“It’ll make a change from a shock. Yes, of course. If my chair can get to wherever we’re going, it sounds as if it might be rather fun. And I’d like some fun.”
Maisie looked down at Anna, who had reverted to her former seriousness, as if she were trying to guess what a surprise might be, and if she’d ever had one before. Soon Maisie was pushing Miller along a well-worn path from the Dower House to the stables at the back of Chelstone Manor, with Brenda and Anna following behind. In earlier days the stables had housed carriage horses, hunters, and draft horses for the farm beyond the gardens. One retired draft horse remained, his power now replaced by a tractor. The hunters—James’ hunters—were still there, for neither Lady Rowan nor Maisie could bear to sell them. They were exercised each day by two sisters who lived in the village. There was also a fine mare in foal, another Derby hopeful to join others owned by Lady Rowan Compton. Miller indicated that it was all right to leave him alongside a hunter, who poked his head over the stable door to be nuzzled. With Anna holding her hand, Maisie walked slowly towards a stable at the end of the row of stalls. She could hear Frankie’s voice, and then the groom telling him, “They’re here.”
“Hello, little Anna. And to you, Mr. Miller.” He nodded to acknowledge Miller, and turned his attention back to Anna. “I’ve got a surprise for you!”
Anna looked up at Maisie. She wavered, as if not sure whether to go to Frankie, but Maisie nodded, and she released her hand.
“Come on, got something special for you. Over here.”
Frankie held out his hand, and as he did so, Maisie felt her throat catch, for in that moment she was a child herself, in Lambeth, on a morning when her father was taking her on his rounds, delivering fruit and vegetables to his customers. Still reticent, Anna walked towards Frankie, tiptoeing as if she were stepping across thin ice.
“There you go, pet. Have a look in there,” said Frankie, his hand on her shoulder.
At once Anna released her hold on her case and pulled off the box containing her gas mask, letting them fall to the ground. Frankie picked them up and handed them to Maisie—and she at once felt caught between laughter and tears, for Anna was embracing the white pony, who had been scrubbed until the deep-caked farm mud was washed away. Her hoofs had been trimmed, and her mane and tail brushed until they shone. Maisie watched as Frankie showed Anna the small child’s saddle he had brought from the tack room, and the bridle he would teach her to put on the pony before she went for her first ride the following day.
As dusk began to fall, Maisie took Anna’s hand and led her from the stable, whereupon the child looked around as if panicked, remembering her case and mask.
“There you are, Anna,” said Maisie. “I held on to them while you were with the pony.”
Frankie remained behind to speak to Miller, saying he would be home directly the guest had been safely returned to the manor house. For her part, Anna clutched her belongings to her chest, half stumbling as she walked up the slight incline back to the Dower House, Emma at her side and Maisie and Brenda walking a step behind.
Maisie led Anna to her room and drew back the bedclothes, pulling her pajamas from under the pillow.
When the child was ready for bed, Maisie tucked in the bedclothes and asked, “Do you have a name for the pony, Anna?”
Anna nodded.
“What is it?” asked Maisie.
She took a deep breath, as if ready to make a pronouncement. Instead she turned on her side and closed her eyes.
With a hurried supper of ham, eggs, and fried potatoes in front of them, Maisie, Brenda, and Frankie sat down to eat. There was little conversation over the meal, though Maisie knew her father had more to say to her. And she knew it would be better if everything he thought about her purchase of the pony was out in the open.
“What is it, Dad? You’ve had a sore head since before we set off. You haven’t said everything on your mind, have you? I think it’s best if you got it all off your chest.”
Brenda looked from father to daughter, scraped back her chair, and collected the plates.
“I’ll do that, Brenda,” said Maisie.
“Then I’ll go and listen to the news, while you two have a word.”
As Brenda left the kitchen, Frankie Dobbs looked out of the window into the night and folded his arms. He shook his head. “I know Brenda’s said something, and I know I’ve had a word, but I’ll say my piece and then have done with it.” He sighed and looked at Maisie, his eyes meeting hers. She felt herself begin to draw back, as her father’s pale blue eyes seemed to drill into her.
“We’ve not crossed each other many times, my Maisie, though we’ve had our ups and downs—but no worse than any other father and daughter, I imagine. You’ve done well, and I’m proud of you.”