a handful of dark, glossy hairs still tangled in the bristles. Frances unwound them, wrapping the long strands around her fingers, and was back in her own room in less than three minutes. She had used her embroidery scissors to snip the strands of hair to the right lengths, and affixed them to the manikin’s head with tiny drops of mucilage.
She propped the manikin in the midst of her other ritual objects and stood back to admire the effect. The poppet looked as if it were curtsying, the handkerchief skirt pooling around its feet, the bits of Annis’s hair fluffed around its wooden-bead head. No one, Frances thought, could mistake this manikin for anyone but Annis Allington. It was superb.
Harriet would hate it.
3
Annis
Robbie,” Annis called into the open door of the stable. “Would you take a look at Bits’s left forefoot? He’s favoring it.”
The stableman emerged from the tack room and crossed the aisle. Annis pushed off her hat and let it fall into the sawdust as she bent to lift the horse’s hoof and prop it on her thigh. She couldn’t see anything wrong. The shoe was new, since the farrier had been there the week before. She had cleaned all four hooves before setting out for her ride, but she picked at the frog and sole just the same, searching for a pebble that might have caused Bits to limp.
Robbie scowled above her head. “No job for a young lady,” he said. “Dress all dirty, and that big horse like to crush your little foot.”
Annis laughed. “My foot isn’t so little! And Bits would never step on me. Don’t worry. We know what we’re doing.”
She preferred doing everything herself, rubdowns, brushing, cleaning stalls, soaping her saddle. She oversaw Bits’s feed, and she nursed his ailments, though she always sought Robbie’s advice. She supervised his breeding, too, though it troubled Robbie even more for her to stand by, the lead in her hand, as Bits serviced a mare.
“Not seemly,” he inevitably muttered, a phrase she had been hearing from him for years. “Lose my job if your papa finds out. It ain’t easy for an Irishman to find work, see?”
Annis didn’t want Robbie to lose his job. He was a wonderful horseman and a wizard with tack. Except for the breeding issue, he respected her capability, and he mostly stayed out of her way when she wanted him to.
“Don’t worry, Robbie,” she had said after the last breeding. It had gone well, with an experienced mare and Bits his usual gentlemanly and efficient self. It was a pairing Annis was happy about. The mare had a good balanced conformation and a record of throwing healthy foals. “Papa doesn’t need to know,” she had assured Robbie that day. “But I need to know everything’s going well, as it just did.”
“Not seemly,” Robbie lamented. “A young lady, a breeding stallion—not seemly at all.”
Despite his reservations, Robbie had always been happy to assist with her studies of bloodlines. She had a clear vision of the sort of mare she would allow to conceive one of Bits’s foals, and she turned down as many requests for breeding as she accepted.
“You’re a hardheaded lass,” Robbie once said, when she rejected a Thoroughbred filly.
“A great compliment,” she said, grinning.
He shook his head. “Pretty sure your papa would point out that a stud fee is good money. Lots of folks want a Black Satin foal.”
“I know Papa loves money, Robbie, but this is about Bits’s reputation. That filly’s awfully highly strung. You saw her, rearing and stamping over nothing.”
“That’s as may be,” he had answered. “But if the filly’s owner complains to Mr. Allington, it’ll be me pays the price.”
“Don’t worry, Robbie. I can handle Papa.” She had patted his arm, the only affectionate gesture he would allow. He invariably pulled away, aghast, if she tried to hug him. He had done that even when she was small. He didn’t say that such a display wasn’t seemly, but she understood it just the same.
As to her breeding program, she was sure her father didn’t notice what she did or didn’t do. He never asked her about the horses. He hadn’t ridden in years, but Annis made certain Chessie got his exercise and that all the horses were properly fed, shod, and groomed. The stables were her domain. Frances took no interest, except for wanting the carriage horse ready when she needed him. This arrangement suited Annis perfectly.
She had felt from the beginning that horses were easier