carthorse, ye know. Them horses cost a fortune. You should see the bills for their feed.’
Michael could see Peadar shrugging his shoulders. He didn’t care that he had over-ridden Jerpoint. He’d won, hadn’t he? The racehorse was still in a desperate state but Peadar seemed to think that all the rules for caring for a horse could be broken and it didn’t matter.
‘I’m not about to sit back and let you destroy a good horse,’ said Toss, ‘because that’s what’s going to happen.’
‘I’ll run good races, win all around me. In time I’ll win in the Curragh,’ jeered the young jockey. ‘I’ll win in England, too,’ he added. ‘I’ll make his lordship a fortune. A racehorse needs a firm hand!’
‘It don’t make a difference if you’re the best jockey in the whole of Ireland, the horse is the thing. You have to care for the horse. I can’t have anybody around this yard that don’t understand the value of these horses. I won’t have them, and Lord Henry agrees with me.’
‘Lord Henry!’
‘Aye! He saw Jerpoint this morning.’
‘What would he know about it?’ shrugged Peadar.
‘More than you think. I’ve instructions to give youyour marching orders,’ said Toss firmly. ‘How and ever, I’m giving you one last chance. But one more misdeed and you’re finished here at Castletaggart, my lad!’
Peadar stood for a second, stunned, his greasy, brown hair falling over his eyes.
‘And for the moment you’ll look after the rest of the horses,’ continued Toss. ‘The other lads will attend to the racers and you’ll do no riding-out. And, by the way, you’ll be the one to muck out Jerpoint’s stable while she’s resting up.’
Without a word, Peadar turned on his heel and left the tack room.
Michael coughed.
‘You heard?’ asked Toss uneasily. Michael nodded. ‘The lad’s a good rider but he has a lot to learn about horses, else he’s no use to us.’ With that, Toss took down one of the leather saddles and left.
Michael loved the early-morning ride-out; it was the time that he treasured most in the whole day. The horses were fresh and itching to gallop, the chilly morning air turning their breath to clouds. Each racehorse had a different temperament, all needing a different approach – some gentle coaxing and patting, others a sharp hand.
It was only when Michael checked in on Jerpoint later that he wondered about Peadar. The horse was standing in a fresh pile of dung – why the hell hadn’tPeadar attended to her? He searched around the stables and out by the paddocks, but there wasn’t sight nor sign of him.
Michael climbed up to the sleeping quarters above the coach-house and looked in the corner that Peadar had made his own. Peadar’s blanket was still there, but there was no sign of any of his clothes or boots or his few personal bits and pieces. He’s done a runner, thought Michael to himself.
‘Has Mr Know-It-All taken himself off?’ Brendan had followed Michael up to the room.
Michael shrugged. ‘It looks like it.’
‘I’d heard that Toss gave out to him this morning. Good riddance is what I say.’ The young stableboy smirked; he had so often got a clatter from Peadar for no reason. ‘Nobody’s going to miss the likes of Peadar.’
‘Yeh, I suppose so,’ agreed Michael, though secretly he was sure they hadn’t heard the last of Peadar Mahoney, not by a long shot!
CHAPTER 9
Harvest Home
THE SUN BLAZED BRIGHTLY day after day through the late summer as every man, woman and child old enough to help worked on bringing in the harvest. Even the horses seemed to pick up the air of excitement and cantered across the fields to see what was going on. Women and youngsters carried cans of milk and thick cuts of bread to the men who worked at saving the hay till the sweat dripped off them.
The carts were piled as high as could be with the sweet-smelling hay, the horses straining to pull them. Stooks of wheat were tied, ready for thrashing, and oats and
Michael could see Peadar shrugging his shoulders. He didn’t care that he had over-ridden Jerpoint. He’d won, hadn’t he? The racehorse was still in a desperate state but Peadar seemed to think that all the rules for caring for a horse could be broken and it didn’t matter.
‘I’m not about to sit back and let you destroy a good horse,’ said Toss, ‘because that’s what’s going to happen.’
‘I’ll run good races, win all around me. In time I’ll win in the Curragh,’ jeered the young jockey. ‘I’ll win in England, too,’ he added. ‘I’ll make his lordship a fortune. A racehorse needs a firm hand!’
‘It don’t make a difference if you’re the best jockey in the whole of Ireland, the horse is the thing. You have to care for the horse. I can’t have anybody around this yard that don’t understand the value of these horses. I won’t have them, and Lord Henry agrees with me.’
‘Lord Henry!’
‘Aye! He saw Jerpoint this morning.’
‘What would he know about it?’ shrugged Peadar.
‘More than you think. I’ve instructions to give youyour marching orders,’ said Toss firmly. ‘How and ever, I’m giving you one last chance. But one more misdeed and you’re finished here at Castletaggart, my lad!’
Peadar stood for a second, stunned, his greasy, brown hair falling over his eyes.
‘And for the moment you’ll look after the rest of the horses,’ continued Toss. ‘The other lads will attend to the racers and you’ll do no riding-out. And, by the way, you’ll be the one to muck out Jerpoint’s stable while she’s resting up.’
Without a word, Peadar turned on his heel and left the tack room.
Michael coughed.
‘You heard?’ asked Toss uneasily. Michael nodded. ‘The lad’s a good rider but he has a lot to learn about horses, else he’s no use to us.’ With that, Toss took down one of the leather saddles and left.
Michael loved the early-morning ride-out; it was the time that he treasured most in the whole day. The horses were fresh and itching to gallop, the chilly morning air turning their breath to clouds. Each racehorse had a different temperament, all needing a different approach – some gentle coaxing and patting, others a sharp hand.
It was only when Michael checked in on Jerpoint later that he wondered about Peadar. The horse was standing in a fresh pile of dung – why the hell hadn’tPeadar attended to her? He searched around the stables and out by the paddocks, but there wasn’t sight nor sign of him.
Michael climbed up to the sleeping quarters above the coach-house and looked in the corner that Peadar had made his own. Peadar’s blanket was still there, but there was no sign of any of his clothes or boots or his few personal bits and pieces. He’s done a runner, thought Michael to himself.
‘Has Mr Know-It-All taken himself off?’ Brendan had followed Michael up to the room.
Michael shrugged. ‘It looks like it.’
‘I’d heard that Toss gave out to him this morning. Good riddance is what I say.’ The young stableboy smirked; he had so often got a clatter from Peadar for no reason. ‘Nobody’s going to miss the likes of Peadar.’
‘Yeh, I suppose so,’ agreed Michael, though secretly he was sure they hadn’t heard the last of Peadar Mahoney, not by a long shot!
CHAPTER 9
Harvest Home
THE SUN BLAZED BRIGHTLY day after day through the late summer as every man, woman and child old enough to help worked on bringing in the harvest. Even the horses seemed to pick up the air of excitement and cantered across the fields to see what was going on. Women and youngsters carried cans of milk and thick cuts of bread to the men who worked at saving the hay till the sweat dripped off them.
The carts were piled as high as could be with the sweet-smelling hay, the horses straining to pull them. Stooks of wheat were tied, ready for thrashing, and oats and
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