The Auditions

by Stacy Gregg

  Georgie looked out the window. They had turned left now on to the main highway, signposted with the word ‘Versailles’. Ver-sigh. That was how Kenny pronounced it in his Kentucky drawl. The countryside was so big and open compared to the dinky fields and hawthorn hedges of Little Brampton. Pristine white plank fencelines ran for mile after mile, bordering the lush green pastures. Tall trees lined the long driveways which led to magnificent sprawling mansions. As the fields flashed past, Georgie saw elegant Thoroughbred mares grazing with their leggy young offspring at foot.

  “Are there a lot of racehorse farms around here?” she asked.

  Kenny snorted as if this were a joke. “Nearly five hundred in this district alone.” He pointed at a stately white mansion surrounded by red and white barns with green rooftops. “That one there is Calumet Farm.

  One of the greatest racehorse studs in Kentucky, home to Triple Crown winner, Citation.”

  “I’m not really into racehorses,” Georgie said, “I ride eventers.”

  Kenny scratched his head. “Eventers, huh? Yeah, we got those here in Lexington too. Can’t say they interest me much–I’m a betting man. I like being trackside on that first Saturday in May. My idea of a perfect horse is the one that crosses the Derby finish line first with my money on his back.”

  They were almost on the outskirts of Versailles. “Not much further now,” he told Georgie and she felt her stomach tense up.

  Eight hours from London to New York. Another two hours at the terminal and then a two-hour connecting flight from New York to Lexington. It had taken forever to get here and now suddenly the moment of arrival was looming too quickly. She wasn’t ready to be at Blainford yet–all on her own at a strange school where she didn’t know anyone.

  The signpost ahead said it was only three more miles to Versailles, but Kenny turned off the main highwayand headed down a back road, before turning the car again into a private lane. “This is it,” he told her. “Blainford Academy.”

  In front of them were two enormous pale-blue wrought iron gates with the Blainford insignia worked into the pattern of filigreed metal. Kenny pressed a button on the intercom and the gates swung open automatically. He drove through, steering the car down a broad avenue shaded by oak trees on either side. The plank fences here were stained black instead of the usual Kentucky white, and Georgie could see a strange assortment of horse breeds grazing in the fields. There was a striking chocolate-brown Appaloosa, with a white blanket of spots on his rump. Grazing happily alongside him was a jet-black horse, which she recognised as Friesian with its long flowing mane, glossy coat and ‘feathers’ of long silky hair on his legs. Those two rare breeds side by side were unusual enough, but there were others.

  “Ohmygod!” Georgie’s eyes widened when she saw the most incredible horse, as fine-boned and sleek as a greyhound. She could tell immediately by the wide-setintelligent eyes and dished face that this was a purebred Arab. Yet it was big for an Arabian, almost sixteen hands with a coat of burnished chestnut that sparkled in the Kentucky sunshine.

  Georgie was certain she also saw a Haflinger, a stocky Austrian breed, a heavy-set pony with a trademark golden coat and milky white, silky mane and tail. There was a beautiful palomino, with the sturdy rump and proportions of a Western Quarterhorse, and next to it, a haughty-looking grey that was so ghostly pale it was almost white. It had a thick crest and a Roman nose. Was it a Lipizzaner? One of the dancing horses of the Spanish Riding School? It had to be! Her heart was racing with excitement. She had never seen so many breeds all together at once in her life!

  “Whose horses are they?” she asked Kenny.

  Kenny shrugged as if the rare breeds were nothing special at all. “That’s school grazing. Those horses belong to the students,” he replied.

  They were approaching the curve at the end of the oak driveway, and finally the school itself came intoview. Georgie had seen the photos in the prospectus, but here in front of her was the real Blainford–and it was glorious. The main building rose up two storeys high, a grand old antebellum Georgian mansion made of red brick with columns out the front, white-trimmed dormer windows on the second floor and three turret rooms that jutted up into the sky out of the red shingled roofline. A vast stone archway in the front of the building led into a courtyard where a large square lawn was bordered by broad footpaths and red brick buildings on every side. Cars could drive through here and Kenny steered the car under the archway to a parking bay immediately on the right. He stopped there, got out and unloaded Georgie’s suitcases.

  “Someone will come for your luggage. I’ll go to the office and let Mrs Dubois know that you’ve arrived,” he said.

  He strode off across the lawn leaving Georgie standing beside her suitcases, trying not to feel selfconscious. A few of the students wandering about the courtyard were staring at her. Even though school didn’t officially begin for another day yet, pupils hadalready been returning after their holidays. Georgie was beginning to regret arriving in her own clothes. She had decided on a T-shirt and jeans as she hadn’t wanted to wear the school uniform on the plane. But now she felt badly out of place. Everyone else was dressed in regulation Blainford uniforms. The girls wore either a pale blue pinafore dress, or a pale blue shirt with navy jodhpurs. The boys were in a navy shirt and black jods. The fact that she hadn’t had a shower and probably had bad slept-on-an-aeroplane hair wasn’t helping her feel any better. She wished Kenny would hurry back with Mrs Dubois–whoever she was.

  Georgie looked across the lawn. Kenny had disappeared into a building on the other side of the square. Perhaps he had meant for her to follow him? She began to stride out across the grass courtyard heading in the same direction.

  “Hey!” a stern voice barked. She turned around and saw a boy, three or four years older than her, walking towards her.

  “No walking on the quad,” the boy said. He was freckle-faced with russet-coloured hair and a confidentset to his jawline. He wore long black boots and spurs, which indicated his senior status at the school. Juniors were only allowed to wear short brown jodhpur boots.

  “What?” Georgie didn’t understand.

  “You’re standing on the quad,” the boy said again as if she were an idiot. “That’ll earn you a fatigue.”

  “I’m really sorry, but I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Georgie said.

  “The quad,” the boy said slowly, as if he were talking to a small child, “.is this green piece of lawn. You’re not allowed on it. I’m giving you a fatigue.”

  “But you’re standing on it,” Georgie frowned.

  “Prefects are allowed on the quad,” the boy replied. Georgie realised now that they weren’t alone. A group of students were standing under the eaves of the building that Georgie had been making her way towards. They were watching and sniggering.

  “Come on, Conrad,” one of the boys called out. “Leave her alone. She’s obviously new.”

  “No excuse,” Conrad shot back. “First years need to learn the rules.”

  The one who had called out to Conrad came overtowards them now. He was wearing short boots, but he looked too old to be a first year. His navy school shirt and black jodhpurs were rumpled and worn and he had messy blond hair and a tan like a surfer.

  “They should never have given you prefect’s spurs, Conrad,” the blond boy groaned. “Power has corrupted you. You’re out of control.”

  Conrad clearly didn’t find this funny. “You’re only a second year, James, you shouldn’t be on the quad either. Get off the grass or I’ll give you fatigues as well.”

  Conrad didn’t bother to look at the other boy as he said this. He kept his eyes on Georgie. His stare was beginning to unnerve her. “What’s your name?”

  “Georgie Parker.”

  “You’re on fatigues, Parker. And get off the quad right now!” He turned his back on her and began to walk away. “Come on, James,” he said, clearly expecting the blond boy to follow him.

  James shrugged and gave Geo
rgie a smile. She noticed the cute way that his mouth went crooked when he grinned. “I’m sorry about Conrad,” he said. “What can I say? He fell off without his hard hat lastterm and he hasn’t been the same since …”

  “Now, James!” Conrad was stalking off across the quad.

  “See you later, Parker.” James gave her another lopsided smile and walked off, just as Kenny and a solidly-built woman with a swept-back bouffant of blue-grey hair finally emerged from the building.

  Georgie still didn’t really understand what had just happened. She didn’t even know what a ‘fatigue’ was. She certainly knew that she disliked Conrad but the other boy, James, was different. There was an easy charm about him with his blue eyes and unkempt hair. When he smiled that crooked grin, he was outrageously cute.

  “I’m Mrs Dubois, the school bursar. I’m very sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Parker,” the woman said as she reached Georgie’s side. “However, in future please make sure you don’t stand on the quad.” She gestured to the grass square. “Only prefects and school masters are allowed to walk on it.”

  “I just found that out,” Georgie said.

  “Now,” Mrs Dubois continued, “normally I would give you a tour of the school and show you the juniordorms and stables, but I have several other new arrivals turning up shortly and I really can’t leave the office. So I’ll ask one of the girls to show you around instead …”

  Mrs Dubois’s eyes scanned the courtyard looking for a suitable candidate.

  “Hey there, Mrs Dubois!” A girl with glossy black hair cut in a short blunt bob had appeared out of nowhere and was standing eagerly beside them. Mrs Dubois leapt back.

  “Alice!” she said looking flustered. “Don’t creep up on people!”

  “Do you need some help, Mrs Dubois?” Alice asked sweetly. “Do you want me to show her around?”

  Mrs Dubois looked very doubtful. Once again she cast her eyes around the quad, clearly hoping a better candidate might present themselves. Alice continued to stand there, smiling as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.

  “All right, Alice,” Mrs Dubois sighed. She turned to Georgie. “This is Alice Dupree. Alice–this is Georgina Parker. She’s in Badminton House and she’s got a horse in stable block C.”

  “Don’t worry–I’ll give her a real tour. See you later, Mrs Dubois,” Alice sing-songed as the bursar walked back towards her office. As soon as she was out of earshot, Alice’s saccharine smile disappeared.

  “Man, she is so uptight!” she groaned. “Did you see the look she gave me?”

  “I saw it,” Georgie nodded. “She thinks you’re trouble.”

  Alice Dupree gave a thoughtful chew of the bubblegum in her mouth and the gum made a loud crack as it snapped. “She’s probably right!” she said gleefully.

  Alice Dupree didn’t seem very interested in her role as tour guide. She mostly wanted to gossip.

  “What was Conrad Miller saying to you?” Alice hissed conspiratorially.

  “He was telling me off for walking on the grass,” Georgie said. “At least I think that was what he was doing. It was a bit confusing.”

  “That guy is such a polo poseur. I can’t stand him.”

  Alice snapped her gum again. Then she stared hard at Georgie. “You’re not going to go polo on me are you?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?” Georgie knew she was tired from the flight, but she was getting fed up with this. Ever since she’d arrived, people kept asking her questions she didn’t understand.

  Alice blew a bubble and waited for it to pop before she spoke again. “What sort of rider are you? What’s your major?”

  “I thought we didn’t have to choose a major subject until we became seniors?” Georgie said.

  Alice nodded. “Well, yeah, that’s true. But even the juniors get to choose their option subjects. Besides, at Blainford your major isn’t just about how you ride, it’s who you are.” She entwined her arm in Georgie’s and walked beside her so that she could talk in a confidential whisper.

  “You know, like Conrad and his crew. They’re the polo boys. A very exclusive little club–you have to be rich and a total jerk to join them. Or.” Alice said, “if you’re a girl you can always hang out with theshowjumperettes instead.” She rolled her eyes as she said this.

  “So showjumperettes are …”

  “The worst! Total trust fund brats!” Alice said emphatically. “Mind you, at least they’re not all hippie and drippy like the natural horsemanship losers, or totally into line dancing to Miley Cyrus like the Western riders.” Alice groaned, “.and do not even get me started on how uncool it is to hang out with the dressage geeks.”

  Georgie frowned. “How do you know I’m not one of them? A dressage geek, I mean.”

  Alice laughed. “For a start, dressage geeks are usually German or Dutch. They’re OK but they’re not exactly wildcats, if you know what I mean. No, you’re not a dressage geek. I’m a pretty good judge of these things. I’m guessing you’re an eventing major–just like me. Am I right?”

  Georgie nodded. “Yeah, actually.”

  “I knew it!” Alice shrieked and pulled Georgie closer. “You and I are gonna be best friends.”

  Alice had been so busy talking that it took Georgie amoment to realise they’d walked all the way through the quad and were out the other side. They hadn’t even taken a look at the classrooms.

  “Oh yeah. I forgot about the tour,” Alice said when Georgie pointed this out. She looked back at the block of buildings. “Lemme see,” she said, peering into the distance and pointing vaguely in the direction of the school. “You see that room on the end there? That’s biology, and that one beside it is English.” She perked up as she said this, as if a thought had occurred to her, “You should be good at English because you’re, like, from England right?”

  “Uh. I guess so.” Georgie was baffled by this logic but Alice barely paused for breath before she continued, “That’s French class on the top floor. The first year home room is somewhere at the front of the building on the first floor and. I don’t have a clue where anything else is.”

  Alice grinned. “That’ll do for the boring tour.”

  Still walking arm-in-arm Alice steered Georgie away from the main school along one of the many bridle paths that criss-crossed the grounds. “You’re allowed toride your horse everywhere–except the quad obviously, and you can’t take them to the classrooms off the quad either,” Alice continued. “All the dull school stuff like maths and history happens over there in the morning. Then after lunch the horse classes begin.”

  “You seem to know your way around the place,” Georgie said.

  “Both my sisters are Blainford girls,” Alice told her, “I know everything about this place–and everyone in it!”

  “Do your sisters still go here?” Georgie asked.

  “Cherry left school last year so she’s back on our family’s farm in Maryland. She’s riding the showjumping circuit this season,” Alice said. “My other sister Kendal is still here–she’s in her final senior year. She’s nice but she can go a bit polo sometimes. She actually used to go out with that creep Conrad!” Alice pulled a face and then yanked Georgie by the arm down the path to the right.

  “Badminton House is over there.” Alice pointed to the left where a pathway led past more stables and a duck pond. “We can go there later. Let’s go to the stables first and see if we can find your horse!”

  Georgie wondered how Alice would react when she told her she was riding one of the school’s horses. But Alice was unfazed. “Some of the kids here are snobby about that stuff,” she admitted. “The showjumperettes totally judge you by the horse you ride. They’re always trying to outdo each other with their Selle Francais and fancy Warmbloods. But I don’t care.”

  “So what’s your horse like?” Georgie asked.

  “Actually, he’s a fancy Warmblood,” Alice giggled. “His show name is William the Conqueror and his full brother just won the horse trials at Burghle
y.”

  “Wow!” Georgie was impressed. But Alice acted like this was no big deal.

  “Will’s a sweetheart. He used to belong to Kendal so he’s a hand-me-down horse. This is my first season on him.”

  Alice strolled into the stables as if she had been here all her life. She skipped between the solid wooden sliding doors and into the dark cavernous interior.

  “Your name should already be on the wall,” she told Georgie. “Usually they have a list up saying which horse the school has assigned you… here it is!”

  There was a blackboard list of riders’ names and beside each, written in pastel chalk, was the name of their horse.

  Georgie scanned the list to find her name. Standing beside her, Alice was doing the same thing.

  “There’s your name!” Alice said. “Georgina Parker. You’ve been assigned to ride. Belladonna. Stall seven.”

  “Belladonna,” Georgie said, trying the name out, seeing how it sounded. This was the horse that she would ride for the rest of the year at Blainford. She had spent the past weeks lost in daydreams, wondering what her new horse would be like. She felt nervous about meeting the horse for the first time. Alice, however, wasn’t one to hesitate.

  “Let’s go!” Alice was already off and racing down the corridor towards the loose boxes. “The horses’ names and numbers are on their stalls. You check the ones on the right,” she shouted back at Georgie, “I’ll do the other side.”

  They began working their way down the stables, Alice on the left hand side and Georgie checking theright. When Alice called out, “I’ve found her!” Georgie’s feet barely even touched the ground as she raced across the corridor to join her.

  The loose boxes in the stable blocks at Blainford were fitted with classic Dutch doors that opened in two halves so that you could shut the bottom and leave the top door open for the horse to stick their head out. Right now, both the top door and bottom door of the stall beside Alice were firmly bolted shut. The nameplate on the door was engraved brass. It said: BELLADONNA