Phantom Horse 5: Phantom Horse – Island Mystery

by Christine Pullein-Thompson

“Gone back, I expect.”

  “Or lying low somewhere.”

  “I wish there were more of us,” I said, climbing on to the boulders.

  “Perhaps your friends the Macgregors will help,” suggested Angus.

  “Yes, I think they will.” I was hanging on to the windowsill.

  Angus pushed more boulders under my feet.

  “I hope we are wrong,” he said. “I don’t want to be a hero. I want to have a nice peaceful holiday and pass my maths exam.”

  The window opened inwards. Cobwebs clung to my hair.

  “Don’t frighten the horses,” said Angus. “Drop down gently. Careful now.”

  “Shut up, just shut up,” I answered, and then I was landing on a bed of peat. I stared at the hocks in front of me and prayed that their owner would not kick.

  “All right? Is everything all right?” Angus called. “Can I jump now?”

  “Wait a minute. Hang on.”

  The horse had a fiddle face, a drooping lower lip, a narrow cheek. He was brown and wiry and dressed in a quilted rug. He was half asleep and the whole stable smelled like a vet’s surgery. “Okay, jump,” I said.

  “What about the horse?”

  “He’s drugged.”

  Another second and Angus was beside me, dusting his knees.

  In the loose box next door, a chestnut lay on the peat, his hoofs tucked neatly under him.

  “Do you recognise any of them?” I asked anxiously.

  “Not yet,” said Angus.

  “It’s like Madame Tussaud’s, they’re like dummies,” I moaned, patting a brown neck.

  “Look, look next door but one, it’s Milestone,” cried Angus. “The grey with the big sleepy ears, and the huge eyes. I would recognise him anywhere. You’re right, it is them!”

  “But how?” I cried. “How did they pull it off?”

  “We don’t know, do we? We may never know, but it’s them all right,” said Angus.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked.

  “Save them, of course.”

  “But how?”

  Milestone was standing with his head hanging low. He wasn’t interested in us; none of them were, they were barely conscious. I patted his dark grey neck, spoke to him, but it wasn’t any use.

  “It won’t take much to kill them, will it? Because they’re half dead already,” I said.

  We didn’t recognise the other two horses, but we knew it was the Australian team. It was not a nice discovery.

  “We must make a plan,” said Angus at last. “It’s no good moping here. Let’s go.”

  I kissed Milestone goodbye. “We’ll save you, don’t worry,” I promised. “We won’t forget you.”

  I imagined a horse box in a country lane with stone walls on each side. A gang flagging it down on some pretext or others knocking out the driver and the groom, driving away, abandoning the horse box, transferring the horses to another, then, somewhere, on some lonely disused airstrip, loading them on to Mr Carli’s plane.

  I imagined the Australians waiting for their horses to arrive. Pacing up and down a showground, waiting in the stands, telephoning. Or were the horses kidnapped on the way home? We might never know. They were large, slightly battered horses, accustomed to travelling, and if they argued, there was always a tranquilliser. I wondered what the ransom note had said. It must have caused a stir. I imagined how the Australians must feel with their whole team gone. How I would feel in the same situation?

  It was something too big for us to handle, but whom could we ask for help? Miss Pitcher? Jacques? Mr Matheson? The pottery teacher? Were they all in it too, like Maria? Who would it be safe to ask?

  “We need help,” I said.

  “That’s the understatement of the year. But who is there?”

  “I don’t know. But there must be someone,” I answered. “Can we steal a boat?”

  “They’re all padlocked.”

  “Isn’t there a rowing-boat?”

  “The oars are locked in the boathouse,” said Angus. “Jacques has got the key. Quickly, Jean. Let’s get out of here. If we’re caught, we’re finished.”

  A few minutes later we were blinking in the early morning light outside.

  “We could cable our parents,” I suggested.

  “How?” asked Angus.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You know we can’t, so we must make a plan. We’ll have our lessons as usual and then after lunch we’ll go and call on your friends the Macgregors.”

  “They’re leaving soon,” I interrupted.

  “Give them a message, and they can ring the police,” said Angus.

  “Yes, but they must be quick. I’m afraid for Phantom, and it would be awful if they killed Milestone. It just doesn’t bear thinking about,” I said.

  “There’s no other way,” said Angus.

  “Yes, I hope they’re reliable, that’s all,” I muttered. “Supposing Morag starts having her baby?”

  “We’ll have to risk that. Now let’s go back to bed again,” said Angus.

  “Do you think we can make it?”

  “Of course.”

  We slipped through the front door and locked it again after us. I could hear my heart thumping as we crept up the wide, rather splendid staircase to our rooms. I lay on my bed and thought, and, whichever way I reasoned, I knew that nothing would be easy, that there was no easy way out. Then I imagined the Australian horses being killed one by one, and I knew that we had to go on, that we had to fight to the bitter end to save them.

  Soon I could hear voices outside on the lawn. Mr Carli was giving Caroline orders, and in the dining room the tables were being set for breakfast.

  It was like any other day, and yet completely different. I couldn’t imagine how it would end, how we would ever outwit Mr Carli, who could kidnap a whole team and fool the British police force. But if we failed and the horses were killed, I knew that Milestone’s huge eyes would haunt me for the rest of my life.

  6

  “We’re playing games this afternoon,” said Mr Carli, smelling of aftershave, at breakfast. “The road is being blasted and I don’t want anyone hurt. What game shall it be?”

  I caught Hans staring at me. Was he trying to say something? Warn me? How much did he know? Could we trust him?

  “Come along now, let’s have an answer,” continued Mr Carli.

  “Rounders, I suppose,” suggested Angus.

  “Netball,” cried Jane, her face scarlet because she had actually voiced an opinion at last.

  “Something simple, please,” said Hans.

  “My ankle is not too good, I’ll stay upstairs,” I answered.

  “Come, Jean, you are skiving. If your ankle hurts you must be umpire. I will let you blow the whistle. You always have something to say. You will do very well,” said Mr Carli, laughing.

  “No thank you,” I cried, imagining Caroline killing Phantom while we played rounders.

  “Miss Pitcher will bring her charges; it will be a great game. I shall be first to bat,” continued Mr Carli.

  I finished my toast and marmalade and made for my bedroom.

  “Don’t give the game away,” said Angus, following me upstairs. “Play it cool. You look at your wits end.”

  “I am. I keep imagining the horses in a mass grave with Phantom on the top,” I hissed.

  “Think positive,” said Angus.

  Phantom was ready for me.

  “You look in a state, Jean. What’s the matter?” asked Caroline.

  “Nothing.”

  “Your boots are on the wrong feet. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You don’t look it.”

  “Well, I am,” I said, changing my boots round.

  I trotted in circles, improved my transitions, but suddenly it was all pointless. What did transitions matter compared with the predicament of the horses in the square?

  “You’re not attending,” complained Caroline after a time. “Sit deeper in
your saddle, use your back.”

  I hated her voice now – everything about her. She was nothing but a traitor, a criminal, and yet she was the best instructor I had ever had.

  “Walk,” she called. “Relax.” I let my reins go slack.

  The hills were very grey, green and brown. Somewhere there must be help. I will go to the Macgregors, I decided – now.

  “I’m going for a ride. I can’t concentrate. We’re both bored stiff, can’t you see?” I cried, turning Phantom’s head towards the sea.

  “You will do as you’re told,” cried Caroline. “Father is quite right, you’re an undisciplined hooligan.”

  A breeze straight from the sea hit my face. The air smelled of salt. Phantom’s hoofs thudded on the rough path. Sheep fled like grannies, calling to their young. Goats stared at me like wise old men, while Caroline called, “Come back. Come back at once, Jean.”

  The sea was still washing the shore, its foam like detergent on the sand between the rocks. A man was standing by the Macgregors’ cottage, smashing the windows slowly and methodically.

  “Where are they?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady as the panic rose inside me.

  “Gone and good riddance,” he answered.

  “Why are you doing that?” I asked, my voice trembling with shock.

  “So they won’t come back.”

  He was English and swarthy, and somehow I knew he was George, and dangerous.

  “Later I am going to blow it up. Want to watch?” he asked.

  “But their things are still inside. Can I take their things to them, please,” I cried. But I knew already that it was too late, that we should have visited them before breakfast, and that our last contact with the outside world had gone.

  George shook his head. “I shouldn’t interfere,” he said. “You don’t want to be in trouble with the guv’nor, do you?”

  “Why can’t things be left alone? This was a happy place once,” I cried.

  “How do you know? Been here before have you?”

  I shook my head.

  George looked as though he had been in prison. His hair was short, his face leered when he looked at me. His hands were scarred, large and knotted, his feet encased in army-type boots. His clothes hung on his large frame – an odd, city-like suit, obviously second-hand.

  “There’s nothing worth anything inside, just old furniture and pots and pans. It’s no place to bring up kids. It should have been condemned years ago. There isn’t an inside toilet, no electricity, not even a cooker; they must have lived like pigs. The sooner it’s razed to the ground the better,” he said, kicking at the walls.

  It was inconceivable that he and the smooth Mr Carli should be friends, and yet they were. I wondered if Mr Carli had been in prison. Surely not, with such beautiful manners.

  “Have you known Mr Carli a long time?” I asked.

  “What, the boss? Long enough.”

  Phantom was pawing the ground.

  “You’re friends, anyway,” I insisted.

  “You could call us that.”

  “And you are enjoying smashing up the cottage? What a pity,” I said.

  “It ain’t fit to live in. I’ve told you. And you watch your step, young lady, or you’ll be in trouble. I’m warning you …”

  I turned away.

  Caroline was not to be seen when I reached the square. I slid to the ground, untacked Phantom, and turned him out in the long field near the house. I knew I was in for trouble. I had broken all the rules and knew too much, but surely there must be someone who can help, I thought, walking towards the house, someone honest somewhere.

  I was late for lunch. When I entered the dining room, Mr Carli was saying grace:

  “For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful.” It was as false as everything else – just part of the act he was per forming as headmaster. He frowned at me as I sat down.

  “Late again, Jean,” he said.

  “Sorry. I was watching someone smashing windows,” I answered, unfolding my napkin.

  “You see too much,” he said. “You would be better to stick to the rules which are made for your own good.”

  We ate stewed lamb, ice cream, raspberries. It all tasted the same to me because I was still seeing Milestone standing in his loose box like someone drunk. Every minute spent eating was suddenly a waste of time. Hans did not look at me, nor did Angus; only Jane kept catching my eye and smiling as though she knew I was in disgrace and was trying to cheer me up. I tried to smile back, but thinking of Milestone froze my face, and I felt tears pricking behind my eyes. I stared out of the window. The bay was empty, cold and grey, offering us no hope of any kind.

  “Your ankle seems to have recovered,” said Mr Carli, standing up. “Are you going to play rounders?”

  I shook my head.

  “You can stay in your room, then,” he said, exasperated.

  “Thank you.”

  We trooped out. The hall smelled of furniture polish.

  “See you,” muttered Angus between his teeth.

  I sat on my bed and tried to make a plan, but my mind was tired for want of sleep and all I could see was failure. If only we had been in time, I thought. If only I had given the Macgregors a message, we might already be saved; the Australian horses might be on their way home and Mr Carli in handcuffs. But we were too late. And with such mistakes battles are lost, horses die and we may all perish. I was trying not to cry when I heard a knock on the door and a voice asking, “May I come in?”

  It was Hans, clean and smiling. Jumping off my bed to face him, I thought: friend or foe?

  There were dark shadows under his eyes, which had not been there before. He looked older and sadder, though his eyes were as blue and clear as the sea outside.

  “What do you want? You should be playing rounders,” I said. My voice had changed too; it was higher than usual and it trembled at the end, like an engine about to break down.

  “I want to ask you something. There is no one else I can ask,” said Hans.

  “You had better sit down then,” I suggested.

  He sat on a chair, his large hands hanging uselessly on each side of him.

  “Asking you is a risk. Everything is a risk in this place,” he said.

  “But you have to take it,” I said. “Is it about some horses?”

  His face lit up. “Yes, and you know about horses. That is why I come to you,” he said.

  “They came in the night?” I asked cautiously.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, what is it you really want to know about them?” I asked.

  “I want them identified.”

  Suddenly I knew it was all right. It was as if a huge weight had been removed from my chest.

  “They are …” I said, “they are the kidnapped team, including Milestone.”

  “I thought so. I have heard about it on the radio, but I had to be sure. They are from Australia, right?”

  “Right,” I said. “But where do you come in?”

  “It is a long story,” replied Hans, smiling, “and I should be playing rounders.”

  “So we are on the same side?” I asked.

  “Yes, we always have been. I like you and your golden horse. I trust you. Nothing must happen to you. We must be careful.”

  “What are we going to do?” I asked, standing up and going to the window. “We wanted to send a message to the mainland, but now even the Macgregors have gone. How did you know anyway? Have you still got a radio?”

  He shook his head. He reminded me of Dominic for he was calm in the same way.

  “There is a radio in the kitchen. I go there in the evenings to listen with Janet. She is a nice girl. She is the only Scots person left. She stays silent because of her baby, but she is on our side.”

  Suddenly I remembered the school’s cook, whom I had only seen once or twice. Angus had told me about her. I could feel hope returning. “Why did you come here, Hans?” I asked.

  “It i
s a long story. I will tell you some other time. Now I must go. Tonight we will listen together and we will decide what comes next.” He took my hand suddenly, pressed it quickly, then shut the door quietly after him.

  I lay on my bed, listening to the game of rounders below. If this room is bugged, I thought, Mr Carli will know everything, and then we’ll all be finished, but Hans did not say anything about bugging so it was probably all right. Outside on the lawn Jane laughed.

  Mr Carli shouted, “Well caught. Keep it up,” in his hearty headmasterly voice.

  But if Hans was really on Mr Carli’s side, we might as well be dead, I thought, all of us in a joint grave: the horses, Angus and me, or maybe they’ll ransom us too. Then, without warning, I fell asleep.

  7

  Evening came and went as I slept. I woke to find the sky darkening into night outside. My first thought was – Phantom! I rushed to the door, turned the handle, pulled, threw my weight against it. It wouldn’t budge. I saw them murdering Phantom as I struggled. Then I ran to the window. The drop was six metres or more, straight on to stone steps. I was trapped. Then I heard Angus talking through the door. “It’s all right, Jean,” he whispered. “Everything is under control.”

  “What about Phantom?” I whispered back.

  “He’s all right, I’ve just looked. He’s grazing quite happily.”

  My panic subsided. But for how long would he be safe? I wondered. How long before Mr Carli took his revenge and taught me a lesson?

  “Hans is on our side,” whispered Angus.

  “I know,” I whispered back.

  “Just hang on. We’re going to get you out later and then we’ll listen to Janet’s radio and make a plan,” whispered Angus, and was gone.

  It was agony waiting. Terrible thoughts rushed through my head with the speed of an express train. Frightening images rose before my eyes. Time seemed to pass at the pace of a caterpillar crawling across a cabbage leaf. Everything seemed abnormally quiet and still, like the lull before a storm. Soon the hills were completely wrapped in darkness, with no moonlight to give me hope. I felt shut in then, more than I have ever felt before. In spite of the electric light I felt as though I was in a black hole from which I would never emerge. I had no watch and the sky told me nothing except that dawn was still hours away.