Chapter 4

Meeting the Queen I

"Is that all you need, Ben?" Arthur Barnes, proud owner of Barnes' Hardware and Groceries, asked eagerly. The Ponderosa was a good customer, and Ben Cartwright had been in town to buy supplies at least twice a week for the past month. Now, at the beginning of spring, the ranch was being prepared for the long work season and every day unforeseen gaps in the equipment were discovered: broken gear, aged tools, missing or insufficient repair materials. And the quantities of food Hoss Cartwright seemed to simply let evaporate, made Barnes very glad that he had added groceries to his assortments of goods. It was a pity, really, that the late Mrs. Barnes hadn't lived to see this, for she had vehemently opposed the extension of the choice of goods at the store. But, Barnes thought, the quiet evenings without her perpetual nagging were worth the dispensation of living his victory a hundred times over.

"No, I think this will be it." Ben shook his head. "Not that I haven't said that the last three times I was here."

"I don't mind having you here, Ben," Barnes said amiably.

"No, I guess not!" At Ben's reply they shared a laugh.

"Oh, just one more thing. Have you got some of the McConnel's tobacco left, Art?"

"I'll have a look, Ben. I'm not sure, but there might be some in the store. Just a moment, please," Barnes answered. He left the shop to have a search in the rather messy back room – another heritage of Mrs. Barnes untimely decease.

"Take your time, Art, take your time!"

Ben was inspecting Barnes' assortment of pipes when he heard, just outside the shop, the piercing whinny of a horse, a muffled thud, nervous hoof trampling, sneering laughter, and the angry voice of a woman.

"You did this on purpose. And get your dirty hand off me, repugnant cretin."

Ben rushed out on the street. Old Hobey from the livery stable was glaring at a woman—a lady, rather—and stroking the flanks of a befuddled horse, its saddle hanging lopsided. The lady in question was busily brushing sand from her fancy black riding costume in rather furious strokes.

"Now ma'am, there ain't no need to use no big words on me. It ain't not my fault the cinches was loose. And I jest wanted ta help ya up," Hobey ventured.

The lady in black shot Hobey a fierce glance and spat back, "I wouldn't need any help getting up if you had checked the efficiency of the gear before you let me get on that horse."

"Ma'am, the riders check their gear, not the—"

"You can't genuinely expect me to examine a horse or its equipment," she interrupted him brusquely. Ben noticed the way she straightened her already upright back even more and how she raised her chin. Is she taking a battle stance, Ben wondered as the lady went on, "Well, it doesn't matter what you do or what you do not expect, anyway. I will not be dealing with you or the likes of you anymore."

Hobey squinted at her. "Whazzat mean?"

"It does mean, Mr. Hobey, that I fully intend to exclude you and your business partner from any transactions concerning my equestrian pursuits now and in the future."

Hobey grimaced, took off his hat and scratched his skull. He screwed his mouth into a bizarre snoot of puzzlement. "Eh?"

Ben took pity with him. "She won't rent or buy a horse at the livery stable, Hobey."

"Yeah, that figgers." Hobey gave Ben a nod, tipped his hat to his enraged former customer, turned the horse and led it down the street towards the stable. He mumbled something under his breath, but to the blessing of all parties involved, no one understood a word of his rambling.

Ben hid a smile and turned to the still angry-looking woman. "Are you all right, Miss?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Mr.—?"

"Cartwright, Ben Cartwright."

She held her hand out to him in a delicate gesture. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Cartwright. I am Juliet Heatherstone."

Ben looked up in surprise. "Heatherstone? You are not by any chance related to J. Heatherstone, the new writer at the Territorial Enterprise?"

"I am J. Heatherstone, Mr. Cartwright." She lifted an eyebrow and looked at him challengingly. Ben was sure she had heard a comment or two before about her being a woman in this job, and so he decided to keep his thoughts to himself. She'd have her reasons for doing this. She didn't appear as if she had to work for her living actually, but this could be due entirely to her costly looking clothes and her elaborate speech. If he had ever seen an English lady, then it was right now. The last time Ben had heard an upscale English accent it had been from Lady Chadwick. But this was different. It was the real thing, Ben thought, not the trained tones of the unfortunate Countess. In this lady's speech generations of earls were audible. A working lady she might be, but a lady by all means. And a very wordly one. Hobey had never stood a chance.

"Miss Heatherstone, it's a pleasure to meet you. Last night your writing was discussed rather enthusiastically by my family."

She accepted the compliment with the grandeur of an empress. "Thank you, Mr. Cartwright. It is always very refreshing to receive positive comments."

Ben was fascinated. He had never met someone who had just fallen off her horse and showed such majesty as Miss Heatherstone. Her dress may have been dirty, her hair may have been ruffled, but her dignity was unshattered.

"You don't happen to know where I can buy a good horse, Mr. Cartwright?" she asked suggestively.

"Well, actually I do. I was just going to—" He interrupted himself to glance at her suspiciously. "You already knew I sell horses, Miss Heatherstone?" he prompted.

"Yes, Mr. Cartwright. Of course, I heard of the Ponderosa and the fine horses you sell. What a lucky coincidence to meet you here and now!"

She had a rather enjoyable smile, Ben thought. It made it easier to forgive her forwardness. He made a decision. "Miss Heatherstone, if you are interested in buying a horse, why don't you come to the Ponderosa and have a look at our stock? Why don't we say Sunday, for lunch? I could take you with the buggy after church, and in the afternoon one of my sons will bring you back home," he offered.

"My, Mr. Cartwright, what a wonderful idea! I'd be delighted to come and see your ranch. And your horses."

"Well, then it's settled. Sunday, after church."

"Sunday, after church. Very well, Mr. Cartwright. I am looking forward to this." With that she waved him a benign goodbye, turned smoothly and made her way down the street with the air of a victor. Ben watched her in amazement.

He was startled by Joe's voice. "Did you just speak to the Queen?"

"Whom are you talking about, Joe?" He gave Joe an irritated look. Since when did Joe leave the saloon without being ordered to?

"Her." Joe gestured towards the departing figure of Juliet Heatherstone. "Josh says people call her the Queen of England. She's a real smart-mouth and a snobby—"

"Maybe you should spend less time at the saloon, Joe," Ben interrupted him huffed. Now this explained Joe's miraculous leaving of his place at the bar of the Bucket of Blood. Pure curiosity. "Miss Heatherstone is a very…impressive, lovely young lady. She will be our guest on Sunday, and I expect you to treat her with the utmost respect. Now get your brother out here and help him load the wagon. And I'll go and see whether Art has found my tobacco at last. I really don't know what's taking him so long."

Joe turned to call his brother from the saloon. He was rather puzzled by his father's irritated reaction. Maybe there was more behind the Queen than Josh had given him. Pa at least seemed to have developed an instant liking to her and so it would be wise not to let the matter of 'Queen' come up again. He'd better be keeping his head low. Time to go back to fence repair, he guessed.