Blind Beauty (4 page)

“Hmm.” A few more deft flicks with the fork and she said, “My name's Gilly, by the way. I work here. I'm not family.”

Was she perhaps saying that she, unlike the others, had no personal interest in Tessa's employment? If she was, Tessa chose to ignore it. She wasn't impressed with Gilly's looks, but did recognize the expertise with which she handled her work. Gilly ordered her to empty the barrow on the muck heap which was a muddy walk away behind the stables. But when she had done it, Gilly came with her the second time and said, “You've got to learn. Even a muck heap. There's a proper way. Square, straight sides, no sliding down like a pyramid. You build up the sides. Like this.”

Tessa glowered. She learned how to make a muck heap. She learned how to muck out, how to tie a quick-release knot, how to sweep a yard. How to wash grooming brushes. She asked no questions, did sulkily what she was ordered to, no more. She knew how to make people hate her. Maurice wanted her in this job, and she would do her best to get the sack. Gilly's early overtures soon changed to cross commands.

“I'm stuck with you because the others don't want you here, you know that, don't you? So don't make my life a misery. You should be at school anyway. You're no use in this yard.”

“I don't care.”

Gilly rolled her eyes and said nothing.

 

Tessa held out. She was used to pitting herself against the opposition. It made life more interesting. If they had liked her and made her welcome she might have succumbed, because the actual work was at least more interesting than staying at home watching television all day. But the more unlikeable she made herself the more she felt she held the upper hand. Maurice wanted her here. She would force them to sack her.

She got to understand the politics of the place. Sparrows Wyck was a small dairy and arable farm run by the eldest son, Peter, and his mother, Matty Fellowes. They were tenants of Maurice who owned the place. Although Peter ran the farm with the help of a cowman, his main ambition was to train racehorses – not flat racers, but horses over the jumps – the winter game. He hoped this would make them some money, but so far they had had little success. They took in about a dozen horses for training in the winter, but at present most of these were out at grass or back home with their owners for their summer holidays. It was as small a racing stable as they came, in complete contrast to the huge and successful yard where Greevy worked.

Jimmy, the younger son, was the horseman of the family and schooled the jumpers for Peter and problem horses for anyone who sent them to him. He also took horses to break in. He didn't interfere much with the racing side. He was his own man, very quiet in his manner, and kept largely to himself, with his lurcher Walter for companion. His brother Peter was excitable and given easily to both rage and laughter. The third man, Arthur, gnarled and elderly, worked in the stables with the racehorses. He was some sort of a relation, said little, and came up from the village. The mother, Matty, was impassive and rock-like and kept to her household duties, not interfering. As well as running the home, she did the paperwork for both the farm and the racing department, and ran a poultry business as well. She only ever left home once a week to go to the supermarket. Tessa found her hard to fathom, not enjoying the scrutiny of her pale green eyes. Her natural expression was stern, but the “mouth like a rat-trap” was not in fact as severe as George's description implied. Tessa sometimes thought she saw the suggestion of a smile, but so enigmatic it was hard to tell. Tessa hated her the most, because she could not be sure of the effect she was making on her. It was fairly plain that the others found her a pain, although Jimmy quite often, in his quiet way, gave her the chance to make amends by offering a dry comment or a smile. Not that she would take him up on it. But she liked watching him riding in the manège and lurked there quite often, behind the stables, when he was schooling one of his problem horses. He was so quiet and still on a difficult horse, so utterly in command, that she was fascinated. She wished she could ride. It would be a good way to thumb her nose at people on the ground, show them she was something.

Gilly rode well too, although she was the wrong shape, too beefy for a woman. But she handled horses with total command, even Jimmy's stroppiest, which Tessa was tartly ordered not to go near.

“Can't have the boss's daughter trampled to death; that would never do. Daddy might be down to complain.”

“He's not Daddy. I hate him.”

“You're not alone.”

But even in this Tessa could not bring herself to be an ally.

“Trouble is, there's not enough for you to do around here in the summer. Not until the jumpers start coming in at the end of July. By September there'll a dozen, as well as Jimmy's. Plenty of work, but you'll be back at school by then.”

Will I hell, Tessa thought. Nobody would take her. Myra had tried everywhere.

She used to time her arrival (she walked across the fields) with the end of breakfast. No one had invited her to breakfast. She knew it was because they disliked her. But one morning when she got there, there had been an emergency with some cows getting out on to the road, and breakfast was half an hour late. She went in and sat down uninvited. She helped herself to a mug of tea. No one said anything.

Peter was sounding off about a new owner who was sending him a horse to train. It was now well into July and soon the horses would be coming back. This new one belonged to – according to Peter – a senile coal merchant.

“He's never had a horse before. He wants to win the Grand National, like the old guy that owned Red Rum. So he went to the sales and bought one, just like that. He said no one bid for it and he was sorry for it so he bid and got it. I ask you! What are we getting?”

The others all laughed.

“As long as he pays –”

“We don't want to be a laughing stock, all the same.”

“It'll never get on the course if it's as bad as it sounds. Someone'll have to let him down gently.”

“We'll be fair with him,” Peter said. “But I tell you, he's barmy. I talked to him on the phone. Nutty as a fruitcake. Sending the horse tomorrow.”

“What on earth's Sarah going to say? She'll be back next week. She's always trying to get you to say no to dumbos,” Gilly said to Peter.

“She'll have to take it. We need the money,” Peter said tartly.

Jimmy said, “We need a reputation more. You get a reputation and the money comes.”

Tessa had heard of Sarah before – the head lad apparently, who left in the spring when the horses stopped racing and worked elsewhere for three months. Gilly said she was “a tartar”. Tessa was quite looking forward to meeting her.

When they were going out, Tessa heard Peter say to Gilly, “Give the damned horse to Tessa to look after. Two no-hopers. They'll suit each other.”

Tessa pretended not to hear. She didn't think of herself as a no-hoper, rather as someone who was doing her own thing regardless. But she could see it wouldn't suit them to see it that way.

Gilly said, “Getting a horse might improve you. Nobody gives you work because you're so snotty about taking orders. Face like a thunderstorm. Easier to ignore you. I suppose that's what you want.”

True, but Tessa didn't answer.

“Even if the horse is a no-no, the owner pays for it to be treated like a star. You'll have to get that into your thick head.”

In spite of herself, Tessa felt a faint interest in “her” horse. The next day she waited impatiently for the horsebox to arrive. Gilly made her put a straw bed down in one of the empty, disinfected looseboxes, and put hay ready and a water bucket. Three other horses had already come back from grass. They were impressive glossy animals. Gilly and Arthur took charge of them. Apparently they were ready to start work again, to get fit over two or three months and start running in November. This meant lots of slow exercise to get their muscles hard, until they were ready to canter, and then run for their lives. Tessa leaned over the half-doors studying them, admiring their impressive appearance. Even if they weren't Gold Cup winners, they looked like it.

“Pity you can't ride,” Gilly remarked. “There's a lot of riding to be done between us, this time of year.”

Tessa would not let on that she wished she could. She tossed her head impatiently to indicate riding was for the mentally impaired. Gilly sighed. There was a limit to her patience.

“Sweep the yard,” she snapped.

It was big yard with uneven concrete, and a pig to sweep. All Tessa was fit for, Gilly decided.

Tessa's horse arrived in the early afternoon.

With the other three, Tessa stared in dismay at the dismal animal that stumbled down the ramp. Peter and Jimmy frowned, then laughed.

“The Grand National, he said,” Peter snorted. “God save us!”

“You have to laugh, or you'd cry,” Jimmy said.

The horse was very tall, long-backed, gaunt and ribby with a dull hide the colour of faded conkers. It had an amiable face, an ugly white blaze, and long, wagging ears. Its pale-coloured mane and tail looked as if goats had been at them. It was as unlike the three other arrivals as a horse could possibly be.

“No wonder no one bid for it,” Peter said.

To cap it all, following on its heels, unhaltered, came a small piebald Shetland.

The driver said, “That one's free. They won't go anywhere without each other, so I was told. Put it in the same box they said.”

“Cripes, I don't believe this,” Peter said.

Jimmy grinned. “Just the job for our Tessa.”

They gave her the head-collar rope.

Tessa felt humiliated beyond words. It was all a great joke, with them enjoying taking it out on her. They were all laughing.

“The man's a maniac. It'll never see a racecourse, this one, let alone Aintree.”

“You'll have to tell him,” Jimmy said. “It's not fair to take his money.”

“Put him in his box, Tessa,” Peter said. “We'll have to let the old man down gently. I told you – he's an idiot.”

“Mind the horse doesn't tread on you. You'll never walk again,” Jimmy said.

The horse followed Tessa through the open door. The piebald pony trotted in behind.

The driver said, “The pony's called Lucky.”

“Got the horse's passport?” Peter asked.

“They never gave it me. Horse is called Buffoon, that's all I know.”

“We want the passport. Tell 'em when you get back. Or I'll give them a ring.”

The driver closed up the ramp and departed and the others peered in over the door, still unbelieving.

“I'll tell you one thing,” Jimmy said, “this one will do nothing for our reputation.”

“No. But meanwhile, he's paid the first month in advance. That's rare enough. We feed the brute and treat him nicely. After that…” Peter shrugged, laughed. “I thought I'd seen everything! Just goes to show…”

They all wandered away, chortling. Tessa took off the horse's headcollar, choking back tears of disappointment, now there was no one to see. They'd made a fool of her, and so had the horse.

“You pig,” she said viciously.

The horse turned its ugly head and regarded her kindly. Then it went to the haynet and snatched a mouthful. What it dropped on the floor the little pony hoovered up. What a pair! The pony seemed to underline the ridiculousness of her charge.

Tessa tried to tell herself that nothing was any different, but she could not fool herself into believing that she hadn't cared tuppence about what stupid horse she was getting. A little part of her had felt interested, keen even. It had thought she might get – by chance – the best one in the stable. Then she remembered she wanted to get the sack. Or did she? She didn't know what she wanted. She laid her head against the great gaunt flank and cried. Nobody would see. Nobody cared. Not even the stupid horse. It turned its ugly head to look at her. With hay sticking out of its mouth it looked more like a yokel than ever. Whoever christened it Buffoon had the right idea.

“I hate you!” Tessa cried and thumped its belly.

It gave a surprised snort and a sad look, and shifted away slightly.

“You make me sick!”

Tessa cried and was ashamed. It was getting to be a habit. She hated this place and she hated home and she longed for the sin-bin which was too full of other sinners to take her in. There were other people like her out there – if only she could be with them!

Jimmy's lurcher Walter came trotting across the yard. Tessa opened the loosebox door and called him in. He came in his friendly way – he was only a year old. He cheered Tessa up. She stopped crying. She would have loved to have a dog but Maurice wouldn't let her. Not even a cat. Too many hairs on the carpet. Walter covered her wet face with wetter licks, and actually made her laugh. Then Gilly looked over the door and bawled her out.

“For God's sake, get the dog out of there! He's not allowed in the boxes! You wait till Sarah comes back – I'm warning you, we've been easy on you, the way things are. But she won't be – Mr Mucky Morrison's daughter or not – you'll get stick if you don't mend your ways.”

“I'm not his daughter!” But Tessa liked the name – Mucky Morrison. It suited him.

“Whose daughter are you then, if it's not a rude question?”

“Declan Blackthorn's.”

“And who's he when he's at home?”

Tessa didn't answer. What could she say? A feckless Irishman who fathered her when he was hardly out of school, who disappeared when needed?

Gilly's face softened a fraction. She couldn't fathom Tessa, who went out of her way to be so obnoxious, but Gilly thought of her in the same way as she was used to considering a problem horse. There was a key to Tessa's behaviour, somewhere. Problem horses were nearly always the fault of
somebody
, somewhere along the line. Gilly thought the same was true of Tessa. Having Mucky Morrison for a stepfather was a fairly obvious reason for her hate-everybody attitude, for starters. And who knew what had happened before that? Gilly knew that Tessa would never confide her troubles, even if she recognized them herself. Gilly didn't mind playing her along, but Sarah was another matter.