‘Didn’t I he insisted.

Y-Yes,’ I said. ‘But Richard…’

‘I warned you, Julia,’ he said authoritatively. ‘I told you that you would learn to ride when I was ready to teach you. And I told you to keep away from my horse.’

I could not stop the tears from coming, and they rolled down my face, making my cheeks as wet as if I were out in a rainstorm, while I looked and looked at Richard, hoping he would see them and release the hard grip on my wrist and catch me up to him, and kiss me kindly, as he always did.

‘Didn’t I warn you?’ he shouted.

‘Yes! Yes!’ I sobbed. There seemed nothing I could do to break the spell of this shadowed misery. Mama was far away in the house, Jem was cleaning tack in the tack room or sitting in the kitchen. Richard had me at his mercy, and he had no mercy. He had indeed warned me. He had told me not to touch his horse and I had disobeyed him. He had warned me that if I did, he would be angry. And I had foolishly, irresistibly gone to Scheherazade and now I had to face Richard’s blazing blue-eyed wrath. Then, suddenly, my own temper went.

‘You don’t even like her!’ I said. ‘You never did like her as much as me! You promised you’d teach me to ride her, but I don’t believe you ever will. All you ever cared about was your stupid singing! You can’t do that any more! And you can’t ride either!’

Richard grabbed me and spun me around, his full weight throwing me against the stable wall. TU kill you!’ he said in the total rage of a child.

I had both hands braced against the wall. For a moment I was literally too frightened to move. He took advantage of that second’s immobility to snatch up his riding crop from the floor beside his saddle, and then he grabbed me in a hard one-armed embrace and brought the twangy well-sprung crop down with all his strength on my back.

He meant to cane me – as Stride very occasionally was ordered to beat him. But I twisted in his grip and the blow fell on my side. Even through my jacket it stung, and I screamed with the shock of it, and the hurt of it. Three times he whipped me, before I wriggled free from his hold and dashed to the shelter of Scheherazade’s side. She was frightened, her hooves shifting nervously, he eyes rolling and showing their whites. Without a second’s thought I dived under her belly and came up on the other side so that she was between Richard and me, and I peeped at him from under her tossing neck.

The rage had gone from Richard’s face; he looked ready to weep. ‘Oh, Julia!’ he said, his voice choked.

But I was beyond reconciliation. Shielded by the horse, I turned for the stable door, struggled with the lock and dashed out of the stable, banging the door behind me.

I did not go to the house, though I could see the light from the parlour window spilling out over the drive. I ran instead to where I could be alone, to the hayloft above the stables where the few bales of hay were stored. I flung myself face down on one of them and wept as if I could not stop; I wept for the pain and the humiliation, and for the fright that my own anger had given me, that had made me taunt Richard and had made him wish me dead.

I gave little screaming sobs, muffled by a fist pressed against my mouth, for I wanted no one to hear me. He had hurt me so! And he could not love me at all if he could treat me thus! And the flame of my own anger burned inside me and said that I should not love him, not ever, not ever again. That we should not even be friends. He had bullied me long enough. This wicked attack would be the last time he would ever make me cry.

The hay scratched my cheek and grew hot and damp while I wept my heart out into its tickly dryness…and then I felt the sweetest touch in all the world – Richard’s hand upon my shaking shoulder.

He pulled me up, gently, oh, so gently, and he turned me around towards him. Oh, little Julia,’ he said in a voice of such tenderness and pity; then he cupped his hands either side of my cheeks and kissed every inch of my wet flushed face, so that my cheeks were dried with his kisses.

And I sobbed again and said, ‘Richard, you should not treat me so!’ I could hardly get the words out. ‘You should not, Richard! I will not love you if you bully me like that. You are wrong to treat me so, Richard.’

‘I know,’ he said remorsefully. ‘I know I should not do it. But, Julia, you must forgive me. You know I do not mean any harm. It is just an accident.’

‘An accident!’ I exclaimed. ‘Richard, that was no accident! You beat me as hard as you could! Three blows! Not even my own mama has ever beaten me like that! And you said you would kill me!’

‘I know,’ he said again, his voice warm with his charm. Richard’s easy charm. ‘I beg your pardon, Julia, and I swear I will never hurt you again.’ He knelt beside me on the straw. ‘Look!’ he said. ‘I am on my knees to you, begging you to forgive me.’

I hesitated. The pain was fading and Richard’s appealing, worried face was too much for me.


‘Say you forgive me!’ he entreated in a low whisper, his arms out to me.

‘I won’t,’ I said sullenly. ‘You are cruel, Richard, and I had done nothing but sit on her in the stable.’

He was silent at that for a moment, still kneeling at my feet. ‘A true lady accepts an apology,’ he observed. ‘I have said that I am sorry, Julia. And I am sorry. I am offering you an apology.’

My mama’s training, the lessons of my grandmama, the world we lived in and my own loving heart were too much for my sense of grievance. ‘Oh, Richard, all right!’ I said and I burst into tears afresh for no reason at all and he threw his arms around me and hugged me and kissed my wet cheeks and dried my eyes on his own white linen handkerchief.

We sat in silence then, in the shadowy hayloft, while the night air grew colder and the first pinpricks of stars came out like sparkles of frost in the autumn sky. And Richard said softly, reasonably, ‘I just don’t like people taking my things, Julia.’

And I had said – for in a way it was all my fault – ‘I know you do not, Richard. And I promise I will never sit on Scheherazade again.’

I would have promised more, but a slim new moon came out from behind a wisp of dark cloud and its light shone in my eyes, and I heard a sweet high singing which I always think of as the music of the very heart of Wideacre, which used to ring through Richard’s voice. This night it was not thin and peaceful, but somehow ominous. For some reason, I did not know why, it seemed like a warning, as if the moon were telling me that Richard’s expectations and Richard’s need to own things outright were not good qualities in a young boy, that I should not concede everything to him.

Then the moment passed, and I was just a tearful girl in a hayloft with a loving bullying playmate.

‘Master Richard don’t like you to even touch his horse, then?’ Dench said curiously.

‘No,’ I said, coming out of my reverie. I had not touched Scheherazade again, and Richard had forgotten his anger. He had taken to riding every day after that evening, and I had seen little of him.

‘Dog i’ the manger,’ said Dench briefly. ‘I reckon you’d ride well enough without teaching, Miss Julia. You’re the true-bred Lacey, after all.’

‘No,’ I said. I sat straighter on the seat beside Dench. ‘I do not wish to learn until I am grown-up, Dench.’

Oh, aye,’ he said, hearing the reproof in my voice and taking little heed. Then he clicked to the horse to lengthen its stride and we bowled under the great trees of the Wideacre woods.

‘Want to take the reins?’ Dench said casually.

‘Oh, yes!’ I said. Jem had let me drive our solitary ageing carriage horse, but this was the first time I had ever been in control of one of the smooth-paced Havering horses.

‘Here, y’are,’ Dench said generously, and handed the double reins into my small hands. ‘Hold them lightly.’ He watched as I clicked confidently to the horse as I had heard him do, and saw how my little hands held the fistfuls of leather as if they were precious ribbons.

‘Good hands,’ he said approvingly. ‘You have Miss Beatrice’s hands.’

I nodded, but I hardly heard him. The sunlight was dappled on my face as we drove under the branches of the woods. The wind, as sweet as birdsong, blew in my face. A great flock of starlings was chattering in a hundred tones in the hedge to our right, and over the derelict wheatfield the rooks were flapping like dusters and calling hoarsely.

‘No need to go straight home,’ Dench said, observing my rapt face. ‘We can take the gig around by the mill and home through the woods if you wish. The ground is hard enough for the wheels.’

I hesitated. We would have to drive through Acre and I was still afraid of the barely understood story of the ‘taking’ of the children. But Richard went to Acre for his lessons, and Mama had never specifically told me not to go there alone.

‘All right,’ I said and we went on down the lane past the Wideacre gates, which stood drunkenly open, rusting on their hinges, and whirled away towards Acre. The village street was deserted, the front doors closed against the wind. There were white faces at a few unglazed windows as we trotted by, and Dench raised a careless hand to the smith’s cottage and to the cobbler who sat idle before an empty last in his window. Then we turned left at the church down the smooth grassy lane towards the common land, past the idle mill with weed greening the water wheel, and deeper and deeper into the woods, into the very heart of Wideacre.

‘We can canter here if you like,’ Dench said, eyeing the smooth turf of the track, and without thinking I lightened my touch on the reins and felt the carriage leap forward as the rhythm of the hooves speeded up and the bars of sunlight on the grass came flickering over me.