembering that Major Hooper had said that she would go with Pegasus to his new owner, but for how long might that be?

  She was suddenly afraid of what lay ahead, afraid not only for herself but for Pegasus. Supposing he was ridden by someone who used a severe spur on him? Supposing he was exploited because he was so gentle and so obedient? Suppose his owner, whoever he might be, was cruel and drove him beyond endurance?

  “I would rather see him dead,” Candida whispered to herself.

  They rode back from the Park towards the stables. When they passed the road in which Mrs. Clinton lived, the Major sent the grooms ahead.

  “I will leave you at the door,” he said to Candida.

  She knew it was because he did not want to talk to her, did not wish to endure her questioning.

  “I would rather work at the riding school,” she said, “and I want to take Pegasus over the jumps.”

  Major Hooper did not answer, and Candida burst out,

  “Please, please let me! Can you not understand that it might be for the last time?”

  The Major gave in reluctantly and, seeing the acceptance in his face, she turned and trotted ahead of him down the Mews leading to the stableyard.

  One of the grooms opened the door of the riding school. Then she put Pegasus at the jumps, feeling him flying over them like a bird, up and over, up and over, again and again, until finally he was sweating as she drew him to a standstill.

  She saw then that Major Hooper was watching her. She slipped from the saddle and a groom took Pegasus away to rub him down.

  “Thank you,” Candida said.

  “Listen, Candida,” Major Hooper said, and his voice was deep. “I know you think I have betrayed you, but there was nothing else I could do.”

  “Why can I not stay here with you?” Candida asked. “I have been so happy these last weeks. You said that I worked well! Why can I not go on working for you?”

  “It’s impossible,” he answered. “It could not go on for ever.”

  “Why not?” Candida pleaded.

  He walked away from her and she knew he would not answer her question. Then he turned back again.

  “Let me give you a word of advice,” he said. “Don’t fight against life – go with it. You are too young, too vulnerable for this, but what is the alternative? As far as I can see there is none. Learn to accept things as they come, try to adjust yourself, try not to struggle. You’ll only be more hurt in the process.”

  Understanding nothing of what he was trying to say, she could only look up at him, her eyes swimming with unshed tears.

  “You have been very kind to me,” she said, “but you don’t understand what it is like to feel utterly alone, to know that the only one you love – the only one that matters to you – is being taken away.”

  Major Hooper shook his head and, as if he could bear no more, he walked abruptly from the riding school out into the yard.

  “You’d best go back to the house,” he said over his shoulder.

  Candida wanted to run after him to say goodbye and thank him for letting her ride his horses, but she knew that she could not say it. She no longer felt bitter against him, for she knew that he had in his own way, however strange it might be, been honest with her.

  She believed him when he said there was nothing else he could have done and, although she could not understand what had happened, she could not hate him.

  Slowly, looking utterly dejected, she went from the stable and down the Mews.

  She did not hear the Head Groom say to Major Hooper,

  “I knew she’d take it ’ard, sir. She loves that ’orse!”

  “He will be in good hands,” Major Hooper said automatically and then replied, “don’t look at me like that, man! Don’t you know that I feel as though I’ve committed a murder?”

  He walked away and dressed down a stable hand for some minor offence in such a furious manner that the boy was white and shaking when he had finished with him. Then he went into his office and slammed the door.

  *

  Candida reached Mrs. Clinton’s house and went upstairs. She went to her room, took off her habit, washed and put on one of the simple but fashionable morning gowns that Mrs. Clinton had bought her during the first week of her arrival.

  It was very quiet and still. No one was allowed to make a noise in the house first thing in the morning because its Mistress slept late. Candida had soon learnt that, owing to the amount of champagne Mrs. Clinton habitually consumed during the evening, she was usually heavy-eyed and irritable until lunchtime. So when possible, she contrived to keep out of sight.

  Taking off her slippers, she crept downstairs in her stockinged feet to the dining room, where breakfast was waiting. She thought if she ate anything she would be sick, but she sipped a cup of weak tea and sat trying to visualise what lay ahead for Pegasus and herself.

  She was surprised when the door opened a little while later and Mrs. Clinton, fully dressed in her bonnet and shawl, came into the room. She was obviously in a very good humour.

  “Good morning, Candida, my dear,” she said. “Did you have a good ride? It must have been nice in the Park.”

  Candida twisted her fingers together.

  “Major Hooper told me that you would tell me about Pegasus – being sold,” she said in a voice that trembled.

  “Of course I’m going to tell you about it,” Mrs. Clinton replied. “You’re a very lucky girl, very lucky indeed.”

  Candida said nothing. She only waited, her face very pale.

  Mrs. Clinton tried to smile.

  “Don’t look so tragic, child. You are going to be pleased, very pleased, when I tell you what has been planned for you.”

  “Major Hooper promised me that he would not sell Pegasus,” Candida said in a low voice.

  “Don’t be so ridiculous!” Mrs. Clinton said sharply. “You cannot go on working at a livery stable for the rest of your days. I did not dress you and make you the sensation of London for that.”

  “If only they had not seen Pegasus yesterday,” Candida murmured. “If only we had not gone into the Park! That led to someone wanting to buy him, did it not?”

  “Of course it did,” Mrs. Clinton agreed, “and the fact that you were riding him. You made a magnificent pair, all London is talking about you.”

  Candida made a little gesture with her hand.

  “I don’t want to hear about it,” she said, “I only want to know what is happening to us, Pegasus and me.”

  “Then I will tell you,” Mrs. Clinton said.

  She looked away as she spoke and Candida had the idea that she was choosing her words carefully. She was right about this, in fact Mrs. Clinton had been cogitating as she dressed what she should say.

  Candida was ridiculously innocent and it was almost impossible to cope with a girl who never thought of herself but only of the horse she loved.

  It was not surprising that Mrs. Clinton was in a good mood. It had been a moment of supreme triumph in her life when the previous evening John had come upstairs to tell her that Lord Manville had called.

  This was what she had been waiting for, this was what she had planned and it seemed almost incredible that what she schemed so cleverly with Major Hooper should work out exactly as she had intended it to do.

  “Show him up, John,” she had said, trying to repress the note of triumph in her voice.

  She was standing in front of the mantelpiece in the drawing room
when Lord Manville entered. She had seen him often enough, but she had not realised until now how tall he was, how devastatingly handsome, how square his shoulders.

  ‘No wonder,’ she had thought, ‘he is known as ‘the heartbreaker’. It would be a very strange woman indeed who did not fall in love with him.’

  She realised as he came into the room that he had come to call on her only because he was compelled to do so. He had deliberately restrained from knowing her in the past and she knew that now the fish was hooked she must play him carefully.

  “Good evening, my Lord,” she smiled, dropping him a curtsey. “This is a great honour. I have hoped for a long time that we should meet.”

  “I have heard about you, Mrs. Clinton,” Lord Manville said and his voice was cold, “but I have had no need of your services until now. Major Hooper, however, has persuaded me that only you can contrive the introduction that is necessary in this instance.”

  “Major Hooper was speaking the truth,” Mrs. Clinton said. “Will you not sit down, my Lord, and have a glass of champagne?”

  “I thank you, no,” Lord Manville replied decisively. “This is a business matter, Mrs. Clinton, and one I would wish concluded with all possible speed.”

  “Very well, my Lord. What you need from me is the introduction to Miss Candida Walcott.”

  “That is correct,” Lord Manville agreed. “I have already given Major Hooper my note of hand for two thousand guineas. An exorbitant sum, but the horse is an exceptionally fine animal.”

  “You will also find his rider exceptional,” Mrs. Clinton said softly.

  “I hope I will,” Lord Manville said, “I hope so indeed. I understand there are other moneys you require in payment for clothes.”

  “Yes indeed, my Lord,” Mrs. Clinton replied. “The girl came to me without – ”

  Lord Manville put up his hand.

  “Spare me the details, I am not interested in the history of the young lady,” he said sharply. “All I require to know from you is what money you require and whether the person in question can be ready the day after tomorrow to proceed to Manville Park.”