Читать книгу White Horses - Joan Wolf - Страница 9

The lantern threw a yellow light on the path before them and Leo took it from Gabrielle’s hands, saying, “Let me carry that.”

They crossed the yard, the dog leading the way, and went down a path that led to a large barn. When they had driven in earlier, Leo had seen that it looked rather ramshackle, but now in the dark it was simply a great looming building in front of them. The door was open and inside smelled like horses and hay.

He held up the lantern to illuminate the area.

“This way,” Gabrielle said. “We’ll say hello to the Lipizzaners first.” Her voice softened. “Hello there, fellow.”

Leo heard a soft nicker, and a white face loomed up out of the darkness of the stall. Gabrielle rubbed the white forehead and straightened a forelock. She gave the horse a piece of sugar, then opened his stall door to check if he had a full bucket of water.

“This is Sandi,” she said. “Neapolitano Santuzza, to be formal about it.”

“He’s small,” Leo said in surprise.

“Lipizzaners aren’t tall, like thoroughbreds. They are built for collected work, not for running races. He has marvelous muscles, though. You will see them tomorrow.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing him perform,” Leo said sincerely. It was the one good thing he had heard about this circus. He might have to put up with tumblers and clowns, he thought, but at least he would get to see Lipizzaners in action.

Gabrielle moved to the next stall, the greyhound at her heels. “And this is Conversano Nobilia, also known as Noble.”

Another white head appeared out of the darkness and another piece of sugar was snapped up. Once again Gabrielle checked the water.

“How old are they?” Leo asked.

“Sandi is twelve and Noble is thirteen. But Lipizzaners can work for a long time. Some of the horses that perform at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna are in their twenties.”

“That is remarkable,” Leo said. “Thoroughbreds can’t match that.”

“Thoroughbreds are beautiful animals, but they are no good for a circus. My father used to say all they are good for is going fast.”

“But they do that extremely well.”

He saw her white teeth gleam in the lantern light. “Yes, they do. I must say I have a wish to ride a thoroughbred one day. It must be like sitting on the wind.”

“That’s a good way of putting it,” he said approvingly.

She moved gracefully across the aisle to another stall. “And these are our Arabians,” she said. “They perform at liberty. You will be amazed at what they do.”

He followed her to the next stall. “At liberty?” he asked.

“Yes, they have no bridle or saddle and they go by themselves in a circle, turning and reversing and circling at the slightest signal—without a hand touching them. It is an act Papa invented and it always gets a rapturous response from the audience.”

“It sounds impressive,” he said, noting the pride in her voice.

“This is Kania,” she continued, offering sugar. She then went down the line, checking water and naming each horse as it came forward for its treat: “This is Shaitan, this is Sheiky, this is Fantan, and this is Dubai.”

Each of the horses had the dished face and wide forehead of the true Arabian. All of the horses were pure white.

They recrossed the aisle to the Lipizzaner side of the barn. “And this is our darling Coco, our rosinback horse.”

“What is a rosinback?” he asked curiously.

“Coco is the horse most of the trick riding is done on. We put rosin on his back so that the vaulters’ slippers won’t slide.” She patted his white face. “He’s part Percheron and he’s a sweetheart.”

When she spoke to her horses her voice was soft and full of love. For the first time, Leo found himself liking this circus girl.

“Are these all your performance horses?” he asked.

“Yes. The next horses in line are our wagon horses. They deserve a treat, too.” They went along the line and fed eight more horses, who came as eagerly for their sugar as the elite horses had.

“I’m looking forward to seeing them all in the light of day,” Leo said as he accompanied Gabrielle to the door. The greyhound preceded them out.

“They are lovely horses,” she said. “My papa picked them all. He used to be Master of the Horse under the late king, you know.”

“So Rothschild told me. He also told me that your father died recently. I am sorry for your loss.”

“We miss him very much,” she said softly. “It is a big responsibility for me, to try to run the circus the way he would have wanted. But I have the help of my brothers and Emma and Gerard.”

He glanced down at the girl at his side. It was a lot of responsibility to rest on those slender shoulders, he thought. And she had had the courage to take on Rothschild’s gold, too.

“Your brothers are very young.”

“Yes, but Papa trained them well.”

“I noticed that it was your name on the circus bill.”

“I am the featured rider and trainer, yes. Mathieu and Albert are good riders, but not as good as I.” She said this perfectly matter-of-factly. “I have Papa’s touch with horses, you see.”

They were approaching the door to the farmhouse kitchen and he held up the lantern to illuminate the door-knob.

“Who is Luc Balzac, the other equestrian mentioned on the bill?” he asked.

He noticed the faintest change in her voice as she answered. “Oh, Luc is a wonderful rider. You will have to see him to believe what he can do.”

She pushed open the kitchen door and went inside, followed by Leo. As he extinguished the lantern she went to the sink. “I will just wash up these dishes,” she said. “You can dry.”

He looked up from the lantern. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, you can dry these dishes after I wash them. Here is a towel.”

He stared at the towel she was holding out as if it was a poisonous snake. She chuckled, a rich, husky sound that was thoroughly delightful. “Have you never dried dishes before?” she asked disbelievingly.

“No, I have not,” he replied defensively.

“Well, now is a good time to start,” she said. “In the circus we all have to do a little of everything.”

He considered telling her to go to the devil, but then his common sense stepped in. I suppose I must blend in, he thought. It’s only for a month.

He came forward and took the towel from her hand. He waited while she washed a plate in a pan of water and then he dried it.

“See?” she said, giving him a smile. “It’s not so bad.”

He looked back impassively. “It’s a new experience,” he said.

Her smile faded and she turned away, plunked another plate in the pan and washed it.

It was about ten o’clock at night when everyone went to bed. There was a tense silence as they all went up the stairs and Leo and Gabrielle went together into her room.

“I will be right next door if you need me,” Mathieu told his sister meaningfully.

“I’m sure I won’t,” she replied. “Anyway, I have Colette. Get some sleep, Mathieu, and stop worrying about me.”

“Good night, chérie,” Emma said, and kissed her on the cheek.

“Good night,” Gabrielle replied. She opened the door to her bedroom. “Come along, Leo,” she said, then went into the room, leaving the door open for him.

She talks to me exactly as if I was her dog, Leo thought indignantly as he followed her in, candle in hand.

The bedroom was not large. It had a four-poster bed, and at its foot a narrow trundle bed had been made up with a quilt and a pillow. There was one nightstand and a wardrobe and a single straight chair in front of the fireplace.

Pretty dismal, Leo thought, thinking of his own sumptuous bedroom at home.

The dog jumped onto the bed and settled herself along the bottom. He looked at her for a moment before he turned to Gabrielle. “Is this your farm?” he asked.

“No, we rented it for the winter. It is not so easy to find a place for four months that has the stabling we require, so we have to take what we can get. We had this place last winter and I was lucky enough to get it again this year. They are looking to sell it, but the wartime economy is bad.” She paused and gazed around the tiny room.

“Getting dressed and undressed is going to be a problem,” she finally said. “There is no private dressing room in any of the places where we will be staying. If we turn our backs on each other can I trust you not to look?”

“Certainly,” he said stiffly.

“All right. I will get undressed in front of the wardrobe and you can get undressed on the far side of the bed. Don’t look until I say it’s all right.”

Leo said, “I had intended to sleep in my clothing.”

“Don’t be stupid,” she replied. “You don’t have that many changes and we don’t have much chance to do laundry. Don’t you have a nightshirt with you?”

He did not enjoy being called stupid and replied even more stiffly than before. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Then put it on,” she ordered. “I have been a married woman. I have seen a man in a nightshirt before. You won’t shock me.”

The humor of the situation suddenly struck him. He was sounding as if he was a virgin, he thought. His mouth quirked into a smile. Very well, he thought, if he wasn’t going to scandalize her in his nightshirt he would be very much more comfortable than he would be sleeping in his clothes.

“All right,” he said. He lifted his portmanteau onto the bed, extracted a nightshirt and turned his back. “I won’t turn around until you tell me I can,” he said.

“Good.” He heard her walking toward the wardrobe. Silence fell as he removed his clothing and slid the nightshirt over his head. The bedroom was cold and he moved quickly. It was about three minutes before he heard her say, “All right. You can look now.”

He turned around and she was wearing a long white flannel gown with a collar and buttons. Her hair was still fixed into a coronet around her small head. “You can have the bed. I’ll fit in the trundle bed much better than you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of taking your bed,” he said with surprise. “No gentleman would consign a lady to a cot while he slept in comfort.”

“You may be a gentleman, but I’m not a lady,” Gabrielle said. “I’m a practical woman who works for her living. And it’s ridiculous to fold you up on that bed when I shall be perfectly comfortable there.”

As if to prove her point, she went over to the trundle and sat down. Then she reached up and began to remove the pins from her braids. “Go ahead,” she said. “Get into bed. It’s cold in this room and your legs are bare.”

He was slightly scandalized. There was no other way to put it. Leo was far from being a virgin, but he was a little off balance with this girl who coped so matter-offactly with their intimacy.

“What about the dog?” he asked.

“She always sleeps on the bed. She won’t bother you. You have plenty of room.”

Slowly he pulled the covers back from the bed and got in. He watched in silence as she unbraided her hair and let it fall loose around her shoulders and down her back. Then she took a ribbon and tied it at the nape of her neck.

She caught him looking at her. “Good night, Leo,” she said pointedly.

“Good night…Gabrielle,” he replied.

She nodded with satisfaction. “That is the first time you have said my name. It’s not so bad, is it? Will you blow the candle out?”

He blew the candle out and listened to the small sounds she made as she pulled the covers up around her and settled herself to sleep.

Well, he thought, the important thing is to get the gold to Wellington. If I have to put up with a snip of a girl ordering me around I suppose I can endure it.

The bulk of Colette was warm against his chilly feet. He closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Gabrielle woke in the middle of the night, something that was unusual for her. For a moment she was disoriented, finding herself in a strange bed. Then she remembered that she was in the trundle bed and she also remembered who was sharing the room with her.

Leo. It suited him, she thought, a big golden lion of a man. And his eyes—never had she seen that shade of aquamarine. There was an aloof look in those eyes, however. She knew he was not happy to be joining a circus.

Perhaps he is the younger son of some great lord, she thought. Perhaps that is why he sought to make the army his career.

She lay quietly and listened. The room was silent. If she listened very carefully she could hear Leo breathing.

He doesn’t snore. That’s nice. André used to snore and I would have to push him to turn him over.

Her thoughts turned to her dead husband and sadness overcame her. He had been so full of energy, André. It wasn’t fair that life had been taken from him at such a young age.

Two years ago he was alive. Two years ago we shared a room together, and now I share it with this stranger, this cold Englishman who thinks he is better than the rest of us.

How he had looked when she told him to turn his back and undress! She swallowed a giggle. The circus will take the starch out of him, she thought. I’ll see to that.