Free Celandine by Steve Augarde

so. How little trouble it would be to care for hair such as that . . .
    Celandine crossed the yard, took one last look up at her window, and then went into the farmhouse. She climbed the stairs, turned right at the top landing and walked towards her bedroom door, her footsteps clacking loudly on the bare wooden flooring. She turned the handle and gave the door a gentle push, allowing it to swing open by itself. The room was empty.
    All the familiar sounds of field and farmyard drifted in through the open casement, comforting, normal. Celandine stood at her bedroom doorway for a few moments longer, then quietly went over to the window. She rested her hands on the sill, as she had seen the girl do, feeling the edge of the metal frame sharp against her soft palms as she gripped it tighter.
    What had she seen at this window? A ghost? Something not real?
    Celandine remained for a while, looking out over the peaceful landscape, not thinking exactly, just remembering. The image of the strange girl at her window was still clear in her mind. She had always supposed that it would be very frightening to see a ghost, or a spirit, or something that wasn’t really there, yet she found herself not to be frightened. Curious and confused, but not frightened.
    And besides – she shifted her gaze back to the stables once more – now that she had Tobyjug, there were far more important things to think about.
    Celandine could hardly wait for the days to begin, or bear them to come to a close. Every day for the next week, she was up before dawn – surprising even the kitchenmaid, Lettie, who was used to stumbling around, peep-eyed, with the world to herself at that hour – and she spent every spare moment that she could with Tobyjug. The animal was a delight to her, a creature deserving of all her love. Here at last was a reason to be joyful. She insisted upon caring for the pony entirely by herself, learning from Robert how to mix his feed, how to brush out his coat, how to adjust his bridle and leading rein.
    She was impatient during her school lessons, more eager than ever for the leaden hours to pass, but now there was no question of risking the loss of her free time by misbehaving. She did everything to the very best of her ability, and gave Miss Bell as little reason as possible to criticize. Miss Bell seemed almost disappointed. She looked even more sour than usual at her pupil’s apparent cheerfulness.
    ‘Pride is a sin, Celandine. We should not forget that.’
    But Celandine refused to allow her spirits to be dampened. She was happy.
    And then all the joy that had unexpectedly come into her life was just as unexpectedly snatched away from her. In one cruel instant it all came to an end. Tobyjug died.
    Celandine discovered the stiff little body stretched out upon the cold straw as she entered the stable one morning with the feed bucket. It was horrible. The pony’s eyes were open, dull and glazed in the breaking light, eyes that had been so alive and warm the night before. The tongue, black and stiff and dry, protruded from the open jaw. Celandine stood there stupidly, scarcely noticing the clang of the bucket that dropped from her helpless fingers.
    ‘Robert?’ It started out as a whisper, barely a sound at all, but then she heard herself shouting, her voice cracked and panicky. ‘Robert . . .? Robert! . . .
Robert!
’
    The stable hands leaned over the wall of the loose box and murmured to each other as Robert knelt beside the body of Tobyjug. Robert took off his cap and crouched lower, sniffing cautiously at the pony’s mouth. He straightened up and sat back on his heels for a few moments, thinking about it. The stable hands were silent now. Robert leaned forward once more, this time to brush the backs of his fingers across the stiff protruding tongue. He brought his hand towards his nose and sniffed again. ‘Hmf.’ Robert pulled on his cap and looked up at Celandine. ‘I reckons he’ve been pois—’ The awful