“What the hell?” he asked drawlingly. “You’ll be startling the hoss; getting us thrown out.”
“Sorry,” she murmured, staring at the animal’s undulating back. It was slurring its hooves and occasionally slipped, the trap correspondingly making little forward ducks which made Flo clutch the seat edge. “What’s your name?”
“Miss Royer,” she answered, suddenly recalling again Mrs. Mawson’s advice about sticking up for herself.
“Come off it . . . I’m Clem. What is it, Sally, Maggie, Jane . . .?” he demanded, tossing the reins and still looking straight ahead.
“Florence,” she said reluctantly.
“Not many of them round here,” he commented without any particular interest. “Flo for short, I reckon?”
He did not seem to want any reply and she did not give any. The trap went slowly and jerkily down the slope on to a more level stretch. The reins were shaken again and the horse slung its feet and slapped them down in a lazy sort of trot that gave to the trap an uncomfortable forward-and-back rock. Flo felt herself nodding foolishly, but Clem somehow let the lower part of his body sway while his shoulders, neck and head kept steady. He ignored her now, apparently occupied with thoughts which had no connection with her. This relieved her and she looked round. They were rolling towards the church. The houses gathered below it were all grey, with grey stone roofs. In a way she liked them, though it was strange that they were not brick. Then the trap trundled beneath a bridge with a high round arch cut diagonally through an embankment, and the direction of the road changed so that she saw that they would not go very near to the church after all. The horse stopped its clopping and walked, and the trap was steadier. A man shoving a brush along the gutter said, “How do, Clem,” and then rested on his brush to stare after them. They passed between two short rows of houses and then the road ended at a wider road running right and left. The horse without any instruction turned left. Clem let it go at its own pace, which was slow. Next the way began to rise slightly, and the houses on either side were fewer, and soon they were between hedges going along a broad ridge, and the view was extensive and good. In front there was a wide valley narrowing towards its end, which looked about two miles away. It was a moment or two before she realized that, of course, it was the valley up which the train had panted, and she was trying to make out where the line ran when Clem broke in:
“Ever bin away from home before?”
“No,” she answered, defensive.
“How old are you?”
She almost answered, “As old as my tongue and a little older than my teeth,” but realized in time that that was only childish. So she told him correctly. Unimpressed, he spat over the wheel. After a pause he commented: “You’ve non had much experience . . . of owt,” and his stare was on her knees and on her leg in its new stocking. For a score or so of the horse’s leisurely paces he was quiet once more, and she hoped that he had finished. The road was going down again, and through leftward trees she saw the steel-grey of the lake.
“You’ll have plenty of chance to learn something here, anyway,” he broke in enigmatically. “You’re fitted out, aren’t you?”
She felt forced to turn, and once more found his small pale eyes close and scrutinizing. She looked away at once and answered uneasily, “Yes.”
“If our Dot gets jealous you’ll have a hell of a time,” he told her, but with a grin in his tone. “She’s ginger when she gets on the hop.”
“What’s her name?” asked Flo.
“What d’you think? Dot an’ carry one,” he answered, very slightly sarcastic. He was silent again, and Flo saw jutting out just ahead a toy-like, five-sided toll-house. However, before they got to it the horse unguided shambled off the main road leftward. They were in the gullet of a much narrower lane which went down and curved to the right between deep banks topped with crowded hollies, so that at first the lane was really a narrow steeply descending canyon. Then they came out between much lower banks, and Flo saw a lovely spread of country. The lake lay there like a silver bar dropped across the valley. The road went down to a narrow bridge with willows on either side and then climbed, and now on the right she saw a long barn with a grey-green roof with a ridge that sagged and yet looked as strong as rock. Near it was a haystack like a ginger cake with a chunk cut out.
“If Dot gets stuck up an’ tries to bully, come to me,” said Clem with new intimateness. “I know how to manage her.”
Flo liked him better. “Will I have to do farm work?” she asked.
“Depends on Ma, chiefly. If she’ll let him the old man’ll find you work, dunna worry. He’s a b———r for it.”
The end of the barn came to the lane, the gable taking the place of the hedge. Immediately past it was a gate, and Flo was surprised and fluttered when the horse turned in and she saw a cobbled square and on the left a house parallel with the barn. It was the house she stared at—her new home. It was all of the grey green-weathered stone, very plain and very solid: door in the centre, a window at either side and three windows above. Clem dropped the reins on the front-board and the horse took them to a wicket gate and slewed slowly round. With nose pointed to the stable he waited, scratching with his left forefoot.
“Here y’are,” said Clem, sliding a long leg out of the trap. He was reaching for the bass before she realized that it was time that she got out also. She felt backward awkwardly for the iron step. As soon as the weight was off the trap the horse set off towards the stable.
“You silly old sod, have a drink,” shouted Clem, dumping the bass on its end and snatching the near rein smartly. The horse tossed its head and jingled, but turned. Clem slipped the bit and drew the animal’s head towards a deep stone trough. It was set in the garden wall, and was a-bubble from a continuous fall gushing from a rustied iron pipe which stuck out of the stonework a foot above the trough rim. The horse held its jowl over the water for a moment, then made to turn away, but Clem shouted, “Whoa! Sup while you’ve got chance.” The horse kept still again with its lower lip just above the brimming surface. Clem began unhooking and the horse stood there stupid and sulky, as if he didn’t even know what water was for. At last everything was undone and Clem took the weight of the shafts and shouted, “Get on then, you old sinner,” and the horse woke up and clattered eagerly away. It was not till then that Clem seemed to notice Flo still waiting.
“Door’s yonder, can’t you see it?” he asked in much the same tone as he had used to the horse, the intimateness which had made her like him quite gone.