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Ross spoke calmly. 'They built a new stone wall around the churchyard…presumably to keep the old man safely inside.'
Emma giggled, then frowned. 'That wasn't very kind. Where is the church? I haven't seen one.'
'It really belongs to the next village. It's twelfth century, in pretty poor shape structurally, and has a congregation of about six. It shares a vicar with the Boxrey church. That's how these tiny parishes survive these days.'
'I would like to see it,' said Emma. 'Twelfth century? That's very early.'
'Oh, the Normans knew how to build. It's basically solid, but of course it needs repairs, and there's no money available. The church tower fund is always appealing for money. The village holds endless jumble sales, fetes and sponsored events, but the church just eats up money. All these old buildings do. Look at Queen's…' His voice cut off suddenly.
'Queen's Daumaury?' she finished, her voice rising to a question. 'But then its owner can afford to keep it up. can't he?'
'I suppose so,' said Ross distantly.
They walked up Bundle Lane fast. Sheep grazed quietly on either side of them. The larks sang high overhead. The sky was a bright, clear cloudless blue. Through a belt of trees Emma caught sight of a tower, square and grey, with an embattled air. That, she guessed, was the famous church which 'ate' money.
The stables were set back from the road, in a ramshackle house and yard, where a sturdy, fair-haired woman with a square-shaped face and spatulate hands was energetically pitchforking soiled straw from one of the looseboxes into a wooden wagon. She looked round and grinned at them.
'Oh, there you are, Ross! You've chosen a good morning for it.' She looked along the stables and raised her voice. 'Ted! Saddle Juniper and Marcy for me.'
A small, gnarled man darted from the end box and looked at them crossly, then set to work.
'Ted still enjoying the job?' asked Ross.
'He likes the horses,' said the fair woman with amusement. 'But he hates the customers. Hates putting a saddle on…If he had his way, those horses would just eat me out of house and home and never set a hoof out of the yard! He hates to see them work. I have to nag him from dawn to dusk about it. He just can't see that a working horse has to work.'
'He's a good man with horses, though,' said Ross.
'Oh, he knows his job,' she agreed. 'Or I wouldn't keep him.'
'That was why I recommended him,' Ross said. 'He was a first-rate groom, worked in the best stables in the country until he began to drink.'
'He only drinks in the evenings now,' the woman put in. 'If I caught him drinking before six o'clock, I told him, he would have to go. He knows I mean it.'
'Good,' Ross nodded.
Ted led out two horses, one a calm-eyed grey with odd dappling on her flanks and the other a bay with an impatient, nervous manner. Ross took the bay's bridle. 'Juniper for me, obviously. Marcy will be perfect for you, Emma.'
'Ridden before?' asked the fair woman. 'I'm Lucy Todd, by the way, as Ross is obviously never going to introduce us.'
'I'm Emma Leigh and I have ridden before,' she smiled.
Ross gave a crack of laughter. 'She's the sort of creature who may well turn out to be a champion show jumper,' he said. 'She's apparently a talented artist, a first-rate cook, a wonderful children's nurse and a heroine to boot…'
Emma gave him a furious glare. 'Oh, shut up!' She swung herself up into the saddle, gathered up the reins and moved off.
Lucy Todd looked amused and interested. 'A heroine?' she asked Ross.
'She saved my smallest niece from an enraged bull the other day,' he informed her with a broad smile.
'She sounds quite a girl,' commented Lucy Todd, watching Emma's easy, relaxed yet stylish riding. 'Straight back, good hands, good seat…I think I would even trust her on Juniper.'
'Well, I wouldn't,' said Ross firmly. 'I don't even trust myself on Juniper. He's a devil, not a horse.'
'Why do you always choose him, then?' asked Lucy, grinning knowingly at him.
'Because no one, not even a horse, gets the better of me,' Ross explained.
He caught up with Emma, an
