plainly. ‘Joe died last night, Kiz. He is dead.’
Dead. The gravel seemed to tilt under Kizzy’s feet, the stable cupola to run up into the sky. She dropped the blanket and bag. Admiral Twiss steadied her and brought her to the old
mounting block.
‘Nat went to give him his hay at seven o’clock and found Joe with his head hanging, dozing. Nat gave him a pat and held out some sugar, but Joe did not look at it, then he went down
on his knees. Nat ran and got some beer.’
Joe – liked – beer.’ The words seemed to be torn from Kizzy.
‘But, again, he wouldn’t look. Then Nat said he rolled over on the grass and was dead.’
‘Was – he – ill?’
‘No,’ said the Admiral, ‘but he was old – and tired. Nat says his teeth were all worn down, which was why we couldn’t fatten him, but Joe died in his own time, Kiz;
not many horses do that, and in his meadow on his own grass where he had lived.’
‘Show me him,’ said Kizzy.
‘Show a child a sight like that !’ Mrs Cuthbert was indignant when she heard. ‘Trust a man to do such a thing.’
‘You can trust the Admiral,’ said Miss Brooke. ‘He knows Kizzy wouldn’t have believed him else.’
‘But to let her see such a sight!’
Joe had not been a sight. When Admiral Twiss took Kizzy to him, he was lying peacefully in the grass. Kizzy held the Admiral’s hand.
Nat came out, took Kizzy’s other hand and together the three of them stood looking at the big still body, at Joe’s head with the white blaze on his nose, his eyelashes – Nat
had closed his eyes – his great legs and mighty hooves that were split and grey – it was a long while since he had worn shoes. His bay coat still shone, Nat had given it many a rubbing;
Joe seemed as if he were asleep, but deep deep asleep.
Kizzy went nearer. ‘Careful,’ said Nat. ‘He’s getting stiff.’
‘Will – will the knacker, the hounds, get him now?’
‘They can’t,’ said Admiral Twiss.
‘Can’t?’ Kizzy’s head came up.
‘Joe’s safe,’ said the Admiral, ‘because this isn’t Joe. He’s not here.’
Kizzy broke from him and put her hand to Joe’s nose, not touching him. ‘He doesn’t huff,’ she said.
‘Of course not. He isn’t there.’
Kizzy looked at the Admiral as if weighing what he said and put down her hand again to Joe. ‘The warm is gone.’
‘Yes.’ Admiral Twiss came to her and gently touched Joe’s body. ‘This is just his old clothes, Kiz. He doesn’t need them any more.’
‘Where is he?’
Mrs Blount might have said, ‘In the horses’ heaven,’ but Admiral Twiss was plainer. ‘We don’t know. Nobody knows, but I believe we shall find out.’
‘When we’re dead?’
‘Perhaps. It seems to make sense, doesn’t it?’ said the Admiral. ‘If Joe isn’t here, he must be somewhere else. Come. We’ll leave his body to Nat.’
‘Shall I go to the House this morning?’ Kizzy asked Miss Brooke on Sunday.
‘Of course.’
For what, Kizzy could have asked, but, as if she had, ‘Admiral Twiss and Peters are there,’ said Miss Brooke, ‘and Nat, and there are other horses.’
That was what Nat said. ‘You have to swaller this.’ Kizzy, almost automatically, had gone to him in the stables where he was hosing down Flavius, a colt who had a swollen leg.
‘Swaller it down. Joe was a hoss and, like it or not, hosses won’t last you all your life. They come and they go; dealin’ with hosses you have to learn that. Near broke my heart,
I did, when Royal went at Beechers.’
‘Beechers?’
‘The jump in the Grand National, stupid. What a jump! Feels as if you drop twenty feet. Must clear the water. He went in; had to pull him out with ropes but his neck was broke. Royal and
Taggart – reared him by hand I did – and Bonbon; used to put her nose in my pocket for sugar, and did she nip if there wasn’t any. Right spoiled she was; peppermint creams too,
but blest me if she didn’t get moon blindness; went blind
Dead. The gravel seemed to tilt under Kizzy’s feet, the stable cupola to run up into the sky. She dropped the blanket and bag. Admiral Twiss steadied her and brought her to the old
mounting block.
‘Nat went to give him his hay at seven o’clock and found Joe with his head hanging, dozing. Nat gave him a pat and held out some sugar, but Joe did not look at it, then he went down
on his knees. Nat ran and got some beer.’
Joe – liked – beer.’ The words seemed to be torn from Kizzy.
‘But, again, he wouldn’t look. Then Nat said he rolled over on the grass and was dead.’
‘Was – he – ill?’
‘No,’ said the Admiral, ‘but he was old – and tired. Nat says his teeth were all worn down, which was why we couldn’t fatten him, but Joe died in his own time, Kiz;
not many horses do that, and in his meadow on his own grass where he had lived.’
‘Show me him,’ said Kizzy.
‘Show a child a sight like that !’ Mrs Cuthbert was indignant when she heard. ‘Trust a man to do such a thing.’
‘You can trust the Admiral,’ said Miss Brooke. ‘He knows Kizzy wouldn’t have believed him else.’
‘But to let her see such a sight!’
Joe had not been a sight. When Admiral Twiss took Kizzy to him, he was lying peacefully in the grass. Kizzy held the Admiral’s hand.
Nat came out, took Kizzy’s other hand and together the three of them stood looking at the big still body, at Joe’s head with the white blaze on his nose, his eyelashes – Nat
had closed his eyes – his great legs and mighty hooves that were split and grey – it was a long while since he had worn shoes. His bay coat still shone, Nat had given it many a rubbing;
Joe seemed as if he were asleep, but deep deep asleep.
Kizzy went nearer. ‘Careful,’ said Nat. ‘He’s getting stiff.’
‘Will – will the knacker, the hounds, get him now?’
‘They can’t,’ said Admiral Twiss.
‘Can’t?’ Kizzy’s head came up.
‘Joe’s safe,’ said the Admiral, ‘because this isn’t Joe. He’s not here.’
Kizzy broke from him and put her hand to Joe’s nose, not touching him. ‘He doesn’t huff,’ she said.
‘Of course not. He isn’t there.’
Kizzy looked at the Admiral as if weighing what he said and put down her hand again to Joe. ‘The warm is gone.’
‘Yes.’ Admiral Twiss came to her and gently touched Joe’s body. ‘This is just his old clothes, Kiz. He doesn’t need them any more.’
‘Where is he?’
Mrs Blount might have said, ‘In the horses’ heaven,’ but Admiral Twiss was plainer. ‘We don’t know. Nobody knows, but I believe we shall find out.’
‘When we’re dead?’
‘Perhaps. It seems to make sense, doesn’t it?’ said the Admiral. ‘If Joe isn’t here, he must be somewhere else. Come. We’ll leave his body to Nat.’
‘Shall I go to the House this morning?’ Kizzy asked Miss Brooke on Sunday.
‘Of course.’
For what, Kizzy could have asked, but, as if she had, ‘Admiral Twiss and Peters are there,’ said Miss Brooke, ‘and Nat, and there are other horses.’
That was what Nat said. ‘You have to swaller this.’ Kizzy, almost automatically, had gone to him in the stables where he was hosing down Flavius, a colt who had a swollen leg.
‘Swaller it down. Joe was a hoss and, like it or not, hosses won’t last you all your life. They come and they go; dealin’ with hosses you have to learn that. Near broke my heart,
I did, when Royal went at Beechers.’
‘Beechers?’
‘The jump in the Grand National, stupid. What a jump! Feels as if you drop twenty feet. Must clear the water. He went in; had to pull him out with ropes but his neck was broke. Royal and
Taggart – reared him by hand I did – and Bonbon; used to put her nose in my pocket for sugar, and did she nip if there wasn’t any. Right spoiled she was; peppermint creams too,
but blest me if she didn’t get moon blindness; went blind
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