Free The Flood-Tide by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles Page B

Moreover, Stevens would not allow him to use a toasting fork, and in order to get the toast near enough the flames to brown at all, Edward had to subject his fingertips to severe burning. At night in bed he wept from the pain of them, and when the blisters burst they festered. At times he could barely hold the toast without dropping it - another beatable offence. At first he prayed nightly to the Lady, and St Anthony, patron of the oppressed, to help him; but as time went on he prayed simply and desperately to God to let him die.
    It was on a day in spring that Edward first caught the eye of Chetwyn, the House Captain. He had been out picking flowers for Stevens' nosegay, and had passed the senior boy with no more than a scared duck of the head, when Chetwyn called him back.
    ‘Morland - from York, aren't you? Any relation to the Morlands who breed the racehorses?'
    ‘My mother and father, sir,' Edward said, wondering what new derision or imposition was coming. But Chetwyn lounged gracefully against a windowsill, and seemed to be looking at him with kindly interest. 'Well, my mother mostly,' he added, encouraged.
    ‘Your mother, eh? Well, well. Know anything about horses, boy?'
    ‘A bit, sir. Our stallion, Artembares - I helped Mother hand-break him, sir.'
    ‘Artembares - yes, I've seen him run. Know what your mother's sending down to Newmarket this year?'
    ‘Yes, sir, we've a good colt called Persis, by Artembares out of a mare called Dawn. Mother thinks he's bound to do well, sir.'
    ‘Don't call me sir, Morland. Oh, it's all right, don't look so scared, I won't eat you.' He paused thoughtfully, while Edward moved from foot to foot, worried that the flowers would wilt, or that Stevens would be looking for him. Suddenly Chetwyn smiled. 'Listen, Morland, I've got two horses over at Biggs' stable, and they need exercising. My damned groom is laid up with some sickness or other, so I need someone to ride my second horse for me. I'm taking them over to Dorney Common for a run - care to come along and help me?’
    Edward stared, torn between his terror of Stevens and the inadvisability of refusing a house captain. In the end he managed to stammer, 'But S-Stevens—'
    ‘Oh, I'll square it with Stevens, don't you worry. All right, Morland, I'll see you at Biggs' in half an hour.’
    It was for Edward a blissful day. To be riding a horse again, to be away from the terror and torment of Stevens, would have been enough for him, but in addition there was the completely new experience of the kindly interest of an older boy. Chetwyn was charming to him, praised his handling of the horse, expressed an interest in all Edward's family, and displayed a knowledge of racing and breeding that made Edward feel at home. They took dinner together in Datchet, and continued to chat amicably about the stud at Twelvetrees.
    ‘You write home a lot, so the other fellows tell me,' Chetwyn said, lighting his pipe and leaning back comfortably when they had cleared their plates. Edward looked surprised, and Chetwyn said, 'Oh yes, I hear things. It's my business as House Captain to know who's who in the house. Does your mother write back to you? Does she tell you about the horses?'
    ‘Well, she would if I asked. She only says if something important happens,' Edward said, a little puzzled.
    ‘Ask her, next time you write. She'll be sending something to Ascot, I dare say? I'd be interested to know what. I'd be interested in anything she says about horses, understand?’
    Edward didn't, quite, but he was too pleased and grateful for the notice to ask. 'Of course, Chetwyn,' he said. 'I'll tell you everything. Do you go to the races?'
    ‘Oh yes,' Chetwyn said. 'I'll take you, if you like.'
    ‘But aren't they out of bounds?'
    ‘Certainly. But the trick is, not to be caught. My chestnut, now, he has a turn of speed. Would you say he was as fast as your mother's horses?’
    At the end of a delightful day, they rode back towards Eton, and Edward felt the