Page 36 of The Winter Companion

Miss Hartwright listened, brows drawn and mouth compressed into a frown. “It sounds as if he was the one who deserved a beating. I know it’s not very Christian, but I wish you’d given it to him.”

Neville had been hard pressed not to. “I took his stick. I broke it.”

“I’m glad.”

“He’d been st-starving her to weaken her. To make her…submit. I gave her some oats. It’s how I g-got her here.”

“The poor dear. She must have been exhausted.” Miss Hartwright stepped up to the loose box.

Neville stood next to her, both of them peering inside. Betty looked out at them, one ear twitched forward, listening.

“Here, Betty.” Neville extended his hand.

Betty took a cautious step forward. She stretched her head out, nostrils quivering. Neville brushed his fingers over her muzzle. She flinched, but she didn’t run off. He trailed his fingers down to her whiskery chin and gave her a gentle scratch.

“She likes you,” Miss Hartwright said. “I’m not surprised.”

“She’s learning to trust me.” He paused, adding, “I feed her.”

Miss Hartwright laughed. “Food is a powerful motivator. I know. I’ve been winning Jonesy over with sugared biscuits.”

He gave her an amused glance. She was good with the dogs. And not in the way of some people. She wasn’t merely being polite. He often heard her speaking to Bertie, and to the mastiffs, too. As if they were people. Friends, not dumb animals. “Good morning,” she’d say. “How are you today?”

It was enough to melt Neville’s heart.

“Will you brush her again?” she asked.

“I can try,” he said. “I’ll fetch some grain.”

It took him but a moment to make up a bucket of warm mash. He carried it to the loose box and unlatched the door.

Miss Hartwright stood back. “Shall I—?”

“Wait here. It’s…safer.”

“Very well.”

He stepped inside the box, shutting the door behind him. Betty immediately showed him her haunches. It was a warning that she’d kick him if he came too close.

Neville clucked to her softly. “Easy, Betty.” The handle of the bucket jingled, a recognizable sound to the Abbey’s horses.

Betty’s swollen sides expanded on a deeply indrawn breath.

“Here, girl.” He approached on her left. When Betty moved her haunches, he rested a hand on her rump, letting her know he was there. She gave an anxious hop, one of her back hooves lifting in unmistakable threat.

Neville didn’t let it deter him. He simply continued around her, touching her side, and then her shoulder as he went. Gentle, reassuring touches that told her she was safe. That she had nothing to fear from him.

All the while, Miss Hartwright remained at the door, silent. He suspected she was holding her breath. A wild pony was less dangerous than a wild horse, but a well-placed kick from one could still do significant damage.

“Easy, Betty,” Neville murmured again. “You’re all right.” He stopped at her shoulder. It was up to her now. If she wanted the mash, she’d have to turn her head to take it.

He’d been through this with her every day since she arrived. She knew what she must do, and as each day passed, she became a little more willing to do it.

Today was no different.

After several minutes of cringing away from him, she finally worked up the courage to face him. A few limping steps, and another flare of her nostrils, and then she was lipping the rim of the bucket.

Neville clipped it to a metal hook on the wall. Betty thrust her head inside to eat her mash.