by K. M. Peyton
Julia had heard it all before, but this time was struck by the demeanour of the bay pony. In its eyes she saw all the misery she was feeling herself – in fact, far more. She had never seen such utter dejection and bewilderment in a pony’s expression. It stood head down, trembling, its tail clamped down like a starving dog’s.
Julia half pulled up and the little mare lifted her head, looked at Julia and gave a pathetic little whinny. Its rider, having dismounted, chucked it in the mouth.
‘Pig!’ Julia hissed.
Whether the boy heard or not, she didn’t know. She rode on, disturbed, thrown by the funny little whinny. Ponies didn’t whinny like that except for a missing companion, or a food bucket. Perhaps I am the missing companion, Julia thought, with an extraordinary, emotional feeling of empathy towards the ill-treated mare. We both hate it, matie; we’re made for each other, Julia thought. What if she asked her mother to buy it? Sell the brutish Minnie and buy her the bay mare? Julia was so excited by this thought that she forgot all about her practice jump and heard her number called before she had even asked Minnie for a canter.
‘Are you fast asleep?’ her mother shouted at her angrily.
‘Oh, go and drown yourself!’ Julia shrieked.
She swung Minnie round and rode into the arena. She did two circles at a canter, trying to pull herself together. The course was difficult, the jumps all at angles with lots of sharp turns and awkward distances. She had walked it with her mother earlier and paced out the strides, and her mother had told her exactly how to ride it, but now it all seemed to have gone out of her head. She had a job to find the first jump.
Minnie was bombing underneath her as usual. The bell went to start and she rode down towards a brush and bar and jumped that easily, then on to some rails and then a funny thing that looked like a wall with a pergola over the top. Minnie jumped it so big that Julia nearly hit her head on the archway. Then he took off at a gallop and, by the time she had got him back, they came to a double spread all wrong. Minnie, being the ace he was, put himself right and jumped it well, but then Julia found herself at the top of the arena with a choice of jumps, one to the left and one to the right, and she had no idea which way to go. She chose the one that Minnie, she could feel, was fancying himself but no sooner had they landed than the bell went for wrong course and she was eliminated.
She had never done anything like this in her life before – well, not since she was little. Minnie, eager to carry on, couldn’t understand why she was pulling him up and put in some angry bucks.
‘What are you dreaming about, Julia? Is it a boy?’ asked a friendly steward, but Julia could see her mother waiting, and couldn’t appreciate the joke. She was in a complete spin – all because of a distressed bay mare.
She came back into the collecting-ring, passing a grinning Peter Farmer on his way in, and slipped down as her mother came to meet her. She buried her face under the saddle flap to ungirth as her mother let fly.
‘You stupid idiot child! Do you think I go to all this trouble to have you throw away your chance because you’re too bone idle to concentrate? You walked the course, didn’t you? We discussed that turn at the top – don’t you remember? Are you plain stupid, or ill, or what? If you’re too gormless to ride a course we might as well sell up and call it a day!’
‘Do you mean that?’ Julia asked, emerging from under the saddle flap.
‘Do I mean what? Don’t I always mean what I say?’
‘Sell him. Sell Minnie?’
‘Are you mad?’
‘I hate him.’
‘You’d never find a pony as good as this anywhere. Don’t talk rubbish!’
‘You said it! Sell up, you said.’
Julia, bright red, knew this conversation was being conducted in public with a whole collection of interested eavesdroppers. Child riders were commonly dressed down in full view when things went wrong. Mostly, their parents couldn’t even have got over the first jump had they been asked.
‘It’s you that wants to do this, not me!’ Julia said furiously. ‘Even when it goes right, you know I hate it!’
‘I can’t believe what I’m hearing!’ Julia’s mother cried, and with obvious truth. ‘We buy you a pony of the calibre of Big Gun from Minnesota, costing a fortune, and you—’
Words failed her.
Julia burst into tears.
‘I hate him, and I hate you too!’
She turned blindly away, shoving through the interested, grinning spectators, and rushed out into the darkness. The cold air hit her like a slap. Lights shone from the living quarters of the horseboxes parked on the grass, and showed happy children and happy parents who all loved it, tacking up their ponies and playing with the dog. Lucky beasts! She knew they all envied her, Julia Marsden on the fantastic Big Gun from Minnesota, and she didn’t want any of it. She thought of Sandy and Leo giggling on their pathetic ponies as they rode along the sea-wall.
She thought there was something wrong with her. She was fourteen and a total mess. She couldn’t stop crying.
She walked down the rows of horseboxes towards a friendly darkness where the trees took over and the cross-country course lay. At the end of the row, as she passed, she heard a familiar voice.
‘If you’d buy me a decent pony—’
A boy flounced into the back of a horsebox, leaving a bay mare tied to a ring in the side. She was sweating but he didn’t even bother to put a rug over her. Julia thought he would come back, but he didn’t. He was looking for his sandwiches. His father was laying into him, but Julia couldn’t hear the words. In the darkness she went up to the bay pony and put a hand on the damp neck.
The pony pulled back anxiously, as if she expected to be hit.
‘No,’ Julia whispered. ‘It’s all right.’
She stroked the quivering neck.
‘It’s your fault I went wrong. I was thinking about you.’
The mare had a beautiful head, with a small white star. She was just over fourteen hands high, a bright bay with black points. She pulled back to the end of her halter rope and stared at Julia with her sad, frightened eyes.
‘I wouldn’t hurt you. You’re a darling.’
Julia forgot her own misery. She looked carefully at the horsebox in the dark and managed to read the logo on the front. ‘Westharbour Stables. Prop: Edward Porter.’ The address was local, but Julia had never heard of them. They must be new to show-jumping.
She stroked the mare some more and gave her a solitary pony-nut she found in her pocket. Then, as she heard the boy coming back down the ramp, she faded away into the darkness. She knew she had to go back. She hated the journeys home when things had gone wrong. She hated them even when things had gone right, always so late and her homework undone and trouble looming at school. Her mother said it didn’t matter, but that was no excuse with the teachers.
When she got back to the horsebox she found her mother talking to the local dealer.
‘No, he’s not for sale, not until Julia’s out of her class.’ She was rugging up Minnie and threw his leg-guards at Julia.
‘Where’ve you been? Get these on.’
‘I know what he cost you. You could make five grand. I’ve got a customer.’
‘Yes, I dare say you have. But I’m not interested.’
Julia was, but didn’t say.
‘Ah, well. If you change your mind—’
‘I know where you live, John. But forget it.’
Julia’s mother, give her her due, did not carry on for too long even after their most vehement arguments. They did a lot of shrieking at each other, but gained an even keel quite quickly. No doubt her mother had taken a wrong course in her time.
They set off for home.
‘Do you know the Porters – Westharbour Stables? He jumped before me.’
‘A bay pony? Useless. No, I don’t know them. You should count yourself lucky you don’t have to go into the ring on rubbish like that.’
‘It might have been the riding.’
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‘Both rubbish.’
‘I liked the pony.’
‘There’s no accounting for taste.’
‘I could make it jump. Couldn’t I have it?’
‘Are you mad?’
Her mother took her eyes off the road and gave her an unbelieving stare.
‘When you’ve got Big Gun? If you want a second pony I’ll buy you one, but not a thing like that – I wouldn’t have that in my yard!’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Too small for a start. No action. Not straight in front. Bad mouth. I don’t know what gets into you, Julia, I really don’t! You have such funny ideas.’
It has a heart and a soul, that pony, Julia thought, and it feels like me and we could love each other. But she didn’t say any more.
The following week at the centre Julia won and the little bay mare jumped again, getting everything wrong and several hard wallops in punishment. The dealer made another offer for Big Gun which was turned down with the same scorn.
Two nights later, Julia was told to go for a long, steady hack after school. She had been thinking over her life and had come to a decision – that it was now or never, and she rode away from home and headed for the yard of John Partridge, the dealer, which was some five miles away. She had to get home before dark and there was very little time, so she went cross-country, jumping gates and fences. She was very nervous, and taut with excitement, but Minnie went like a train, loving the tension he could feel in Julia and jumping magnificently.
As they turned down the lane to the dealer’s yard, Julia leaned forward and stroked Minnie’s neck.
‘You’re a good fellow really. I’m sorry, Minnie, it’s not your fault. It’s mine.’
She was being a total idiot, she knew. The feel of Minnie jumping beneath her was magnificent, but she wanted something else. As she rode into the yard, she half pulled up, panicking.
But John Partridge, coming out of a loosebox, saw her. He recognized her at once. His face lit up.
‘Your mother accepted my offer?’
‘No,’ Julia said. ‘But I would like to.’
‘What’ll she say to that then?’
‘After tonight, whatever happens, I am never going to ride him again. Never. So she’ll have to sell him.’
‘By gum! You a mutineer all of a sudden?’
‘Yes. I hate show-jumping.’
‘Yeah, it’s a daft game. But I make a good living out of it. What am I to do then? You put me in a bit of a pickle, like.’
‘I want another pony in part-exchange. It’ll only be cheap, because it’s no good. It’s a bay mare that belongs to the Porters of Westharbour Stables. It jumps in the same class as me.’
‘I know it.’
‘If you can get that, I promise you will have Big Gun. I will absolutely refuse to ride him.’
‘I buy this pony of Porter’s, and I get this ’un in part-exchange?’
‘That’s right. But remember, the bay pony must be cheap. My mother won’t mind – in the end – as long as she doesn’t get done.’ Julia knew her mother well.
John Partridge rubbed his chin doubtfully. He was sharp, like most dealers, not dishonest; he had a good reputation. But . . .
‘This is a funny do. You’re a minor. I can’t do a deal with a kid.’
‘No. The cheque will be for my mother. It’s perfectly straightforward.’
‘Aye, well, it’s a rum idea. But it would suit me. I’d like it to work, same as you. I’ve got a real good home waiting for this fellow if you want to sell ’im. German gentleman. Wants the best.’
‘You’ll do it?’
‘Aye, I’ll take a gamble. I’ll see if I can get the mare – give Porter a ring tonight.’
‘If you do, I’ll bring Minnie over at once and collect the mare. I won’t say anything to my mother.’
‘Gawd save us – she’s not going to like it!’
‘If she’s got no rider, Minnie’s no good to her.’
‘Too right.’
‘And I mean what I say. I won’t let you down.’
She sat up straight in the saddle and looked challengingly at the dealer. She was only small for her age and had large violet eyes like a filmstar, very white skin and jet-black hair. John Partridge thought she looked a treat: as pretty as the pony and just about as clever. He could not help a big smile.
‘You’re a rum gel.’ He winked amicably. ‘We’ll see if we can do a deal then. I’ll get on to Porter.’
‘I’ll ring you tomorrow and find out how you got on. Don’t ring me!’
‘Right you are!’
Julia rode home, her blood racing. She was so excited, and frightened, by what she had done, that she forgot about the time and rode home by the lanes, in a dream. It was dark for the last two miles and passing cars swore at her as they swerved to see the dark pony’s tail in their headlights. Julia swore back.
‘Pig! Roadhog! Horses came first!’
She was in the wrong, she knew, but her blood was up. She enjoyed screaming in the darkness. She had to make an excuse for being late. Her mother was furious, as she knew she would be.
‘I thought he was a bit tender in front, so I walked all the way home.’
‘You should have led him!’
‘It’s not that bad. I’m not sure if it’s anything at all.’
‘Let’s have a look. Which leg?’
‘Near.’
Julia raced indoors and up to her room, leaving Minnie with her mother. Her mother liked looking after horses better than people. Something was burning in the oven by the smell of it, but tonight Julia had no appetite. She was away with her dreams, having the little bay mare to love and ride down by the river and not go show-jumping ever again. She lay on her bed shivering, although it wasn’t cold, and then got up and looked out of the window. There was a bright harvest moon, low and orange and very unreal-looking, that lit up the back garden and the woods at the bottom. There was a path that led through the woods and came out on the ridge that overlooked the river. The land the other side of the wood was Drakesend’s, once an old park, now the grazing that Bill Fielding used for his cows, and you could ride down to the river and all the way out down to the estuary if you turned right, and all the way up to the fishing village of Riverhead if you turned left.
The Marsden house was large and new, up a wide asphalt drive from the road, with the stables at the side. It was very soldierly and smart, with bedding plants in front and nothing up the red-brick walls. It was on the edge of the village. Further along towards the river was the village proper – only a few houses along the road, with a shop and a pub, not much of a village at all. Leo lived next to the village shop, in an ex-farmworker’s cottage. It had a big garden, although the house was tiny. Her father was a mad gardener and had flowers sprawling in all directions and the cottage covered with climbers so that there was hardly any architecture to be seen. Julia didn’t like Leo: she was too clever by half and made spiky jokes. Sandy was all right. They had been talking in school about a new livery that had arrived called King of the Fireworks. It belonged to Anthony Speerwell.
‘Whatever is he thinking of, taking a horse like that to Drakesend Livery?’ her mother had said in tones of shock.
‘A horse like what?’
‘King of the Fireworks – must be the same horse – is, or certainly was, a great team-chaser. From Leicestershire? Must be the same one. Not the sort old Bill Fielding’s used to in his cow byres.’
‘Sandy said Anthony Speerwell can’t ride. He thinks he can. He gets carted all the time, or bucked off.’
‘What a tragedy!’ (She meant for the horse, not Anthony Speerwell.)
‘Her aunt left it to him in her will.’
‘What a stupid thing to do! She was a great old biddy, a hunting lady, rode till she was eighty-five. Perhaps her brain went.’
‘Perhaps she thought he could ride. He tells everyone how good he is, Sandy says. He says it’s the horse that’s no good.�
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‘Well, don’t they all?’
‘He can’t sell it because if he doesn’t compete on it he won’t get the money she’s left him. She’s left him a lot, Sandy said, but only if he takes up team-chasing.’
‘I don’t believe this!’
‘That’s what Sandy said. Leo says it’s obvious the old lady could see how spoilt and revolting he is and on her deathbed tried to think of a way of improving him.’
‘Improving him! Team-chasing! He’ll break his neck, more like! I find this story hard to believe.’
So did Julia, but that’s what she had been told. Team-chasing was a sport where four horses went cross-country together: they were timed, and the fastest team was the winner. It was very hairy and not for fainthearts.
Julia had always rather fancied Anthony Speerwell, having met him once when taken by her parents to a Christmas drinks party at Brankhead Hall. But Sandy and Leo called him Anthony Sneerwell and said he was foul.
She felt very edgy about the plan she had put in motion, and was sick after breakfast the next day. Her mother said she had better stay away from school, but that was the last thing she wanted. She forced herself to get better and tore out for the school bus, sitting alone in the front seat and wondering how soon she dare ring up John Partridge. Sandy and Leo were giggling across the aisle, and Ian Fielding sat alone behind them, staring into space. He quite often came and sat with Julia, but not in the mornings when he hardly spoke to anyone. He was very moody. Julia liked him a lot, but he didn’t seem interested in girls.
The morning dragged interminably, but Julia would not let herself ring up before lunchtime. As soon as the end-of-morning bell went, she raced for the call-box in the school lobby.
She had been careful to bring the right coins, and Mr Partridge’s number was engraved on her mind.
‘Hello! Hello! It’s Julia Marsden. Did – did you—?’
‘Oh, I thought you might have thought better of it!’
‘No! No! Of course not! Did you see Mr Porter?’
‘Aye. He’s quite agreeable.’
‘Oh!’ Julia felt as if she were going to take off, suddenly light-headed with relief.
‘He’s asking two thousand but I’ll get him down from that, don’t you fret. I’m going over this evening. If it’s a deal I can run her straight over if it suits you.’