A HORSE CALLED SEPTEMBER

by Anne Digby

  From the drawer in her dressing-table Mary took that first letter Anna had written, about the snobbish girls at the school who talked about Hunt Balls and the Royal Family all the time. Surely the two letters had not been written by the same person! Then she fingered that other talisman, the St Christopher on its chain that hung always round her neck. What had Anna said? 'You'll always be my best friend, Mary, nothing will ever change that.'

  A sudden thought struck Mary and all day it filled her heart with a curious lightness. When she fed September that evening she confided it :

  'Anna isn't the same person. Kilmingdean has cast some horrible spell over her. And when she comes home in July, home here to Chestnut Farm, and sees us again – she'll come back to being herself. All the rest will be like a dream.'

  From now on she would be hoping against hope on that.

  SIX

  FROM BAD TO WORSE

  Spurred on by Mary's encouragement, September continued to jump 'Demon's Dyke' well for a week or so. Even when the ditch had been widened and a further six inches in height added to the brushwood barrier, he cleared it with ease, for a whole fortnight, as if to show Mr Dewar what a great show-jumper he really was.

  'You'll have nothing to worry about when you go to Imchester in (and on!) September,' Mary had written jubilantly to Anna at this time. 'Your father says some of the best show-jumpers in the country have come unstuck at the Demon's Dyke there, but our Demon's Dyke is now quite a bit more difficult, and September treats it like child's play.'

  Anna had not replied for ages and her letter when it came was only a few lines long. Her life was such a whirl of activity these days, and her thoughts so bound up with King of Prussia whom she was taking to a show almost every week, that it was obvious that Chestnut Farm was still 'light-years' away. Mary refused to let it hurt. She was living for the day when Anna came home for the summer holidays, home to Chestnut Farm, and would be her old self once again.

  Besides, the letter was so brief that it scarcely called for a reply, and as it turned out Mary would have been at a loss to know what to write to Anna after that.

  She had long ceased to feel jubilant about September's jumping. After clearing 'Demon's Dyke' so well for a fortnight, the horse made a bad landing one afternoon when the far bank of the ditch was unusually muddy and slippery after heavy rains. If the bank had been firm he would have got away with it, but on this occasion he slithered back several feet, and threshed about wildly for some moments before he was able to regain his balance.

  It was obvious to Mary that the incident had unnerved September for the time being and she ran forward to take his leading rein, fully expecting Mr Dewar to instruct her to take him away and rub him down.

  'It's all right, Mary,' Mr Dewar said curtly. The lines of tension, which had not been so apparent lately, had returned to his face. 'He's not going in yet.'

  He cantered September once round the field and then turned his head towards 'Demon's Dyke' and shouted:

  'Come on, fellow, over it properly this time!'

  Mary could hardly bear to look as September broke into a gallop and then, realizing where they were heading, skidded to a halt just a few feet away from the high brushwood barrier.

  For Mr Dewar was hitting him with the riding crop now. Once, twice, three times – hard blows all of them – and his face was contorted with anger.

  'Over, you stubborn beast! Over!'

  As the third blow struck his flank, September suddenly reared up on his hind legs, whinnying, so that Mr Dewar was thrown clean off his back. Then he bolted towards the gate.

  Mary was there before him. Fearlessly she threw herself forward, one arm round his neck, seizing his rein with her other hand.

  'Stop, boy. Stop. Calm down!'

  He dragged her a few feet and then slowed down to a standstill as she spoke softly, soothingly, all the time stroking his coat, stroking the fears away.

  'It's all right, boy, it's me, Mary. Calm down, now, that's right ... nice and calm ... everything's okay.'

  He stood perfectly still at the edge of the farm yard now, breathing heavily, reassured by her presence. She gently soothed his flank where the crop had stung him and there were tears in her eyes.

  'He didn't mean to hurt you, September. He lost control of himself. This Championship is so important to him – it's all daft isn't it? Everything will be all right when Anna comes home. Just a few more weeks. You've just got to try and do your best till then, don't let him upset you.'

  She watched as Mr Dewar walked slowly this way, none the worse for his fall, although his clothes were covered in mud. She did not attempt to take the horse to him.

  'I think he's had enough for today, sir,' she blurted out. 'When he slipped on the bank, it unnerved him a bit, I could tell. That's why I came to get him—'

  'I had to try him again,' said Mr Dewar curtly. He was quite calm again now, perhaps even regretting his display of temper. 'The quickest way for him to get his nerve back was to take him back over the jump straight away. I don't wish to be unkind, Mary, but you are hardly an expert on these things.'

  Mary was silent. She would like to have said to Mr Dewar: I am an expert on September. Anna and I both know him better than you do. He's much too intelligent to become scared of a jump just because of one bad landing. He just needed time to get over it, that's all. Now you really might have put him off the jump – for good.

  She would have liked to have said all that, but of course she did not dare. Instead she said politely:

  'Shall I take him in now?'

  'Yes please, Mary.'

  As she rubbed the horse down she said to him :

  'You will do the jump again, won't you, September? Tomorrow perhaps or the next day? You won't let this put you off? You mustn't.'

  September did not seem to respond to her words. A fear gripped Mary and it grew larger every moment. Supposing from now on the horse refused to jump Demon's Dyke for Mr Dewar ever again?

  She knew what she must do.

  After her father had gone to bed that night, and the last of the farmhouse lights had been turned out, she crept downstairs from her bedroom, still fully clothed, and let herself silently out of the cottage. She tip-toed across the cobbles when she reached the farm yard and opened the stable door.

  There was a good moon and a shaft of light illuminated September's loose box. Gently she roused the horse, a strange feeling of exhilaration coursing through her.

  'It's me, boy,' she whispered.

  As they cantered out to the meadow five minutes later, she glanced back towards the farmhouse, scared that at any moment the lights would come on and the door be flung open. But all was dark and silent beneath the deep Devon thatch of Chestnut Farm.

  Seated firmly on September's back she bent and carefully opened the gate into the water meadow. The grass was heavy with dew and the moonlight made it shimmer beneath the horse's hooves as they cantered round in a circle.

  'First a couple of easy ones – and then the big one, boy!' Mary said softly. 'After that, this afternoon will seem just like a bad dream.'

  She was trembling a little. What a row there would be if this should ever get to Mr Dewar's ears. She had been strictly forbidden to jump on September while he was in training for the Western Counties'!

  But at that moment only one thing mattered – that September should get his confidence back. Because if he didn't, Mr Dewar might not want him any more. Ever since the horse had thrown Anna's father that afternoon, Mary had been haunted by the words she had heard spoken between Anna's parents that day: 'You know, Sarah, I'm beginning to wonder if the animal is past his best.'

  First they jumped a low hurdle. Mary's hand shook a little as she held the rein, but now it was excitement that was making her tremble. It was so long since she and September had jumped together! It had always been fun, but tonight it was suddenly thrilling. September seemed to sense her excitement and joy, and both horse and rider were in perfect harmony. The weeks since
Anna had gone away had brought them closer together – and now it was as if September had never been ridden by anyone else.

  'The door – let's take the door next.'

  Up and over the old white-painted door, sailing through the air as though they had jumped together every day all summer!

  'Now for the Dyke!' laughed Mary, riding the horse round in a sweeping are towards the high brushwood fence. It was bigger and more formidable than anything she had ever tackled in her life, but as the breeze whipped up her brown hair and lightly stung her cheeks, she was laughing out loud with exhilaration. 'I know we can do it, boy, and so do you. You're enjoying this every bit as much as I am!'

  Up, up, up and over. As the horse cleared the barrier with inches to spare and flew over the ditch beyond, Mary closed her eyes tightly, just for a moment, in deep pleasure. It was pleasure that was tinged with longing.

  As they landed lightly, she spoke from the bottom of her heart.

  'Oh, September, September –I wish you were mine.'

  Later, lying in bed in her small room, Mary felt ashamed of that moment of deep longing. It was wrong of her to want something that belonged to somebody else. September was Anna's horse.

  When Mr Dewar next took September out, it seemed that Mary's plan had succeeded perfectly. He took Demon's Dyke twice, in faultless style.

  It was in the days that followed that his behaviour became completely erratic. At one time he would clear the jump with ease and at other times he would shy right away from it. Some days he would sail over Demon's Dyke, even when Mr Dewar collected neighbours and farm workers together to stand in a small group right by it, chattering and cheering loudly to simulate the conditions that the horse would meet on the real course. Then, having done that, he would wilfully refuse a perfectly simple hurdle, as though he deliberately wanted to humiliate Anna's father.

  Mr Dewar began to use the crop with increasing frequency, in his impatience and anger, but that did nothing to solve the problem. Mary was quite sure that she knew the reason for September's erratic form. The horse had come to hate Anna's father.

  The fact that things had gone badly wrong between the farmer and his daughter's horse, seemed to have consequences of great magnitude. Mary could not understand it. Chestnut Farm had always been a happy place, and Mr Dewar had always been liked and respected by the men who worked for him. But during this period he seemed permanently irritable and continually found fault. One night Mary heard him having words with her father about the milk yield of the cows, and both men's voices were raised in anger, a thing she had never known before.

  More than once she saw Mr and Mrs Dewar sitting on the rustic seat outside the farmhouse door watching the sun set behind the woods they owned on the hill, just staring into space without speaking to one another. It was a melancholy sight.

  More affected than anyone by the air of gloom, and secretly fearing for September's future, Mary could not bring herself to write to Anna. Anna did not write to her again, and so their letters ceased.

  June was a very still month and there was a peculiar stillness about the farm as though they were all waiting for something. Then suddenly, towards the middle of July, the air of gloom lifted. Mary realized that she was not alone in pinning so much on Anna's homecoming. Only Anna could make everything come right.

  SEVEN

  THE HOMECOMING

  As the days went by in July, Mary's heart became a little lighter each morning. The atmosphere on the farm was becoming gradually more cheerful.

  'Even you can sense it, can't you, boy?' said Mary as she groomed September one morning. 'You've never forgotten her, have you, even for a day? You know Anna will be riding you again soon, and your days of training with Mr Dewar will be finished with for the time being.'

  At the very name 'Anna', the horse looked eagerly about him as he so often did when he heard her mentioned. It was true that he sensed that she would soon be home and he certainly sensed the lightening of the atmosphere. How else could it be explained that for the past week his jumping had been so much less erratic. He had even earned some words of praise from Mr Dewar the previous day.

  'We shall be able to give a good report of you when we see your mistress on Saturday,' he had said to the horse, almost jovially, as Mary came up to lead him away. 'Two clear rounds this afternoon, and good times as well. It'll be some good news after all the bad news we've been giving her.'

  Naturally Mary had not been happy at that last remark. She had refrained from writing to Anna all this time, but it seemed that Mr Dewar had been sending through bad reports on September's behaviour anyway. Had his letters turned her off the horse, made her compare September directly with her beloved King of Prussia? She should have realized that Mr Dewar would not be silent.

  'Thank goodness you did so well today,' she had said to September afterwards. 'And I don't suppose Mr Dewar will take you round again before the weekend now. You are an extraordinary animal. It's almost as though you know that he and Mrs Dewar are going to see Anna.'

  This weekend, the last weekend before the school broke up, Anna's parents were going down to Kilmingdean for three days and staying at a hotel. It was the school's Open Day on the Saturday but the real purpose of their visit was to stay until the Monday and watch the West of England Show events, nearby.

  Miss Kilroy had persuaded the headmistress to allow Anna to enter for the Imperial Trophy show-jumping event on King of Prussia. Such an honour had never been bestowed on a Kilmingdean girl of Anna's age before.

  'She can work miracles with that horse,' Anna's riding instructor had explained. 'I believe she can win the Imperial Trophy. She'll certainly not disgrace us. If ever a horse and rider were made for each other, it's those two. In fact there is a thought in my mind, Miss Jansen, that I would like to talk to you about.'

  Miss Kilroy then went on to discuss with Miss Jansen, as she had in the past, her belief that King of Prussia had been an expensive mistake as far as Kilmingdean School was concerned They had bought him for prestige reasons, a pure thoroughbred with a famous sire, for some of the best riders in the school to ride in competitions. As well as bringing honour to the school it had been felt that it would give a great deal of confidence to several girls if they could win important trophies on such a horse.

  It had not worked out. King of Prussia, like many fine show-jumpers who were also thoroughbreds, did not settle easily with different riders. He was a horse who, once he had found the rider of his choice, was restive and difficult with most others.

  'Now he has found Anna Dewar. Frankly they are made for each other, and it is a joy to see them. But—'

  'But we cannot really afford to maintain an expensive horse for one girl's benefit?' interposed the headmistress. 'Is that what you were about to say?'

  'Exactly. We are taking a risk entering Anna for a difficult senior event but I believe she'll emerge with great credit. Furthermore, I feel certain that her parents, once they see them together in the Imperial Trophy, and faced with the prospect of Anna being separated from King through the long summer holidays, may well be prepared to make us a handsome offer for the horse.'

  'Yes, yes, bound to,' said Miss Jansen. 'What parents wouldn't? Especially when you explain the situation to them. They will most likely leap at the chance, and the matter will be resolved happily from everyone's point of view.'

  'Especially Anna's!' smiled Miss Kilroy. 'She adores that horse.'

  So it was decided that Anna should enter for the Imperial Trophy.

  On Monday evening Mary was in the stable later than usual, settling September down for the night. As soon as she heard the car pull up in the farm yard, doors slamming, Mr Dewar's voice full of cheerfulness and jubilation, she knew that something exceptional had happened.

  She peered out of the stable door.

  'Go and ring the Donaldsons to come over – Jack and Mary, too—'

  'But Richard, we've been away since Saturday, I feel so disorganized!'

  'Not too di
sorganized for some champagne, surely, Sarah! We're going to celebrate! We shall drink champagne – out of this!'

  He was holding a huge silver cup in his hands.

  As Mary realized that Anna had won the Imperial Trophy on King of Prussia, her heart gave a painful lurch and instinctively she glanced back towards September's loose box. She felt frightened for him.

  Mary had no inkling of the conversations that had taken place so recently at Kilmingdean School, but she had always seen King of Prussia as a threat to September. She had never dared to think just how the threat might materialize, it was enough to know it was there.

  Yet even as she looked at that silver cup, even as her fears for September's future reached their highest pitch, her mind was to be put at rest. For Mr and Mrs Dewar stood by the car talking for a few moments longer, and as their words carried across the still evening air, she found herself trembling with relief.

  'Oh, Richard, didn't they look wonderful together? If only we could have accepted Miss Jansen's offer—'

  'That's the tenth time you've said that, Sarah.'

  'I'm sorry, dear. I did admire you – you carried it off so well. As though naturally we could afford to buy King of Prussia for Anna, and how kind of the school to offer, but we wouldn't dream of replacing September ...'

  'I couldn't let Anna down, could I? I mean, if you send a girl to Kilmingdean, it's taken for granted that you're rich, money no object. I had to pretend, even if it was only for Anna's sake!

  'It wasn't a mistake sending her to Kilmingdean, Richard?'

  'You're always saying that, Sarah. Mistake! How can you talk about mistakes when we've brought home this.' He flourished the cup again, his voice rising in jubilation. 'Look how much the school's taught her already. This is only the beginning. Anna will make our old nag look like the most expensive show-jumper in Britain when she takes him to Imchester. Mark my words!'

  'Of course, of course.' Mrs Dewar's voice was lighter now. 'If I'm going to get people round this evening, I'd better start 'phoning.'