veil. I didnât have to wait long for Clemmie. She clattered downstairs, promptly followed by Miss Dunn, her governess. She wasnât in riding clothes. I saw her stare at mine. I was wearing my white habit, and I shone like a beacon. Like my gowns it was more suited to the tropics than to this cold country. âItâs what we wear to ride in India,â I told her. I twirled so that the habit flared out, like an apron, which was what it was. âItâs a lot safer than an ordinary habit if you fall,â I explained, lifting it to show her. âIt wonât get caught on the saddle.â
âOh, how clever!â said Clemmie clapping her hands. Miss Dunn had caught sight of a petticoat. She blushed. How unladylike!
âBut arenât you going to ride?â I said to Clemmie.
âNot today,â she said, giving Miss Dunn a furious look. She whispered in my ear. âShe says itâs too cold.â
âMiss Clementine has a weak chest,â Miss Dunn explained, wrapping a thick scarf around Clemmieâs neck.
âOh,â I said, not sure what to say.
âItâs all right,â said Clemmie. âThey say Iâll grow out of it, but in the meantime they make an awful fuss.â She glared at Miss Dunn. But even when she glowers Clemmieâs face is so sweet you canât help smiling.
The stables were tucked away to the side of the house, beyond a huddle of other outbuildings. The wind whipped my face. Baxter had assured me it was a fine day when sheâd pulled back the curtains that morning. In England that seems to mean that it isnât actually raining.
Clemmie opened the gate into the yard. Two men were washing their arms in a bucket of soapy water. They threw me a curious look, then touched their caps when they saw who I was with. I looked past them to see a boy leading a horse up to a stall. Her flanks were steaming as if she had been ridden hard. I caught a glimpse of a white star on her forehead. I watched while the boy sponged her down and threw a blanket over her back. He was whistling. The tune was oddly familiar. I tried to remember why, and then I did. Father used to hum it sometimes when heâd thought that Mother wasnât listening. It used to irritate Mother, but I liked it. It was comforting to hear it now. It made Langdown seem a little less strange.
âHello, Fred!â Clemmie shouted. She seized my arm, pulling me along with her.
âMiss Clementine, Miss Penelope!â expostulated Miss Dunn, lifting her gown in one hand to hasten after us. âRemember who you are. A young lady does not shout and she does not run.â
The lad had straightened up at the sound of Clemmieâs voice. âGood afternoon.â He bent his head politely, pushing back a strand of auburn hair that had fallen into his eyes. His hand was very white for someone who worked outside all day, and there were little freckles on his arm. He looked up and caught me staring. I blushed and looked away.
âIâve brought my cousin Penelope to see the stables,â explained Clemmie. âHer father hunts tigers in India! Will you find her a horse to ride?â
âA mount for a lady whose father hunts tigers,â said the boy. He leaned back against the stall and stared appraisingly at me â as if he approved. I felt myself blush again. âI have the mount for you, miss,â he said. âRight here. Follow me, miss.â
He opened the door to the stall heâd been leaning against and I followed him in. âThis is the horse for you, Miss Penelope,â he said, slapping a horse on its side. It was the horse Iâd seen him lead back into the yard. She whinnied, turning her black-brown head towards me. It was quite dark in the stall, but even in that dim light I could see the milky-white star blazed on her forehead. I fell in love with her at once.
âSheâs beautiful,â I murmured, putting out my hand
Alicia Danielle Voss-Guillén
Hilary Storm, Kathy Coopmans