Anne Barbour (6 page)

“Miz Carstairs, she’s liable to do you damage, flailin’ about like that,” said Jonah peremptorily. Claudia merely continued to massage the animal’s flanks in a downward motion, dodging Jenny’s hooves as they came perilously close to her head.

“Miz Carstairs,” repeated the old man firmly “get the lantern and hold it up so’s we can see.”

Claudia hurried to do Jonah’s bidding, and as light flooded the stall. Jenny twisted her body in a spasmodic attempt to rise, prevented only by Jonah’s casting his body atop her head and holding her firm.

Jem had never felt so helpless. What in God’s name was he doing here? He knew a blind urge to flee the stables, but as he turned to expostulate with the old man, he met Claudia’s eyes. In their amber depths, he read a mixture of fear for Jenny’s well-being, an anguished plea for help, and scorn for his own ineptitude. Swallowing hard, he gulped and attempted a reassuring smile. Breathing a silent prayer to God, who as far as he knew had never listened to him before, he bent to the task at hand.

With another momentary surge of panic, he pushed the tattered remnants of the birth sack aside and probed into the dark, pulsing passage behind it.

“Feel for feet,” admonished Jonah, the tendons on his neck visible as he wrestled with the panicky mare.

“What?”

“Feet,” replied Jonah through gritted teeth. “Bebbies come head first, but with foal’s it’s feet.
Ye should come to one foot first, then the head. Push the head back till ye can feel the second foreleg. Then pull it forward—gently.”

Jem swallowed hard. “Right.” He shifted position to gain better purchase in the slippery warmth of Jenny’s interior, and in a few minutes, to his wondering surprise, he began to recognize the shape of the little animal struggling so hard to be born. After a small eternity, a tiny point, sharp and insistent, thrust itself into his hand. A hoof! He felt along the incredibly fragile little limb. Yes, a foreleg. And there, surely, was a small, equine head, and this, then must be its shoulder. Now, where was the other foreleg? There! It was twisted back so far, he could not feel the second hoof.

He signaled to Jonah, and with infinite caution, pushed the head back toward the mare’s uterus until at last he was able to gain purchase on the bent foreleg. He began to pull it into position, when he was stopped by a cry from Jonah.

“Wait! She’s goin’ into another contraction. If ye pull now, the leg could break.”

Jem ceased his exertions, and the next moment Jenny’s muscles tightened around his arms in an incredibly powerful grip that made him gasp in pained astonishment. The contraction seemed to go on forever, and Jem thought his bones must be cracking, but at last the mare relaxed. He discovered to his dismay, that the spasm had sent the foal’s head down again so that it pressed against the leg that was properly positioned.

Concerned that another such contraction would expel the head from the birth canal completely, tearing the badly positioned foreleg as it did so, he moved the head back as hastily as he could. With numbed fingers, he straightened the bent leg and slowly pulled it into position. At once, he began easing the hoofed feet toward the cervix. God, they were like twigs that could be snapped with a single, wrong move. Gently, he repositioned the foal’s head so that it rested between the forelegs.

After another endless period of achingly slow shifting, accompanied by Jenny’s wild neighs of distress, Jem was able to draw the forelegs out of the mare’s body. Claudia uttered a small sob of relief, and Jem cast her a look of mutual pleasure.

The foal’s nose appeared, then, and Jenny quieted dramatically. Jonah left her head for a moment and, with a cloth he’d kept ready to hand, he wiped the colt’s nose free of mucus. He held his palm against the quivering nostrils, nodding to Claudia to indicate that the colt was breathing normally. Jenny’s body stiffened into one more contraction, and the rest of the angular little form slid into the straw almost at once. Claudia drew a long, shuddering breath of her own.

Oh, you little miracle!
were the words that hummed in her brain as Jonah leaned back against the wall of the stall and said with a tired sigh, “Ye’ve got a new stallion, Miz Carstairs.” She watched as Jenny, in a last, convulsive thrust, expelled the afterbirth and then struggled to her feet. The mare was still uneasy, but the wildness had left her eyes. The colt, too, in what appeared to be an impossible feat, rose to stand, wavering on straw-like legs, and freed himself from the still-throbbing cord that had been his lifeline for eleven long months. He was the color of night, and as he made his unsteady way to his mother’s side, he reminded Claudia of a wobbling pool of spilled ink.

“Look,” she said with a gurgle of laughter, as the colt made it his first order of business to acquire a bit of dinner. Despite Jenny’s unmaternal efforts to avoid the eager little mouth that searched her underside, he soon found what he was looking for, and in another moment, the stable was filled with sounds of his greedy suckling.

The three impromptu midwives laughed together in a mutual venting of happy relief.

“I’m glad ye showed up, me lo—lad.” It appeared that Jonah’s wide grin would crack his seamed face. “We woulda been hard put to manage on our own.”

Claudia, her face alight, whirled to stretch out both hands to Jem before recalling herself. “Oh—yes—er, January,” she said in what she hoped was a tone of great propriety. “I must thank you for volunteering your help.” She found herself unable to suppress the smile that rose to her lips. “Tonight, you have gone far beyond what is expected of the average butler.”

Jem knew an urge to cup that bright face in his hands and press his lips against her curving smile. Instead, he bowed.

“I believe the first line of the butler’s code is an admonition to offer one’s services wherever and in whatever capacity necessary,” he said gravely, massaging his aching arms, and Claudia found herself nearly undone by the compelling twinkle in his eye.

“So what’re ye goin’ t’ call the little feller?” asked Jonah.

“Oh. I hadn’t thought. Let’s see, he’s the first colt born of Jenny and Warlock. Perhaps we could call him Number One. No,” she decided with a shake of her head. “That’s much too prosaic. How about Premier? Or maybe,” she added, laughing, “First and Foremost. Oh, dear, now I’m becoming ridiculous.”

“I think,” said Jem softly, observing the glow that shimmered about her, “you should call him Claudia’s Pride.”

“The very thing!” exclaimed Jonah.

Claudia gasped in confusion, and felt a tide of heat rush to her cheeks. “Oh, no—I couldn’t. Could I?”

“Don’t see why not,” returned Jonah. Jem said nothing, but the smile in his eyes spoke for him.

Claudia turned to look once more at the colt, still intent on the business at hand. Jenny stared at him bemusedly before extending a long, pink tongue to clean the birth residue from his dusky coat.

“All right,” said Claudia slowly, her eyes shining with pleasure. “I think Claudia’s Pride sounds wonderful. Although,” she continued, still gazing at the colt, “I think from the looks of him—he’s black as an imp of Satan, after all—his stable name will no doubt be Goblin.”

Jonah stirred himself and moved to the nearby table and took up a bottle of cleaning solution, which he applied to the stump on Goblin’s belly where the umbilical cord had been severed. He turned to the other two, watching avidly.

“There ain’t much left t’ do here. Whyn’t you two run along? I can finish up.”

Claudia suddenly realized how very tired she was. It must be after three in the morning, and she had not yet been asleep when she was summoned by Jonah. It had been a long, eventful day. She smiled gratefully at her stable man and turned to leave the building, Jem in her wake.

Once in the house, she turned, but the brisk good night she had been about to utter died on her lips as Jem placed a hand under her elbow and guided her farther along the dark corridor. She was instantly conscious of the strength of his fingers and fought a panicky urge to pull away from him.

“You know,” he said meditatively, “after all this excitement, you’ll never be able to get to sleep. I think what you need right now is a very large glass of some very good brandy. Luckily, I know precisely where such a commodity may be obtained.”

Without giving her an opportunity to resist, he led her into the butler’s pantry.

“Oh, my!” said Claudia. “No, I don’t think ...”

“Nonsense,” replied Jem in a severe tone of voice. “You don’t want to offend the help, do you?” Going to a cupboard in the rear, he fetched a decanter. “I wouldn’t like to hazard a guess as to how Morgan came by this excellent cognac, or the armagnac next to it, but I applaud his taste.”

It was impossible, of course, thought Claudia in a spurt of desperation. What kind of a woman would be found sitting in a secluded chamber in the middle of the night drinking with her butler, for heaven’s sake? To her astonishment, however, she found herself sinking into the chair pulled out for her in one, smooth motion. Well... the words crept cravenly into her mind ... perhaps this was the opportunity she had been looking for to find out more about this mysterious young man.

She surveyed him nervously as he took tumblers from the cupboard and poured a more than generous dollop of brandy in each. Placing the glass before her with a flourish, he sat down opposite her at the small table occupying the center of the room. Her glance skimmed over the black hair tumbled in disarray, and fell unawares into the silvery eyes that returned her gaze with amusement. Startled, she looked elsewhere and was brought up short by the sight of the strong column of his throat exposed by his open shirt. That garment, which by the way, was fashioned of a rather more luxurious grade of linen than would be found on the average servant, did little to conceal the splendid set of muscles that moved sinuously beneath it. His slim elegance was most deceiving, she considered warily. She took a deep breath.

“How—?” she began in a great rush, but was forestalled by Jem’s own words.

“Tell me, ma’am...” His eyes showed nothing beyond a courteous interest. “How long have you been active in the horse breeding business?”

“For a few years only,” she answered, taking a sip of the brandy he had poured for her. “I became interested in the operation before my husband passed away.”

“I understand that the former owners of the estate raised sheep. As do most of the gentry hereabouts.”

“Yes, that’s true—and we still do. That is, as well as we can with the land we possess. Sheep, as you may know, require a great deal of pasturage.”

Jem topped off her glass, and hesitated a moment before continuing. “I could not help overhearing your remarks about Squire Foster. You rent land from him?”

“Yes,” Claudia replied with more than a hint of bitterness. “And it’s all land that should belong to us. It did belong to us, until...” She took a deep breath. “My husband sold quite a bit of the estate in the months before he died.”

“But surely ...” Jem probed delicately. “The loss of a few acres should not mean the curtailment of...”

“It was not a few acres.” A voice inside Claudia bade her to mind her tongue, but the feeling of companionship that had developed during Goblin’s birthing process lingered, and besides, it felt good to discuss her problems with one who seemed to show a genuine interest. “Ravencroft is now less than a third the size it was before Emanuel began slicing off pieces of it.”

Jem sat in appalled silence for several moments. My God, he had come home to financial disaster! It was sheep that had kept Ravencroft solvent for centuries. His father had created a thriving business from his horse-breeding efforts, and it had come to rival the profits reaped from sheep, but... My God, he repeated.

Claudia wondered at the bleak expression on the young man’s face, and she continued hurriedly. “We are by no means poverty-stricken here. I lease the other land for sheep production, and the horse-breeding operation is going very well, considering we have been at it for such a short time. I am plowing all our profits back into the estate.”

Jem unobtrusively refilled Claudia’s glass. “It seems quite an undertaking for a young woman alone.”

“Oh, but I’m not alone.” She sipped at her brandy, grateful for the curling warmth it created in her body. “I have Jonah. And, of course. Aunt Augusta.”

“Ah, yes, the redoubtable Miss Melksham. But why horse breeding? Why a business of any kind, for that matter? Surely, if you are getting by ...”

“I do not wish,” answered Claudia sharply, “to merely get by, nor am I content to live in greatly reduced circumstances for the rest of our lives.” She took a convulsive gulp of the liquid fire in her glass.

“Does it mean so much to you to live extravagantly?” Jem’s voice held only mild curiosity as he casually added another dollop of brandy to her tumbler, but in it Claudia read a note of criticism.

“Not at all.” Good Lord, what was the matter with her, discussing her personal life with a person who was virtually unknown to her. She continued austerely, “It is Ravencroft with which I am concerned. When I arrived here, it was already in considerable disarray, but it—it was obviously once a magnificent residence. Beauty and grace can be seen at every turning—in the staircases and in the design of the rooms. I wish to see it returned to what it was.”

“But why?” Jem watched her intently. “Even as it is, you could probably sell the old pile for a tidy profit, and you and Aunt Augusta could live a life of ease in London, or Brighton, or even Bath.”

“Because I love this place.” Claudia drew in a sharp breath. “Because I want to live here. I—I am thinking of adopting children.” She paused startled. She had never thought any such thing, but then again, it did seem like a good idea. Why, she wondered, not for the first time since Emanuel’s death, had their distasteful couplings never borne fruit? She continued in a rush. “I would like to have children—squads of them—and I would like something beautiful to leave to them,” she finished. Dear Lord, she thought, what had she just said? She rose so abruptly that Jem was forced to move quickly in order to prevent her glass from toppling to the floor.