Page 12 of The Defiant Governess
The boy smiled broadly.
“And you know what horses like even more than apples?” she added in a low voice. “Carrots and lumps of sugar.”
“Do you think we could get some from Cook for tomorrow?” asked Peter, his eyes shining.
“I think that can be arranged. But now I think we had best get back before we are late for supper.”
That nightafter she had read to Peter from King Arthur’s knightly tales and put out his candle for the night, Jane went downstairs to where Mrs. Fairchild was knitting in the drawing room. She sat down and began to roll some of the loose skeins of wool in the work basket into neat balls.
Mrs. Fairchild looked up from her work with a smile. “Why thank you, Miss Jane.” She, like all the rest of the servants, had copied Peter in calling her that. “It fits,” Cook had announced with her characteristic forthrightness. “Miss Langley is much too stiff-necked for a nice, unpretentious lass like you.”
Jane returned the housekeeper’s smile. “I was wondering about something Peter said this afternoon,” she began. “He told me that both his mother and father were killed by horses. I don’t mean to pry in family history, but do you know what happened?”
Mrs., Fairchild’s needles stopped clicking in mid stitch. When she looked up, her face was pinched and drained of color.
“It was a terrible thing, it was.” Her voice was low, almost a whisper. “The two of them were so gay, so lively. Henry warned them not to ride over the West bridge that afternoon because the timbers had been loosened by a fierce storm. But apparently they didn’t heed him. They started racing each other. He tried to call to them—they reached the bridge together, urging their horses on. They were neck and neck in the middle of it when it gave way. The river was surging from all the rain …. Their bodies weren’t found for two days. Their feet were still tangled in the stirrups.”
She shook her head repeatedly as if she could banish the whole incident. “And Mister Edward’s reaction … I-I still find it impossible to speak of it. After all the other pain the family has had to endure ….”
Jane lowered her eyes. She wished she could probe further and ask just what relation Peter’s mother was to the elusive marquess, just what other “pain” it was Mrs. Fairchild spoke of. But she sensed the older woman could not be pressed any more.
“I’m sorry to have brought back such terrible memories,”
“You didn’t know,” replied Mrs. Fairchild. She continued her knitting, but after several exclamations of dismay at dropping a stitch, she placed the whole thing in her basket. “Forgive me if I retire early tonight. I find I am quite fatigued.”
She looked tired, thought Jane as the other woman hurried from the room. Tired—and sad, perhaps. Most of the time she was so open and warm, yet other times Jane sensed there was a shadow over her and this house.
Jane shook her head as she returned to her own bedchamber and picked up the book she was currently reading. She would keep trying to figure it out.
The next day,after lessons, Peter asked if they might get carrots and sugar from the kitchen and visit the stables again. Jane quickly agreed, glad to see the boy had lost none of his enthusiasm from the previous day. Indeed, when they spotted the mare—in much the same place as before—Peter let go of her hand and ran to the fence all by himself. Climbing to the top rail, he patted the horse’s nose with confidence while feeding it the treats.
“Oh look, Miss Jane,” he called as she approached. “She has eaten a whole carrot in one bite!”
“I told you,” replied Jane. “I see we shall have to bring more on our next visit.”
Peter was happily scratching at the horse’s ears while it snuffled at his jacket. He grinned. “I think she smells the sugar in my pocket.”
“Clever animal!”
Jane watched as the boy became engrossed in letting the animal gently mouth the lumps of sugar from his hand. All fear and wariness had disappeared and she saw only the buoyant enthusiasm that she felt an eight-year-old should have. She let him manage by himself for a few more minutes then went and leaned on the fence next to him, basking in the innocent delight radiating from his face.
“All gone,” he announced to the horse, holding up both hands for inspection. “I’ll bring more tomorrow.” He turned to Jane. “Can we, please?”
“Of course.” She gazed out past the paddock towards the copse of oak and pastures beyond. “You know, when I was little we had … horses around and I used to love to ride through the fields and woods. There must be any number of wonderful things to explore around Highwood. Would you like to do that?”
Some of the light went out of Peter’s face. “I can’t ride,” he answered, looking crestfallen, his hands clenched on the top rail. “I’m afraid.”
“Yes—and yesterday you couldn’t feed a horse.”
She saw that he was mulling over her words and when he looked at her there was a touch of hope in his eyes.
“That you can’t ride is not because you’re afraid, but because someone didn’t teach you properly,” she continued. “We’re all afraid when we start—after all, they are such big creatures. But we get over it and then it is great fun, I assure you. Just like feeding this mare.”
Peter hesitated. “Uncle Edward would be very pleased.”
She had been wrong on one thing, she noted. The boy didn’t dislike his guardian. He was in awe of him and craved his regard. Again she felt a surge of dislike towards the man. Well, whether it made any difference to him or not, she was determined to help Peter overcome his fear.
“Yes, I’m sure he would, but even more importantly, you would like it. Do you want me to teach you?”
