To feel the wind | Early Morning, Saturday 24th September, 1678

[Sobriety]

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Royal Mews

The Household Cavalry, the oldest English regiment, consists of The Life Guards and The Blues and The Royal Horse Guards. The regiment consists of two units comprising all three "colors". The mounted regiment, as opposed to the unit commonly known as the Life Guard (despite its broader mix) maintains the Royal Mews.

Here enough stabling is provided for the horses of those who are in residence with the Household Cavalry as well as any visiting dignitaries and nobles. The well covered building is also used to provide shelter for coaches.

The morning had dawned brisk and bright and those gentlemen - and possibly a few more adventurous ladies - who were inclined to take their energetic activities early had bustled themselves outside; some to the mews. A gentleman in a black woolen riding habit, his blonde hair - now greying at the temples and forelock - tied neatly back, waited patiently whilst a groom saddled the chestnut mare in the closest stall. She was regarding the groom with an irritated cant to her ears, and the blonde gentleman was talking to her quietly, stroking her long nose to distract her. 

[Charles Blount]

The stables were fairly quiet this time of morning as courtiers tended to use the early hours of the morning to recoup from their excessed the night before so it was that most of the bustle was from the stable hands watering and feeding the horses and mucking out their stalls. It was thus that allowed Charles Dormer was able to intermittently hear someone speaking in an adjacent stall. By his elocution the speaker was obviously a gentleman and by his tone he seemed to be speaking to a familiar servant. He could not make out the gist of the conversation, only a few words here and there, but it appeared to be of a personal nature.

Mountjoy had risen early and hastened to the mews as he did not want to risk an awkward confrontation with Lady Mountjoy. He was brushing his horse Roland, a task he found relaxing, and mulling over his situation. He would have preferred baring his soul to his Irish Wolfhound for, as everyone knew, dogs, unlike horses, did not judge their masters. But bran was in London so it was to Roland that Mountjoy turned. Alas Roland did not offer any sage advice he finished by saying “Here, take this apple and I will have some oats brought in and keep this to yourself.

The stall opened and out walked a gentleman who appeared to be in his mid-thirties of average height and athletic build wearing a plain Tobacco brown justacorps of stout English broadcloth with black silk lining visible on the cuffs with lacquered carved burled oak buttons over a waistcoat of beige suede fawnskin with an embroidered edging in gold thread of entwined hunting horns and deer antlers. The breeches matched the coat and were tucked into calf length brown leather Spanish boots laced up the sides and tied with a rosette of cut pheasant feathers.  His shirt was lightly laced white linen open at the throat for ease of movement over-tied by a knotted black cashmere cravat. His wig was of dark auburn curls and he was not currently wearing a hat. An ivory headed hunting crop was hanging from a coat button. A glimpse inside the stall revealed the only other occupant to be a handsome grey Andalusian.

Upon exiting the stall Mountjoy had not expected to see another person in the vicinity or he would have been more circumspect but the gentleman, whom he did not recognize, was preoccupied with calming his own horse so likely was not eavesdropping. Approaching he firstly addressed the Groom. “Try not to agitate the Gentleman’s horse Walter. And when you are finished, please see that Roland gets a quart of oats.” The instructions were given politely but with an air of authority but the speaker did not look like any kind of stable manager.

“I see we have another that prefers the early morning for their rides.” He said to Dormer as a way of facilitating conversation. “I have always found a vigorous ride in the cool of a misty dawn the perfect way to start ones day.”   

 

 

Edited Sunday at 07:40 PM by Charles Blount

[Sobriety]

Dormer had heard someone having a conversation in one of the other stalls but paid it no mind, though from the excellent elocution he could only assume it was not the stablehands. He himself was more occupied with running his gaze over his own mount, checking that she looked well and fit, bright of eye and glossy of coat, and soothing her whilst she was tacked. The groom was just finishing up when a gentleman in a practical but well tailored brown outfit appeared from one of the other boxes and approached. 

"Walter is doing a fine job." Carnarvon assured the other man. "She's just feeling uncertain in unfamiliar surroundings." He said, clearly knowing his horse, and stroked her jawline affectionately. She was a long-legged hunter type, elegant and swift, with long white socks and a star on her forehead. Dainty ears were highly mobile, twitching back and forth as the men talked. 

Dorner smiled over his shoulder as Blount spoke of appreciating an early morning ride. "Indeed. Nothing like it to get the blood flowing, before the more cerebral antics of the day. Are you going out this morning?" He enquired . 

[Charles Blount]

Blount was unable place Dorner by sight although they must have come across each other in the Lords at some time or another. That Carnarvon was a gentleman was not in doubt but perhaps he had been away for some time just as Blount had been during the Danby affair. To rectify this condition, he introduced himself.

“I do not think we have been formally introduced. I am Lord Mountjoy currently in the incarnation of Her Majesty’s Master of Horse. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Many mounts are skittish at all the strange smells and sounds of a strange place, like many of their owners, tend to settle in after some time.” He noted the horses fine lines with approval but did not attempt to touch the animal in deference to her unease. “I have been out earlier this morning but if no one else is chipper enough to desire an early ride I would not be averse to going out again. Are you recently arrived?”    

[Sobriety]

No doubt the two men had crossed paths in the Lords at some time, though Dormer had been very much present during the Danby affair, speaking against impeaching the man and particularly noting that, historically, those who spearheaded an impeachment tended to end up subject to the same themselves. Politics, it seemed, had karma. Likewise Dormer found Mountjoy's countenance familiar, though he struggled to put a name to the face. 

"The pleasure is mine Lord Mountjoy." The older man replied, recognising the name and executing a light bow since the Marquess had the greater precedence. "Charles Dormer, Earl of Carnarvon." He supplied in turn. "She'll be fine once I'd had a chance to run the twitches out of her." He assured the other man with a fond glance at his mare. A well exercised mount tended to be much calmer. "I'd be glad of a companion if you've time for a quick jaunt, but I wouldn't want to keep you if you have other engagements." Dormer said amiably.

As for their timing. "We arrived yesterday. Unfortunately we've had heavy rains along the coast the last few weeks and the roads up north are terrible." He explained. "I would normally travel the north coast road to Chester but we had to take the inland road to Llangollen," he said, pronouncing the Welsh place name with ease, if a little incongruously amongst his impeccable if slightly musical diction, "before we could reach Birmingham, and even that was no easy route. But at least the coach made it." He regaled, happy to complain to someone who would likely be sympathetic. "I was starting to fear we would need pack horses!" He finished with a grin. "Perhaps I should have come by boat..." he added thoughtfully, but then he would have needed to leave most if not all of his horses behind, and it was plain from the way that he stroked her nose that Dormer was fond of the chestnut mare. 

"Did you make the opening?" He asked in turn, thinking that Mountjoy surely hadn't had as far to come. Something about Oxford was tickling his memory. Estate? Or alma mater?