“She was—rather,” said Hilary. “She was cross with Evelyn because she told her to keep an eye on Marga and Jim, but I kept her off that as much as I could, for we don’t want a row.”
When they reached the cross-roads where the Basset and Hogshill roads parted, Noel and Susan said good-bye, and that they hoped the Radcliffes would find Margaret waiting for them. Then they rode off together, for Noel had to drop Rusty at the Spinneys. But John insisted on going back to the Priory. He said he would leave Turpin with the Radcliffes’ ponies and help search, or, if Margaret had turned up, use Major Holbrooke’s drive as a short cut home. As they clattered up the Priory drive, a depleted party, with very different feelings to those they had started with that morning, they gave hunting cries to announce their arrival. Mrs. Radcliffe soon appeared, and the last vestige of hope was taken from them: there was still no sign of Margaret.
Drearily they settled the ponies: Darkie and North wind in the stable, Turpin in Pixie’s place between them, and Sky Pilot in the new portable loose-box. Romany was given a feed and turned out with Rocket, and then they hurried into the house, to find Mrs. Radcliffe answering the telephone. “That’s very kind of you,” she was saying. “I’ll start right away, but I expect it’ll take me some time, the fog is so terribly thick.” All the children forgot their manners and listened intently. “I believe it is,” said Roger. “Why else should she go out in the fog?” Evelyn began to jump about and say, “Hurray, hurray, I’m sure it is!” But the others told her to shut up, and pointed out that their mother wouldn’t be able to hear. At last she put down the receiver and said, “It’s all right, she’s turned up at Flinton-under-Fenchurch. That was Colonel Cagemore. He says he’ll keep Pixie for the night, as she seems dead beat, and we’re to fetch Margaret in the car.”
“Hurray!” said everyone.
“Thank goodness for that,” said Roger. “I’m absolutely fed up with looking. I’ll come with you, mummy,” he went on, “and then, if the fog’s very thick, I can stand on the running-board and guide you.”
“Well, I suppose I’d better go now,” said John in disappointed tones, “unless I can be of some use by standing on the other running-board.”
“You can’t possibly ride all the way home now, John,” said Mrs. Radcliffe. “Turpin must be exhausted. Look! if Pixie is staying with Colonel Cagemore, Turpin can keep her box for to-night, and if you’ll ring up your parents and tell them you’re O.K. I’ll run you home in the car when we’ve fetched Margaret.”
“That would be super,” said John. “Thanks awfully.”
“Let’s start,” said Evelyn.
“You’d all better have something to eat first,” said Mrs. Radcliffe. “You must be starving. I believe Mrs. Hunt is keeping your lunches hot.”
“Ugh,” said James, “I can’t eat lunch now; it’s nearly tea-time. Shall I ask Hunty for some cake?”
“Yes, go on, Jim; she likes you best,” said Roger.
Margaret was collected without any further adventures or mishaps, and was none the worse for her fright. She was found discussing polo with Colonel Cagemore, who had the reputation of being the most disagreeable man in Flinton-under-Fenchurch, a village well known for the taciturnity of its inhabitants.
On the day after the paper-chase, the hounds and hares all gave their ponies a well-earned rest and lay late in bed themselves. Colonel Cagemore telephoned the Radcliffes to tell them that Pixie was slightly lame, and would have to stay with him for another day or two. He was very agreeable, and said that, as he had only two of his own horses stabled at that moment, it would be good for his groom to have some more work. The Radcliffes thanked him several times, and then they discussed how they would hate to be his groom, and imitated him for some time before they rang up John and told him he need not fetch Turpin until next day.
On the next day, which was Friday, Mrs. Radcliffe went to London, and the children, who felt very bored now that the excitement of Christmas, hunting and the paper-chase was over, spent most of the morning quarrelling. In the afternoon John came for Turpin, and Hilary and Roger decided to ride back with him and see how Jet’s education compared with Rocket’s. Evelyn said she was going to give Romany a jumping lesson, and Margaret and James were occupied with some game of their own from which they were not disturbed, for, like most elder brothers and sisters, Roger, Hilary and Evelyn were quite glad not to be bothered by them for a change. The game was a soulless one, called “Motor Smashes,” in which the family collection of clockwork and other toy cars had the most sensational and nerve-wracking crashes up and down the long corridor, which ran right through the first floor of the Priory. Sometimes toy aeroplanes joined in, but, being of less stern stuff than the motors, they rarely survived more than two or three accidents. When this pastime, which was, to say the least of it, slightly monotonous, began to pall, Margaret and James decided to go to the paddock and see what Evelyn was doing. . . .
Since Romany had jumped the three-feet-six post and rails on the day of the paper-chase, Evelyn had been nursing a secret hope that she might become a first-class jumping pony, and surprise everyone by winning novice, or possibly, open classes, and perhaps, in the end, even aspire to Olympia.
Evelyn waited impatiently until the sounds of Sky Pilot’s, Turpin’s and Rocket’s hoof-beats had died away in the distance, and then, taking Romany to the paddock, she put all the jumps up to three feet six and mounted, filled with high hopes. Unfortunately, Romany, who had been made hotter than ever by the paper-chase, became half-crazy with fear and excitement at the sight of the jump. Snatching the reins out of Evelyn’s hands, she tore at it, much too fast, and then, her heart failing her at the last minute, refused dead. Evelyn almost shot over her head; but she quickly recovered her seat and, bitterly disappointed, she beat Romany, who galloped off round the field, her head between her knees. It took some time and a good deal of wrenching and jagging before Evelyn was able to pull Romany up; then, though she was dripping with sweat and blowing hard, Evelyn rode her at the jump again. This time she whipped round before she was within the wings, and, expecting another beating, shot off across the field. Evelyn tried again and again, and every time she got hotter and angrier, especially when she noticed that James and Margaret were watching from the gate. It took her nearly half an hour before she was able to force the—by that time—exhausted pony through the jump. Then, feeling very pleased with herself at having conquered this display of obstinacy, as she thought it, and hoping to put Margaret in her place, she called out, “Want a ride?” as she passed the gate. To her momentary dismay Margaret answered, “Yes, please,” and, leaping down, ran towards her. For a moment Evelyn contemplated telling Margaret that she hadn’t really meant it, but that, she decided, would make her more conceited than ever, for she would guess that she, Evelyn, had expected her to be afraid. She shrugged her shoulders and thought, it’s the little fool’s own look-out; she shouldn’t be always bothering me for rides.
Evelyn held Romany, who wouldn’t stand still, while Margaret mounted and altered her stirrups. Then Evelyn said, “Just ride her down to the end of the field and back; no farther, because I don’t want her spoilt.” Several rude replies occurred to Margaret, but she didn’t make them, because she wanted the ride, however short. Instead, she turned Romany, who shot straight off into a canter, increased her pace as she went down the field, swerved round the corner—luckily Margaret had a firm hold of her mane—and galloped back to the gate, flat out, stopping dead with a bounce at the last moment.
“She’s lovely,” said Margaret. “Awfully fast. Do you want a try, Jim?”
“No, thank you,” said James.
“You’re afraid,” said Margaret accusingly.
“I’m not,” said James, going red in the face.
“Why won’t you have a ride, then?” asked Margaret.
“ ’Cause I don’t want one,” replied James.
“Coward!” said Margaret.
“You shut up,” said James, clen
ching his fists and taking up a threatening attitude.
“Baby!” said Margaret, not in the least intimidated.
“Do leave him alone, Marga,” said Evelyn. “You know he’s nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” shouted James furiously.
“You are,” said Margaret. “You’re a nervous baby, just like Jill Morrisson.”
“All right, then,” said James. “I’ll ride her, just to show you.”
“Go on,” said Margaret, “I bet you daren’t.” Seizing the reins from Evelyn, James scrambled on Romany and gave her an angry kick, which made her tear off even faster than usual, shooting him up her neck. She galloped down the field and swerved round the corner, which unseated him still more. “Pull her up, you idiot,” shouted Evelyn, while Margaret, already repenting her rash dare, shouted, “Whoa, Romany, whoa!” But Romany, frightened by the shouting and James clinging round her neck, started to buck. Minus both stirrups and losing his head as he began to slip sideways, James, too, shouted, “Whoa!” in far from soothing accents. Terrified out of her wits, Romany galloped round the field at full speed, and then, in a last desperate attempt to rid herself of her horrid, clinging burden, she leaped the hedge, which was about four feet high. James fell off, and Romany galloped on, across the little paddock, through the open gate, into the stable yard.
As chance would have it, Dr. Radcliffe, who had returned home early, was walking towards the house, after putting the car away, when he heard shrieks of “Whoa!” and the sound of galloping hoofs. He ran to the paddock gate, and was just in time to see Romany jump the hedge and James fall off. Muttering several words he would not have allowed his children to use, Dr. Radcliffe ran across the field. At the same moment Evelyn and Margaret, who had been rooted to the spot, recovered the use of their legs, and they, too, ran towards James. Evelyn reached him first.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” said James. “I think so, but my arm hurts.”
“Well, get up, then,” said Evelyn, and, seeing her father, she added, “Quick, Doc’s coming. Gosh, there’ll be a row.” James staggered to his feet and stood holding his arm as his father arrived on the scene.
“Are you all right, James?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you,” said James, looking distinctly green.
“What’s the matter with your arm?” asked Dr. Radcliffe anxiously.
“It’s all right,” said James firmly. But his father was not a doctor for nothing. “Let me have a look,” he said, and after a brief examination, “Um! Looks as though you’ve fractured it. We’d better go straight into Gunston and get it X-rayed.”
“No, no,” wailed James. “It’s all right, I tell you. I don’t want a beastly X-ray.”
“Now, don’t be silly,” said Dr. Radcliffe patiently. “X-rays are great fun. Don’t you want to see what your bones look like?”
“No, I don’t,” said James, starting to cry. The Doctor picked him up, carefully avoiding the broken arm, and walked briskly towards the house.
Romany, who was grazing in the little paddock, still wearing her saddle and bridle, tactlessly reminded everyone of the cause of the accident.
“Evelyn,” said Dr. Radcliffe, looking very stern, “I thought I told you that on no account were Margaret and James to ride that pony.”
“You said not until she was quiet,” said Evelyn.
“Which, as you know very well, she most certainly is not,” said Dr. Radcliffe.
“Well, Marga managed her all right,” said Evelyn. “I should think she’s as quiet as she’s ever likely to be. It was Jim’s own fault for shrieking.”
“I didn’t shriek,” protested James weakly. “I only said ‘whoa’ when she wouldn’t stop.”
“You didn’t,” said Evelyn, “you screamed.”
“All right,” said Dr. Radcliffe, “we’ll discuss that later. Margaret, you catch that pony before she breaks her reins; and Evelyn, run indoors and fetch a couple of cushions and a large silk handkerchief from the top right-hand drawer of my tallboy.” Evelyn and Margaret hurried off, and the Doctor handed James over to Mrs. Hunt while he got the car out. Then, with his arm in a sling and Evelyn beside him in case he felt queer or fainted, James was propped up with cushions and the Doctor drove briskly to Gunston.
When Hilary and Roger arrived home, just before tea-time, they were surprised not to find either their sisters or brother about, but, after they had made a few hunting noises, Margaret appeared from the hayloft, where she had obviously been crying, and said that Jim had fractured his arm and Doc. had taken him to hospital. Of course, Roger and Hilary wanted to know how it had happened, and, when Margaret told them, they both said Evelyn must be absolutely half-witted and that there would be a fearful row. They talked about the row for a few minutes until Margaret, who thought they were perfectly beastly to bother about the row Evelyn would get into, when anything might be happening to James, could bear it no longer. “What will they do to him?” she blurted out. “Will they cut it off?”
“Who? Cut what off?” asked Roger in surprise.
“Jim,” she said, bursting into a flood of tears. “Jim’s arm, of course.”
“Good heavens, no,” said Roger. “You said it was a fracture, didn’t you?”
“Yes, that’s what Doc. said,” answered Margaret.
“That’s only a sort of break,” said Hilary. “You didn’t think they’d cut his arm off, did you?”
“He’ll have to have it in plaster for about six weeks,” said Roger, “and then it’ll be O.K. It wasn’t a compound fracture, I suppose?” he added on second thoughts.
“What’s that?” asked Margaret.
“The bones stick out,” said Roger.
“Ugh!” said Margaret. “Jim’s bones didn’t stick out, anyway.”
“It won’t be a very long job, then,” said Roger.
“Oh,” said Margaret, cheering up instantly. “I thought it was much worse than that. Do you think Doc. will be very angry?”
“Livid, I should think,” said Roger, “and I can’t say I blame him. I mean, it was an idiotic thing to do. But I can’t imagine why Jim wanted to ride Romany. It’s not the sort of thing you’d expect from him; he’s always been a bit nervous.”
“But that’s why he did it,” said Margaret. “You see, we told him he was nervous, but he said he wasn’t, and he rode Romany to prove it.”
“I expect you’ve made him a hundred times worse now,” said Hilary. “Probably he’ll never want to mount a pony again. Why on earth couldn’t you leave him alone?”
“Well, he’s so silly and nervous,” said Margaret; “and if we don’t cure him he’ll grow up an awful coward and baby, and he’ll be a simply hopeless sailor.”
“You’re quoting Evelyn,” said Roger, “and she doesn’t know the first thing about it. Just because she has no nerves herself she thinks everyone else is cowardly. But, after all, there’s nothing brave in doing a thing if you’re not frightened. It’s being frightened and still doing the thing that counts.”
“But Jim doesn’t do it,” objected Margaret. “He says, ‘No, thank you,’ and doesn’t do it.”
“He’s been getting much better lately,” said Hilary. “He was growing out of it, as mummy and Doc. always said he would.”
“I expect he’ll be quite hopeless after this,” said Roger gloomily.
As Hilary and Roger had anticipated, there was a row that evening. When James, his arm encased in plaster, had been put to bed, and Mrs. Radcliffe, back from London, had had the whole business explained to her, the Doctor announced that, as Evelyn was obviously unfit to be entrusted with a young pony, Romany was to be returned to Major Holbrooke next day. Evelyn, white to the lips, said that her father couldn’t send Romany back; she wasn’t his pony; he had said that she could have her, and it wasn’t her fault that Jim was such a baby. Dr. Radcliffe said that he had definitely forbidden both Margaret and James to ride Rocket and Romany, and Evelyn had agreed
to this condition before she had the pony. Yet she had been there, and allowed, if not even encouraged, it; though why was entirely beyond his comprehension, as obviously they might easily spoil the pony, and, as far as he could see, she did not benefit at all, unless she derived any pleasure from breaking one of the remarkably few rules her parents had made. James, the Doctor had gone on, was punished, for he would not be able to ride for several weeks, and Romany going back would put an end to all further temptation. Evelyn said that she had only been trying to prevent James growing up a coward; a remark which annoyed the Doctor, who replied that he and her mother were quite capable of bringing up their family without Evelyn’s assistance; and, anyway, he hardly thought it fair on Major Holbrooke to train one’s brother at the expense of his pony. He had, he went on to say, already arranged with Coles of Folly Farm for Romany to be turned out there until the Major, to whom he would write that night, came home. Evelyn stormed, argued, and in the end cried, but all in vain. The Doctor stood firm, and when Roger and Hilary, who thought the punishment much too hard, joined in the argument, they were told to mind their own business. Then Margaret pointed out that it was her fault; she had called James a coward and dared him to ride Romany, not Evelyn. But the Doctor, though agreeing that Margaret had caused the broken arm and behaved in an extremely foolish, thoughtless, and even dangerous way, since James might easily have had a worse accident, said that this was no excuse for Evelyn. She had allowed a childish squabble to persuade her to disobey her parents’ most definite instructions, and had thus proved herself unfit to be in charge of a young pony. Romany, he had ended, was to be taken to Folly Farm next morning, and as he saw no reason why Margaret should go unscathed, she was not to ride again for the rest of the Christmas holidays.
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