A Dreadful Splendor (76)

Something strange stirred in my chest. I had a vision of my mother, pregnant with me, and walking toward the Thames that fateful day.

“Miss Timmons, please.” His eyes implored me. “We will lose both lives.”

I grabbed the cloth and joined him at the rear of the horse, squatting shoulder to shoulder. He adjusted his grip and leaned back. Slowly, the hind legs appeared, encased in a silvery membrane.

“Wrap the cloth around both hooves,” he said. My hands shook as I did what he instructed. “Good, now take the ends and don’t let go. I’m going to reach in farther and pull again. You must keep the cloth taut, but don’t pull, and don’t let go until I say.” He stared at me with those blue eyes, willing me to be brave.

My mouth had gone dry. I wouldn’t have been able to choke out a word. I nodded and tightened my grip.

“All right, then.” A trail of sweat rolled down the side of his face. With a curse, he leaned back, the tendons in his arms straining as he pulled. There was a pause, and more of the legs emerged, then a hint of the back. There was a great gush, and the rest of the foal slipped out. We backed up together. The mare lifted her head.

Mr. Pemberton pulled the sac away, exposing the foal’s muzzle. Taking a cloth, he wiped its face vigorously. The newborn finally gave a gentle snort, and we all cheered. The charged air had given way to euphoria.

“Congratulations.” Mr. Pemberton smiled at me. “It’s a girl.”

It didn’t take long for the men to clean the area and bring in fresh straw. Mr. Pemberton moved about the two animals, gently coaxing the mare toward the newborn. I was content to stay at the edge of the activity. My hands were still shaking. Under the soft light of the stable lanterns, the pair nestled together.

Mr. Pemberton washed up at the pump in the corner, stripping to his waist to scrub his arms and shoulders. I watched as the water droplets trailed down his back, contouring around each muscle. I admit, seeing him shirtless was a powerful distraction. I sat on the top of a barrel, indulging myself in the view.

Joseph came over, his amiable smile in place. “Well done,” he said.

“I’ve seen nothing like it,” I said, still under the spell of the moment. “How many times have you done this?”

He blushed and pushed some straw around with the toe of his boot. “Only the second time, miss, but this was much better. The first time the mare didn’t live. Tragic thing, it was. M’lord was here then too.”

Mr. Pemberton slipped on a clean shirt one of the stable hands had lent him. It was intriguing to see him don such a simple garment. “You did well tonight, Joseph,” he said. “You’ll make a fine head groomsman one day.”

Joseph answered the compliment with a quiet nod, attempting to appear unaffected, but I could tell the praise was appreciated. He rejoined the other men.

Mr. Pemberton sat down on the rim of the barrel beside me. “The men are surprised you didn’t faint at all the blood,” he said. “I’ve had a few stable hands lose their dinners at just the smell.”

“I should think not,” I replied. I had mastered the art of hiding a mouthful of ectoplasm, after all. “Besides, with all the orders you were giving out, I could hardly spare a moment to think of my stomach.”

He considered that, and then his face took on an earnest expression. “I imagine this is a novel experience for you.”

“This may surprise you, but delivering horses is probably a novel experience for most people.” I laughed.

“I meant birth instead of death.”

His words carried a thoughtfulness that took me by surprise. I had no smart reply. After a moment, I asked, “When was the last time you helped a mare give birth? Was it before the wedding?”

“Yes,” he said, a cautious edge to his voice. “A few nights before the wedding, actually. I remember how terrible it all was.”

I thought of Flora’s story. “Was it a long struggle for the horse? Did you have to spend the whole night in the stables?” He frowned at my questions, so I quickly added, “I can’t imagine how horrible that must have been for all involved.”

“It was,” he said. “But at least the animal didn’t suffer for very long. It was over by midnight. I remember when I returned to the manor, I tried to sneak back without being seen. I didn’t want to appear as though I was already claiming ownership of Somerset and the stables.”

He ran a hand through his hair. His voice was softer, more solemn. “I may not be proficient in most things involving status and titles, but I know horses, and I couldn’t help but try to prevent the tragedy. I scared one of the maids to death, I believe. I know my actions were not expected of someone who was to oversee the running of Somerset Park.”

Relief flooded over me, releasing the grip on my heart. I was certain Flora would not be afraid if she knew the truth. Still, there was one lingering concern I needed clarity on. I began, “The night you found me on the stairs and took me to your room, I saw a portrait of a woman and a horse.” I purposely let the sentence hang.

“My mother,” he answered. There was a new sense of admiration in his tone. “She taught me how to ride. My father was all business, but she was the one who instilled the importance of connecting with the soul of the animal.” His expression grew wistful. “She died when I was ten, and consequently so did a part of my father. He was very much changed afterward.” His shoulders curved inward, as if burdened by the recollection of all that he had lost.