Phantom Horse 4: Phantom Horse in Danger

by Christine Pullein-Thompson

  “The police will deal with them,” said Angus.

  “Dad has the police eating out of his hand,” she answered with a bitter laugh. “You won’t get any help from them. I’m sorry I can’t help you. If you had come to me first, I might have saved Killarney, but it’s too late now, both of them will go for meat in the morning. He won’t keep them a minute longer than necessary, you can be sure of that.”

  “Thanks for telling us,” said Dominic.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Angus and Dominic looked at one another.

  “Sharpen your fists,” said Dominic. “I hope you know judo.”

  Angus shook his head and bent down to pick up a discarded fencing post. “I’ll use this,” he said.

  “Get in the Land Rover and keep out of the fight, Jean,” said Dominic. “This is between us and them.”

  “You are no match for them,” I answered.

  June rode away. She stopped to talk to the two men as she passed and we heard them laugh, as though they were looking forward to the fight ahead.

  “Here we go,” said Dominic.

  “I’m going to get Phantom,” I said. I ran back to the hangar but the door was locked. I suppose it was a self-locking one. I looked for the key under the appropriate stone but it wasn’t there. We must have dropped it inside.

  Then I was running after the boys, praying, “God, don’t let them be hurt, please, God.”

  They looked small and light compared with the two ex-convicts, like two whippets taking on a pair of bloodhounds. As they drew near I heard Geoff Craig call, “Don’t break any bones, just beat them up good and proper.” He was standing on his doorstep, holding an Alsatian, and his wife stood just behind, looking over his shoulder.

  There’s no help coming, I thought. We are on our own. Dominic and Angus had nearly reached the Land Rover. Try a rugger tackle I thought – go for their legs – and I remembered Dad teaching me to defend myself years ago.

  June was putting her horse away, rubbing him down as though she loved him, while the ponies in the hangar awaited death – children’s beloved ponies, foals newly weaned from their mothers, old hunters who had always done their best across country, even show ponies worth far more than Geoff Craig had paid. Only we could save them now.

  I prayed for strength and courage. Now the boys had reached the two men. Angus went straight down and his attacker raised his foot and kicked him. I screamed, “No! Stop it! No!” I ran towards them, my own fear forgotten, thinking only of Angus lying doubled up in pain.

  I threw myself at the man, suddenly conscious of how light I was, and I yelled, “You’ll go to prison for this. Stop kicking my brother.”

  He turned and at the same moment Dominic sprang at him. I saw that the other man was lying on the ground and I knew that there was still hope left.

  “Get into the Land Rover and start the engine, Jean,” yelled Dominic.

  Angus scrambled to his feet and leaped inside before me. He seized the wheel and at the same moment I heard Geoff Craig yelling, “What are you doing? I told you to beat them up.”

  Then Dominic was in the Land Rover with us and we were flying down the drive towards the house at sixty miles an hour. We turned the trailer in the yard and saw that the men were waiting for us, blocking the drive. Dominic moved into the driver’s seat and seized the steering wheel.

  “Don’t kill them,” shouted Angus nervously, as we raced towards them. “I don’t want a life sentence.”

  Dominic opened his window long enough to shout, “Move or you’ll be dead.” Then miraculously the way was clear and I saw that Angus’s face was red with blood and his moustache had gone.

  Dominic looked in the mirror. “They’re following us. We’re not in the clear yet,” he said.

  “Head for the nearest town. We need to find some people,” said Angus in a shaky voice, as we swung into the road.

  I looked back and saw a Mercedes following us. It was trying to overtake us but there were too many cars coming in the other direction. Dominic had the accelerator as far down as it would go. His face was grim and he was cursing as I had never heard him do before. Then we heard a tyre burst.

  “It’s all right, it’s only on the trailer. It doesn’t matter,” he said.

  If only our horses were inside, I thought, and my heart ached for Phantom.

  We heard another tyre burst and Angus said unnecessarily, “They must be shooting.” They can’t be, I thought, not in broad daylight. But no one seemed to bother. Perhaps they didn’t want to get involved, or maybe they thought we were having a succession of blow-outs.

  “Where are the police?” asked Angus.

  “Probably having their coffee break,” replied Dominic.

  We stopped behind a bus. Now there were people everywhere, sane, ordinary people carrying plastic bags, pushing prams, walking arm in arm.

  “We’d better park. We’ll be safer in a crowd,” suggested Dominic.

  “On a double yellow line,” I added, “because then the police may appear.”

  But the police didn’t appear. The Mercedes stopped behind us and the two ex-convicts got out.

  “Supposing they shoot at us,” I said.

  “They won’t, not here in the street,” Angus replied.

  Dominic opened his window. “Why don’t you just buzz off?” he asked.

  “You won’t get off so easily. We know where you live. So just keep your mouths shut, okay?” one said.

  I looked at them properly for the first time. One had dark hair and a sharp nose, and he hadn’t shaved for some time. The other was completely bald.

  I was too petrified to speak, but Angus answered “Thanks for telling us,” in a cheeky voice.

  “You wouldn’t want a bomb through the letterbox of your little cottage, now would you? So just keep your sweet little mouths shut, do you hear?”

  “We hear,” Dominic replied.

  They banged on the Land Rover’s roof with their fists before leaving. Dominic said, “Well, that’s that, then.” He turned the ignition key.

  “I am not scared for myself,” he said a moment later, “but I am for you, because they know where you live. I think you had better send for your parents.”

  “We can’t. They’re busy. Besides, it’s babyish to send for Mum and Dad the minute things get bad,” I answered.

  “You were brilliant,” said Angus. “You saved our lives. I had no idea you knew judo.”

  “Yes. I used to go to evening classes,” replied Dominic. “I advise you to do the same, seeing that you seem bent on getting into trouble.”

  Suddenly it seemed years since morning.

  “They could burn you in your beds,” continued Dominic. “I think we should go to the police again – to our police. They might keep an eye on your place. You need protection.”

  “You sound so serious, I can’t believe it’s as bad as that,” said Angus.

  “I think it is,” replied Dominic.

  I thought of sending for our parents. I imagined them packing their bags, their faces creased with worry. We should have gone with them, I thought.

  “June is human after all,” said Angus.

  “Just,” answered Dominic. “You had better come to my place for lunch. It’s twelve o’clock, and I don’t suppose you’ve got a thing prepared.”

  “Don’t worry, Mrs Parkin will have been,” said Angus. “We are well-organised; the freezer is stacked to the top with food.”

  “You must stay with us for tonight,” said Dominic. “Mum and Dad will insist.”

  “It’s cowardly,” answered Angus.

  “No, it isn’t, it’s common sense.”

  But the torments of the day weren’t over yet. When we reached our cottage the orchard was empty. We rushed to the paddock, but there was no Twilight.

  “As if things aren’t bad enough,” I cried.

  “I expect he’s with his mum by now. Don’t worry,” said Dominic. “I’ll go and look, and ring you back in ten
minutes.”

  “You’ve done enough,” replied Angus as he drove away.

  I rushed upstairs and tore off my hideous clothes and put on jeans and a sweater and washed my face. The cottage felt empty. Mrs Parkin had left a note which read:

  Out again! Your dinner is in the oven. I took my wages from the usual place. I hope this is all right. It was all the money there. Mrs P.

  Angus dished up lunch. I felt as though I had come to the end of everything, that there was no hope.

  Killarney and Phantom would be slaughtered in the morning, and that would be the end. If the police won’t help, we’re finished, I thought. And I shall never have another horse; I won’t want one either, not after Phantom. And it is all our fault because if Angus hadn’t decided to sell Killarney it wouldn’t have happened, and if I hadn’t willed Killarney to go lame, he could have had a lovely home. So we are both to blame.

  Then the telephone rang. It was Dominic. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Twilight is here and I’ve put her with her mum again, so she’ll be all right. And Dad’s going to the police when we’ve eaten. They’ll listen to him, and you’re expected here tonight, okay?”

  “Okay,” I answered.

  Angus had washed the blood off his face, but it was swollen on one side and one of his teeth was broken.

  He said okay too. I put down the receiver.

  Another day had nearly gone and we still hadn’t rescued Killarney, and tomorrow the abattoirs would be open again.

  “We will have to go there tomorrow,” I said.

  “Where?”

  “To the abattoir, of course,” I answered.

  After that I slept with my head on the kitchen table and dreamed that Phantom had come home. He was standing in the yard, neighing, with the setting sun behind him, and I was filled with a great happiness. “I knew he would return,” I said, and felt him nudge my arm …

  But it was only Angus shaking me, saying, “Wake up. It’s time to go to the farm.” And I knew that the nightmare was still there, not over yet – perhaps with us forever.

  9

  The farm felt very safe. Mrs Barnes had made up a bed for me in one of the attic rooms and I could see Sparrow Cottage from the window, small and neat in the valley. Angus had a camp bed in Dominic’s room.

  Mr Barnes had been to the police. “They are looking into the matter,” he said. “I told them everything. It’s not in their area, but they are contacting the appropriate police force.”

  “But they can’t stop our horses going to be killed, because we sold them,” I answered.

  “They can stop Phantom, because I sold him and he was stolen. It’s all recorded, isn’t it? Listen, I’ll play it to you,” said Dominic. “It’s in Dad’s safe now. You left it in the trailer.”

  He fetched the recorder and we sat and listened to it in the homely farm kitchen, and all the horror came back to me.

  “You’ve turned white,” said Dominic, switching it off.

  I couldn’t stop shivering. Mrs Barnes led me to the attic bedroom. “You slip between the sheets,” she said. “There’s a hot-water bottle there, so you won’t be cold, and one of us will bring you supper on a tray.”

  She drew the curtains, shutting out Sparrow Cottage and the spring evening. “Now don’t worry, my duck, everything will be all right,” she said. I wished that I could believe her, but I couldn’t.

  I was certain now that the ex-convicts would kill Phantom rather than let us buy him back, because he was our best piece of evidence – the only real link between the recording and Geoff Craig.

  Suddenly everything seemed hopeless. Then Dominic came in with a tray, sat on my bed and said, “Trust us. Everything is going to be all right, Jean. I promise.”

  There was steak and kidney pie on the tray, with peas and mashed potatoes, and cake, bread and butter and chocolate mousse. I didn’t feel like any of it. I saw that Dominic had a swollen lip and there were shadows under his eyes which hadn’t been there before. He took my hand and said, “Eat it up, Jean, please. By tomorrow night everything will be all right.” Then he left me, running downstairs to the kitchen below.

  I tried to eat, but the food turned to sawdust in my mouth. Presently Angus appeared and said, “Why don’t you eat it? Can’t you see you’ll upset Mrs Barnes? It’s rude to leave things. Haven’t you any manners?” He looked hideous with half a tooth missing. Our parents will never leave us alone after this, I thought.

  “Eat it up and then come downstairs and watch telly. There’s a good film on. One of us will come back in five minutes to collect the tray. Don’t be wet, Jean,” pleaded Angus.

  I ate most of it and then sat watching television without seeing anything, imagining instead the inside of the abattoir, full of carcasses dripping blood, horses’ heads, and among them Phantom’s, pale gold, severed, but still beautiful.

  Mr Barnes sat with his braces lying in his lap, and Mrs Barnes continually asked questions like, “Why did he do that?” and, “Which side is he on, Dominic, I can’t remember.” Outside, rain fell furiously, lashing the windowpanes.

  At intervals tears blinded my vision and Dominic looked at me anxiously and asked, “All right, Jean?”

  I muttered, “Yes, of course,” in a voice muffling uncontrollable sobs, and so, slowly, the evening passed, one of the worst I can remember.

  At ten o’clock Mrs Barnes brought us hot drinks on a tray – cocoa, hot milk, Ovaltine.

  Angus was very polite. “We can’t thank you enough,” he said, while Mr Barnes looked at the tray and then mixed himself a whisky and soda. This time tomorrow it will all be over, I thought. Either we will have saved our horses or they will be dead. I imagined life without Phantom and it felt as empty as a deserted building and just as pointless.

  Mrs Barnes patted me on the shoulder. “Have a good sleep, Jean,” she said, “and everything will seem better in the morning.”

  I wanted to say “You hope”, but it didn’t seem a polite answer to a middle-aged person, so I said “Thank you” instead.

  When I reached my attic bedroom the rain had stopped and the night was clear and full of stars.

  “Don’t worry, Jean,” said Angus. “Everything is going to be all right.”

  “I seem to have heard you say that before,” I answered. “I just wish our parents were here. They would know what to do, who to ring up. The Barnes are sweet, but they don’t know much, do they?”

  “The police have taken over now,” replied Angus.

  “Why are we going to the abattoir then?” I asked.

  “To be certain to save Killarney. Phantom is safe.”

  But I didn’t believe him any more, nor Dominic, nor anyone.

  “You promised Phantom would be all right and he isn’t,” I replied. “We were going to bring him back – remember? And is he here? No. He’s with all the other stolen horses ready to go in the morning.”

  Angus looked at me. “Okay, it’s my fault, I know, and if they both die I shall carry their deaths on my conscience forever.” He shut the door after him and I heard his footsteps despondent on the stairs below. I realised that it was no good blaming anyone, it was probably fate. But it didn’t seem that way.

  My bed was old and creaky, and the ceiling sloped above my head. I imagined the people who had slept in the room before me – farm labourers with gnarled hands, girls who helped in the kitchen, milkmaids perhaps, the farmer’s children. I imagined them coming to bed by candlelight.

  The wallpaper had roses on it and I tried counting them, but nothing stopped me imagining the abattoir, until sometime in the middle of the night when I must have slept, for the next thing I heard was a chorus of cocks crowing and the sound of cloven hooves passing below my window. I looked out and saw Dominic driving the cows towards the milking parlour with two dogs at his heels. Dawn was breaking in the east and the whole yard was full of the songs of birds.

  Today we go to the abattoir again, I thought, and they won’t be on strike this time. The tho
ught filled me with horror. Soon afterwards there was a timid tap on my bedroom door and Mrs Barnes came in with tea on a tray. The teapot was covered with a cosy and there was a flowered sugar basin, milk jug, and cup and saucer to match.

  “There’s no need to hurry, my duck,” she said. “Dominic is out milking, but he’ll be in for breakfast at seven. So just you come down when you’re ready.”

  She was wearing her apron, bedroom slippers, thick stockings and a sweater and skirt. She looked very tired.

  I said, “Thank you very much, but you shouldn’t have done it, Mrs Barnes. I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

  “You couldn’t be a nuisance if you tried, Jean,” she replied, leaving the room.

  I imagined myself being a prosperous middle-aged lady as I sat in bed, drinking tea, but all the time at the back of my mind horror lurked, waiting to rush in. I drew back the curtains and the sky was clear with only a hint of dawn left. There was a clanging noise coming from the milking parlour and the hum of machinery driven by electricity. Half a mile away, Sparrow Cottage looked small and silent beneath the early sun, and the ploughed land was tinged green with growing wheat.

  I washed and dressed, and went downstairs to find breakfast ready on the large table in the kitchen.

  “Tea or coffee, Jean? And help yourself to cereal,” said Mrs Barnes.

  “Coffee, please – you’re spoiling me,” I answered, as Angus came bounding into the kitchen saying, “What a lovely day, Mrs Barnes.”

  Then Dominic appeared and washed at the old-fashioned stone sink. “Twilight’s as happy as a sandboy,” he said as he sat down.

  I ate a large breakfast without tasting any of it, while Angus made bright conversation and Dominic looked at my face from time to time.

  I avoided his eye, hating both him and Angus because they had caused me to sell Phantom.

  Mr Barnes came in next, full of farm news: of kittens born in the barn, and a cow with mastitis which drove him to the telephone.