Little pitchers have large ears: so have horses, and I soon picked up enough from the groom and the housemaid, who were often chatting together, to learn that genial Mr. Crawshay was a perfect brute to his wife and daughter, and he had bought me because he had a great dislike to have anything, even a horse, in common with them. To the outer world a horse and chaise for his wife and daughter was an act of liberality, but to the inner life of that wretched home it was deliberate isolation.
Looking back, I remember with mingled joy and pain the kindness I received from that mother and child. Never a morning passed without the daughter visiting the stable, and as I have declared before they always expressed a vast amount of anxiety respecting my condition and welfare, which was very delightful to hear. My home, in short, apart from the little anxiety and grief I felt for my two kind mistresses, was a very happy one.
The groom’s name was Richards, and he was a very fair groom in a general way, but he had a failing very common to his class—he was fond of drink. Sometimes he would be sober for a month, and then he would, as Mrs. Crawshay expressed it, ‘break out’—that is, he would begin drinking early in the morning and do little else throughout the day, and tumble into his bed, which was in a room above the stables, in a state which would have disgraced the very lowest order of brutes; I am certain that even a pig would have been ashamed of it.
Mrs. Crawshay very often reproved him in a quiet way, and did her best to reform the man; but he was too near the brewery—he lived in the very centre of temptation, and he was not strong enough to resist it. From Mr. Crawshay he received nothing but oaths and threats, which had less effect upon the groom than the kind admonition of his mistress; and he would go on in this sad way for about a week, and then suddenly turn to sobriety again. I have often wondered what possible gratification Richards could derive from this outburst, for it always made him very ill and wretched, and for days afterwards he would skulk about more like a criminal burdened with crime than an honest, hard-working man.
This habit proved fatal to him, and brought a great misfortune upon me. One night, when Richards was in the stable putting all right for the night, Mr. Crawshay came in with a letter in his hand.
‘Richards,’ he said, ‘put Blossom into the dog-cart and drive over to Mr. Turner’s. You have nothing to do but leave the letter and bring back a portmanteau which his man will give you. Keep it in your room for the night, and bring it into the house in the morning.’
Richards, accustomed to obey, made no demur, and quickly harnessed me to the dog-cart, and drove to Mr. Turner’s residence, a house about twelve miles from Upton. The letter was delivered, and a servant brought out a portmanteau, with an injunction to Richards to be careful, as it contained deeds and papers of importance. Richards replied that he knew his business, and always took care of everything, and drove away with a self-satisfied air.
It was now about ten o’clock, and an autumn moon was shining brightly as I trotted briskly towards home. I was always of a sober turn, and never cared for late hours; some horses may like them, but they don’t suit me, so I put my best foot foremost, resolved to get home with the least possible delay. Richards also seemed bent upon getting back, until we came in sight of a roadside inn, with its well-lighted windows standing out boldly to invite him in. The unfortunate man could not resist the temptation, but steered straight for the beacon which decoyed him to his ruin, and pulled up at the door. An ostler came, and Richards, before going in, told the man that he would be out again in a minute, and that he need not trouble about me, as I would stand perfectly quiet; he then passed through the doorway and left me to my reflections.
The minute passed, and other minutes were added to it, and Richards did not return. Two other carts came up, and the drivers went in also; and then I heard shouts and laughter, and Richards asking them what they would have to drink, so I concluded that he had met with some old friends—not knowing what I know now, that men under the influence of drink make bosom friends of all comers, and spend their money in the wildest and most foolish manner.
I was kept waiting an hour, and then Richards reeled out in company with the other drivers and about half a dozen other men. They were all in a maudlin state of drunkenness, swearing eternal friendship, and declaring that every man there assembled was a glorious fellow without an equal in the known world.