Chapter 22: Earlshall begins a pivotal shift in my journey as Ginger and I are transported from the calm and kind care of Birtwick to the grandeur and formality of Earlshall Park. The estate is vast, with well-kept grounds, a splendid house, and spacious stables that hint at luxury. Yet despite the surface elegance, it becomes clear that life here will be very different. Mr. York, the head coachman, greets us with a mixture of professionalism and authority. He listens politely to John’s careful explanation of our histories—my steady nature and Ginger’s hard-won progress from earlier mistreatment. John makes a special point of warning him about check-reins, stating that we’ve never worn them and that they might cause real distress. Though York nods and assures John we will be treated well, there is a certain stiffness in his tone, hinting that decisions at Earlshall are shaped more by rules than by understanding.

Soon, we are absorbed into the daily routine of Earlshall, and our lives begin to change. The lady of the house insists on a fashionable appearance, demanding the use of high check-reins for all carriage horses. Though the Earl himself shows interest in our well-being and expresses some sympathy with John’s advice, he ultimately defers to his wife’s preferences. Our first ride with the reins tightened uncomfortably high is a shock. The strain on our necks is immediate and unnatural. My muscles ache, and Ginger, once again facing the restraints she had once escaped, grows visibly tense. She warns me quietly that she will not endure such treatment again without protest. Her tone is not dramatic—it’s tired, edged with the memory of pain she thought was behind her.

Ginger’s words stay with me, and each day at Earlshall confirms her unease. While we are groomed with care and our stables are kept clean, the work itself becomes a source of pain. The constant use of the check-reins forces us into positions that are not only uncomfortable but damaging. Breathing becomes harder, and our heads are held so unnaturally high that it throws off our balance. What once was smooth motion now feels stiff and mechanical. The staff sees our discomfort, but the system they follow leaves little room for adjustment. Even Mr. York, who seems to understand horses better than most, is unwilling to challenge the expectations set by the lady of the house. There is a hierarchy here, and horses, no matter how noble or willing, are at the bottom of it.

Despite the discomfort, I try to adapt. Ginger, however, begins to show signs of agitation. Her ears pin back more often, her steps grow sharp, and her patience shortens. One afternoon, while being harnessed, she tosses her head sharply when the reins are adjusted. The stable hands mutter about her temper, forgetting how much she endured before coming here. They do not understand the toll that pain takes when endured in silence. As we are driven through town, onlookers admire our appearance, oblivious to the strain behind our poised heads and arched necks. The truth is masked by polished harnesses and well-trimmed manes.

This chapter captures more than just a change in location—it reflects a deeper shift in the kind of care we receive. At Birtwick, kindness and understanding guided every action. At Earlshall, presentation reigns supreme. The lady wants to be seen in a fine carriage with horses who hold their heads high, no matter the cost. The discomfort we feel is justified by aesthetics, and empathy gives way to tradition. Though Mr. York is not cruel, he does not stand against what he knows to be harmful. For me, this place becomes one of tension and quiet endurance. For Ginger, it threatens to undo all the healing she once found.

Our time at Earlshall serves as a reminder that appearances can mask suffering and that prestige often overshadows compassion. The polished image the estate presents to the world is maintained at the expense of the animals that serve it. What begins as a promising new chapter quickly becomes a cautionary tale about the consequences of placing form above function and style above well-being. Through our experience, the story explores the fine line between discipline and cruelty, and the quiet but powerful resistance of those who have already endured too much.