The Riverdale Pony Stories Box Set (Books 1-6)

by Amanda Wills

  ‘Erm, is Mrs Goddard available?’ he asked, clutching his clipboard in front of him like a shield.

  ‘I'm sure she'll be along in a moment. So, tell me, is there much job satisfaction in your line of work?’

  ‘Well, yes, there is. I find it very rewarding, as a matter of fact,’ he said, looking towards the bungalow nervously.

  ‘Rewarding! You find turning people's lives upside down rewarding? I've heard it all now,’ Poppy fumed.

  ‘Look, I haven't got time to stand here and discuss this with you, young lady. I'll go and see if I can find her myself,’ the man said, ducking under the top pole. Unfortunately, Scarlett had been distracted when she'd looped the baler twine around the jumping pole and gate post. As he crouched down his back jarred the pole and the knot slipped undone. The heavy pole fell, clouting his head on the way down. Poppy watched, open-mouthed, as the man in the shiny suit collapsed on the floor, knocked out cold.

  She was wondering what to do when Nina ran over to them, Scarlett close behind. Scarlett took in shiny suit man lying prostrate on the ground and Poppy standing over him, clutching the broom handle tightly, and her face went white.

  ‘Oh my God, Poppy, have you killed him?’ she squawked.

  Poppy shot her a bemused look, then realised how it might look. ‘No, you twit!’ she said. ‘He banged his head on your pole, actually. Anyway, he's not dead. I can see his chest moving.’

  Nina was kneeling down, checking his airway and feeling his pulse. She rolled him expertly into the recovery position and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. He groaned, opened his eyes and looked around him in a daze.

  ‘You've had a bump to the head,’ Nina told him. ‘Up you get.’ She held out a hand and he grasped it gratefully. He struggled to his feet, his hand holding the back of his head gingerly. She handed him his clipboard and said in a resigned voice, ‘We'd better go inside. I'd rather get this over and done with as quickly as possible.’

  Shiny suit man looked surprised. ‘You know why I'm here?’

  ‘Of course I do. I don't know who's sent you, but I know what you want. The problem is, I haven't got any left.’

  The man looked even more bewildered and consulted his clipboard in an effort to hide his confusion. ‘Any what left?’ he asked.

  ‘Money. I haven't got any money left. You'll have to declare me bankrupt to stand a chance of getting a penny.’

  ‘I'm sorry Mrs Goddard, but I think you may have confused me with someone else. I don't want your money. I'm from Dunster and Deakins. We're financial asset investigation specialists. I work for the probate research side of the business. My job is to trace living descendants of people who have died intestate.’

  Nina looked as nonplussed as Poppy felt. What on earth was he talking about? But Scarlett was jumping from one foot to the other, a huge grin spreading across her face as his words sank in.

  ‘I don't believe it,’ she shouted. ‘You're an heir hunter, aren't you? Nina, you know what this means, don't you?’

  Nina looked from Scarlett to shiny suit man and back again and shook her head. ‘No, I don't. Will somebody please tell me what's going on?’

  ‘Of course. But first, is there somewhere we can sit down? I'm still feeling rather faint,’ said the man.

  Nina nodded. ‘Follow me.’

  Soon they were sitting around the kitchen table, mugs of tea in front of them.

  ‘First, let me introduce myself properly. My name is Graham Deakins and I'm a partner in Dunster and Deakins. My particular area of expertise is genealogy, that is the study of family history. Most genealogists trace people's ancestors, but I specialise in tracing people's descendants.’

  He paused, checking he had everyone's attention. Poppy couldn't work out why Scarlett was still grinning like an idiot. He took a quick sip of tea and continued.

  ‘Every year thousands of people in the UK die without making a will. It's called dying intestate. Often these people leave large amounts of cash or property which, if not claimed by living relatives, goes to the Government.

  ‘Probate detectives - or heir hunters as some people call us - seek out the families of people who have died without leaving a will. Most of the people I trace don't even realise their relatives existed. And it's a double shock when they find out they are entitled to some - or even all - of a long-lost relative's estate.’

  Graham Deakins took a stripy handkerchief from the top pocket of his jacket and ran it across his brow. ‘Was your mother's maiden name Winterbottom?’ he asked Nina.

  Poppy could see that the sudden change of tack had flummoxed her.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied faintly. ‘Her name was Margaret Anne Winterbottom. Why?’

  ‘And you're an only child?’ he pressed.

  ‘Yes, that's right. So was my mum. But I don't see what that's got to do with anything.’

  ‘Your mum wasn't an only child, Mrs Goddard. Before the war your maternal grandmother, that's Margaret's mother, gave birth to twin boys. One boy, Kenneth, died during the Blitz. He was only two. Six months later his brother Harold was given up for adoption. It seems your grandmother was hospitalised for some kind of breakdown, which isn't surprising after losing a child in such tragic circumstances.’

  Nina looked numb. ‘Mum never told me.’

  ‘I don't suppose she ever knew. Harold was adopted by a Scottish couple and grew up in Edinburgh. His adoptive father was an engineer who ran a small steelworks on the outskirts of the city. Harold took over the factory when his adoptive father died in the 1970s. It seems he had a head for business and the steelworks made a tidy profit. Harold's adoptive mother died ten years ago at the grand old age of ninety. The couple had no other children and she left everything to her son. Harold - your uncle - never married.’

  ‘My uncle?’ wondered Nina. ‘I had no idea. I'd love to meet him.’

  Graham Deakins' voice was grave. ‘I'm afraid that's not possible, Mrs Goddard. Harold died last year. He was seventy five. He'd sold the business and had moved to the coast. He spent his retirement playing golf, according to his neighbours. I drove up there two weeks ago to do a bit of fishing about. I looked out his birth certificate, which named your maternal grandparents as his parents. As you know, your grandparents died many years ago and you lost your mother last spring. I could trace no other living relative.’

  Scarlett had spent the last five minutes jigging around on her chair like a cat on hot bricks. ‘You do understand what this means, don't you Nina?’ she burst out.

  But Nina, devastated to have found and lost an uncle in an instant, shook her head dully. Poppy was also none the wiser and looked blankly at her friend.

  Scarlett leapt out of her chair and exploded in frustration. ‘Good grief, you two. Don't you ever watch daytime TV?’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Scarlett's auburn hair bobbed vigorously as she talked. ‘Have you never seen Heir Hunters? It's my mum's favourite programme. I watch it with her if I'm off sick from school. We're always hoping someone will knock on our door one day and tell us we've inherited a fortune from some dotty old great auntie we never knew we had. We're still waiting.’ Scarlett sat down again, her face beaming. ‘Don't you see? Unless your Uncle Harold spent all his money on golf clubs, you'll inherit his estate. It'll mean you don't have to sell up after all.’

  Nina looked to Graham Deakins for confirmation. He nodded, smiling for the first time that day.

  ‘Your young friend is right. I don't want to get your hopes up too high. The estate's not massive, but there's a four bedroomed house to sell plus various stocks and shares. By my calculations the estate is worth at least half a million, after inheritance tax and our fees of course.’

  ‘Half a million,’ Poppy marvelled. ‘That would be enough to save Oaklands, wouldn't it, Nina?’

  Nina looked shell-shocked but her mind was whirring. ‘Yes, it would. I could pay off the mortgage and all my debts, and have enough of a cushion in the bank to tide me over. Are you absolutely s
ure about all this?’ she asked.

  Graham Deakins appeared ruffled at the suggestion that he might be mistaken. ‘My dear, my research into Harold's family tree has been meticulous. You are indeed the one and only heir, I can assure you of that.’

  Tears were sliding slowly down Nina's cheeks and she flapped her hands impatiently.

  ‘Happy tears,’ she assured them, smiling. ‘I'll be able to buy new hay, repair the damage to the barn, maybe even get a couple more ponies. But the best bit will be phoning the bank to tell them their money's on its way. Lydia will be able to grow up here after all. I can't believe how lucky I've been, all thanks to Harold, an uncle I didn't even know I had.’

  After a celebratory cup of tea Graham Deakins gathered his clipboard and was on his way.

  ‘To think I had him down as a debt collector,’ said Nina, as they watched the silver saloon disappear down the track.

  ‘Never judge a book by its cover. Appearances can be deceptive,’ said Poppy sagely. An image of Beau, hairy and ungainly, but phenomenally brave and loyal to the last, popped into her head and she swallowed. Her dad would be here any minute and she would have to say goodbye to the cob who had driven her demented and then risked his life for her.

  ‘You said Beau and Frank were your talismans but that they hadn't brought you much luck recently. If Frank hadn't let Beau out of his loose box last night and if Beau hadn't been so brave we'd never have been able to get help so quickly. The barns could easily have burned down, the horses with them,’ Poppy told Nina as they walked back to the house. ‘They did bring you luck after all.’

  The two girls were packing away the last of their things when the doorbell chimed.

  ‘It'll probably be Dad,’ said Poppy, who didn't know whether to be glad or sorry to see him. She couldn't wait to get home and see Cloud and Chester. She was looking forward to filling Caroline in on the dramas of the last few days. She even missed Charlie, although she'd never admit it to her seven-year-old brother. But she knew she would be leaving a tiny piece of her heart in the Forest of Dean.

  ‘Will I have time to say goodbye to Topaz?’ asked Scarlett, her voice wobbly.

  Poppy zipped up her suitcase and gave her friend a feeble smile. ‘Let's go now. I'm sure Dad won't mind.’

  Scarlett followed her down the hallway and out of the back door. They crossed the yard to the far gate and stopped in front of the jagged trunk of the oak tree.

  ‘It looks brighter out here now, don't you think?’ said Scarlett. She was right, thought Poppy. Nina may have loved the towering oak, but the long, low branches of the ancient tree had cast an oppressive shadow over the yard. They leant on the gate and watched the horses grazing. Topaz and Blue stood nose to tail grooming each other. Beau, who had a couple of burrs in his tail and mud stains on his white bits, was dozing in the sun, Frank by his side.

  ‘I'm so glad everything worked out for Nina. It would have been awful if she'd been forced to sell up,’ Scarlett said.

  ‘It's funny how things usually work out for the best,’ agreed Poppy, remembering the highs and lows of the past week. ‘Come on, let's go and say goodbye.’ She climbed over the gate and stooped to pick a handful of grass.

  ‘Beau,’ she called softly, and the cob opened his wall eye. When he saw Poppy he whinnied and walked towards her. Poppy held out her hand and he wolfed the grass down greedily before rubbing his face on her jumper, leaving it covered in white hairs. She brushed his long forelock out of his eyes and kissed his hairy nose. He whickered and she laid her face against his.

  ‘I'm sorry I was so wrong about you, Beau,’ she told him. ‘You were the best last night, you really were.’ Poppy realised she hadn't told anyone how close they'd both been to drowning. She decided then and there that she probably never would. There was no need to worry her dad or Caroline. It was between her and Beau. Realising she didn't have any more treats the cob lost interest and ambled back towards Frank. Smiling, Poppy patted his rump and joined Scarlett at the gate. Her friend's eyes were red.

  ‘OK?’ Poppy asked. Scarlett nodded.

  Poppy linked arms with her. ‘Come on, Scar. It's time to go home.’

  Nina and her dad were loading their bags into the boot of the McKeevers' car when they arrived back in the yard.

  ‘Dad!’ shouted Poppy. He swept her into a hug.

  ‘There you are! Nina's been filling me in on everything. It sounds as if it's been quite a week.’

  ‘You could say that,’ grinned Poppy. ‘I'm going home for a rest!’

  But Nina was frowning. ‘I'm sorry your riding holiday didn't turn out to be much of a prize, Poppy.’

  ‘That's OK, Nina. It wasn't your fault. I'll certainly have lots to write about when I do my report on the holiday for Young Rider Magazine.’

  ‘You won't mention Mr Deakins and Uncle Harold's inheritance, will you? I don't want Lydia to know we nearly lost Oaklands, so I'd rather we kept that to ourselves.’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Poppy. ‘It'll be a glowing review of the trekking centre. Hopefully it'll boost bookings.’

  ‘Thank-you, Poppy. I really do feel my luck has finally changed. I know it'll always be hard work, but with a bit of money in the bank to tide me over when things are quiet I really think I can make a go of the business.’ Nina paused, then clapped her hands. ‘I've had an idea! I'd like to invite you both back for another week at Oaklands in the summer, as a thank you for everything you did last night. Hopefully it won't be quite so action-packed.’

  ‘That would be amazing,’ said Scarlett, suddenly looking more cheerful.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Poppy asked.

  Nina nodded. ‘Yes, I'm sure. And you can have the pick of the horses. I'll even let one of you ride McFly if you like.’

  Scarlett's eyebrows shot skywards as she considered the offer. Poppy didn't have to think twice. Her mind was already made up.

  ‘I'll ride Beau, please Nina,’ she said, her heart soaring.

  Scarlett looked at Poppy in disbelief. Poppy smiled serenely back.

  ‘Lift your chin off the ground, Scarlett,’ she said briskly. ‘Why on earth would I want to ride anyone else?’

  Three hours later they had dropped Scarlett home and were turning into the Riverdale drive. Cloud and Chester were grazing in their paddock and they lifted their heads and watched the car as it passed.

  ‘I won't be a minute,’ Poppy told her dad. She let herself out of the passenger door, ran over to the fence and called. Cloud whinnied and cantered over. Poppy was beaming as she climbed over the post and rail fence, threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in his silver mane.

  ‘Oh Cloud, you wouldn't believe how much I've missed you,’ she said, breathing in his familiar smell. ‘It seems as though I've been away for months. It's been an amazing week, it really has. But I tell you something,’ Poppy paused to kiss his nose. ‘It's good to be home.’

  Redhall Riders

  Chapter One

  Poppy McKeever knew that the haunting cry of the curlew would forever remind her of the accident. Coor-lee, coor-lee, coor-lee called the bird into the vast Dartmoor sky as Cloud thundered across the moor towards the isolated farm they had passed an hour earlier. Poppy crouched low over the saddle, urging her pony faster. Cloud, his ears flat and his nostrils flared, responded by lengthening his stride until they were galloping flat out. Poppy wound her hands through his silver mane and chanced a look back, but the others were already tiny specks on the horizon. An old stone wall loomed ahead and she eased Cloud back into a canter. Seeing a stride she squeezed her calves and he soared over the wall with a foot to spare, landing nimbly on the spongey grass on the far side. They turned right, following the steam as it dipped and curved towards the farm, Poppy's heart crashing in time with Cloud's pounding hooves.

  Coor-lee, coor-lee, coor-lee cried the curlew from the marshland between the stream and a belt of emerald green conifers. A dark stain of sweat was seeping across Cloud's grey flanks and Poppy could fee
l him beginning to tire.

  ‘Not far now,’ she whispered, running a hand across his neck. He flicked an ear back at the sound of her voice. ‘Look, I can see the farm.’

  With every stride the farmhouse grew bigger. Poppy remembered the rosy-cheeked woman in a red and white checked shirt who'd been picking runner beans as they'd ridden past earlier. Balancing a trug on her hip she'd called a cheery greeting and they'd waved back. Poppy hoped with all her heart that she was still at home.

  They clattered up a stony track to the farmyard. Poppy slithered to the ground and looped her pony's reins over a fence post. Bella would be horrified but there was no time to waste. Cloud watched her, his ears pricked, as she ran into the farmyard, scattering a handful of chickens pecking about in the dirt. Their indignant squawking woke an elderly collie curled up on a rug by the back door. He raised his head and gave a low woof before settling back to sleep.

  ‘Please be in,’ Poppy muttered, tugging at the brass door knocker. She almost wept with relief when the door swung open and the woman in the checked shirt stepped out, brushing flour from her hands.

  ‘There's been an accident. I need to use your phone,’ Poppy croaked, her mouth dry.

  The woman glanced briefly at Cloud standing patiently by the fence and ushered Poppy into a shabby hallway that smelt of freshly-baked scones.

  ‘Whatever's happened? Are you hurt?’

  ‘Not me. One of the other riders. Her pony fell.’ Poppy pictured Niamh lying motionless on the ground and Merry standing next to her, the bay mare's hind leg hanging uselessly from her hock. She felt the prickle of tears. ‘There was no phone signal. I need to call an ambulance.’

  The woman handed her a phone and a tissue and watched as Poppy dialled 999. As she waited for the call to connect Poppy looked wildly around. ‘I don't know where we are!’

  ‘Tell them to head for Pegworthy Farm and we can take them from here. I'll write down the postcode.’