20-12-2020, 01:42 AM
1
Spooky Christmas Story.
In answer to a challenge from Harbal - here it is:-THE BOXING DAY HUNT
Lord James took his crop and riding hat from his valet and headed out to the stables. His chestnut mare stood obediently still while, with deft but gentle fingers, the groom combed and plaited her tail. When it was finished he dressed her in full hunting tack, then patted her back as he covered it with a saddle pad and stepped away, knowing that his master always preferred to saddle the mare himself. As James approached the mare she nickered and leaned away from him. He raised his crop and slapped her hard across her face. James would not tolerate insubordination from man nor beast. The groom gasped then, swiftly, moved out of reach as James turned to lift the saddle.
Nails clawed at violet silk, tore at white lace, split and bled unseen.
The stable was busier now as other horses, grooms and riders prepared for the day’s hunt. Harness clinking, leather gleaming in the lantern light, the air redolent of neatsfoot oil and saddle soap. Voices issuing instructions to grooms. Voices cheerily calling seasonal greetings. Voices admonishing late arrivals. The breath of riders and horses mingling as clouds in the frosty air. James watched and glowered with impatience.
Rustle of hay masking muffled scratchings.
Out in the yard the riders mount and muster. Stirrup cups are proffered and quaffed. Thin slivers of cake eaten. James, handsome and glowing in his pink, signals to the Huntsman and the hounds are released from their holding pen. The hunt moves off. Horses in high-stepping anticipation, men and hounds eagerly listening for the ‘view halloo’ to echo back across the field. A rich colourful tapestry spread against the stark Winter monochrome.
Screams mingle and are lost within the baying of the hounds.
The horn sounds. The hounds give tongue. The fox breaks cover and the hunt is on. James leads the field. His companions stream out across the meadow, the Whipper-in keeps the hounds focussed on their task as, tails high and noses down, they follow the scent, enjoying the pursuit. An occasional flash of red as the terrified fox leads them away from his lair - away from his mate. The elated and relentless riders follow - jumping hedges, fording streams - their horses sweat stained and bramble torn. James, determined to keep his lead, kicks his mare, his ornate silver spurs tearing into her flanks. Her mouth flecked with foam as she strains against the cruel old fashioned bit.
Mouth dry, tears dry, oxygen and hope almost gone, still she struggles.
In the stables everyone is busy, all the stalls are to be cleaned and hay baskets refilled, tack oiled, and lanterns primed. The remaining horses to be exercised and groomed before the hunt returns. No-one has had time to question why the lovely dappled grey gelding was still in his stall or even to wonder why Lady Angela had not gone out with the hunt. No-one remembered yesterday’s fierce quarrel nor the strange sounds late in the night. When you worked for Lord James it was safer not to see, hear, or remember anything.
In her rough wooden coffin, buried deep beneath the manure heap, Angela claws, and scratches, and silently screams in vain.
Slow clop of tired hooves. Low mumble of voices reviewing the day’s sport. Valets hurried to dressing rooms to lay out clean linen, footmen filled baths with hot scented water, maids waited in the hall with trays of mulled wine to greet the returning hunt. The lowering sun hid it’s face behind a bank of cloud.
Her bones were chilled, her heart felt numb. A slow drip of liquid from the manure heap above seeped into her coffin.
In the yard grooms held bridles while riders dismounted, eager stable lads waited with food, water and warm blankets for the weary horses. The last one to arrive home was Katherine, 12 years old, daughter of the house. Her first hunt and she had been ‘blooded’. Her tears mingled with the blood on her cheeks, and her riding habit and boots were stained with vomit. James dragged her from the side saddle and almost threw her at her maid. He could not believe a daughter of his could be such a coward. Tomorrow he would devise some suitable punishment.
Angela lay, too weak to move, too sick to care, in her soaking, stinking, prison. Her last breath just strong enough to form a curse.
Morning. The door to the master bedroom was locked from the inside, as was the door to the dressing room. James never locked his doors. The valet sent for the housekeeper, who brought the spare keys but the keyhole was blocked. Using the thin bladed scissors from her chatelaine Mrs Paige probed and pulled out small shreds of white lace and violet silk. Once the door was open, the valet drew the curtains and opened the window. He turned to the bed and gasped. Lord James lay, naked, on top of the counterpane, his face contorted with pain and fear. A silver dagger protruded from his heart and the faintest scent of lilac mingled with the smell of horse manure around his lifeless form.
© December 2020
20-12-2020, 05:23 PM
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Re: Spooky Christmas Story.
Originally Posted by Harbal
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I knew you would come up with the goods, ST. It's one thing being able to write a story, that's the easy part, It's coming up with the idea that's the hard bit. That never seems to be a problem for you. 
20-12-2020, 05:31 PM
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Re: Spooky Christmas Story.
Originally Posted by Silver Tabby
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Thank you, kind Sir. I like to be challenged - keeps the brain awake. My attention has been drawn to the fact that hunting and marital abuse are rather controversial subjects - was thinking of asking the Mods to delete the story.
20-12-2020, 07:32 PM
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Re: Spooky Christmas Story.
Brilliant Tabby, I also took a dislike to Lord James for slapping the horse with his riding crop. Glad to see that he got his comeuppance, and naked too....The ultimate in humiliation.Some tribes of American Indians would prefer to humiliate their beaten enemies than kill them. Until they were taught to scalp their victims by the white man.
Horrible way to die Tabby, trapped in a coffin, I hope I don't have a bad dream over that....
You seem to have an excellent knowledge of horsemanship judging by your superb descriptions....
20-12-2020, 07:48 PM
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Re: Spooky Christmas Story.
Thanks, Foxy. I hope you don't have nightmares!Spent some time with horses as a child - one of my uncles was a Vet and also ran a stables. Am ashamed to say I did once (but only once) ride to hounds before I was old enough to know better - never let them blood me though.
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