all it took to completely unbalance his precarious load and dump the manure—all atop her boots.
"Bloody hell! Look what ye done," the boy cried.
"Look what I've done? I'm sorry to have made you spill it, but I was simply looking for the rubbing house."
"'Tis over yon, ye muttonhead!"
"Muttonhead? There's no occasion for rudeness. If you hadn't overloaded your cart…"
"If ye hadn't come along and pulled me o'er, it ne'er would have happened. But now ye'd best clean it up afore Jeffries or Devington comes along."
"Me?" she replied incredulously. "I'm not the clumsy oaf who dumped it. It's not my mess to clean."
"Well, I ain't about to be last to finish me chores. Devington is back from Doncaster and will have me turning over the reeking dung pit instead of breaking me fast wi' t'other chaps."
"Well, I'm sorry for you, but that's nothing compared to what you've done to my only pair of boots, you ham-fisted lout!"
"'Tweren't me what pulled the wheelbarrow arse over teakettle, ye wantwit! Go bugger yer mother, and then lick yer boots clean!"
"Why, I'll box your ears, you brazen-faced little jackanapes!" Charlotte made a fist as if to try, but the boy flew at her first. They both tumbled onto the pile of manure in a wild, tangled flurry of thrashing limbs.
The commotion caused by the circle of cheering and jeering stable boys drew the attention of the head groom, who was leading his fresh mount out from the rubbing house. Hastily tying his horse, Robert Devington strode furiously across the stable yard to break up the mill. He tore apart the dung-covered combatants by the scruff of the neck. Turning first to the smaller of the pair, he cuffed his ear. "Jemmy! What the devil are you about? It's nigh past feeding time; you've still half your stalls to muck."
"But it ain't me what started it!" Jemmy whined. "'Twas the new chap what turned over me cart!"
"I don't give a groat who started it! Now get about your business before I tan your arse with a riding crop! And now for you, lad." He turned ominously to Charlotte and stopped mid-sentence, gaping at the spectacle she presented with her oversized clothes pulled awry and stained with ordure, her cap askew and nose oozing blood.
"Who the blazes are you ? Or better said, what are you !"
Charlotte brushed a clump of dung from her flushed cheeks with the back of her hand and haughtily met his stare. "I was simply looking for the rubbing house where I am to meet Jeffries. Now if you would kindly direct me, I shall trouble you no further." Her voice was husky and quivered with righteous indignation.
"You say Jeffries sent for you? He told me nothing of a new boy." He regarded her closer, quizzically.
Charlotte refused to enlighten him. "The rubbing house, if you please?"
"The rubbing house"—he pointed over her left shoulder—"is the squat building hither."
"Thank you," she replied with as much dignity as she could muster. She turned on her heel and marched to the indicated building where, as promised, Jeffries awaited her with Amoret.
"Thought ye must be yet bedbound, miss." Puzzled by her appearance, he regarded her head to toe. "A right tussle wi' the lads is not what I expected when ye said ye'd prove yer mettle. Ye look nigh like ye been drug through the yew hedge backwards! By the looks of it, ye been well initiated into the world of the stable grooms." He chuckled.
"Indeed I have, but I'd rather not speak of it, if you don't mind," she said crossly. Desiring to divert the subject, Charlotte surveyed the low-roofed, poorly ventilated building where Amoret and another heavily blanketed horse stood tied. "What is this place, and why is it so stifling hot in here?"
"'Tis where the running horses are saddled to ride and rubbed down after their exercise."
"But why would you not saddle in the stable yard where it's cooler?"
"'Tis all well and good for the saddle hack,
"Bloody hell! Look what ye done," the boy cried.
"Look what I've done? I'm sorry to have made you spill it, but I was simply looking for the rubbing house."
"'Tis over yon, ye muttonhead!"
"Muttonhead? There's no occasion for rudeness. If you hadn't overloaded your cart…"
"If ye hadn't come along and pulled me o'er, it ne'er would have happened. But now ye'd best clean it up afore Jeffries or Devington comes along."
"Me?" she replied incredulously. "I'm not the clumsy oaf who dumped it. It's not my mess to clean."
"Well, I ain't about to be last to finish me chores. Devington is back from Doncaster and will have me turning over the reeking dung pit instead of breaking me fast wi' t'other chaps."
"Well, I'm sorry for you, but that's nothing compared to what you've done to my only pair of boots, you ham-fisted lout!"
"'Tweren't me what pulled the wheelbarrow arse over teakettle, ye wantwit! Go bugger yer mother, and then lick yer boots clean!"
"Why, I'll box your ears, you brazen-faced little jackanapes!" Charlotte made a fist as if to try, but the boy flew at her first. They both tumbled onto the pile of manure in a wild, tangled flurry of thrashing limbs.
The commotion caused by the circle of cheering and jeering stable boys drew the attention of the head groom, who was leading his fresh mount out from the rubbing house. Hastily tying his horse, Robert Devington strode furiously across the stable yard to break up the mill. He tore apart the dung-covered combatants by the scruff of the neck. Turning first to the smaller of the pair, he cuffed his ear. "Jemmy! What the devil are you about? It's nigh past feeding time; you've still half your stalls to muck."
"But it ain't me what started it!" Jemmy whined. "'Twas the new chap what turned over me cart!"
"I don't give a groat who started it! Now get about your business before I tan your arse with a riding crop! And now for you, lad." He turned ominously to Charlotte and stopped mid-sentence, gaping at the spectacle she presented with her oversized clothes pulled awry and stained with ordure, her cap askew and nose oozing blood.
"Who the blazes are you ? Or better said, what are you !"
Charlotte brushed a clump of dung from her flushed cheeks with the back of her hand and haughtily met his stare. "I was simply looking for the rubbing house where I am to meet Jeffries. Now if you would kindly direct me, I shall trouble you no further." Her voice was husky and quivered with righteous indignation.
"You say Jeffries sent for you? He told me nothing of a new boy." He regarded her closer, quizzically.
Charlotte refused to enlighten him. "The rubbing house, if you please?"
"The rubbing house"—he pointed over her left shoulder—"is the squat building hither."
"Thank you," she replied with as much dignity as she could muster. She turned on her heel and marched to the indicated building where, as promised, Jeffries awaited her with Amoret.
"Thought ye must be yet bedbound, miss." Puzzled by her appearance, he regarded her head to toe. "A right tussle wi' the lads is not what I expected when ye said ye'd prove yer mettle. Ye look nigh like ye been drug through the yew hedge backwards! By the looks of it, ye been well initiated into the world of the stable grooms." He chuckled.
"Indeed I have, but I'd rather not speak of it, if you don't mind," she said crossly. Desiring to divert the subject, Charlotte surveyed the low-roofed, poorly ventilated building where Amoret and another heavily blanketed horse stood tied. "What is this place, and why is it so stifling hot in here?"
"'Tis where the running horses are saddled to ride and rubbed down after their exercise."
"But why would you not saddle in the stable yard where it's cooler?"
"'Tis all well and good for the saddle hack,
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