She had laughed.
She rubbed the rouge well into her skin and then powdered it lightly.
‘That was a long time ago,’ Filipa thought. ‘Equally there is just a chance that the rouge and powder will still be there.’
She was not mistaken and found them at the very back of the drawer in her mother’s dressing table.
When she opened the little box that contained the rouge, she found that it had not dried up.
She took the cosmetics back to her room and applied some lip salve to her lips.
It gave her what she thought was a strange look.
At the same time it transformed her face from that of a very young girl to what she thought might be that of an actress.
“Now I shall really look like a Pretty Horse-Breaker,” she said to the mirror.
Then she laughed because it was such a ridiculous idea.
She wiped her lips clean, washed her face in cold water, and went back to bed.
‘Whatever happens,’ she thought as she shut her eyes, ‘it will be a very exciting adventure and one day, especially if we win a prize, Mark and I will be able to laugh about it!’
She started to say her prayers.
But because she was very tired, she fell asleep before she could finish them.
Chapter two
Filipa was up and dressed by half past six.
This did not worry her, because she was used to rising with the dawn.
She preferred to be alone in the house before the old Smeatons appeared as they were always very slow in the morning.
Smeaton was suffering from his rheumatics and Mrs. Smeaton liked to sleep late and Filipa therefore usually made her own breakfast.
This morning she dressed herself in her mother’s gown.
As she did so, she thought with a little leap of her heart that it was going to be the most exciting day she had ever known.
How could she have imagined, how could she have even dreamt that Mark would wish her to ride with him in a race?
It would be thrilling, even though she was disguised as a Pretty Horse-Breaker, to meet his friends.
Although she had not admitted it even to herself, she had really longed to talk to the smart gentlemen whom Mark met in his Clubs.
When he came home, he described them so vividly, but they hardly seemed human.
To Filipa they had become part of the fairy stories she told herself.
Because she was so much alone, they had become very real to her and she almost believed that she had been to the balls that were part of her fantasy.
In her imagination she had worn the gowns that she had designed from the flowers and the stars.
She listened to string orchestras that she heard in the buzzing of the bees and the song of the birds.
Now, incredibly, her fairy stories were to come true.
All because the Marquis of Kilne had planned a strange and unusual horse rally.
She tried to remember as she hurried round the house everything she had heard about Kilne Hall.
Although she had never talked about it to Mark, she had longed to see it and knew that it was one of the largest ancestral homes in the County.
It had always seemed sad that her father and mother had not been friends with the previous Marquis just because her grandfather had fallen out with him.
But now, almost like a miracle, she was to visit the house and meet its owner.
The thought of the Marquis, however, definitely made her apprehensive.
She knew how angry Mark would be if the Marquis realised that she was not the Pretty Horse-Breaker she pretended to be.
What was so frightening was that she had no idea of how a Pretty Horse-Breaker should behave.
Then she told herself that the Marquis was not likely to notice her.
He might do so when she was riding and that, at least, she could do well.
When they talked over their plans last night, Mark had made it quite clear that, as soon as the races in the afternoon were over, they were to come home.
“Kilne has asked a number of the competitors to stay with him,” he said, “but he knew that I lived somewhere near The Hall, so I was not invited.”
There was undoubtedly a note of regret in his voice.
But Filipa could not help thinking that it was a very good thing that they were not to be involved socially with the Marquis.
He would only notice them when they were riding.
‘I must be very very careful,’ she admonished herself. ‘I will watch the other women to see how they behave and then I shall know exactly what I must do.’
She hurried up the stairs with Mark’s shaving water, pulled back his curtains and woke him up.
Even as a small boy he had always slept soundly.
As the light streamed into the room, she could see his face on the pillow and she thought that he did not look very much older than when he was still at school.
“You must wake up, Mark,” she told him quietly.
He opened his eyes.
“What is the time?” he asked drowsily.
“Nearly seven o’clock and you said that we had to leave at eight.”
He looked at her as if he could hardly remember who she was and then he smiled.
“I had forgotten I was at home,” he muttered. “I thought for a moment you were Lulu.”
He spoke without thinking and Filipa replied,
“I cannot believe she wakes you in the morning.”
“No, of course not,” Mark said quickly. “Actually, I was dreaming of her.”
“Stop dreaming, and remember that we have to beat her and Lord Daverton in the race.”
Mark grinned.
“You are quite right, Filipa! That is what we must do and teach them a lesson they will never forget.”
“I will go and make your breakfast.”
As she ran down the stairs, she was sending up a little prayer to her father.
‘Help us, Papa,’ she begged, ‘to beat not only Lulu and Lord Daverton but also everyone else! It will make Mark so happy, Papa, and if he wins the thousand guineas he can pay off his debts.’
The mere thought of how much money was involved made her shudder.
Suppose she failed him?
Suppose, after all, she was not such a good rider as Mark thought her to be?
Then she lifted her chin to tell herself that she would not be afraid.
She had to believe, as her mother had told her to do, that she would win.
Her conviction would communicate itself to the horse she was riding so that they would then romp first past the Winning Post.
As usual she had turned what was going to happen into a fairy story.
She could visualise it all happening as she cooked eggs and bacon for Mark over the stove, which was very old and should have been replaced years ago.
She carried them into the dining room.
She saw that he was already down and looking extremely smart in his riding clothes.
She had covered her mother’s gown with an apron while she was cooking.
Mark looked at her critically as she fetched his coffee from the kitchen.
“I hope you have something decent to put on your head,” he said.
“I have Mama’s best bonnet,” Filipa replied. “If it is not smart enough, there is nothing I can do about it.”
Mark was silent for a moment and then he said,
“I am sure you will look very pretty, Filipa, and that is more important than anything else.”
“Thank you kindly, sir,” she replied mockingly.
She just had toast and honey for her own breakfast because she had counted the eggs in the kitchen.
She realised there were only three left, one for each of the Smeatons and one for Mark’s groom, who had come with him.
She had been worried last night in case there was not enough in the house for a young man to eat.
As there had been no complaints after dinner, she supposed that the Smeatons h
ad managed somehow.
Mark finished his eggs and bacon and ate what was left of the toast and drank two cups of coffee.
“Being in the country always makes me hungry,” he remarked. “I cannot think why.”
“I can,” Filipa replied. “It’s because you don’t drink as much as you do in London.”
“I suppose that is true,” Mark agreed. “But I don’t drink as much as my friends simply because I cannot afford it.”
“And a very good thing too,” Filipa said. “Even if the Marquis offers you a drink when we are at Kilne Hall, do not drink it before the race.”
“I am not as stupid as that,” Mark replied, “and Kilne himself is very abstemious. In fact his friends tease him about it.”
Filipa thought that this was one good thing she had heard about the Marquis.
He was a magnificent rider and Mark admired him and yet she had always suspected that his parties were what the Romans called ‘orgies’.
Of course Mark had never been to one, but he had talked about them enviously.
They had sounded very extravagant and at the same time extremely attractive to a young man of his age.
She went upstairs to put on her bonnet and make certain that she had not forgotten the rouge, powder and lipstick.
Mark had said that they were essential if she was to be a Pretty Horse-Breaker.
She wondered, however, what her mother would have thought of Mark being so very friendly with someone called Lulu.
To begin with she had thought it strange that she appeared to have no other name, but Mark had explained that most of the Pretty Horse-Breakers were known by only one.
It also seemed extraordinary that they were not called Miss or Mrs.
‘Whatever I think, I must not criticise,’ Filipa told herself seriously.
Then, having put her mother’s bonnet on her fair head, she turned to the rouge and powder.
Nervously she applied a very little rouge on her cheeks as she had seen her mother do so long ago and then reddened her lips.
The effect seemed to transform her as it had done last night.
She stared at the mirror and was quite certain that it was not an improvement.
She had an impulse to wipe it all off and to tell Mark that she would come as herself or would not come at all.
Then she knew that would be very selfish.
The only thing that really mattered was that Mark should be able to pay for his stallion.
There were also the fancy dresses, the horse he had hired for Lulu and a great number of other debts that he had not enumerated.
She was, however, very thankful that before she had gone to bed last night she had been to see Miss Richmond.
Filipa told her that she was going with Mark to watch a race that was taking place in another part of the County.
She did not say where and Miss Richmond was feeling too poorly to be curious.
“I shall be back tomorrow evening,” Filipa continued, “but don’t worry if we are late and I am sure that the Smeatons will bring you anything you want.”
“I am not hungry, dear,” Miss Richmond replied. “And I am sure if I have a quiet day with plenty of sleep, I will soon be up on my feet again.”
Filipa was afraid that this was wishful thinking, but she did not say so.
She merely kissed Miss Richmond goodbye and told her to take care of herself.
She was so often ill and it was impossible for anyone but Filipa to carry trays up and down the stairs.
Miss Richmond had therefore very wisely moved her bed to the ground floor to a small writing room that was never used.
Filipa had made it attractive by turning the couch into a bed and had brought in some small pieces of furniture to make it like a sitting room.
There were books for Miss Richmond to read and there was a cupboard instead of a wardrobe to hang her clothes in.
As Filipa ran upstairs to her own room, she had thought that in a way it was a mercy that Miss Richmond was too ill to be curious as to what she was going to do.
As she hurried downstairs, she hoped that Smeaton, who was waiting in the hall, would not notice her red lips.
She saw Mark give her a sharp look and knew that he, at any rate, was pleased with her appearance.
They set off in a smart chaise, which, Filipa learnt with relief, Mark had borrowed from a friend.
They would therefore not have to pay for the hire of it.
“It’s just a bit of luck,” he said, “that Perceval, to whom it belongs, could not take part in the race because his father is ill and he had to go North. He therefore told me that I could exercise his horses.”
“That is something you are certainly doing,” Filipa smiled.
She was thinking that the pair of bays that were pulling them were extremely well bred and very fast.
Intent on driving as skilfully as he rode, Mark was not inclined to talk and Filipa enjoyed the countryside they were passing through.
Considering they were not far from London, it was remarkably rural.
The hedgerows were unkempt and a mess of honeysuckle and convolvulus with the fields, as they passed them, full of marigolds and cuckoo flowers.
It was so lovely she found herself dreaming that she was a Fairy Princess in an enchanted land.
And at the end of their journey there would be a huge Castle.
But, when she thought of Kilne Hall, she realised that Mark was nervous of what would happen on their arrival.
“What we must do,” he said, as if he was thinking it out, “is to leave our luggage at The Hall to be taken to the rooms we have been allotted and then go straight to the Racecourse.”
He paused.
“I want to watch the first two races. I am sure that the Marquis’s horses will win.”
“You are not going to bet on them?” Filipa asked nervously.
“I suppose I cannot afford it,” Mark said sulkily, “although I would be betting on a certainty.”
“A race is never a certainty until the winner has passed the Winning post,” Filipa pointed out.
It was a favourite saying of her father’s and Mark recognised it.
“If you are going to preach to me,” he asserted, “I shall put you down and you can walk home.”
“In which case you will have to find someone else to ride with you,” Filipa retorted.
“That is true,” Mark admitted. “Now, listen to me, Filipa, there is something I want to say to you.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“You don’t want to make yourself too pleasant to any of the men you will meet today.”
Filipa looked at him in surprise.
“What do you mean by that?”
Mark hesitated and she knew that once again he was feeling for words.
“They may seem a bit over-familiar,” he said. “You must realise that it is because they will think you are a Pretty Horse-Breaker.”
“I see what you mean,” Filipa answered, “and I will try not to look shocked or insulted.”
“That is not exactly what I meant,” Mark said. “But never mind. We will leave immediately the last race is over. If anyone asks you when they can see you again, say that you don’t know when you will be in London.”
“Suppose they ask me where I come from?”
“You will have to be vague about that,” Mark said. “Say that you have been abroad.”
Filipa looked at him wide eyed.
“Abroad?” she said. “But I can hardly pretend I have been in France or anywhere else in Europe without their realising it is a lie.”
“Not if you are clever about it,” Mark replied.
Filipa was going to say something else, when he added in an irritated tone,
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t make things more difficult than they are already! I know quite well that I should not be asking you to do this, but there is nothing else I can do, is there?”
He spoke almost like a small boy who wi
shed to be told that he was not at fault even though he knew that he was.
“Don’t worry,” Filipa said reassuringly. “I promise you I will be as clever as possible so that we will not be caught out and I will say very very little. It’s safer that way than lying.”
“Papa always said that you had brains,” Mark said. “So now is the time to use them.”
Filipa laughed.
“And certainly not in any way I expected,” she replied.
She had sometimes imagined herself going to parties where people duelled with each other in words and capped each other’s quotations.
But today she was sure that the conversation would have nothing intellectual about it.
‘I must listen and not talk,’ she decided. ‘That is much the safest way and whatever happens I must not let Mark down.’
Then they turned in at some very large wrought-iron gates with heraldic stone animals supporting them.
Filipa saw a long drive of lime trees ahead and knew that they had reached Kilne Hall.
She then felt simultaneously excited and apprehensive.
She sensed without his saying so that Mark felt the same.
As the horses moved forward, she could now see the house ahead of them.
It was the most magnificent and impressive building she had ever seen in her whole life and she realised without being told that it was the work of the Adam brothers.
Their architectural genius, her father had often explained to her, was so outstanding in the middle of the previous century and Kilne Hall was typical of the designs he had shown her.
It had a huge centre block surmounted on the roof with statues and the front door was approached by a long flight of stone steps.
At the bottom and the top of them there were recumbent lions.
On either side there were two wings curving out gracefully, each of them large and impressive enough to look like a complete house.
It was very lovely, silhouetted against the trees behind it, and there was the silver lake in front on which there were a number of swans.
“It’s lovely, very lovely,” Filipa said beneath her breath.
At the same time she felt that it was awe-inspiring and definitely intimidating.
Mark drew up outside the stone steps.
As footmen in resplendent uniforms with white silk stockings and buckled shoes came running down, he told them that the trunks were strapped to the back of the chaise.
Riding In the Sky Page 3