Meridon

21

I woke at dawn, circus-hours, gypsy-hours: and I said into the grey pale light of the room, ‘Dandy? are you awake?’ and then I heard my voice groan as if I were mortally injured as I remembered that she would not answer me, that I would never hear her voice again.

The pain in my heart was so intense that I doubled up, lying in bed as if I had the hunger-cramps. ‘Oh Dandy,’ I said.

Saying her name made it worse, infinitely worse. I threw back the covers and got out of bed as if I were fleeing from my love for her, and from my loss. I had sworn I would not cry again as long as I lived, and the ache in my belly was too great for tears. My grief was like a sickly growth inside me. I believed that I could die of it.

I went to the window; it would be a fine day today. Before me was the prospect of another day of gentle lessons from Mr Fortescue, and a sedate ride with Will. Both of them watching me, both of them seeking to control me so that I would not threaten this cosy little life they had made here in this warm green hollow of the hills. Both of them wanting me to be the squire my mama had promised I should be – the one to hand back the land to the people. I grimaced like the ugly little vagrant I was. They would be lucky, they would be damnably lucky if I did not turn this place upside down in a year. You do not send a baby out into the world with a dying foster mother and a drunken stepfather and expect her to come home a benefactoress to the poor. I had seen greedy rich people and wondered at them. But I never questioned hunger.

Robert Gower was hungry for land and for wealth because he had felt the coldness of poverty. I was a friendless orphan with nothing left to me but my land. It was hardly likely I would give it away because the mother I had never known had once thought it a good idea.

It was early, perhaps about five of the clock. They kept Quality hours in this household, not even the servants rose till six. I went to the chest for my clothes and put on my old breeches and my shirt and swept my tangled red hair under Robert’s dirty old cap. I took my boots in my hand, and in my stockinged feet I crept out of my room and down the stairs and across the floor to the front door. I had expected there to be a heavy bolt and chains but as on the day I arrived, the door handle yielded to my touch. They did not lock their doors on Wideacre. I shrugged; that was their business, not mine. But I thought of the rugs and the paintings on the walls and the silver on the sideboard and thought they should be grateful that some friends of Da had never got to hear of it.

Out on the terrace I paused and pulled on my boots. The air was as sweet as white wine, clear and clean as water. The sky was brightening fast, the sun was coming up. It was going to be a hot day. If I had been travelling today we would have started now, or even earlier, and gone as far as we could before noon. Then we would have found a shady atchin-tan to camp and hobbled the horses and cooked some food. Then she and I would have idled off into the woods, looking for a river to swim or paddle, looking for game or for fruit or for a pond to fish. Always restless, always idle, we would not get home until the sun started to cool and then we would cook and eat again, and maybe – if we had a fair to go to, or a meeting ahead of us – we would travel on again in the long cooling afternoon and evening until the sun had quite gone and the darkness was getting thicker.

But there was no travelling for me today. I had found the place I had been seeking all my life. I was at my home. My travelling days, when the road had been a grey ribbon unfolding before me, and there was always another fair ahead, another new horse to train, were ended before my girlhood was over. I had arrived at a place I could call my own, a place which would be mine in a way those two raggle-headed little girls had never owned anything. Odd, that morning, that it should have given me so little joy.

I went around the house towards the stables. The tack room was unlocked too and Sea’s saddle and bridle were cleaned and hung up. I reached up and pulled down the saddle and held it before me, over my arm, and slung the bridle over my shoulder. I put my hand down to keep the bit still so that it did not chink and wake anyone. I could not have borne to speak civilly to anyone that morning.

That was odd, too. I don’t think ever in my life before had I pined to be alone, and I had always slept four to a caravan, and sometimes five. But when you live close you learn to leave each other alone. In this great house with all these rooms we seemed to live in each other’s pockets. Dining together, talking and talking and talking, and everyone always wanting to know if there was anything I wanted. If there was anything I wanted to have, if there was anything I wanted to do.

I walked through the rose garden, the buds of roses splitting pink as the petals warmed in the early sunshine, and I opened the gate at the end of the garden. Sea’s head jerked up as he noticed me, and he trotted towards me, his ears forward. He dipped his proud lovely head for the reins as I passed them over his neck and stood rock-still as I adjusted his bridle and then put his saddle on. For old time’s sake I could have vaulted on him, but the heaviness in my heart seemed to have got down to my boots, and I took him to the mounting block near the steps of the terrace as if I were an old woman; tired, and longing for my death.

Sea was as bright as the morning sky, his ears swivelling in all directions, his nostrils flared, snuffing in the scents of the morning as the sun burned off the dew. He had forgotten how to walk, his slowest pace was a bouncy stride as near to a trot as he thought I would allow. I held him to it while we were on the noisy stones in front of the house, but once we were on the tamped-down mud of the drive itself I let him break into a trot, and then into a fast edgy canter.

At the end of the drive I checked him. I did not want to go into Acre. Working people rise early whatever their jobs, and I knew that farming people would wake with the light just as I did. I did not want them to see me, I was weary of being on show. And I was sick of being told things. Taught and cajoled and persuaded as if I were an infant in dame school. If one more person told me how well Wideacre was being run – as if I should be pleased that they were throwing my inheritance away every hour of the day – I should tell them what I truly thought of their sharing scheme nonsense. And I had pledged myself to hold my tongue until I really knew what this new world, this Quality world, was like.

I turned Sea instead towards the London road, the way we had come all those nights ago, fleeing from what now seemed like another world. The way we had come slowly, slowly, in the darkness up an unfamiliar road, drawn as if by a magnet to the only place in the world where we would be safe. Where they had prepared a homecoming for me – only by the time I got there, I was not the girl they had wanted. It struck me then, as Sea stepped lightly down the road, that I was as bitter a disappointment to them, too. They had been waiting all these years for a new squire set in the mould of my real mother: caring for the people, wanting to set them free from the burden of working all their lives for another man’s fields. Instead they had found on their doorstep a hard-faced boyish vagrant who could not even stand the touch of a hand on her arm, and who had been taught to care for no one but herself.

I shrugged. I could not help their dreams. I had my own dream of Wide, and it had not been a place where I had stared suspiciously at gentlemen and wondered if they were cheating me. My dream of Wide had been a place where the land was smiling and where I recognized my home. We had all been foolish dreamers. We all deserved disappointment.

I clicked to Sea and he threw his head up and broke into his smooth easy canter. We soon came to the London road and I checked him, wondering whether to turn north towards London or south towards the sea. While I considered a man came into sight, leading a horse.

I looked at the horse first. It was a bay gelding, prime bred. Arab stock in it somewhere, I thought. A beautiful arched-necked wide-eyed proud animal. It was dead lame, the nearside foreleg was so tender the animal could hardly place it down; and I looked with surprise at the man who was leading it. A man who could choose and buy a near-perfect animal and then work it so ill that it could be injured so badly.

I caught my breath as soon as I looked at him. I had seen drawings of angels, drawings that people had done long ago in great churches in faraway countries, and he was as beautiful as any drawing I had ever seen. He was bareheaded and his hair was as curly as a statue of Cupid. He was watching the road beneath his well-shined riding boots and his perfect mouth was downturned in an endearing pout. The cast of his face, the bones, the nose, were drawn as fine as if he were a clean line on paper. But just now all the lines were downturned, the eyes with the curving line of the light brown brows, the mouth, the gaze which was down to the ground. He had not even heard Sea, he did not see me until he was nearly upon me.

‘Morning, sir,’ I said confidently. I was sure he would not have heard of me, he did not look like a young man who would be familiar with the likes of Will Tyacke. I had the old cap pulled low over my revealing mass of red hair, I had my coat jacket turned up. I knew I would pass as a lad and for some reason, I wanted to see his face upturned towards me as I sat on my horse, high above him.

He jumped at the sound of my voice, and his feet weaved in the white chalk dust. I guessed then that he had been drunk some time ago and was not yet sober. He had hazy blue eyes and I saw him screw them up as he tried to focus on me.

‘Good morning,’ he said blearily. ‘Damme, I suppose it is morning?’ He giggled slightly and his feet took two more unbidden converging steps. ‘Listen here, fellow,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Where the devil am I? D’you know? Am I far from Havering Hall, eh?’

‘I’m a stranger to these parts myself,’ I said. ‘This is the lane which leads to the village of Acre on the estate of Wideacre. Havering Hall is somewhere near here, but I am not certain of its direction.’

He put a hand on his horse’s neck to steady himself.

‘This is Acre lane?’ he said delightedly. ‘By all that’s wonderful – I believe I’ve won!’

His beaming smile was so delighted that I found I was smiling too.

‘D’you know,’ he said owlishly. ‘I bet Tommy Harrap three hundred pounds that I could get home before he could get home. And he’s not here now!’

‘Is this his home?’ I asked, bewildered.

‘No!’ the young man said impatiently. ‘Petworth! Petworth. We were both in the Brighton Belle Tavern. He took the bet. Because he had further to go than I, I let him go first. But now I’ve won! Three hundred pounds!’

‘How d’you know he isn’t home?’ I asked. I knew this was drunken folly of the first order, but I could not help smiling into that laughing careless face.

He looked suddenly serious.

‘Parson!’ he said. ‘You’re quite right, lad. That was part of the wager. I have to get the parson to witness what time it was when I got home. Good thinking, lad! Here’s a shilling.’

He dived into the deep pocket of his jacket and fumbled around while I waited.

‘Gone,’ he said sepulchrally. ‘Gone. I know I didn’t spend it. You know I didn’t spend it. But it’s gone all the same.’

I nodded.

‘I’ll write you an IOU,’ he said, suddenly brightening. ‘I’ll pay it when I get next quarter’s allowance.’ He paused. ‘No I won’t,’ he corrected himself. ‘I’ve had that and spent it already. I’ll pay you out of the quarter after that.’ He paused and leaned against his horse’s high shoulder. ‘It gets very confusing,’ he said in bafflement. ‘I think I’m into the twentieth century already.’

I laughed aloud at that, an irresistible giggle which made him look up at me, very ready to take offence.

‘Sniggering, are you?’ he demanded.

I shook my head, straight-faced.

‘Because if you are, you can feel the flat of my sword,’ he threatened. He fumbled among the wide skirts of his coat and failed to find his sword.

‘In hock,’ he said to me and nodded confidentially. ‘Like everything else.’

‘Who are you?’ I asked, wondering if I should take him to Havering Hall or send him on his way.

He drew himself up to his slight height and made me a flourishing bow.

‘I’m Peregrine Havering,’ he said. ‘Heir to the Havering estate and great name. I’m Lord Peregrine Havering if you really want to know. Three sheets to the wind, and not a feather to fly with.’

‘Shall I escort you home, my lord?’ I asked politely, a half-smile on my face.

He looked up at me and something in the childlike blue eyes made me happy to be of service to him, drunkard and wastrel though he might well be.

‘I should like to buy your horse,’ he said with immense dignity. ‘Or at any rate, I shall swop you for it. You may have mine. I will have yours.’

I did not even glance at the bay.

‘No, my lord,’ I said politely. ‘I am accustomed to this horse and I would do badly with any other. But if you would deign to come up behind me, we can ride to Havering Hall and lead your horse.’

‘Right,’ he said with the sudden decisiveness of the very drunk. ‘Right you are, young lad.’

He stopped then and looked up at me. ‘Who are you anyway?’ he asked. ‘You’re not one of our people are you? One of our stable lads or something?’

‘No my lord,’ I said. ‘I’m from Wideacre. I am new there.’

He nodded, well satisfied with my half-truth; and I let it go at that. He was too drunk to understand anything but the most simple of explanations, and anyway, I wanted to take him home. I was sure that he was quite incapable of finding his way without me. I knew that he had no money, but if he carried on roaming around the highways in this state someone would rob him of his fine linen and lace. For some reason, which I did not pause to consider, I did not mind him riding Sea behind me with his hands on my waist. His touch did not make me shrink away. He mounted behind me gracefully and his hands on my waist were warm and steady. Sea did not mind the extra load but stepped out in an extended walk. The fine bay hunter limped alongside.

‘I am not sure of the direction, my lord,’ I said.

‘I’ll tell you,’ he said confidently. Then the next minute I felt the weight of his head as he slumped forwards and leaned against me. Fast asleep.

Havering Hall has two entrances, though I did not know it then. The main one is on the London road which Lord Peregrine had already trotted blithely past; but there is another way, a little bridleway which leads to the hall off the Acre lane. I should have missed it, and ended up taking Lord Peregrine to breakfast at Wideacre if I had not met Will Tyacke riding towards us, going to Midhurst to see if he could beg or borrow a spare harrow. He stared in surprise when he saw the double load on Sea, and then recognized me with Lord Peregrine at my back.

‘Sarah!’ he said. ‘What are you doing here? And with Lord Peregrine too!’

I shot him a level look. ‘He’s drunk,’ I said briefly. ‘He’d never get home on his own. What would you have had me do? Leave him where he dropped in the road?’

Will hesitated. ‘As you wish, Sarah,’ he said politely. It was obvious that he thought that would have been a reasonable, even a desirable thing to do. ‘Where are you taking him?’

‘To Havering Hall,’ I said. ‘But he went off before he could tell me the way. Can I find it alone, is it near here?’

Will nodded, stiff with disapproval. ‘It’s a track which runs off to your left, just before the ford,’ he said. ‘If you follow the track you will come out at the hall. His mother, the Dowager Lady Clara, is at home. But they keep town hours there, Sarah. They’ll all be still asleep. The only people awake will be servants.’

‘They’ll do,’ I said. ‘They can put him to bed and stable his horse. Have you seen how lame it is?’

‘I saw at once,’ Will said. ‘Looks as if it lost a shoe and he rode it like that for miles. It’s to be hoped the sole of the hoof isn’t damaged. Can that grey of yours carry the weight of two?’ Will asked. ‘I can take him up behind me if you wish me to take him home.’

I was about to answer when the words stuck in my throat as I remembered riding home from the sea with her up before me and her hair blowing in my face as we cantered on the soft grass at the verges of the road. I could remember the smell of her, and the taste of salt on her hair, and the warm afternoon breeze blowing in my face. When Sea had last ridden with two on his back.

Instinctively I tightened his grip around my waist, as if I were holding her safely on behind me. ‘The horse can manage two, he’s done it before,’ I said gruffly, and I touched his sides to make him start.

‘I’ll come to Wideacre Hall later, when I’ve run this errand,’ Will called after me as I rode away. ‘I’ll ride with you this afternoon.’

I nodded. I did not want to speak. The thought of that afternoon had set the pain working again in my belly as if I had swallowed some burning poison. Without thinking I leaned back a little for the comfort of Lord Peregrine’s nodding head on my shoulder, as if he could comfort me with his drunken feckless warmth.

Will was right, Havering Hall was easily found. The track to it was more overgrown than the drive to Wideacre, few people used it. Carriage folk took the main drive off the London road, only logging carts and poachers came this way. The track was deeply rutted and I took Sea slowly and steadily. The bay alongside us stumbled once or twice, bone weary. Lord Peregrine was foolish to neglect such a good horse, I thought. I shrugged. I had known minor gentry at fairs and shows. They seldom cared for their possessions, even for the things they loved. This dazzling idler was of better breeding than any I had ever seen. I did not doubt he would be even more careless.

A pheasant suddenly exploded out of the bushes on our right and Sea shied sideways in alarm. The bird shot away through the trees scolding, and I put a hand backwards to steady Lord Peregrine. He had moved with the horse as if he were born to the saddle, even in his sleep. I heard his lazy chuckle and I felt myself smile as if he had told me some jest.

‘I was dreaming,’ he said as delighted as a child. ‘I was dreaming I was home in my bed. Where the devil are we?’

‘I’m taking you home, sir,’ I said politely. ‘I think you dozed off.’

‘Oh yes, I remember,’ he said with quiet satisfaction. ‘Good lad. I’ll give you a shilling. That’s two I owe you. Don’t forget.’

I smiled. ‘I won’t,’ I said.

‘When we get there, if it’s early morning…’ he broke off. ‘Is it early morning?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘About six I should think.’

‘Still?’ he said interestedly. ‘When we get there, you shall come round to the kitchen with me and we can have breakfast together. You’ll like the kitchen at my house.’ He paused. ‘Because I am a lord,’ he said confidently, ‘I can eat anything I like!’

‘Gracious,’ I said.

‘I haven’t always been a lord,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘When Papa was alive and George was alive I was only a second son. That was a dead bore. But then George died of the typhus fever and Papa was drowned on his way to the Americas. So then there was just Mama and me and the girls. That made me a lord and since then I have always done whatever I wanted.’

I nodded, but said nothing.

‘What about you?’ he asked, demanding some information in return.

I shrugged. ‘I think we are some sort of cousin,’ I offered. ‘I’m not a stable lad, I’m Sarah Lacey of Wideacre Hall. I’ve come home. I was just wearing these clothes because I haven’t got my new ones yet.’

‘You’re a girl?’ he asked.

I nodded. He leaned to one side and tapped me on the shoulder so I turned my head so that he could see my face.

‘Stop,’ he commanded. ‘Get down.’

I shrugged and checked Sea and we both dismounted. He put his hand up to my hat and I let him take it and pull it from my head. My hair tumbled down in a shower of red and bronze and I laughed at the amazement on his face as he saw me properly for the first time.

‘Then you can’t come to the kitchen,’ was all he said. ‘You’ll have to come into the parlour. And I thought we could have been friends.’

The disappointment on his face was so great that I could have laughed.

‘I’ll put my cap back on and come to the kitchen,’ I offered. ‘No one need ever know I’m Sarah. Or you could go into the larder and bring some food out. I am hungry.’

He brightened at once. ‘I’ll do that!’ he said. ‘You wait here. I won’t be long. It won’t take a moment. Go down that way – ’ he waved to where I could hear the sound of water, the river where Sea had stopped the first night, ‘go and find us somewhere nice to sit and I’ll bring back a picnic!’

He took the reins of his horse from me and set off down the path, the dappled bars of sunlight shifting over them as they walked, making his hair gleam like gold and then brass.