Chapter Thirteen
On the followingmorning, Harry walked round the outside of the house in search of the stables. He discovered them attached to the back of the house, set around a spotlessly clean cobbled quadrangle. To right and left lay the looseboxes with what must be accommodation above for the staff, and storage for fodder, and at the far end a pair of tall doors suggested that beyond them lay the carriage house.
He was not, however, interested in the carriage house. Instead he approached a wide door that stood open on the left side of the quadrangle from which cheerful whistling was emanating. He hadn’t brought his cane with him this morning, as he was intending to ride, and the cobbles were a little hard to walk on.
Inside he found himself at one end of a wide corridor, with a row of loosebox doors to his left. The sound of contented masticating of hay filled the air, as did its sweet aroma, a little diminished due to the accompanying not quite so sweet scent of ammonia. He hadn’t grown up used to the smell of stables but this was not off-putting. Halfway along, one of the doors stood open, and the wooden handles of a barrow poked out into the corridor. This was where the whistling was coming from.
Harry approached and peered inside.
Young Archie Miller was engaged in forking through the straw bedding in search of droppings. For a moment the young man didn’tnotice he was being observed, but then Harry must have caught his eye, for he straightened up in haste and gave a respectful tug to his sandy forelock. “Sir Henry. I’m very sorry, sir, but I didn’t hear you come in.” He bobbed a jerky bow, pitchfork still in hand.
“That’s quite all right,” Harry said. “I rather think I sneaked up on you.”
There was no occupant of the stable other than Archie, so whoever had rendered it this dirty must be out in a field somewhere. None of the other stables held horses.
Archie grinned. He looked an amiable youth, but something about him suggested slowness of wit. “You did that, sir. But now you’re here, is there something you needed?”
“I should like to ride this morning,” Harry said. “But, as you may have noticed, I’m somewhat hindered by my bad leg.” He tapped it in illustration. There was no way he wanted to be given a horse to ride who might prove too much for him. False pride would be a very bad thing whereas unpredictable an animal as a horse was involved. And he didn’t want to go showing himself up in front of Miranda, who no doubt was an excellent horsewoman.
Archie seemed delighted by the request. “Well, there’s Sir Geoffrey’s old hunter. Lochinvar’s his name. He’s out in the paddock behind the stables right now, but I can get him back in for you quick as anything and brush him off. I’ve been riding him out every day since we lost Sir Geoffrey, just to keep him fit, like, and he’s quiet as a lamb, but you’ll find him nicely forward going. He don’t need too much leg.”
Harry nodded. “That sounds an admirable idea.” He hoped.
A few minutes later and Harry was regarding the retrieved Lochinvar with a jaundiced eye while Archie was grooming him. While he was not a complete stranger to riding horses, it had never come naturally to him. He could stay on and get from one place to another if required, but horses, for riding, had not figured greatly in his upbringingand not at all in his more recent life. Lochinvar was at least sixteen and a half hands, and powerfully built. Archie riding him every day would have kept him fit, which might or might not turn out to be a good thing. And Archie’s description of him as “quiet as a lamb” might very much be in the eye of the beholder. The fact that he’d also described him as forward going did nothing to instill confidence.
“Do you have a mounting block?” Harry asked, aware that needing one might be regarded as ignominious.
“We do that,” Archie said, no doubt politely avoiding mentioning mounting blocks were for ladies and old men. Which of course they were.
Harry drew in a breath. He must trust Archie’s description of Lochinvar and take the plunge. “Then in that case I shall take your advice and ride him.”
In a very short space of time Archie was holding a smartly groomed Lochinvar at the mounting block for Harry to get on. At least it was his right leg that was the problem. Had it been the left, he would have had more difficulty mounting. But he was up and astride Lochinvar without any mishap. The horse stood like a rock while he found his other stirrup—more difficult than he’d anticipated as his ankle didn’t like to bend. He gathered up the reins and Archie released his hold on the horse.
Lochinvar didn’t budge.
Yes, he could do this, and it would possibly do his leg some good as it was a different kind of exercise to walking. However, he could already feel the ache in his damaged muscles as his leg had to curve around Lochinvar’s sides. He might well pay for this later on.
Shortening his reins, he lightly touched his leg to the horse’s sides, and Lochinvar, who appeared very well schooled, walked under the arched gateway and out onto the gravel track that led to the front of the house. The horse, being so large, possessed a long stride and covered the ground well. And he was clearly used to being asked to goout on his own. Harry began to feel both more comfortable and more confident.
Once he was through the gates and on the lane, he tried a trot. This was more difficult and he had to slow Lochinvar down again. He probably needed to take things in less of a rush. Very much a case of not running before he could walk, or in this case not trotting and cantering before he could walk. It was, after all, barely three months since he’d been laid up in a hospital bed in Brussels with doctors humming and harring over whether to amputate his leg.
However, Lochinvar was a comfortable ride and it was a bright September day, so he determined to make the most of it. Having a horse to call his own was a new sensation he intended to savor.
A scant twenty minutes later, still in a walk, he rode up the grassy track to Rampton Farm and was confronted with the dilapidated gate. Which he couldn’t open. He leaned down and managed to lift the piece of rope anchoring it shut, but with its hinges not attached at the far end, he couldn’t move it from the back of a horse.
He was going to have to dismount.
Until this point it hadn’t occurred to him to worry about how he was going to manage dismounting and dropping nearly six feet onto his bad leg. Getting on and making progress in a forward direction had been the most important thing. But now he was going to have to swing his bad leg over the saddle, avoid catching it on the cantle, and slide down, letting his weight come down at least partly onto a leg that at the best of times had been known not to want to support him. What if it collapsed under him and he ended up sprawled in the dirt at the entrance to Miranda’s farmyard? In front of a household of dedicated equestriennes, no less. How mortifying would that be?
He glanced in a rather furtive fashion towards the house at the far end of the yard, but none of the dark windows suggested he might have an audience. He was just going to have to take a chance and do it. Putting his reins into his left hand, he leaned forward and swung hisright leg over the saddle, profoundly glad when it didn’t get hooked over the cantle. Then, as gently as he could, he lowered himself to the ground, attempting to support the majority of his weight on his left leg.
It worked. He hadn’t collapsed in an ignominious heap in the dirt. Feeling relieved, he let himself and Lochinvar through the gate, closed it again, and led his horse towards the house, conscious he was limping more than usual.
Wrong place. Voices carried from the barn to his left and Megs came running out, her face wreathed in smiles and with bits of hay in her hair. “Cousin Harry! You came. We weren’t sure you would.” Her gaze fell on Lochinvar. “And you have Papa’s old horse.”
For a moment Harry was struck by the fact that riding her father’s horse might not have been at all tactful. But then he saw she was actually pleased.
She stroked Lochinvar’s long nose. “You have a new rider, Locky. You must look after him as well as you did Papa.” She peeped up at Harry. “He’s an excellent horse but I’m afraid he’s getting quite old nowadays. For a hunter, that is. Papa was very fond of hunting but never allowed us to accompany him. I myself am quite determined that I shall be the first Madeley girl to ride to hounds.”
