Phantom Horse 3: Phantom Horse Disappears

by Christine Pullein-Thompson

  “It isn’t fair. I had to help Fiona make beds.”

  “I made mine.”

  “She remade it.”

  “She’s a grand girl,” said Donnie O’Reagan.

  Phantom was warm and dry. He nuzzled my pockets and licked my hand. “I’ll take him out,” I said. “Otherwise he’ll go mad staying in all the time. He jumps out of fields,” I explained. “I don’t think your walls will keep him in if he has the mind to go.”

  Angus was tacking up Peppermint with an ancient saddle which needed a blanket under it. The snaffle bit was thin and twisted and there was a running martingale as well.

  Donnie O’Reagan fetched Phantom’s tack from the saddleroom. “It nearly went back with Mr O’Brien,” he said. “It was lucky I saw it. He’s a grand little horse though.”

  “He came from America.”

  “Did he now?” replied Mr O’Reagan, who started to tell us of his relatives on the other side of the Atlantic. “They’ve done well, very well, for themselves,” he said. “They’re rich men now.”

  Angus mounted Peppermint while Donnie O’Reagan held his stirrup. “Keep to the path now,” he told us. “There’s bogs in the hills and it is easy enough to be lost.”

  “Isn’t this marvellous?” I asked Angus as we rode away from the stables. “We are really in Ireland, Phantom’s arrived, and we are actually riding.”

  “What did you expect to happen?” asked Angus. “I thought we came here to ride.”

  “Yes, I know. But it still seems fantastic,” I answered, looking at the hills which had seen so much and changed so little in a thousand years.

  “I’m going to gather rocks and stones and there’s marble in these hills, too,” Angus said. “And I’m going to explore the attic.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake mind your own business. There might be anything in there.”

  “Such as …?”

  “Stolen property,” I answered.

  “Exactly,” replied Angus in a cool voice. “Or something even worse.”

  “Do shut up,” I said. “I want to enjoy my holiday.”

  “It was you who said stolen property,” replied my brother.

  “I didn’t mean to. Do you like Peppermint? He’s got a lovely long stride, longer than Phantom’s. And I love his odd-coloured hoofs.”

  “Yes,” replied Angus, starting to trot. “And he knows these hills, which may be useful, for it must be easy to get lost if a fog comes down.”

  Phantom danced along. His hoofs hardly seemed to touch the ground. His head was high, his ears pricked. “He must have hated the trailer journey,” I said.

  “Fiona knows what goes on in the attic,” my brother suddenly remarked. “You can see it in her face. She’s sly, terribly sly. That’s why she doesn’t want us to know her properly. She’s afraid of what we might find out.”

  “How can you be so awful when she’s going to be a nun?” I answered. “Come on, let’s canter.”

  There were curlews, the smell of damp peaty earth and the sun suddenly warm on our backs. I wanted the morning to last for ever, but already there were clouds gathering on the horizon and I had a sense of approaching doom as we turned homewards. Phantom stretched his neck and tried to outwalk Peppermint, and my brother hardly spoke.

  After a time I could bear his silence no longer. “There must be some perfectly simple explanation,” I said. “Perhaps Donnie O’Reagan keeps his oats in the attic and was fetching some.”

  “At midnight? Anyway, we would have seen him.”

  “He might have sent someone else.”

  “Who? Honestly, you’re pathetic.”

  “And you’re obsessed!” I snapped, pushing Phantom into a trot. “You want to discover something awful so that you can have your name in the newspaper. You just want to see something cheap and sensational like: english boy solves irish crime. That’s the sort of headline you’re after. And you’re spoiling our holiday. Look at the view. It’s fantastic, but you haven’t even noticed it because all you can think of is noises in the attic …”

  I was cantering away from him now with the wind in my face touched by the first drops of rain. “I love it here,” I cried. “I want to be happy. I want to get on with Fiona, to be friends; but you’re spoiling everything.”

  5

  In the afternoon Cousin Mary packed a picnic and took us to see a lake. The clouds had cleared; the water reflected wooded hills and the pebbly shore was completely deserted. Angus collected specimens of rock.

  “I am going to read geology at university,” he explained. “And then get a job in Australia. I don’t want to stay in England, it’s too overcrowded. In fifty years there won’t be any proper country left.”

  “There will still be country in Eire,” Cousin Mary replied. “What do you plan to do when you’re grown up, Jean?”

  “School horses,” I replied. “Break and make, and deal a bit too. I may teach riding as well. I shall have to start in a small way though, because I haven’t any capital.”

  I looked at Fiona and imagined her dressed as a nun, walking in a rose garden behind a high wall, saying her rosary. It was impossible to tell what she was thinking. Her face was like a shuttered window – I couldn’t tell what went on inside. I longed to wrench open the shutters, to know what really lay beyond.

  The midges had started biting and a haze lay over the lake. We packed up the picnic things.

  “It’s a beautiful place,” I said. “I would like to live here with a boat and catch my own fish for supper, and ride and never have a car.”

  We climbed into Cousin Mary’s car and I had a strange feeling that we were buying time, that this peace wouldn’t last and that soon, quite soon Angus would discover something and the storm would break.

  The road was almost empty. Cousin Mary gave an old lady a lift to the next town. When she got out she blessed us all repeatedly. “God bless you,” she cried. “And your children. God be with you always, my dear. Thank you, and God bless you all; may you grow up strong and healthy.”

  We could see the house now, grey in the distance, and the tower on the hill beyond.

  “It’s been a lovely day,” I said. “I really do love it here. I’m so glad we came.” A man in a suit cycled slowly along the road and everywhere the turf-cutters were going home.

  “We will go somewhere else tomorrow, but the day after I have to go to Dublin with Fiona,” said Cousin Mary. “She has to have new clothes for school next term, and she has no summer dresses. She will be needing some shoes as well. And I want to get my hair done. It will be rather dull for you two. You will be following us round, bored to death no doubt.”

  I could feel my brother’s mind working so that before he spoke I knew already what he would say. “Can we stay behind? We’ll be very sensible. After all, I am fifteen.”

  “Well, Mrs O’Flattery will be coming in the morning. She could leave you some lunch. I’ll think about it,” replied Cousin Mary.

  I could feel my brother’s excitement growing as he sat beside me in the car. I knew he was imagining himself in the attic – discovering what? Starting what chain of reaction? I was afraid he would begin something we couldn’t stop. I looked at the darkly-dressed figures going home along the quiet road. Outwardly they were friendly enough, but what did they think about as they walked or cycled? And what about the youths racing past us now in a donkey cart? The signposts were in Gaelic, but the English words underneath had been painted out.

  “Do you know Irish?” I asked Cousin Mary.

  “You mean the Gaelic?” she asked and shook her head. “But Fiona’s learning it. You have to have it nowadays if you want to go into the Civil Service or be a nurse. They won’t take you otherwise.”

  She was talking more like us. It was as though she had lapsed back into her old English ways because we were there.

  “I should like to learn some Gaelic,” I said. “Then I might understand the signposts.”

  “Fiona will teach you,” replied Cousin
Mary. “Won’t you, dear?”

  Fiona nodded noncommittally. Now we were home and the dogs met us with joyous faces.

  “I must see Phantom!” I cried. “He gets bored if he’s in all day.”

  He was looking out of his window, golden and unreal, like a magic horse; something which would appear today from nowhere and be gone tomorrow. I talked to him for a long time and then Donnie O’Reagan came. He was a small man with greying hair who moved very quietly, though he talked enough. We compared the price of hay and sets of shoes, and he told me again of his relations across the sea. There seemed all the time in the world just then.

  “So they’ll be going to Dublin,” he said presently, nodding towards the big house.

  “Yes, but Angus and I are staying. We’re not keen on towns and it’s so lovely here. I don’t want to miss a minute of it.”

  Donnie O’Reagan looked pleased. He patted me on the back and said that I was a “right good lass”, and we started to talk about schooling horses and how to teach a horse to jump banks. Over everything hung the wonderful smells of horse, saddle soap and new-mown hay.

  At last Angus called, “Supper! Hurry up. Everybody’s waiting.”

  I patted Phantom and said goodbye to Donnie O’Reagan and felt bewitched by the peace of Ireland, so that suddenly I wanted to stay for ever.

  Supper was soon eaten and after we had done the washing-up Angus followed me into my bedroom.

  “I’ve found the key to the attic,” he whispered, shutting my door. “It was hanging up in the cupboard under the stairs.” He held out a key with a label on it. “Read it!” he said triumphantly.

  “I don’t want to,” I replied. “We were asked to stay out of the attic by our hosts. I think it’s bad manners to go in.”

  “You are afraid of what you may find. I’ll go alone, if you like, then you won’t upset anyone.”

  “Supposing we fall through the floor?” I asked next.

  “We will be extra careful,” replied my brother. I saw that his eyes were lit up with excitement.

  “I hope we don’t find anything,” I said, and Angus smiled because he knew now that I was going with him.

  “I’ll wake you up about midnight,” he said. “Put trainers on. We won’t need a torch.”

  He slipped out of my room while I stood looking at the hills, wondering where Mum was at this moment and whether she was missing us. I could hear a donkey braying and from somewhere the sound of running water. In the distance a thin, grey streak of smoke floated up into the night sky. Below me, the garden was nothing but weeds; now in the approaching darkness it had a strange wild magic of its own. I washed and changed and climbed into bed, wondering what the night held for us, and whether everything would be the same in the morning.

  Gradually the lights went out all over the house. I lay thinking about Phantom, making plans for him, imagining the future. There seemed so much to look forward to: our parents coming home; hunter trials in the autumn; Twilight growing; Angus having a new horse. Outside the moon had risen. I had left my shutters open and there was a moonbeam across the old Persian carpet which covered my bedroom floor. I shall school Phantom tomorrow, I decided, and look for something to jump – the stone walls shouldn’t be too difficult.

  It seemed but a moment later when I awoke to find Angus standing over me. “It’s midnight,” he said.

  I clambered out of bed and looked for my trainers. I felt peevish and ready to quarrel over the least thing.

  “I bet there’s nothing there,” I muttered. “And if there is, it’s none of our business. Why must you meddle?”

  But Angus ignored my grumbling. “Don’t make a noise,” he whispered, opening my bedroom door. “I hope the stairs won’t creak.”

  The moon lit up the passage. Everything seemed unreal. My heart had started to pound against my ribs in an idiotic fashion, and I would have done anything to be back in bed fast asleep. But Angus had one foot on the stairs and he turned to give me an absurd, reckless, impish grin. To him it was just an escapade – nothing more. The stairs did creak; there was nothing we could do about it. I felt inexplicably cold. Angus fitted the key in the lock and turned it. He pushed the door open and for a moment we could see nothing; then Angus found the light switch and stepped inside. I followed him without speaking. There were cobwebs everywhere, a broken armchair and boxes.

  “It’s just a store room,” I said. “Nothing to worry about.”

  But already Angus was bending over a box. “Mind the floor,” he said. “There’s a hole over there.”

  There were rafters, an old fireplace and small windows which looked towards the hills.

  “Let’s go,” I suggested, shivering. “We shouldn’t be here anyway.”

  “I could do with a penknife,” replied Angus. “Something to get this lid open.” He was completely absorbed in opening one of the boxes. I found a nail on the floor and gave it to him.

  “What’s the use of that, you idiot?” he snapped. “A screwdriver would be better.”

  And then I saw just that lying beside one of the boxes. I gave it to Angus and watched him lever one of the boxes open. Even then I didn’t visualise how dangerous our mission was.

  I saw Angus’s shoulders give a twitch of excitement. He straightened his back and held up something which glinted faintly beneath the light. “Ammunition,” he said.

  “Ammunition?” I repeated stupidly.

  “There’s a door down to the yard, and steps. See if it’s locked,” said Angus. “It’s through the next room, and be careful of the floor.”

  “Ammunition isn’t any good without guns,” I said, getting out of the armchair. There were several floorboards missing and a pile of long boxes in the next room. I found the door and tried the handle. It was locked.

  When I returned to the other room Fiona was standing in the doorway. Her dark hair hung limply round her face, which was completely white. She was trembling, while her eyes took everything in. Angus had finished putting the lid back on the box. He straightened up and smiled. “You must be a light sleeper,” he said. “Do come in.”

  Fiona stared at us. “You’re fools,” she said slowly. “Why couldn’t you leave things as they were? Why did you come up here?”

  I looked at Angus. “Because I suspected something,” he answered. “Who does this belong to, by the way? It’s a pretty dangerous lot, I should think, in certain hands.”

  “Mother doesn’t know, truly she doesn’t,” replied Fiona. “She wouldn’t understand. All this belongs to my father. He is in the gun business.”

  “Gun-running, you mean?” exclaimed Angus.

  “Now please come out,” said Fiona. She spoke with great pathos. I had the feeling that we were beginning to meet the real Fiona at last.

  “You must mention this to no one,” she said, locking the door. “Mother must never know.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say. I knew nothing of gun-running.

  “You must not speak about it,” continued Fiona in a dramatic voice. “You will stay silent.” She doesn’t know Angus! I thought.

  He said, “Yes, ma’am,” but there was laughter behind the words which Fiona, in her distraught state, wholly missed.

  “I trust you,” she said. “If you say anything it will hurt my mother too, truly it will.”

  “Is it for shooting rabbits?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she agreed quickly. “And you will say nothing.” I nodded slowly, longing suddenly for the warmth and safety of bed.

  “Goodnight …”

  We parted in the passage, my mind in a whirl. I wished that we had never ventured into the attic. I cursed myself for failing to stop Angus. I thought of all the things I might have done – I could have snatched the key and thrown it into the weeds below my window. I could have threatened to waken Cousin Mary if he had put so much as a foot on the stairs to the attic. Instead I had gone with him and so became guilty too. There will be a scandal, I thought, kicking off my trainers and
climbing into bed. We will be turned out and have nowhere to go. And I saw the three of us, Angus, Phantom and myself, living rough among the hills.

  I could not sleep. Gradually the first signs of dawn came – streaks of light on the dark cloth of the sky. And as the streaks grew wider and the cocks began to crow I imagined us camping amid the gorse, catching fish in the deserted lake, living a Robinson Crusoe existence which suddenly seemed quite pleasant. Then at last, I slept.

  6

  Rain was pattering on my window when I woke up again. I could hear children talking in the distance on their way to school. I dressed quickly and ran downstairs.

  Breakfast awaited me in an empty dining room. There was a note propped up against my plate which read: Gone fishing. Angus. What for, I wondered? There was a letter from Dad, newly-made toast and a pot of tea with a tea cosy over it. Obviously everyone else had eaten and departed. I wasn’t sorry since I had no wish to meet Fiona that morning.

  I buttered my toast and opened my letter. It was short. He hoped that we were behaving ourselves, helping Cousin Mary and being friends with Fiona. Mum had been ill, but was much better now. They might be home in a week as negotiations were moving fast now. He sent love and wondered why I hadn’t written. I felt guilty when I put down the letter, for we had hardly helped Cousin Mary at all and Fiona was no doubt hating me this morning. The rain had stopped, so after I had washed up my plate and knife I hurried down to the stable to see Phantom. On the way I caught a glimpse of Fiona picking gooseberries behind a wall. I will write to Dad tonight and tell him about the ammunition, I decided. He will know exactly what we should do.

  Phantom whinnied when he heard my footsteps on the roughly-paved yard. He had been fed and watered and his stall had been mucked out. I couldn’t see Donnie O’Reagan but Mrs O’Reagan opened a window to call, “He’s gone to a sale. He’ll be back by dinnertime.”

  I groomed Phantom until his mane and tail were like spun silk, and put some oil on his hoofs. He was impatient to be out. He stepped on my feet and banged me with his head, and opened his mouth for the bit the moment I put the reins over his head. All the time I was trying to forget last night, hoping in the back of my mind that Angus might see sense and keep his mouth shut. It’s none of our business, I thought for the twentieth time. It’s nothing to do with us.