Black Hearts in Battersea by Joan Aiken

was there ever such a pother when 'twas found she'd a shoe loose! Nowt would serve
but I must take and have her shod this instant. And he's waiting for her now." He moved to take the mare's bridle, limped again heavily, and let out an involuntary groan.

    "You bide here along, Jem, boy," said Mr. Cobb concernedly. "One o' the others can take the filly back."
    "I'll go!" said Simon instantly, putting a finished shaft with a pile of others. "Where shall I take her?"
    "Ah, that's me boy! 'Twon't take you but a minute. Only a step from here it be. Duke o' Battersea's stables. Goo in the back way, through the tunnel, ask for Mr. Waters, he's the head groom, give him my compliments, and say my Floss is putting a tar poultice on Jem's knee and he'll be right as rain before Goose-Friday."
    "Is the boy trustworthy?" Jem asked, shooting a doubtful glance at Simon. "He won't take the filly over to Smithfield and sell her for cat's meat?"
    "Trustworthy as my old mother," said Mr. Cobb heartily. "Come on now, Jem, boy, what you need is a drop of Organ-Grinder's Oil." He helped the limping Jem up the stairs, shouting for Flossie to get out the tar and a large saucepan.
    Simon tucked the kitten into his jacket, took the mare's bridle from the smith, and led her out of the gate and along the river bank to Chelsea Bridge. Beyond, across the river, was the noble pile of Battersea Castle.
    Gus had pointed out the castle that morning while they were breakfasting; Simon had been delighted to learn that the place where his friend Sophie lived was so near, and had been planning to go to the servants' entrance as soon
as possible and ask to see her. Returning the mare offered an excellent opportunity and he had seized it at once.

    He paused a moment, gazing in awe at the huge mass of buildings composing the castle. It stood close to the river; on either side and to the rear stretched the extensive park and gardens, filled with splendid trees, fountains, and beds of brilliant flowers in shades of pink, crimson, or scarlet. The castle itself was built of pink granite, and enclosed completely a smaller, older building which the present Duke's father had considered too insignificant for his town residence. The new castle had taken forty years to build; three architects and hundreds of men had worked day and night, and the old Duke had personally selected every block of sunset-colored stone that went to its construction. "I want it to look like a great half-open rose," he declared to the architects, who were fired with enthusiasm by this romantic fancy. It was begun as a wedding present to the Duke's wife, whose name was Rosamond, but unfortunately she died some nine years before it was completed. "Never mind, it will do for her memorial instead," said the grief-stricken but practical widower. The work went on. At last the final block was laid in place. The Duke, by now very old, went out in his barouche and drove slowly along the opposite riverbank to consider the effect. He paused midway for a long time, then gave his opinion. "It looks like a cod cutlet covered in shrimp sauce," he said, drove home, took to his bed, and died. But his son, the fifth and present Duke, who had been born and brought up in the castle, lived in it contentedly enough, and was only heard
to utter one complaint about it. "It's too dry," he said. "Not enough mildew." For the fifth Duke was a keen natural scientist, and molds were one of his passions.

    At this time of day the great pink structure was lit by a circle of blazing gas flambeaux which vied with the smoky rose-color of the London sunset and were reflected in the river below.
    Glancing about him, Simon noticed a sign at the foot of the bridge:
Battersea Castle. Tradesmen and Servants Turn Left.
Obediently he turned, and found the entrance to a large tunnel which ran under the river. The mare went forward confidently into it with ears pricked; plainly she knew her way home and was not startled by the booming echoes