Page 41 of Libby's London Merchant
She would leave him alone to think about what she had said. Libby walked toward the pasture that bordered upon the squire’s land, her mind on her father. She remembered one night years ago with Papa, teasing the campfire coals with a stick and listening as he consoled one of his sergeants, the sole survivor of a sudden raid on his file by the French. “Let it alone, lad,” Major Thomas Ames had said. “You survived and it’s not your fault. Let it alone.”
Funny how his words should come back so clearly. And now I understand them, she thought. Libby looked behind her at the candy merchant, who still sat on the rock, his head bowed. Maybe things will be easier for him.
She was distracted from thoughts of her father by a whinny at the edge of the oak grove that marked the outer reach of the Ames land. Libby looked toward the sound, knowing that Joseph and Tunley, the groom, seldom exercised the horses so close to Squire Cook’s land. The Ames stallions had been known to jump the fence, which had caused all manner of ill until Uncle Ames had thrown up his hands in disgust and ordered the area beyond the pale of his own horses. “Though I do not suppose Squire Stiff-in-the-Rump should object so loudly to free servicing,” he had complained once before his sister-in-law, her face scarlet, could hush him up in front of his daughter Lydia and niece.
Libby smiled at the memory of her mama, more genteel than the genteel, and her plainspoken brother-in-law. She waved to Joseph again and cupped her hands around her mouth.
“Joe, you know you should not be so close to Squire Cook’s land. Uncle will not be pleased.”
She watched as Joseph shrugged his shoulders elaborately so she could see the motion from a distance, and then stood behind the horse to the side. Libby frowned. She shaded her eyes with her hand this time and stood still as her brother petted the panting, heaving animal.
That can’t be one of Uncle Ames’s horses, she thought. She started walking again, faster this time, until she was running toward her brother and the horse.
She arrived, full of questions, to watch, wide-eyed, as the animal strained, grunted, and gave birth to a colt. Libby clapped her hands in delight as the dark wet creature no larger than a dog, but with long, long legs, lay still a moment, sneezed, and began to struggle to its feet.
“Joseph,” she exclaimed, her voice softer now. “Oh, won’t Uncle Ames be so pleased. What a beautiful sight!” Libby reached out and touched the colt, laughing as its wet body twitched and it turned to nose her hand.
Joseph smiled and stroked the mare. The horse whinnied softly to him as he pulled his shirt off and began to wipe down the colt.
‘“Mama would have a screaming fit if she saw you doing that, Joe,” Libby warned, “even if it isn’t your best shirt.”
“Mama is in Brighton,” Joseph replied, his eyes full of the colt, which rested under his brisk application of the shirt. “And I do not think Aunt Crabtree will look up from her cards long enough to see what I am about. If you don’t tell her,” he added, and then sat back. “And besides, Libby, this isn’t Uncle Ames’s mare.”
Libby sucked in her breath, all pleasure gone from the sight of the animal that even now struggled upright, wobbled, and fell over in the grass. “Joseph, you don’t mean . . .”
He sighed and nodded. “Squire Cook’s,” he said, and wadded up his shirt, tossing it from hand to hand.
“Joseph! Sometimes I wonder what possesses you,” she said, and then stood back as the mare nudged at the colt in the grass.
Joseph did not answer for a moment. He watched as the colt slowly rose again, wobbled forward toward its mother, and began to suckle. “I do not understand how they always seem to know what to do, Libby,” he said.
Libby took her brother by the shoulder and shook him. “Don’t you dare change the subject, Joseph.”
He looked at her, his eyes mild, and she knew there was no sense in arguing with him. “Libby, don’t be a goose,” he said. “She followed me.”
Libby sat down suddenly and drew her knees up to her chin. “Rather like Mary and her little lamb, I suppose you will tell me,” she grumbled.
Joseph laughed. “Exactly so! There is a weak spot in the fence and she must have come through.”
Libby flopped back on the grass and contemplated the clouds overhead while she counted to ten. “I suppose you could not have convinced her of the error of her ways and led her back?”
“Silly,” Joseph said. He sat down beside her. “Libby, I did lead her back, honestly, but do you know, the squire’s groom is drunk.” He looked over at the mare and colt again, each absorbed in the other. “I did not think it safe.” He was silent another moment. “Do you think Squire Cook will be angry?”
They were both silent. What would be the use of a full-strength scold, Libby asked herself as she regarded her brother. As simple as Joseph is at times, I know he is right on this occasion. Libby sat up and absently tugged at the grass, strewing it across her skirt. She thought of the squire’s angry face as he had sat fidgeting in her sitting room only a week ago, stirring his tea into a maelstrom and glowering at her.
“Well, perhaps when he sees the outcome, he will give us a chance to explain,” she said, her voice hesitant. If he doesn’t lock us up as public nuisances, she thought, unwilling to speak her fears out loud.
Joseph nodded and got to his feet “I am sure you are right,” he said, “and look, here he comes now. I suppose we will have our opportunity.”
Startled, she turned around, stared, and gulped, wondering why her hands felt so wet all of a sudden and her throat so dry.
The squire raced toward them at a gallop, liberally working his riding crop on his beast, hunched low over its neck, shouting something that they could not hear. Joseph smiled and waved to him, motioning him closer.
“No, Joseph, don’t,” she said, her voice urgent as she tugged on his arm. “I do not think he is pleased at all.”
She gasped as the squire came to a sudden stop in front of her brother that sent his horse back onto its haunches.
The squire quirted the animal upright again and rose in his stirrups. “Get away from my animal, you looby,” he shouted to Joseph.
