She quickly did as he bid her, retrieving her things from the front of the stables and slipping them on as she returned to the back. By then, he’d managed to put a rope halter over Betty’s head and was leading her from the box.

Clara stood back, well out of kicking range. “What about Firefly? Doesn’t he need to be haltered?”

“He’ll follow her.”

Sure enough, Firefly ambled along at Betty’s side as Neville led her through the arched doorway at the back of the stable. It opened to a series of long paddocks with white wooden fences. The smallest was closest to the stables. A pen, merely, with an even footing of mud and grass.

Neville walked Betty into it. Her nostrils flared, and her sides heaved like a bellows. “Will you shut the gate?”

Clara closed and latched it behind him. Her heart was halfway in her throat, her stomach clenched in both fear and anticipation. She didn’t know what to expect. At only twelve hands, Betty couldn’t do much damage, could she? She was just a pony.

But when Neville slipped the rope halter from her head, Betty managed to make herself look as big and dangerous as a full-sized horse. She reared up on her hind legs, shaking her neck and striking out with her hooves.

Clara’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, do be careful!”

Neville didn’t seem at all alarmed. He backed away from Betty slowly. When he reached the fence, he climbed over it with ease.

Betty cantered wildly around the pen, Firefly leaping and kicking at her side. She whinnied, high and shrill, tossing her head and quivering all over.

“She’ll hurt herself,” Clara said.

Neville came to stand next to her. “She won’t.”

Clara wished she could feel as confident. Instead she felt cold and wet and quite certain she was about to witness either Betty or Firefly break one of their legs. “Is there nothing you can do to calm her?”

He shook his head. “She’ll c-calm on her own.”

Clara supposed she’d simply have to trust him. He knew horses far better than she did. And he was the last person on earth who would let an animal come to harm. “I hate to see her so frightened.”

“She’s not afraid.”

Eventually, Betty slowed to pace the perimeter of the pen, examining the fence and what lay beyond it. She stopped to snatch a bite of grass, and again to paw at a mud puddle. And then, all at once, her front legs folded beneath her and she seemed to collapse to the ground.

Clara was on the verge of another worried exclamation when, much to her surprise, Betty rolled straight over.

And then she rolled over again, back and forth on her back, until she was covered with mud.