Philippa Gregory - The Favoured Child

It was a long way to Havering Hall, even going cross-country and splashing through the Fenny at the boundary of the two estates. When we arrived at the stables, breathless and sweating from our run, Lord Havering was looking over his horses before going to his supper.

‘Good Lord,’ he said in his rich voice, warm as port, thick as cigar smoke. ‘Look what the wind has blown our way, Dench.’

The Havering chief groom looked over the half-door of the loose box and smiled to see us. ‘Come to see the new mare?’ he asked Richard softly in his Sussex drawl.

‘Yes, if I may,’ Richard said, beaming. You would have thought him a boy utterly incapable of disobedience. ‘Mama told me of her at dinner, Lord Havering, and I am ashamed to say I could not wait until tomorrow.’

My grandpapa chuckled indulgently at his favourite, Richard. ‘Bring her out,’ he said to Dench and bent down to me. ‘And you? Little Miss Julia? Came in Richard’s shadow as usual, did you?’

I blushed and said nothing. I lacked Richard’s ease with adults. I wanted to explain that I too had come because I wanted to see the horse. I had wanted the hard steady run from one side of the estate to the other. And I wanted to tell my grandpapa that Richard was not to be blamed for my coming. But not one of these things did I say. I just shuffled my feet and looked silly, and kept my eyes down.

Dench brought the mare clattering on the cobbles out of her stable at the end of the row. She was a lovely animal, a rich russet chestnut with a mane and tail of a darker shade of unpolished copper. She had a white blaze down her nose and deep brown eyes. Dench had a firm hand on her head collar, but she stood gently beside him and looked at us.

Her eyes, as warm as melted chocolate, seemed to invite me to her side and, without waiting for Richard to approach her, I went straight past my grandfather, straight past Richard, and put my hand up to her.

She whickered softly as I came close and bent her head to nuzzle at my pocket. I had nothing for her, but Dench slipped me a handful of oats out of his own capacious breeches. Her lips on my flattened hand were discriminating, gentle, as if she were taking care not to nip my thin fingers. I reached up a shy hand and rubbed her behind the ears, where mares nuzzle their foals. She blew out of her nostrils at my touch and sniffed at the front of my dress. Without thinking what I was doing, I dropped my face down and sniffed rapturously at her damp oat-smelling breath, and blew gently back. It was love at first sight for me.

‘Make haste, Richard, or you’ll lose your horse,’ said Grandpapa, who had been watching me with appreciation. ‘Your cousin is there before you. You seem to have the Lacey magic with horses, m’dear,’ he said genially. ‘Your Aunt Beatrice could charm a horse out of the field, and your papa was a grand rider too. And your grandpapa and I had some rides together which I still have nightmares about! Laceys have always been horse-mad.’

I stepped back and let Richard get to his horse. ‘What’s she called?’ I asked, finding my voice for once.

‘Scheherazade,’ my grandpapa said in tones of deep disgust. ‘I call her Sally.’

‘Scheherazade,’ I whispered to myself. ? princess from the Arabian Nights.’

‘She may have a touch of Arab in her,’ my grandpapa said, mishearing my awed murmur. ‘Good hunting stock, though. I chose her myself from poor old Tiley’s sale. His daughter used to ride her, so she’s used to novices. She’s used to a lady’s saddle too!’ he said as the thought struck him. ‘No reason why I should not teach you to ride at the same time as Richard, m’dear.’

‘Julia doesn’t have a habit,’ Richard said firmly. He was trying to offer Scheherazade a couple of green apples he had picked from the Wideacre orchard, holding them outstretched at the full length of his arm. Not close to the horse at all. ‘Julia’s mama would not let her ride without a habit.’

‘No,’ said my grandpapa. ‘Pity. Still, I expect we can find one for you if you’d like to try, missy.’

Richard shot me a look. Just one look.

‘No,’ I said regretfully. ‘No, thank you, Grandpapa.’

I said nothing more. I had no quick excuse or explanation. But my grandpapa did not question my refusal. He raised a disdainful eyebrow at my rejection of his offer and went towards Richard, and Richard’s lovely horse, and held her head while Dench gave Richard a leg-up on to her back.

‘How’s that?’ Grandpapa shouted, and led Richard around the stable yard, Richard clinging tightly to the copper mane, Scheherazade mincing over the cobbles.

‘Wonderful!’ Richard said, but his face was white.

We would have stayed for Richard’s first lesson, but my grandpapa caught sight of the stable clock on Richard’s second circuit of the yard.

‘Your mama will be after me,’ he said ruefully. ‘Dench, get out the little trap and take these two home. They shouldn’t have come without permission in the first place. If they’re out after dark, Celia will have me skinned alive.’

Dench pulled Richard down without ceremony and took Scheherazade back to the stable. I trailed along behind, unwilling to see her go, and wanting to see her stable and smell the straw and the sweet grassy scent of hay.

‘When will you learn then, Miss Julia?’ Dench asked me, his brown eyes bright with curiosity. He had seen my face when she fed from my hand, he had seen how she dipped her head for my caress.

‘When Richard has learned,’ I said certainly. I knew Richard would claim the lovely Scheherazade as his own, and I longed to see him ride her. But I knew also that if I did not challenge him and awaited my turn, there would be no one in the world more generous and thoughtful than Richard. We always shared our playthings, and if I was quick to return them and always gave Richard first turn, then we never quarrelled. He would give me unending rides on Scheherazade providing we both knew that she was his horse.

Dench nodded and flung long reins and a bridle over the carriage horse in the stall next door. ‘Master Richard first, eh?’ he said, shooting a look at me. ‘And you don’t mind, Miss Julia?’

‘Oh, no!’ I said, and the smile I gave him was as clear as my thoughts. ‘I want to see Richard ride. I have been looking forward to it for months.’

Dench said something under his breath, perhaps to the horse, and then led her out of the stable and backed her into the shafts of the trap in the carriage-house. Richard and I sat either side of him on the little bench seat and my grandpapa waved his cigar in farewell.

‘See you tomorrow,’ he said jovially. ‘And mind you make your apologies to your mama!’

We did not have to confess. Mama had guessed at once where we had gone and was sitting down to her supper in solitary splendour when the trap came trotting up to the garden gate in the dusk. Before her was a plate of toast and a little jar of potted meat, and she did not look up from buttering her toast when we crept into the dining-room. ‘Your supper is in the kitchen,’ she said, her voice cool. ‘Children who run off like stable lads should eat in the kitchen.’

There was nothing we could say. I curtsied low – a placatory gesture – and backed out of the room in silence. But Richard stepped forward and laid a single red rose, openly thieved from the Havering garden, beside her plate.

Her face softened at once. ‘Oh, Richard!’ she said lovingly. ‘You are so naughty! Now go and eat your suppers and have your baths and go to bed or there will be no riding for you tomorrow, new horse or not!’

And then I let out a sigh of relief for I knew we were forgiven, I could sleep sound in my bed that night, since the two people I loved most dearly in the whole of the unsafe uncertain world were under the same roof as I, and neither of them was angry with me.