by Stacy Gregg
In exchange for Tyro’s livery, Georgie helped Lucinda around the stables. The yard became like a second home to her over the next three years. Despite her mother’s tragic accident, Georgie was determined to follow in her footsteps and become an international eventer, and with Lucinda’s support she finally convinced her father to let her audition for Blainford Academy.
Blainford, the exclusive equestrian boarding school in Kentucky, USA, had a track record for producing world champions in every field of horse sports. Georgie’s mum and Lucinda had both been pupils there, and it was Georgie’s dream to take her pony and go there too.
But when Georgie aced the auditions Dr Parker broke the news that he couldn’t afford to send Tyro with her. The fees for the Academy were exorbitant for Georgie alone, and the cost of shipping her beloved Connemara all the way from the UK to the USA – plus the boarding fees for the pony – would simply be too much.
Desperate to go Blainford, Georgie was forced to make one of the toughest decisions of her young life. She agreed to sell Tyro and ride one of the Blainford school horses instead.
That horse turned out to be Belladonna. Beautiful, talented, and oh-so-difficult, the bay mare with the white heart on her forehead had something special about her. It wasn’t until halfway through the first term that Georgie found out that she had been paired her up with the foal of Ginny Parker’s favourite mare, Boudicca.
Belle was a complicated ride and Georgie had spent the first three terms at Blainford coming to grips with this difficult new horse.
Then, just when she was finally connecting with Belle, came the worst blow of all. Georgie was dropped from cross-country class.
Faced with finding a new riding subject, Georgie had taken up polo. Belle coped surprisingly well with the fast-paced, rough action on the polo field, despite being sixteen hands high when most polo ponies were fifteen-two. But Georgie knew that the mare’s special abilities were wasted on chasing a little white ball. Belladonna was bred to jump – plus she had the speed and stamina required to make a great eventing horse. Their comeback in Tara’s class this term wasn’t just about Georgie – it was a chance for Belle to prove herself too.
The boarders had been trickling back into Blainford all that weekend, returning in time for the start of the new term on Monday. Georgie’s room mate, Alice Dupree, came with the news that she was no longer riding her beloved William. She had brought back a new horse on the truck from Maryland and the Badminton House girls couldn’t wait to get down to the stables to meet him.
“Don’t get too excited,” Alice told them as they walked along the driveway to the stable block. “He’s another hand-me-down – like all of my horses.”
Alice inherited horses the way most girls got their big sisters’ outgrown clothes. She was the third Dupree sister to attend Blainford. Her eldest sister, Cherry, was now a professional rider on the national showjumping circuit, and Alice’s new horse, Caspian, had belonged to her.
“He was supposed to be Cherry’s next Grand Prix superstar,” Alice told the others, “but Cherry’s been crazy-busy with work, riding other people’s horses. Mum said since Caspian wasn’t getting ridden, Cherry should give him to me for the term.”
Until now, Alice had been riding William the Conqueror, a well-bred chestnut warmblood. But over the holidays she had noticed that Will was scratchy on his left foreleg. By the last week of the holiday that scratchiness had developed into a hoof abscess and Will was lame. When the vet was called out to the Dupree ranch to cut out the abscess he did some x-rays and found that the gelding also had degenerative arthritis in his hocks. The abscess would cure – but the hocks were a disaster. It was the end of William’s jumping career.
The Badminton House girls knew how much Alice had adored Will. But she seemed pretty thrilled with having Caspian as his replacement – and when they arrived at the stables they could see why.
Caspian was a stunner. A long-limbed Oldenburg, pale grey with dapples on his shoulders and rump, and a steel-grey mane and tail, he stood in his loose box and nibbled blithely on his hay net while the girls admired his beauty.
“He’s gorgeous!” Emily was wide-eyed.
“I know!” Alice looked at him possessively. “He’s so handsome I just keep staring at him!”
“Is he any good at cross-country?” Daisy asked.
“He’s never done it,” Alice conceded. “He’s brilliant over coloured poles, but that’s all he’s ever jumped with Cherry. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”
Monday afternoon would be when the eventers had their lesson with Tara Kelly.
“Tara might take it easy on us,” Emily Tait said hopefully. “It’s only our first day back.”
Daisy gave a hollow laugh. “I doubt it!”
Emily turned to Georgie. “Can she eliminate you a second time? Or do you have immunity now?”
Alice frowned. “It’s not an episode of Survivor, Emily. No one gets ‘immunity’!” She did air quotes as she said the last bit.
Georgie agreed. “Just because Tara let me back into the class doesn’t mean she won’t get rid of me again.”
“Someone’s going to have to go,” Daisy said bluntly. “We won’t all make it through to the second year.”
“Can we not talk about this?” Emily said, getting upset. “I don’t want to lose any of my friends.”
“Geez, Emily, it’s only getting kicked out of cross-country class,” Daisy told her. “It’s not like life and death!”
“Isn’t it?” Alice questioned.
All the girls knew that at Blainford, where the cliques ruled the school, being Tara Kelly’s eventers was like a badge that you wore with pride. While the polo boys were rich and arrogant, the showjumperettes were glamorous and stuck-up, the westerns were laidback and the dressage geeks intense and uptight, the eventers stood out as fearless and loyal.
Apart from Kennedy and Arden, who had transferred from showjumping and had always made it quite clear that they wanted nothing to do with their classmates, Tara Kelly’s first-years were a tight-knit bunch.
The danger that they faced on the cross-country course gave them a sense of camaraderie. But there was also a fierce rivalry amongst them for class rankings. Tara Kelly went through her ruthless elimination cull of her pupils in the first year to make sure that only the very best were allowed to continue up the grades. The way Tara saw it, elimination wasn’t about ruining young lives, it was about saving them.
Eventing was a demanding subject – and a deadly one for any rider who wasn’t skilled enough to meet the challenge. Travelling at a fast gallop over solid fences meant huge risks for both horse and rider. Even the rodeo class had a grudging respect for the broken bone count in the eventing department. Incredibly, so far the first-year eventing class had avoided any major injuries.
Or at least they had done until now. As they left the stables and walked up the school driveway the girls spied Nicholas Laurent ahead of them. The French rider was one of their cross-country gang and he was on crutches and sporting a bright blue plaster cast on his leg that went all the way to the knee.
By the time the girls reached the dining hall, Nicholas was already in the queue, trying to hold his dinner tray whilst balancing on a single crutch. The other eventing boys – Cameron Fraser, Alex Chang and Matt Garrett – were all with him but none of them were offering to help. Instead, they were greedily dishing burgers and fries on to their own plates.
“Don’t you guys ever think about anyone else?” Alice said casting a dark look at Cameron and the others as she stepped forward to relieve the grateful Nicholas of his tray. “Nicholas, you go and sit down. I’ll get your food and bring it over for you.”
“Merci, Alice,” Nicholas said. “Get me extra frites, OK?” He hobbled off to take a seat at the eventers’ usual table while Alice piled his plate and her own. As soon as Laurent’s back was turned the girls began whispered speculations on the cause of the broken leg.
“Do you think he did
it practising cross-country?” Emily asked.
Georgie shook her head. “I bet he did it on the hunt field in Bordeaux.”
“I hope the horse was OK,” Alice said looking back over her shoulder at him as she dished up the fries. “It looks like it must have been a bad fall.”
When the girls finally joined Nicholas and the other boys at the table, however, he refused to tell them anything about the accident.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Nicholas was adamant.
“Why not?” Matt Garrett frowned.
“Because…” Nicholas paused. “Because… it is no big deal. There is nothing to say.”
“Nicholas,” Alice was insistent, “you’re in a cast. You have crutches. It looks like a big deal to us.”
Nicholas shrugged.
“Come on,” Cameron persisted. “Tell us how you did it.”
Nicholas cast a sideways glance, checking the room to see if anyone else was near the eventers’ table.
“OK,” he said, leaning in over the table, his voice hushed in a conspiratorial tone. “I will tell you what happened.”
The riders all leaned in and waited in silence for him to speak. Nicholas looked serious. And then, in a quiet voice he said, “I was playing tennis.”
There was a choking sound as Matt Garrett almost snorted his orange juice out through his nose. “Tennis? Seriously? You did it playing tennis?”
Nicholas looked around the room nervously. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he said. “I’ve already had three girls ask to sign my cast. They think I did it falling off on a three-star course in Saumur. If they knew that I tripped making a backhand shot it wouldn’t be good for my reputation.”
The whole eventing table were laughing.
“It’s not funny,” Nicholas said indignantly. “It’s a hairline fracture at the ankle. I’ll be in this cast for seven weeks.”
“You’ve got to see the irony, Nicholas,” Alice said. “You’ve survived three terms in Tara’s class and then you go home for two weeks and manage to break a leg playing tennis!”
“Shhh!” Nicholas hushed her. “Someone will hear you.”
“Bad luck, mate,” Matt Garrett drawled in his heavy Australian accent. “I suppose this means you’re eliminated since you can’t ride?”
Nicholas glared at him. “No, actually. Tara’s offered me a place in the second year already based on my class ranking.”
“Is that so?” Matt looked less than impressed with this news. “Smart move, man – instant upgrade without any final exam pressure. Maybe I should have broken my leg too.”
“There’s plenty of time for that,” Nicholas shot back.
“I don’t think so, Nico,” Matt replied, turning back to his burger. “I don’t fall off.”
“If you were handing out a prize for arrogance how could you choose between Nicholas and Matt?” Alice said as they walked to class the next morning.
“I feel sorry for Nicholas,” Emily said. “It must be awful not being able to ride.”
“Totally,” Georgie agreed. “Tough as Tara’s classes are, it’s even worse when you’re not in them.”
Today, at last, Georgie was returning to cross-country class. But first she had regular morning school lessons to get through.
Blainford Academy split the school day into two halves. The morning classes were held in the main grounds of the college in the red brick Georgian buildings that surrounded the green square of grass in the middle of the school known as the quad.
Mornings were taken up with science and maths, French and German, geography and English – during which the Blainford girls dressed like students at any other exclusive private school, in blue pleated pinafore dresses and navy blazers with the school crest in pale blue and silver on the breast pocket.
But after lunch the pupils headed back to their boarding houses and changed into their ‘number twos’ – their riding uniform of navy jods and a pale blue shirt – in preparation for their afternoon lessons with their horses.
For Tara Kelly’s class the pupils were also required to wear back protectors, and as Georgie did up the Velcro straps on hers that afternoon she felt like her old self once more: back in the eventers’ ranks, where she belonged.
In the loose box beside her, Belle was tacked up and ready to go in her cross-country saddle and martingale. Georgie was bent down adjusting the tendon boots on the mare’s forelegs when she caught sight of someone leaning over the Dutch door. Georgie looked up expecting to see one of her classmates. Her smile evaporated when she caught sight of the glossy red hair and waspish features of Kennedy Kirkwood.
“So it’s true that you’re making a comeback?” Kennedy’s tone was sarky. “What a pity. I’d hoped it was just a vicious rumour.”
Georgie stood up and wiped her hands on her jods. “Yeah,” she said, “tough luck, Kennedy. And after you went to all that trouble of sabotaging me.”
“Wow!” Kennedy put her manicured hands to her face in mock horror. “That really hurts, Georgie. You know, it’s such a shame the way things have turned out with us.”
“Yeah,” Georgie agreed. “You’re right Kennedy. Where did things go wrong? Do you think it was when you tried to split up me and James by writing fake letters or when you nearly killed me by barging into my horse on the cross-country course?”
“Oh, poor Georgie!” Kennedy sighed. “It’s always someone else’s fault, isn’t it? You’re always looking for someone to blame for your failures. Playing for sympathy because you’ve got no breeding, no money, no talent and no mommy.”
Georgie was speechless. Even by Kirkwood standards it was vicious.
Kennedy looked Georgie right in the eye, her voice as cold as steel. “You’ve been a thorn in my side ever since you got to this school. I’ve watched my lame brother fall for your British act like he’s Prince William and you’re Kate Middleton. And I’ve watched Tara treat you like you’re something special. But the truth is you don’t deserve to be at Blainford. You think the past three terms have been tough, Parker? You’ve got no idea how miserable I can make your wormy little life.”
“Is that a threat?” Georgie asked in disbelief.
“Duh!” Kennedy pulled a face. “I’m a Kirkwood. We don’t make threats. We have staff to do that stuff for us.”
Smirking, Kennedy turned to leave and then swung back around. “By the way, my boyfriend asked me to remind you you’re on Fatigues this week. He hasn’t forgotten, and he’s got something special planned, just for you.”
Chapter Three
Typical Kennedy, Georgie fumed as she led Belle out of her box, she waits until now to confront me so that she’ll throw me off my game right before Tara’s class.
She knew Kennedy well enough to recognise her transparent tactics, but that didn’t make it any easier to calm down. She was still bristling with latent fury as she rode towards her classmates who were already assembling on the cross-country course.
“What’s up with you?” Alice asked when saw the look on Georgie’s face.
“Kennedy is what’s up,” Georgie hissed. She could see the showjumperettes watching and she didn’t want to give Kennedy the satisfaction of knowing they were talking about her. “She’s a total witch!”
“And this is news how?” Alice muttered back. “Georgie, you know she only has it in for you because she thinks you’re a threat…”
The students suddenly fell silent as a young woman wearing dove grey jodhpurs and a crisp white blouse walked to the front leading a bay gelding. Her demeanour made it clear that she was in charge.
“Welcome back,” Tara Kelly said. “I know your horses are fresh from having two weeks’ holiday, and Alice has a new horse who has never done cross-country before, so we are going to spend the day doing confidence-building exercises.”
The eventing mistress mounted up on the handsome bright bay, which Georgie now recognised as Lagerfeld, Nicholas Laurent’s well-bred Selle Francais. Tara was keeping the horse in work w
hile Nicholas was in plaster.
“Our basics today consist of three classic ‘bogey’ fences,” Tara said, “and the twist is, we’re going to be jumping them at a walk.”
Daisy looked at the ditch that Tara had nominated as their first fence. “She can’t be serious!”
Alex Chang raised a tentative hand.
“Yes, Alex?”
“I don’t get it,” Alex said. “We’re never going to walk over jumps in a real-life cross-country, are we?”
“No,” Tara agreed. “But there are many things that we do when we are schooling that we wouldn’t do in actual competition. Can anyone tell me what the benefits are of schooling over jumps at a walk?”
“It’s slower?” Emily said.
The others sniggered but Tara confirmed that she was right, “Exactly! The slower the pace that you come at a fence, the more time you have to think and react. Any other reasons?”
No one else raised a hand. “Keeping our horses in a walk allows them to stay cool and calm,” Tara said. “It gives them a chance to negotiate the fence. Remember, it’s the horse’s job to get over it, not yours! They must learn to be clever jumpers.”
Tara walked Lagerfeld over towards the first jump, a narrow ditch.
“It’s not a big ditch,” Tara said. She adjusted her reins to prepare the gelding. “I’m going to let Lagerfeld take a good look as he approaches it.”
Lagerfeld walked forward until he was just a couple of metres in front of the fence. Then the big bay suddenly realised that there was a channel in the ground ahead of him and with a stricken snort he tried to back off. Tara kept calm her legs firmly on at his sides. Lagerfeld lowered his head so that he could get a really good look, with his nose almost down in the ditch and then with a grunt he took one more step and then vaulted it with an ungainly deer leap. Tara stayed with him in the saddle and pulled him up neatly on the other side of the ditch.