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“We have a – a horse – to see to.” Siegfried looked at the piece of paper with the first farm call of the morning’s notes. “Mrs Hall didn’t catch the man’s name, but he stopped by last night.”
“In a downpour?” Tristan had wandered in looking like a drowned rat, and he’d only been coming back from Drover’s. Anyone who had needed to cross a bridge into town could’ve been facing high river levels and some degree of danger in the crossing.
“Bit of an odd meeting place…” Siegfried handed the next paper to James as he tried to place it. “First river crossing, take an immediate left after the bridge.”
“Maybe there’s a bridge or stretch of road covered in water, and he can’t get back to his farm?” James got up from the table and began to poke around in the dispensary for something.
“Make sure to grab a blanket -” Siegfried addressed him, despite looking at the tomato he was cutting on his plate “- in case we need to towel off the patient. Oh – and an umbrella. It can be quite unpleasant to make farm calls in the rain without one.”
Siegfried didn’t need to look but a moment at the hair loss and scabs along the horse’s flank and lower legs to recognise two similar ailments, in which the underlying condition and treatment were the same but the names differed by the location affected: mud fever and rain scald. That was the easiest part of driving to a horse tied up to a large tree next to the swollen riverbank. The hard part was gently using the blanket to dry the horse – without pulling on the scabs – when a misty rain was still coming down. He didn’t want to bring undue attention to it, but there was also a noticeable lack of a farmer, or person of any sort. Someone had attempted to throw together a makeshift shelter with old clothes and some rope overhead, but really, it was mostly the tree and Tristan holding Mrs Hall’s umbrella that kept any parts of them dry. Siegfried left a note attached to the halter that the horse should be taken to a barn and, at least, allowed to completely dry out. They would have to hope that the currently unknown farmer stopped by Skeldale House for an antibiotic cream to apply to the skin.
“Unbelievable! Did he roll in the mud?”
Tristan was supposed to be feeding Mrs Crotley’s cat, but James stuck his head in the doorway to see what was raising the ire of the younger Farnon, “Did who roll in the mud?”
“The horse from this morning. Rain scald and – dare I say it – mud fever.” Tristan gestured to a black stallion – well, a probably black stallion – who was currently covered in a lot of mud. It had gone up his legs, gotten into his mane, and streaked along his side. The horse’s ears twitched, but he merely looked at the two while he stood next to the small animal cages. “We didn’t meet the farmer.”
James glanced down at the pile of muddy but neatly folded clothes on the stone floor next to the horse. “Maybe he went inside?”
Tristan frowned at the clothes. He opened his mouth, paused, and turned to look at James. James was busy with hunting up a small towel that was kept in the barn for small messes in the cages. It was woefully inadequate in terms of size for a horse, but they could rinse it out. He held it up, “All that mud will help keep the bacteria trapped in the skin.”
“Right…” Tristan shook his head slightly and picked up the already muddy trousers. “I think Siegfried’s double checking the cream’s dosage. We can probably apply it once he’s dry.”
“We are going to get some water boiling -” James pointed to one of the spare pails “- so his skin’s properly cleaned.”
“Ugh…” Tristan had already swiped at one of the front legs and was pulling a clump of something plant-like from the trousers. “I didn’t realise our river was so gross.”
James paused at the sight of the vaguely green thing encased in mud – a strip of seaweed. He was no geography expert, but the Yorkshire Dales weren’t exactly seaside. A niggling feeling piped up from the back of his brain with a warning from his grandmother – more of a story, really – about horses with seaweed wrapped around their hooves. Something about carrying the water with them – no – something about unnatural beasts and danger. He carefully set the pail and towel down, “Perhaps… Perhaps we should let the mud dry and come back with a brush. It might be less painful on the scabs.”
To say that Audrey Hall was surprised to find a man with black hair cascading down his shoulders sitting in her kitchen in the morning was an understatement. He had the slightly worn looking clothes like the man from the previous night, but he looked a great deal less soggy. And a necklace made of silver was definitely new. His mouth twitched into a smile, and the same water roaring baritone with a stronger Scottish lilt than James greeted her, “Morning, Mrs Hall.”
“Is everything alright with your horse?” She filled the kettle with water and set it on the hob. Audrey might have been thrown from her routine a bit, but she wasn’t going to waste time before breakfast was needed.
“The cream’s already doing wonders.” He held up an envelope. “Payment will arrive on the next full moon.”
Audrey blinked in silence at the odd choice of timing, but she didn’t have time to ask any questions about lunar phases. The man was already standing and looking out the window at the rain-less sky, “Do give my apologies to Mr Herriot. I’m afraid I startled him in the barn last night.”
“I didn’t catch your –” It felt like something was stuck, very briefly, in the back of her throat, and Audrey coughed. All the bloody rain the past few weeks. She hoped that she wasn’t coming down with something.
“I’m afraid I don’t give my name out to strangers -” The man smiled again, in his reassuring but odd manner “- but you may call me Kay.”