Again, George placed his boot in Elliot’s hands, but this time, he pulled savagely on the reins, yanking Ambrose’s head to one side. As he finally got into the saddle, Ambrose reared on to his hind legs. Through the closed window, Lou heard his pained neigh. Elliot grabbed for the bridle, trying to bring the startled Ambrose under control. Ambrose reared again and this time George lost his grip on the reins. He freed his boot from the stirrup and landed heavily, but still upright, on the ground. His face red, his features contorted, he raised the whip and brought it down with a crack on Ambrose’s behind. Ambrose’s nostrils flared, his front hooves swept at the air. Elliot struggled to keep a grip of the bridle. George raised the whip again. Lou slid the window up, intending to shout at him to stop. She was beaten to it.

‘What in hell’s name are you doing?’ Tom ran from beneath the portico. He grabbed George’s arm, saving poor Ambrose from another vicious blow. Yanking the whip from George’s grasp, Tom threw it to the ground, and with no apparent consideration for his own safety, approached Ambrose’s flailing hooves.

‘Whoa, boy,’ he said, his voice calm. He held his palms out flat, constantly talking to Ambrose until the horse, responding to his voice, began to calm. When all four hooves were down on the ground, his head no longer tossing, Tom was able to take hold of the reins. He rested his forehead against Ambrose’s neck and ran his hand down the horse’s face.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Elliot said. ‘Mr Caxton wanted a ride. Ambrose’ll normally take anyone on his back. I wouldn’t have brought him ‘round the front, only Mr Caxton asked in particular –’

‘You’ve done nothing wrong,’ Tom said. Stepping away from Ambrose, he handed the reins to Elliot. ‘Please take Ambrose back to his stable. Be sure to stay with him until he has calmed.’

Elliot touched his cap and led Ambrose away. With his back to the house, Tom stood and watched them go.

‘“Stay with him until he has calmed,”’ George mocked. ‘It’s a bloody horse, Mandeville. You’re soft, just like the rest of your shower. There’s not a backbone between you.’

Lou stared at Tom’s shoulders, at his hands balled into fists.

‘If that sorry excuse for an animal were mine, I’d see to it that it was properly broken.’ George stooped to pick up his whip and lashed at the air. ‘I’ve a mind to go and teach it a lesson now.’

Tom spun around, his face set in anger. ‘Touch that horse again, and I’ll break that whip on you.’

‘Well, well, well, what have we here? Maybe a few years in the service of His Majesty has finally turned Little Boy Blue from a snitching coward into something that resembles a man. Of sorts.’ George grasped the end of the whip and bent it so that it bowed in the middle, mirroring the shape of his ugly frown.