Hudson withdrew a coin from his pocket. “Rather than take her home with us, if I pay your fee, can you promise us Chicory will be allowed to live a long and full life?”
The farmer shrugged. “It’s your money.”
Hudson handed the coin over. “Take good care of her.”
“Thank you for saving her,” Lady Tabitha whispered, gazing up at him as though he’d single-handedly vanquished an invading army, rather than spared the life of a single sheep.
He smiled at her. “Any time.”
She took his arm again as they crossed to the next tent, which was filled with horses. They arrived at the first stall just in time to see a tiny hoof descend from a heavily pregnant mare.
Lady Tabitha’s mouth fell open and she froze in place. “Is she giving birth? Right here?”
“Before our very eyes,” Hudson confirmed. “Behold, the miracle of life.”
She clutched his arm as, inch by inch, a spindly foal dropped from his mother’s womb to the packed brown dirt below.
Without taking even a moment’s rest, the mother dipped her muzzle to her exhausted child, spending several long minutes cleaning him before beginning to nudge him urgently with her muzzle.
“Surely she cannot expect a newborn foal to—” Lady Tabitha gasped in awe. “He’s standing. Already! It’s scarcely been half an hour!”
Hudson could have watched Lady Tabitha watching the farm animals all week. He loved her genuine amazement, and the pleasure she took in simple moments that men like her father or Hudson’s employer would consider common and vulgar. Life was wonderful, and a gift. Simple pleasures were often the best ones.
It was another quarter hour before Lady Tabitha could pull herself away from the newborn foal and venture on to the next tent.
The moment she and Hudson stepped inside, they were immediately accosted by a harried matron in a white apron.
“Oh, thank God,” the woman said, pulling Lady Tabitha forward. “The competition was supposed to start an hour ago, and the judge never arrived. You’ll do.”
“But… I…” Lady Tabitha looked over her shoulder helplessly at Hudson, who hurried to catch up.
“Sit here,” the matron commanded, pointing Lady Tabitha toward a pair of empty wooden chairs. “You too, sir.”
“I’m not a sir,” Hudson murmured.
“Well, you’re a judge for the next ten minutes. The children have waited long enough.”
Bemused, he took his seat beside Lady Tabitha as a sextet of little boys and girls no older than nine or ten years old marched proudly into view, each bearing a fifteen-pound creature clutched in their arms.
Lady Tabitha stared. “Are those… badgers?”
“They are, indeed,” Hudson confirmed. The creatures’ distinct black-and-white striped faces, gray fur, and short fluffy tails were unmistakable.
“How am I supposed to pick the best one?” she whispered.
“Eenie, meenie, miney, moe?” he whispered back.
“Do you know much about badgers?”
“Not a blessed thing,” he answered cheerfully. “But all of these specimens look quite badger-y to me.”
“We can do this.” Lady Tabitha straightened, and addressed each child in turn. “Please tell me about your pet.”
The children were eager to comply, full of proud smiles and long stories about how each creature got its name, as well as what it ate, and what its sleeping habits were like.
When they finished, Lady Tabitha looked anguished rather than illuminated.
“I can’t pick just one,” she muttered.
