KDBookOnline
Share Us
“Billet!” It took two tries for Rose to get herself and her giant basket through the stable door, but she finally made it inside, Hannah and George close behind her. “Billet, how many apples do you need for the horses? We’re going to pick some.”
The head groom emerged from the tack room. Cleaning his hands with a rag, he took in the three of them standing there with their absurdly giant baskets. “The horses are mighty fond of apples,” he noted, a smile just pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I’d say thirty, if you can manage that many.”
“Oh, we can manage that many.” Rose dropped her basket, putting the handle over her shoulder when she picked it up again. “Do you think thirty apples weigh a lot?”
Billet tossed his rag into a bucket. “What say I join you? I reckon I can tote a basket or two, and that’ll leave your hands free for picking.”
“That would be good,” George said.
Well. New surprises every day. George had made no secret of his antagonism toward the groom since the day Billet had found them in mid-escape in Birdlip. Her suspicions aroused, Hannah glanced at the groom, to find him looking at her, one eyebrow raised. She had no idea what to say, because the first thing that came to mind was to thank Rose for deciding the horses should have apples.
“No arguments, then?” Billet asked, finally turning his gaze back to the boy.
“No,” George answered. “Rose found enormous baskets, and I don’t want to have to carry hers and mine and Hannah’s back from the orchard.”
“Well, it looks like you have a use for me, then.” Chuckling, Billet picked up a horse blanket, then ushered them out of the stable.
With Rose leading the way, they traipsed through the garden and around the right side of the pond. The grove consisted of fifty or so apple trees, with the fruit available to anyone from the estate, neighboring farms, or the village to come and take as they chose. That still left a great many apples for pies, horse snacks, and treats for the local deer and other wildlife in the area.
“Look at them all! Georgie, have you ever seen so many apples?”
“No, I ain’t.”
“Don’t pick up the ones from the ground unless they’re for the horses,” Hannah advised, as Rose began piling apples into her basket. “Those will be the ones most likely to have worms.”
“Ew!” Immediately the little girl tipped out her basket again. “But I can’t reach the ones still on the trees. Are there ladders? I’m good at climbing.”
“Not necessary,” Billet said, and spread the blanket beneath one of the trees. “That’s where this comes in.” Picking up a broken branch, he trimmed off a couple of twigs with a boot knife, then poked it up into the tree. Shoving it against a laden branch, he used it to shake a score of apples off the tree and onto the blanket.
“Oh, that’s brilliant!” Rose exclaimed, scampering to retrieve the new-fallen apples. “I want to try that next!”
“I’ll do it,” George countered. “I’m stronger.”
While the children argued over “the shaking stick,” as they named it, and went about dragging the blanket from tree to tree and knocking down apples, Billet strolled over to stand beside Hannah where she’d taken a seat on a stump. “Well done,” she said, smiling at him.
He inclined his head. “I’m an apple thief from way back. Besides, we don’t want them climbing the trees and ruining their fancy clothes. That would mean more mending for you to do, aye?”
“Yes, it would. I don’t mind, though. I’m glad they’re able to have adventures. My childhood wasn’t terribly exciting, but I had both my parents and the occasional picnic, and once we even went to see the Royal Menagerie. Those lions were massive; they still give me the shivers.”
Squatting down on the ground beside where she sat, Tom Billet plucked a stem of grass from the ground and stuck one end between his teeth. He wore a brown and gray vest, the sleeves of his plain white shirt rolled up to his elbows and revealing sinewy forearms that looked much more attractive than arms should. “You’re from Town, then?” he asked. “London?”
“Yes. Born and bred. You?”
“Hereabouts. My parents have a farm about halfway between Birdlip and Great Witcombe.”
“You said something about having a great many brothers and sisters.” He hadn’t said it to her, actually, but it had only taken a little bit of coaxing to get Mrs. Pershing to relay the details of her conversation with the groom.
“Ten of us, there are. And not enough work to keep us all at home,” he conceded, nodding. “What of you? Brothers or sisters?”
“Two younger sisters. Meg married a pastor and they moved to Chelmsford two years ago. I see her at Christmastime. Jane still lives with Mama and Papa.”
His paying attention to her made her feel twittery and fluttery, and she took a slow breath to remind herself not to giggle or otherwise sound insipid. Her… infatuation, she supposed it was, didn’t make sense, anyway. He worked in the stable, even if he was the head groom, while she had a privileged place in the great house. His large hands were calloused, his eyes had fine lines in the corners from squinting in the sun, and he smelled of hay and horses.
But they were just chatting, for heaven’s sake, while the children picked apples. There was no harm in chatting, certainly. “Are any of your siblings married?”
“Five of them are. The youngest four aren’t yet grown, but my mama’s a fine hand at seeing us married off. She’ll say, ‘It’s time,’ and three weeks later whoever she’s pointed at will find themselves standing in front of the pastor.” He grinned. “I think she might be a witch.”
Chuckling, Hannah looked at him all over again. He’d been employed at Winnover for five years now, and had improved upon what had already been a well-run stable. A capable man, as well as a handsome and well-built one. “Did she never point at you, then?”