Standing at the back door of Brandling Manor, Jack Wetherly could not recall a time when he had felt so uneasy. He had just been told by the stuffy butler, Vincent, that Sir Oswald Brandling was demanding to see him. Jack could only see this as the beginning of the end of his ostler career at the manor.
Worse, and without doubt, the main reason for this meeting, was his relationship with Becky, the orphaned niece of Sir Oswald. After all they had shared, although frowned upon by society, Jack could not bear the thought of being parted from her. She was so alive, so alert, so beautiful, and oh, so sensuously loving, but would now be the focus of any actions Sir Oswald took against him. Classes mixing was severely frowned upon.
It was so hard to believe that less than twenty-four hours earlier he had been in a state of high euphoria. It had been the best day of his life, Merevale village’s Fayre day. In unusual circumstances, he had ridden Rascal, the horse he had been taking special care of, to victory in the annual race. Sir Oswald had presented the fifty pounds prize. Would he now demand that Jack returned that?
Oh, if only Becky had not thrown her arms around him and pretended to kiss him on the cheek as she whispered the location for their assignation. Other women had been warm in their congratulations on his victory. But the thunderous look on Sir Oswald’s face, as Becky stepped back, had told Jack that trouble was on the way.
Now that trouble was here, as he heard the butler’s voice, from inside, “I’ll get that.” The door opened and there was Vincent glaring down his nose at him.
Vincent’s cold dark eyes scanned Jack disdainfully, “Filthy boots off.”
Jack was annoyed at that. He had deliberately cleaned his boots with a bunch of hay before coming down. He eyed Vincent questioningly.
“Leave them down here. Can’t have you marking Sir Oswald’s carpet.”
As Jack bent to unfasten and remove his boots, he was glad that the socks Aunt Rose had handed him that morning, were free of any holes.
“Follow me.”
Jack followed the stiff, broad back up a short flight of stairs, through a doorway, and Jack found himself in a large hall, with chandelier overhead. A wide staircase curved up the right-hand wall. He had only been inside the manor once before when he had been introduced to Sir Oswald, but still found it impressive
Vincent continued his imperious walk across the tiled floor. Under Jack’s stockinged feet as he followed, the tiles felt pleasantly cool.
Vincent knocked at a large white door, and gave a mannered wave of his hand, to get Jack to stay where he was. Then he pushed the door open. Jack’s knees trembled. Retribution was at hand.
“The apprentice ostler is here, sir,” Vincent intoned, stressing the word ‘apprentice’.
“Show him in, Vincent.”
Vincent waved him inside with a curt gesture,
Sir Oswald gave Jack a sweeping glance before demanding, “Where is this man’s footwear?”
“I got him to leave his boots downstairs, sir,” Vincent told him, his face reddening.
Sir Oswald’s face showed his displeasure at the butler. “Get those boots here without delay. I will not embarrass my guests by having them in stockinged feet.”
Vincent was now plum-coloured, “But they were filthy, sir.”
“Then clean them. Just get them here.”
Vincent’s face was a mix of shock, dismay, deference, and when he looked at Jack, pure dislike. Jack, despite his own uncertain future, loved the moment, as the butler hurried away.
Sir Oswald was standing by the window, a cigar was smoking in his hand, he nodded at Jack, “Thank you for coming so promptly,” he said, extinguishing the cigar in an ashtray.
Jack was already surprised by the lightness of tone his master was adopting. Just being in these imposing surroundings, with the massive desk, the maroon covered chairs and the library of books filling the opposite wall, could have rendered him speechless.
Sir Oswald was dressed in grey pants and, what Jack in his limited experience, guessed would be called a smoking jacket, maroon and quilted. Very up-market.
His master leaned forward with both hands on his desk, “I have to start with the subject of my niece Rebecca.”
Oh, God, here it comes.
“I know you met her on her first horse ride. Alf told me about her use of the whip, and how you had talked her out of that.”
Fancy telling Sir Oswald that.
“But what happened yesterday, well it put something of a blight on what was a wonderful day.” The tone of voice had only become slightly more severe.
This whole situation was beyond everything that Jack had feared, and what Sir Oswald said next totally stunned him.
“I was horrified to see her throw her arms around you in that unladylike fashion, and in front of all my friends. I could see how embarrassed you were, so I must apologise on her behalf.”
Sir Oswald was apologising to him! Jack was weak with relief but found the voice to say, “Everyone was very excited.”
“I agree. But there has to be an element of control which, I fear, my niece finds difficult.” He paused and walked around the table, “Anyway, I gave her a good hard talking to and she went off looking very woebegone. She must have done some heavy thinking for in just over half an hour, she was back, all light-hearted and cheerful. So, my talk had some effect.”
In any other circumstance, Jack might have burst out in joyful laughter. He knew so well, that it wasn’t her uncle’s talk that had made her light-hearted.
“Please, take a seat there.” He waved to the chair on the other side of the desk from his own, before moving there and sitting.
Feeling very self-conscious Jack sat down. This was not at all what he’d expected. When they were settled and facing each other across the wide desk, the landowner said: “Jack, I have something important I want to talk to you about.”
Jack was just a little overwhelmed. Something more important than Becky? He had arrived believing that their liaison was the reason for him being ordered here. So, what was to come? He sat with his hands clenched nervously on his knee.
“I have promoted that village race for a number of years now, and despite Alf’s best efforts I’ve never produced a winner. The manner in which you handled the horse, avoiding that youngster and then going on to win was quite impressive. And something of a coincidence.”
“Coincidence, sir?”
“Jack, I don’t suppose you know what a thoroughbred horse is.”
Jack did know, and was keen to reveal what he knew, “It’s a horse, stallion or filly, whose bloodline leads back one of the eastern stock horses, Arab or, I believe, Turkish.”
Sir Oswald’s eyes had widened in surprise, “How on earth do you know that?”
“I was in the city last year, and couldn’t resist buying a book called, ‘The History of the Horse.’ There was a section on thoroughbreds.”
“You read that well?” The note of admiration in the voice thrilled Jack, and he told of his father’s influence.
“Your father sounds like he was a remarkable man.”
“He was, sir.” That tightness was in his chest at such times.
“He would have been proud of you yesterday,” Sir Oswald said, the dark eyes were very firmly on Jack’s face. “Well, if what Alf tells me is true, there will be the scope to make him even more proud.”
Jack‘s face must have shown his puzzlement, and Sir Oswald laughed, before saying, “I have to tell you, Alf thinks what I’ve done is exciting, and he believes you are well ready to be given the chance,” The smile dropped from his face as he added, “Lady Brandling is rather less pleased.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t—”
“Yes, I’m being long-winded. Partly because I am also excited.” A slight pause, as he drew in a breath, “You see, Jack, I have just laid out a considerable sum of money for a thoroughbred two-year-old stallion, which I intend to race.”
At that moment, there was a knock at the door and Vincent entered holding Jack’s boots at arms-length. His eyes on Jack were daggers, as Sir Oswald said, “Put them down there.”
Jack could see the desire for Vincent to throw them at his head. But the boots were placed at his feet and with a slight bow towards Sir Oswald he left.
Jack’s hand was trembling so much as he fastened up his boots. Was Sir Oswald really intending to risk him with what had to be a very expensive animal? But, oh, the prospect of that chance.
Sir Oswald wore a half-smile, as he asked, “That worries you?”
“Excites me. A thoroughbred.”
“You ever been to a race meeting?”
Jack shook his head, “Never.”
“Well,” Sir Oswald said getting to his feet, “the nearest decent track is Exhampton. We’ll have to take a trip out there, just to get you familiar with the atmosphere.
“How old is this horse, sir?”
“He’s just a yearling at the moment. By the time we get him, he’ll be a two year old. All ready to prepare for racing. I’ve seen his Jockey Club papers. The sire was bred from Arabian stock and the mare had won some top-grade races up to one mile. So a fast pedigree.”
Jack nodded, his insides all alight. “My book says that the Arabian line tends to have light bones and breeding with a good mare adds strength to the line.”
Sir Oswald came around his desk and Jack stood up, “You’re going to have to get your head into that book, so you’re really tuned up by the time we get the horse, from the stud.”
He went to the door, “I’ve taken enough of your time, but it has been a very fruitful session.”
Jack found that he was being led to the front door. That made him feel rather important. As they walked, Sir Oswald talked over all the things they were going to need to consider. A name for the horse, the coloured silks he would decide on, finding the right jockey. He gave Jack a pat on the back, “Rascal didn’t mind your weight. But our jockey needs to be around eight stone.”
“I’m a long way from that, sir,” Jack said lightly.
Sir Oswald opened the large front door, “Think about how he’ll be stabled. And read that book. I’ll let Alf know if there are any further developments. Good morning now.”
As Jack said his farewell and started down the steps Sir Oswald called, “Oh, Jack, I meant to tell you. My niece has been ordered to apologise personally next time you encounter her.”
Jack didn’t know how to respond to that. Inside his head, thoughts were galloping ahead as he nodded and walked away. His next encounter with his niece should be on the following morning when Sir Oswald and Alf took their ride. It was to be their first liaison in that special hour.
Glad at heart, Jack hurried across the grass to the stables. Alf was near the trough giving one of the drays a brush down.
“You sly devil,” Jack called, as he approached the older man, “You knew all the time.”.
Alf stepped back from his work, a wide grin on his face, “Thought you’d enjoy the surprise.”
“How long have you known?”
“Only since yesterday. Fancy handling a thoroughbred?”
“I’ve read about them.”
“That impress the major?”
“Surprised him, I think.”
Alf nodded, “You’ll have gone up even further in his estimation.”
“Only if I get it right.”
Alf continued his brushing, “We’ll have some time to decide how we organise things. But it is exciting.”
What was equally exciting for Jack was waking up on the following morning. A Monday morning was usually no different than any other day, but this one, he hoped, was going to be. Today was due to see the first day of his plan with Becky for an all too brief, but regular, coming together.
Soon he was out and hurrying over the open fields towards the Brandling land and the stables. His intention was to have the main morning work completed by the time Alf left for his ride with Sir Oswald.
Arriving at the stables he was pleased to see that the large doors were unopened which indicated that Alf had not yet come down from his lodge which had been built especially for him above the stables. Alf’s wife Maisie had died three years before jack had met him, and Jack had always found his chief fiercely independent. Jack had seen how spotless he kept the small two-room area. “Maisie would insist on it,” he would say wistfully.
Jack opened the stable doors as quietly as possible and was soon doling out feed at each of the stalls. He reached the last stall which belonged to his favourite, now village champion, Rascal, and was just giving the feeding animal a loving fondle when Alf appeared and expressed his surprise at seeing Jack there so early.
“Couldn’t sleep,” he told Alf.
“Still excited by the prospect?” Alf asked, walking along each stall, checking the well-being of the feeding animals
“Prospect?” There was only one prospect on Jack’s mind this morning.
“Getting the thoroughbred. What other prospects are there?”
Jack gave a nod, a shrug and pointed to one of the unused stalls near the door, “That one for the newcomer when he arrives?”
Alf looked surprised, “You have been thinking ahead.”
For the rest of the morning, as they worked, they chatted about how they would deal with a frisky thoroughbred and more, how they would go about preparing him for a race.
Alf nodded and without a trace of rancour he said, “And I can see that the major sees that part of the training being your responsibility.”
“I’ll need help though, Alf. Your all-round knowledge of horses will be invaluable.”
At last, late morning, Alf began saddling up his own mount while Jack prepared Charger, Sir Oswald’s horse. Then he stood and watched Alf ride towards the front of the house, leading Charger behind him.
Not long now, he was telling himself, as he swept up the stable floor, and smiling to himself, plumped up the large mound of fresh hay that was always stacked in a special recess inside the stable to the left of the main doors. It looked suitably cosy on this particular morning.
Jack had just picked up a displaced saddle and was reaching up to place it on a hook when a pair of hands looped around his waist and pressed on his crotch. A quick waft of delicate perfume was followed by Becky’s delightfully delicate voice, close to his ear, “I have been ordered to offer you an apology.”
His heart thumping, Jack whipped around his arms wide to quickly enfold her and draw her close. Her lovely face was smiling up into his as she added, “Do you want this apology to be formal or a little more informal? Like this.” She sensuously squirmed her body against his.
Jack had no reply other than to press his eager lips to hers. Becky’s response was equally desperate. When they broke, she said, “We have so much to talk about.”
Jack nodded, “And only an hour to fit it all in.”
“But you’ll manage it, won’t you?” she giggled, her fingers groping at his swollen breeches. “It has seemed an age since Saturday.”
Jack gestured towards the piled hay in the corner, “Your bed awaits.”
Her eyes glanced towards the hay, turned, bright and shining, back to Jack, and then with a squeal of delight, she ran towards the hay. Her hands were active in front of her, and Jack, having noticed that she was wearing what he had come to term the ‘easy-opening’ dress, felt his breath shudder in his throat,
Was it safety or modesty that had him pull the doors near to closed, and then, unbuttoning his shirt he raced to where Becky lay on her back in the hay, her dress already parted to reveal the voluptuous delicacy of her body.
Almost stumbling in his eagerness, he shrugged off his shirt and allowed his breeches to fall. Within seconds he was standing over her, his member, solid as a rock yet waving back and forth.
Smiling widely. Becky gazed up at him, her eyes locking on his erection. “Is that purple headed monster going to assault me.”
Sinking slowly to his knees, and not thinking about his words, he replied, “No, I believe he’s going to love you.”
That was a word that had not passed between them, and there was a momentary pause in their progress towards fulfilment, their eyes met, and held, as the word was absorbed into their minds.
Then he was alongside her, their lips and tongues meshed while their hands luxuriated in the wonders of the others skin and flesh. Becky’s nipples were raised and firm under his probing fingers while the soft fullness of her breasts heightened his desire.
Becky’s fingers stroked through his hair over his shoulders and down his back. Jack wriggled slightly in the soft hay so that his hardness pressed into her hip, and Becky wasn’t slow to reach for it. Her fingers held it gently at first, plucking at the retracted foreskin.
Jack became aware of her thighs parting further and he took the invitation to explore into her crease and find the moisture which indicated her readiness. Her gasping cry at that moment broke the kiss, as she moaned, “God, Jack, I want everything you can give me, but for now, I want you inside me.” And she pulled on his shaft.
Willingly, Jack, slid his fingers deeper among her petals, lingering around what should have been a tiny nub, but was already like some sprouting seedling, further indicating her readiness. As her hand was already guiding him, he rolled between her thighs, felt her waggle his tip along her crease.
Within seconds his rod was sliding up into the warm, wet, welcoming core of her, as Becky cried out her delight. Grunting himself with each stroke but determined to keep this going as long as possible, he raised his head from where he had been nuzzling her neck, and hissed, “Don’t scare the horses.”
Her eyes clouded, she gazed up into his face, and growled, “Can’t help it. Don’t dare stop.” Her eyes closed as he thrust again, and she heaved her hips up to meet him.
Their motion became wilder, and Becky cried out as her first climax hit her. It did not slow her exuberance as her inner muscles continued to draw at him and she rolled her body to straddle him, only for Jack to jerk her over and she was on her back again.
They continued in this wildly vigorous pattern, rolling over and over in their luxuriant hay bed. Jack felt his hard tip buffer against something inside Becky, and that seemed to be a signal for each of them to hasten to a mad climax. Jack knew that his determination to keep going as long as possible was not going to be possible. The tightness and pulsing along his length could not be denied.
Under him, her thighs thrusting, Becky’s head rolled, her eyes wide, yet blind, as a gradual mumble escaped from her lips. As that mumbling became a wild squeal of ecstasy, Jack released, and together, with pulse after pulse spurting into her, they heaved and cried out in mutual joy.
They lay quietly, recovering for a while, before Becky whispered, “Wonderful again. Hay makes a superb bed.”
“You are just too lovely to be true,” Jack said fervently and sat up to look down at her.
“If only—” she began, touching his cheek with gentle fingers, “—we could be open about it.”
“Society wouldn’t like that.”
“Damn society.” Her voice had been briefly angry, but now she asked lightly, “You know my uncle will ask you if my apology was acceptable. What will you say?”
“I’ll say—” And he couldn’t maintain his seriousness as he chuckled, “—I’m afraid she’ll have to do it again. I wasn’t satisfied.”
“Oh, you.” And she made a mock slap at his face. “He was very impressed that you could read.” For just a second, her face fell, “I don’t think we’ll be able to do this every day.”
“Why?”
“A bit awkward. My aunt has a friend taking her to town this morning. Asked me to go with them. I made an excuse of a headache. But there are going to be times like that.”
Jack nodded, “I think I’ll have to accept that. Look, we’d better get our clothes on.”
“Oh, do we have to?” Her hand tracing down his chest.
Jack told her that the only warning they could have of Alf’s return was a view from the stable door and across into the nearby trees, “There’s a quick glimpse of them as they return towards the manor.”
Dressed and sitting out in the sun, Becky asked, “Were you pleased with the news from my uncle?”
“I thought he was going to sack me because of that hug you gave me.”
She laughed, “No, I took the blame for that. So, what about this special stallion he’s bought. Are you excited?”
“I don’t know very much about thoroughbreds.”
Laughing, Becky nudged his arm, “What? You’ve just been tupping a thoroughbred.”
Jack joined in with her laugh, “Yes, but you’re a filly,” And he leaned very close to her, “And a joy to handle.”
They sat there talking about their chances for a future and arranged that Becky, on days her aunt needed her company, would put a red scarf in a particular window high in one of the towers. When the two riders were spotted through a gap in the trees they shared a final long kiss farewell and Becky hurried back to the house.
For the next two months, their arrangement worked without too many problems. On just three occasions the red scarf was necessary, but against that, they managed three lakeside sessions which were much more extended than their morning assignations.
Then the event that was eventually to trigger a major change in their time together took place. The thoroughbred arrived.
