‘I’m told you are the man I need to see about a horse. I’m in need of a steady, strong mount that’ll carry my weight and is not too headstrong. I’m not bothered about the breed, just as long as it’s not an old nag that you sell me.’ Adam looked at the old man and waited.
‘I’m not into selling old nags – they go to the knacker’s yard. My horses are the fittest you’ll find; all broken in by my own hand, and I know all their temperaments. Now, is it for pleasure or work? And more to the point, have you the money to pay for it?’ Tom Gaine looked at the well-dressed fella and tried to work out who he had standing on his doorstep.
‘Aye, I’ve got brass, and I know horses, as my father always had at least one up home. Young Lucy Robinson, from the flay-pits at Denholme, told me you were the one to come to, if that makes a difference. She said you were the best horseman for miles around.’ Adam realized that to get anywhere with Tom he had to state his business, else he’d be getting nowhere fast.
‘She did, did she? She’s a fair lass, is that one. She’ll make a good catch for someone some day. Full of cheek, mind. So how do you ken her?’ Tom grinned.
‘I’ve taken her on as my maid at my farm at Black Moss, up above Denholme. She is a good lass, as you say.’ Adam looked at the old man as he closed his door behind him and made his way to the field gate next to his house.
‘You must be Len Brooksbank’s lad. I thought you’d been killed in the Crimea? Yet here you are, standing in front of me, as large as life. Your father was a good sort. You know you broke his heart, when you left him and turned your back on farming? Still, you are back now. We all get wiser with age and realize what we once had was worth holding onto.’ Tom looked Adam up and down, then led him into the small pasture with ponies and horses grazing contentedly within it. ‘You are limping, lad. Have you got something wrong with your leg?’
‘You knew my father! And yes, you are right, I’ve come to my senses and returned home. I might not have got killed in the Crimea, but I felt Russian steel through my leg. That, along with a need to get around my land, is why I need a horse.’ Adam looked around him at the various horses in the field and spotted a beautifully marked piebald horse, at least seventeen hands tall. ‘That’s a grand horse. How much is he, and how old is he?’
‘You want nowt with him, lad. He’s my prize stallion, but doesn’t he know it! He’s got that much temperament that there’s only me can handle him. But I’ll give you something – you’ve got a good eye for a horse. Now, this is the lass for you: she’s gentle-natured, built to carry any load you care to put on her, and is as sound as a pound. She’s happen not the bonniest, but she’ll serve you well and is just the right height if you have a dicky leg. She’s broken in, and as kind as you like, when you are on her back. Here, look at her teeth and feel her fetlocks – she’s a grand li’l horse.’ Tom ran his hand down a small, dark fell-pony’s neck and pulled on her mane to lead her to Adam. ‘She’s one of my favourites and she needs a good home – not carting goods back and forward on these turnpike roads, with a switch across her backside every five minutes.’
Adam looked at the dark-eyed fell-pony, which was no more than fourteen hands tall. She was a drab looker, but when he stared into her eyes and inspected her teeth and hooves, he knew that Tom was right. He needed nothing with the flash stallion that had a mind of its own. ‘How much do you want for her?’ He stood back and looked at her shape.
‘Fifteen guineas, and she’s worth every penny of that.’ Tom looked at Adam and held out his hand to shake.
‘Nay, I think fourteen’s enough, and I expect a saddle and harness thrown in, even at that.’ Adam stroked the little horse’s mane.
‘Fourteen and a half. And aye, I’ll be daft enough to throw in a saddle and harness. I sometimes wonder how folk thinks I make a living.’ Tom held his hand out once more and smiled.
‘Go on then, we’ve got a deal. She does look right for me and, as you say, she’s placid.’ Adam shook Tom’s hand, as he spat on it to seal the deal, and watched as he walked to the ramshackle hut in the corner of the field that held all the horse tackle, appearing with a saddle and harness.
‘You’ll not regret buying her. She’ll give you foals, if nothing else, if you don’t want to ride her,’ Tom shouted as he put on the reins and saddle.
‘Nay, I need her for my legs. I’ll not be keeping her in foal every year.’ Adam put his hand through the little horse’s mane and pulled on her reins, as Tom opened the field gate for them both to leave. Passing him the money from his top pocket, he watched as Tom quickly put it in his own.
‘What the missus doesn’t see, she won’t grieve about. I aim to keep a bob or two of this for myself – there’s nothing better than a gill or two at The Three Horses of a night.’ Tom smiled. ‘It’s better than drinking water, from what I can make out. The poor buggers at Haworth were
