Darcey Bussell Favourite Ballet Stories

by Favourite Ballet Stories (retail) (epub)

  I daren’t switch on the electric light for fear someone saw it and began asking questions, so I had to saddle up Arab by the light of my flash lamp. It was much harder than you’d think, but I managed it at last, and led the pony out into the stable yard. I went on leading him, so as to make as little noise as possible. I don’t think I need have worried, really – the mist muffled his hooves as effectively as a blanket.

  When we reached the long drive, I thought the mist didn’t seem to be quite so thick, the reason for which I learned later on. At last I judged it safe to mount, and I did so, my rucksack bulging to bursting-point on my back. It was quite dark, though it was only half past eight and shouldn’t have been for a long time yet, but this, I supposed, was owing to the mist.

  As I reached the lodge gates, I wondered what Sebastian was doing – we hadn’t seen him since the morning. And then, just as I drew level with the cottage, a voice said: ‘Halt! Your money or your life! This is Daredevil Dick of the roving eye and the ready hand!’

  I gave a gasp.

  ‘Oh, Sebastian! You did give me a shock! I was just thinking about you.’

  ‘Well, in that case I oughtn’t to have given you a shock, ought I?’ he laughed. ‘I was just coming up to the Hall to see what had happened about the mist. I imagined they’d have got you into town ages ago. And by the way, “where are you going to, my pretty maid” at this time of night, if you don’t mind my asking?’

  My thoughts flashed back to a day, more than a year ago now – a morning in July when I’d been perched on the top of this very gate, and Sebastian’s voice had asked almost the same question. I gave the same answer now. I said: ‘I’m running away. I am really! I’m not joking. You see . . .’

  Then out it all came. Aunt June’s visit to Horchester; the mist; my audition. Of course, Sebastian knew all about that.

  ‘So you see,’ I ended, ‘I’ve just got to go – mist or no mist.’

  ‘But, Veronica, you can’t go,’ Sebastian said, his voice sounding anxious and tense. ‘You couldn’t possibly, you know. You’d never get there in time, anyway.’

  ‘Of course I know I can’t catch that train,’ I argued. ‘But there’ll be another one – a mail train or a milk train early in the morning. There are trains to London all the time. There must be one; there must! My audition isn’t till twelve. I might just get there. Anyway, I’m going to have a jolly good try – they say you can do anything if you really make up your mind to it.’ I kicked Arab sharply, and we shot off into the mist. Fortunately the gates had been left open for Aunt June and Perkins. I felt pretty sure Sebastian wouldn’t have opened them for me!

  ‘Veronica!’ came Sebastian’s voice out of the mist. ‘Don’t be an idiot – you don’t know what you’re taking on – honestly you don’t. The mist is nothing here to what it’ll be when you get away from the trees. It’s never so thick where there are trees. There are no buses, you know. This isn’t a market day –’

  ‘You said that a year ago, I remember!’ I said with an excited laugh. ‘Well, I shall ride to Newcastle if necessary. I don’t care! I shall get there somehow. Goodbye!’

  But I had reckoned without the mist. As Sebastian had said, the moment Arab and I left the trees it closed round us like muffling folds of cotton wool. A figure loomed up beside us and caught hold of Arab’s bridle. Sebastian again! I might have known he wouldn’t be so easily shaken off.

  ‘Veronica – you’ve got to stop! I order you to stop!’

  ‘You take your hand away from my bridle, or I’ll – I’ll . . .’ I raised my crop threateningly, though I didn’t really mean to strike him with it.

  Then suddenly Sebastian let go. With a gasp of relief, and not a little of astonishment, I saw him vanish into the mist, and I was once more alone. I say ‘with relief’ but really it was with rather mixed feelings that I saw him go – he seemed to be my last friend in a nightmare world. But I set my teeth and determined not to give in. I must get there somehow, I told myself – mist or no mist. The audition – Sadler’s Wells – my beloved dancing career . . . Thoughts raced round in my head as I urged Arab onwards.

  Strange noises came from all round me. Then I realized that they were only the sounds of the countryside – sounds you don’t notice in broad daylight with the sun shining – a cow coughing, or blowing down its nose on the far side of the hedge; an owl screeching; the metallic whirr of a grouse rising in alarm out of a nearby thicket. It was terribly eerie and queer. My heart began to beat quickly and I wished that Sebastian hadn’t given in like that and gone away. It would have been a comfort to have had his company, even if he had argued all the time.

  Then, out of the mist, came a familiar sound behind me – the sound of a horse trotting.

  A thrill of fright went through me. I was being pursued! I thought of all the people Sebastian might have told about me running away. His father, Uncle Adrian; then I remembered Sebastian saying that he was away. Uncle John – but he’d rung up to say he’d be staying in town for the night, as he always did if there was a mist. Trixie – she certainly couldn’t ride on horseback. Pilks, Dickson. Neither could they – certainly not in a mist like this! It could only be Sebastian himself. Perhaps he thought he had more chance of stopping me when he was mounted. Well, he’d see! I drew in to the side of the road and waited for the rider to come up with me – I knew by the way he was trotting that I hadn’t the ghost of a chance of escaping by speed, not being able to do more than a very slow walk myself.

  That you, Veronica?’ came Sebastian’s voice after a few minutes. ‘I thought you couldn’t have got far.’

  ‘If you think you’re going to stop me . . .’ I began desperately. ‘If you think –’

  ‘Stop being melodramatic, my dear cousin-sort-of,’ said Sebastian in his usual bantering tones, ‘and let’s get going! We’ll have to step on the gas – and how! – if you mean to catch your milk train – if there is a milk train.’

  ‘You don’t mean that you’re coming with me?’ I said with a thrill of joy and hope.

  ‘I certainly do mean it,’ said Sebastian. ‘Nothing else to be done as far as I can see – or rather I should say feel. More accurate! I always know when I’m beaten, and I could tell by the sound of your voice just now that nothing short of prison bars would stop you from venturing into the wild. Well, as I haven’t any prison bars handy, the only thing to do is to come along with you myself and see you don’t exceed the speed limit! I said to myself: “The girl’s quite determined – obvious she can’t go by herself. Get lost for one thing; take the wrong turning; get run over most likely. Anyway, certainly wouldn’t get anywhere – not in this mist, being a Cockney brat.” So I had to do the Boy Scout stunt. Can’t let a fellow artiste down, if you see what I mean. This is my good deed for today!’

  ‘Sebastian, you’re a brick!’ I said, trying not to burst out crying for joy and relief. ‘As you say, “let’s get going”.’

  To be caught in a mist at night on a moorland road in Northumberland doesn’t sound so dreadful, but you try it! I was quite hardened to the London fogs when you could only see a few inches in front of your nose, but in London you were at least among other people. There were lighted shops on all sides to cheer you, even if you could only see them dimly, as if through smoked glass. There were kindly policemen at crossings and corners, doing all they could to help you; there was noise, and bustle, and the friendly Underground where you could nearly forget about the fog outside. But here, on this lonely road, with the unseen hills wrapped in cloud all around you, the silence was intense. The only sounds that broke it were the occasional prattle of a moorland stream as it tumbled over its stony bed, or the plaintive cry of a peewit or a curlew.

  The moorland road was unfenced and at first I’d been terrified for fear my pony strayed off the path on to the endless open moor that stretched away on every side. But I found that Sebastian knew exactly what to do about that – he just let Warrior have his head and Warrior kept to the road all right.
He hadn’t been born and bred on the Northumbrian moors for nothing! I found that Arab was just as wise. Our only worry was knowing which way to go when we came to a fork, or a crossroads. Fortunately Sebastian had brought his torch, which saved the situation. Although several times he had to climb the signposts to get near enough to flash the light on to the names, we did at least know we were going in the right direction.

  ‘It’s a good thing you brought that torch, Sebastian,’ I said, after one of our many stops. ‘I had one too, but I left it in the stable. I never thought of bringing it with me.’

  ‘No, I rather guessed you wouldn’t,’ said Sebastian with laughter in his voice. ‘All you would think of bringing would be a pair of ballet shoes and some tights! Not much use for a night out in the mist!’

  I blushed guiltily in the dark, when I remembered how carefully I had packed Madame’s precious shoes into my rucksack, not bothering to bring a brush and comb, or even a nightie! Sebastian came perilously near the truth!

  ‘I wonder what they thought when they found I’d gone?’ I said suddenly. ‘Trixie, and Caroline, and all of them. Oh, Sebastian – I quite forgot to leave a note to explain! How dreadful of me! Do you think they’ll be awfully worried?’

  ‘Oh, no – shouldn’t think so,’ said Sebastian. ‘I expect they’ll say: “Oh, well – that’s the end of her”, shut the door and go to bed. “No need to worry; people disappear every day.”’ Then I think he sensed how upset I really was at what I had done – or rather what I had not done, for his teasing tone changed and he said seriously: ‘It’s OK, Veronica! I left a letter to my father telling him what had happened. He’ll get it when he comes back from the village. I think he’ll agree that it was the only thing to do – sensible chap, my father! By the way –’ He stopped suddenly.

  ‘Yes – what?’

  ‘Well, you remember when we were discussing our Matric results the other day?’

  ‘Yes, what about it?’

  ‘Well, you remember when Fiona said something about me needing to do well because of my career. She said: “You’ll have to be pretty clever if you’re going to be a barrister.” And I said: “Yes – if I’m going to be a barrister.”’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I remember.’

  ‘The fact is,’ went on Sebastian, the excitement in his voice making it wobble a little, ‘the fact is, Veronica, it’s definitely fixed, and I’m not going in for Law. I had it out with my father the other day, and I’m going to make Music my career. You’re the very first person to know.’

  ‘Oh, Sebastian, I’m so glad!’ I exclaimed. ‘I know what it’s like to want to do something most awfully and have everyone against you.’

  ‘When all came to all,’ continued Sebastian, ‘Father said he’d half suspected the truth. He said that no one could remain totally oblivious of the fact that my heart was in the piano, judging by the number of hours I spend sitting at it! I have practised rather a lot these hols,’ he added apologetically. ‘In fact I’ve done nothing else – except ride with you lot now and then. Well, my father agreed that it was no earthly good my taking up Law as a profession if my heart was set on other things, so I’m to try for a scholarship to the Royal College of Music next year. He really was most awfully decent about it – he’s an understanding chap is my father. If I get the scholarship I’m coming to London to study, so you’ll be able to come to the Albert Hall with me, and I’ll go to Covent Garden with you, what!’

  After this there was silence between us for a long time. We were each far too deep in our own thoughts to talk. It was a good thing our thoughts were blissful, because the outlook was anything but cheerful. ‘Outlook’ is quite the wrong word, really, because we couldn’t see anything at all now – not even the ditches at the sides of the road. If it hadn’t been for the wonderful sixth sense of our ponies we’d have been blundering into them at every step. The mist seemed to get thicker and thicker, and we got colder and colder.

  ‘This is the top of the road over Cushat’s Crag, you know,’ said Sebastian, breaking the long silence. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if the mist isn’t at its worst here. It usually is. If the mist is rolling off the hills, as it is tonight, and not rising off the low ground – well, you’re right in the middle of the clouds up here. When we get over the top and go down the other side it may thin out a bit.’

  ‘How many miles have we come?’ I asked. ‘We seem to have been riding for hours and hours.’

  ‘About ten miles,’ said Sebastian. Then he flashed his torch on to his wristwatch. ‘It’s half past eleven, so it’s taken us two hours. We have another twenty miles to go to get to Newcastle. When we get on to the Military Road that runs along the Roman Wall, we might come across a garage. There’s one at the crossroads – at least I think it’s a garage, but it may only be a filling station. We might knock them up and get a taxi – at least we might if the mist lifts a bit. I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t turn out in this, no matter what we offered them. We’ll have to get a lift somehow, you know, and hang the expense! You won’t be fit for anything tomorrow after this.’

  ‘Oh, yes I shall,’ I said, trying to stop my teeth chattering. ‘B-ballet dancers are pretty t-tough.’

  ‘Hello! What’s this?’ exclaimed Sebastian, reining in Warrior. ‘Golly! A covered-in bus stop. What a find! Let’s stop here and rest the ponies for a bit, shall we?’

  We tethered the ponies to an iron railing that stretched away into the mist on either side of the tiny shelter, and sank down thankfully on the hard wooden seat inside. Once more Sebastian flashed on his torch, and I saw by its light that he had swung round his rucksack and was taking something out of it – a Thermos flask and a packet of sandwiches.

  ‘I told you once before that I always carry my own canteen about with me, didn’t I?’ he said. ‘Brainwave, what! It was a good thing Bella had just made the coffee and stood it on the stove to keep hot. I’d like to have been there when she found it gone. She wouldn’t even be able to blame the cat – not with hot coffee! I’m afraid I made a bad job of the sandwiches. Hadn’t much time, you see, and I couldn’t find anything to go in them, except cheese.’

  ‘It tastes like caviare!’ I laughed. ‘I mean, just as wonderful.’

  ‘I hope not!’ Sebastian said solemnly. ‘Personally I loathe caviare. Filthy stuff!’

  ‘Oh, I love it,’ I said. ‘Jonathan always had it when he sold a picture and threw a party!’

  ‘It’s a good thing we don’t all like the same things,’ pronounced Sebastian. ‘I’ll have the ice-cream, and you can have the caviare.’

  ‘Oh, but I like ice-cream, too!’

  ‘Well, what don’t you like?’

  I thought long and deeply. Finally I said: ‘Tripe.’

  ‘Don’t like it either,’ laughed Sebastian. ‘So what?’

  ‘Deadlock, I’m afraid,’ I said. ‘I seem to be frightfully easy to please. I like simply everything. Oh, no – I’ve just thought of something I simply loathe – caraway seeds!’

  ‘Love ‘em!’ declared Sebastian. ‘So the situation is saved at the eleventh hour. You can have my caviare, and I’ll have your caraway seeds!’

  We stayed quite a long time in the shelter so as to give the ponies a good rest – and ourselves too. When at last we decided it was time to move, it was twelve o’clock.

  ‘The witching hour!’ exclaimed Sebastian as we rode off. ‘Now is the time for hobgoblins, witches, earthbound spirits, and every sort of uncanny thing to be abroad!’

  ‘Ugh!’ I said. ‘Don’t! You make me feel creepy! The mist is uncanny enough – without your ghostly et ceteras!’

  For ages and ages we rode onwards, and the silence between us grew longer as we grew more and more weary. Arab was beginning to stumble and Warrior’s trot had lost its springy sound. We walked the ponies quite a lot of the time.

  ‘I wonder where we are now?’ I said, with a sigh of utter weariness. ‘It seems hours and hours since we left that bus stop.’

 
‘It is,’ answered Sebastian. ‘Two, anyway . . . Gosh! D’you see what’s happened? The mist is thinning. I can see that signpost clearly. We’re coming to the crossroads I told you about. Now for our garage!’

  But alas! The garage proved to be a mere filling station as Sebastian had feared. It was as black and dead-looking as the dodo.

  ‘The chappie probably lives miles away,’ Sebastian said. ‘It’s no use our trying to ferret him out, because we don’t know in which direction the nearest village is. Of course we might go back and try Simonburn –’

  ‘Oh, let’s not,’ I said. ‘Simonburn is the other way to Newcastle, isn’t it? I don’t want to go back – I want to go on!’

  We went on. We passed an AA box, with a telephone inside, but alas! it was no use to us as we hadn’t a key.

  ‘A friend of mine lives somewhere about here,’ said Sebastian after a bit. ‘Or rather his father does. His name is Dillon – Jack Dillon – and they have a farm hereabouts. Ah, I thought so! Here it is – Hunter’s Copse.’ He stopped in the middle of the road and flashed his torch so that I could read the name on the gate.

  ‘Look out!’ I yelled. ‘There’s something coming!’ It was a car, judging by the two pale lights gleaming through the fog. To my surprise Sebastian flung himself off Warrior’s back, and leapt into the middle of the road, waving his arms wildly and yelling at the top of his voice.

  ‘Stop! Stop! Hi – wait a minute!’

  Fortunately the driver had good eyesight and was going at a snail’s pace. He stopped at once, let down the window of the car and yelled back: ‘What’s that? You in any trouble?’

  ‘You’ve said it!’ yelled back Sebastian. ‘Half a mo’ and we’ll tell you about it. You can help us a lot if you will. Filthy night, isn’t it?’

  ‘Filthy?’ said the man in the car. ‘I could find a better name for it than that! Are you two youngsters alone?’