Leonora Read Free Page A

the stable at all hours and rides out on her bareback. To start with, she clung on to the mane, but not any longer.
    â€˜We two are one,’ she tells her mother. When she’s tired of cantering, she leans back and rests her head and shoulders on the horse’s rump and stares at the sky. Her mother accompanies her, riding side-saddle. Mother and daughter are out together and at this point in time Leonora loves her mother like a colt does hers.
    â€˜Keep your heels down,’ Maurie tells her, ‘don’t shift your seat in the saddle.’ Mother and daughter move to a canter and, without another word, Leonora spurs Winkie on and rides her into the lake. Her mother pulls up, stupefied. Leonora and mare emerge on the opposite shore with a loud sound of splashing water.
    â€˜Why on earth did you do that? You’re soaking.’
    â€˜Winkie enjoys swimming and I enjoy watching how she uses her hooves to swim.’
    â€˜The wild filly is you, not her. Why do you do such crazy things?’
    â€˜It’s not crazy, it’s an experiment. Have you never conducted an experiment, Mummy?’
    Leonora is the rebel of the four children. It’s both in her nature, and because riding gives her the freedom of a bird. Winkie is the one who understands her, her confidante and her accomplice. Hardly has she started to gallop than, just as with her morning porridge, she’s in at the centre. The mare has long limbs like Leonora’s, her coat shines like the hair on Leonora’s head, and Winkie frees her from her dread of the adults who always demand so much of her.
    â€˜I am a horse, I am a mare,’ Leonora tells anyone who will listen.
    Gerard understands her: ‘You are a night mare. At night I hear your hooves on the floor and I see you gallop out through the window, but it’s good it’s not for real, because if you did go it would be forever.’
    Leonora comes to the table late. ‘Do excuse me, I was detained by a horse who wished to take me to see his treasure.’
    â€˜Horses don’t speak,’ states Harold Carrington.
    â€˜They speak to Leonora,’ Gerard springs to her defence. ‘I have seen them nuzzle her shoulder with their lips, enquiring how she is.’
    â€˜That’s quite enough nonsense!’ and Harold drops his fork.
    In the hunting season, the foxhounds become restless in the kennels. Desperate to get out, they bark, scratch and roll their golden eyes imploringly. Later, they return all damp, their tongues hanging out, panting and leaving white trails of saliva along the floor. Their great euphoria cheers the household while the kennelman returns to lock them in again. If the horses have their groom, the hounds have their kennelman, but who will have the answers to all Leonora’s questions? ‘What do they eat? How do they sleep? When will the pups be born? How do you rid them of fleas?’ The hounds surround her like the huntsmen surround Carrington, who offers them sherry or whisky, making them wag their tails and bark with laughter.
    The smell of the stable, animal hides, soil, sweat and blood lingers for days.
    Harold hunts pheasants, hundreds of wood pigeon, wild duck, quail, hares and thousands of partridge, who reappear at funeral banquets converted into patés, timbales, mousses and casseroles. The quails’ lifeless eyes are testament to the power of the patriarch’s chemical industry, called ‘Imperial’ for good reason. Harold is also an emperor: he plunges the knife into the meat, issues orders. Bring, put, do, open, add seasoning . Leonora is disgusted by the appearance of the hunt on her plate. One night she dreamt that she woke to find a bloodied rabbit lying dead on her stomach.
    What Harold Carrington does not know is that the fox sits and silently laughs behind his chair, the wolf peers through the window and squints inside in astonishment, deer ring the table, partridges dance hand in