How did Rachel get a key? I wondered. How did she answer the telephone when we had locked up on leaving? I ate bread and cheese and drank a mug of tea. I found the emptiness of the cottage soothing. I’m not going to give up, not yet anyway, I thought. I imagined Phantom returning, his box ready for him, Killarney neighing.
If only it could happen.
I walked through the village and knelt in the small, grey church which I had entered only once before, and asked God to give me back Phantom. It was very quiet in the church. No one answered, but no one laughed either. There were cobwebs in a corner and one of the stained-glass windows was cracked. When I reached the cottage again it was half-past twelve and the telephone was ringing. For a moment I was afraid to pick it up, then I put out a hand and, holding the receiver to my ear; said, “Hello?”
The call was from a call-box and, while whoever it was pushed coins into the coin box, I imagined Mum and Angus broken down on the motorway or Dad standing at one of the telephones at Heathrow saying, “I’ve arrived.”
But in the end it was a strange male voice which asked, “Have you lost a horse?”
Suddenly my voice seemed to have gone and I could only whisper, “Yes.”
“He’s up on Hell’s Hill above the Devil’s Churchyard,” the voice told me. “He’s been there several days by the look of it.”
“What does he look like?” I asked.
“The same as the one I’ve seen you riding.”
“I don’t know who you are,” I said.
“It doesn’t matter. Can you get there? Have you got any transport?”
“No, but I can use my bike. I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” I replied. “Will you wait?”
“Will do,” the voice answered.
The back tyre on my bike needed pumping up.
I found the map and saw that the Devil’s Churchyard was nearly five miles away.
I almost rang up Dominic for help but decided that we had bothered him enough already, and now I was glad I had not gone to Heathrow. I thought that God had answered my prayer as I fetched Phantom’s bridle, and, mounting my bike, I thanked him silently in my thoughts.
The lane was hot and dusty, the main road hotter still. I rode fast, pedalling like a maniac. I’ll phone home, I thought, when I’ve got him. There’s sure to be a call-box and won’t Angus and Mum be surprised! I started to sing. Lorries hooted at me and a man opened a truck window to joke, “Do you want a lift? Hang on the back!” I shook my head and laughed.
There was a long, steep hill with woods in the distance, yellow and emerald. My legs ached, my head pounded. I stood on my pedals. I’ll leave my bike when I get to the Devil’s Churchyard, I thought, and we can pick it up later in the car. I’ll ride Phantom home bareback. I just hope he’s all right.
Cars passed me, throwing dust into my eyes, and at times the sun was blinding. But the woods beckoned me on, even though for ages they seemed to grow no nearer.
The Devil’s Churchyard was a gloomy place. There were no graves, but maybe the dark yews which grew there gave the place its name. Or maybe there was a macabre story connected with it.
I threw my bike down and hung Phantom’s bridle round my neck. A bird wheeled in the sky. Sheep grazed, penned in by old-fashioned hurdles. There was a smell of thyme. I felt the place had not changed in a thousand years.
As I climbed the hill I could see the distant Thames dotted with boats, and a railway line with a long train winding along it like a snake; and from distant chimneys there was smoke in the sky hovering as though undecided which way to go. Insects were everywhere – bumblebees and ants, wild bees and butterflies all leading their own intricate lives. The ground was dry and the sparse grass wiry.
I was wearing jeans and my favourite checked shirt. Sweat ran off my face and my legs ached. But soon I could see a cluster of buildings, then a horse – unmistakably Phantom – tied to a fence. I began to run, stumbling over ant-hills, my heart pounding louder than ever, and in my mind I was seeing my triumphant return home – Killarney neighing, Mum, Dad and Angus, perhaps even Rachel, laughing with joy.
Phantom’s bit banged against my chest as I ran. Wild flowers twisted themselves round my jodhpur boots and I kept saying, “Thank you God, thank you.”
Then, having no breath left, I slowed to a walk and the hum of insects was suddenly deafening in the silence. I could see the buildings properly now: an old, disused yard with nettles growing where once animals had stood; a cottage with smashed windows, red bricked, unused and unwanted, like a disreputable vagrant; no electricity wires. All the remains of a rougher time …
I stopped to call to Phantom, and as he raised his head and whinnied, I could see that his sides were run up and that his mane was tangled with parts of it missing. There were weals on his quarters which could only have been caused by whips, and his dear face was black with flies. His quarters had hollows in them which had not been there before, but at least he was alive! And he knew me. Life came into his eyes; he pawed the earth and waited, whinnying, his eyes pleading for help, while mine were suddenly full of tears: half joy, half pity.
I shouted again, “Phantom, just a minute. I’m nearly with you, wait for me, Phantom!” I hardly knew what I was saying, so intense was my feeling of joy. I fetched oats from my pockets and held out my hand.
It was then I saw a horse box parked in the yard and men emerging from the buildings. Not one but three.
My spine started to tingle and my whole body to shake, for they were all strangers with stocking masks on their faces, and one of them carried a gun … They fanned out around me as though I was their quarry while I shouted, “I’ve only come for Phantom. Leave me alone, please leave me alone.”
Although I could not see their faces, the way they moved was enough to tell me that they were dangerous – just the sort of strange men I had been warned against time and time again. Quickly I looked round for help, but only the insects were there and Phantom, and the men were closing in. I ran straight to Phantom yelling, “Help me, Phantom, help me!”
He was tied by a strong rope hooked over a post. I lifted it and sprang forward. A few years back I had been considered for the Prince Philip Team and a girl called Alison had taught me to vault onto my pony, Mermaid, at full gallop. Now Phantom was galloping and I shouted, “Wait for me, Phantom,” and then with one terrific leap I was on his back, clinging to his mane and urging him on, my knees tight against his sweaty sides.
A motorbike started up behind me, and below me lay the road winding into the distance. We leaped an ant-hill, then swerved to avoid a rabbit-hole. Phantom was out of control. He was fleeing and I was fleeing with him. I don’t think either of us knew where we were going.
Now the motorbike was roaring behind us, trying to cut us off from the open gateway below. We were going faster than I’ve ever ridden before, with fear giving strength to Phantom, whose hoofs hardly seemed to touch the ground, while his tangled mane lay damp against his neck and his neat ears were flat against his head.
I thought that when we reached the gate I would be safe. I thought that the long, straight road below would welcome us and we would find cars and people who would help us. But as I looked I saw a Mercedes draw up across the entrance, and it rang a bell in my mind which went on ringing. A man stepped out from the car and put binoculars to his eyes, while I screamed, “Help! Please help!” As I drew near, I made out the figure of Mr Winter and I started to wave and shriek, “Help me, Mr Winter, I’m being pursued. Please help.”
He stood in the field and said, “Oh, it’s Jean, is it? Just jump off and I’ll take care of you, dear.” He smiled a smile which stayed on his lips and never reached his eyes.
“I’m not leaving Phantom,” I answered, while the man on the motorbike drew alongside, sweat running down his neck from beneath his mask. He nodded at Mr Winter, and suddenly I remembered things Rachel had said and which I had not believed at the time, but which were now pieces of a puzzle that slotted into place.
The man on the motorbike dismounted and took off his helmet. He was quite young and his hair was dark and curly, while his hands were large and red – butcher’s hands, I thought.
“Did you hear what I said, Jean? Get off. Phantom can find his own way home,” commanded Mr Winter in a voice which was used to being obeyed. He was no longer smiling; rather his eyes seemed to have grown smaller, his beard larger, his accent more foreign.
Meanwhile, poor Phantom stood with his head hanging low and his sides going in and out like bellows.
“Stop pussyfooting. Pull her off, Sid,” David Winter said. “Go on, put the bike down.”
I turned Phantom round then and, leaning forward to grab the top of the headcollar, I pounded him with my legs while I heard David Winter shout, “Shoot the damned horse if necessary! I don’t want her to get away … Do you hear, Sid? She’s not to get away. Kill the horse if you like, but get the girl …”
I knew the other men were waiting for me by the old buildings and I knew that one of them had a gun. The motorbike was revving up now, leaping into action, hurtling over the rough ground and gaining on us. I knew that it would not tire like Phantom, that it could go for hours without a break. There’s no hope now, I thought.
I wondered why I had not left a note – just the words: I’m going to the Devil’s Churchyard to fetch Phantom. Jean. Just that might have saved me. But I had left nothing, not the smallest hint of where I was going. It is on such small things life depends! Not mine alone, but Phantom’s, too.
A man by the building raised his gun and fired, which made Phantom flee faster, while I lay low on his neck, saying all the prayers I knew, which are few, but in a way they were answered, for now I realised that the wood was our only salvation. I turned Phantom with difficulty and at the same time heard the motorbike revving again and someone yelling, “She’s making for the woods. Cut her off, Sid!”
Then we were racing neck and neck straight for the dark woods, for the trees which had stood there for hundreds of years and whatever lay beyond. The motorbike leaped over the anthills which were everywhere, its exhaust filling the air with fumes, its roaring engine drowning all other sound, even Phantom’s breathing which was growing laboured while, panic stricken, I could feel the pounding of his heart.
Once the motorbike swerved in front of us but Phantom swerved faster, then we were in the woods. Branches tore at my shirt and pulled my hat from my head. Twigs stung my eyes, and we could still hear the motorbike close behind, while the sky was blue above us still. I knew that the wood would not last for ever, that soon we would reach the other side and maybe a fence against which we could be cornered like rabbits, taken prisoner for what purpose I had no idea and did not have time to contemplate, for now all my thoughts and strength were needed to stay on Phantom; to save myself from being swept off him by branches and to save my knees from being smashed by tree-trunks. To save us both, somehow.
We came to a wire fence and beyond were fields sloping gently to the river, but there was no way round the fence, no open gate, no wide, inviting track. I let Phantom walk along it, my heart hammering, my eyes seeking a way through and, all the time, the sound of the motorbike was growing louder, its fumes overpowering the smell of trees and earth. Sweat ran down my face in a torrent, while my legs felt limp and my eyes were full of bits of tree, my hands scratched and bleeding.
My parents would be home by now – they had to be, I decided. They would be out looking for me, standing in the road most likely. Wondering. Ringing Dominic. No one would know where I had gone. I had been told a thousand times never to go out alone without leaving a message to say where I had gone. I could not forgive myself for forgetting.
There was the sound of voices which meant that the other men were catching up with the motorcyclist. Another minute and they could be firing at Phantom, aiming for his legs or even aiming to kill. I pushed Phantom on with my legs. Ahead of me I could see nothing but conifers: thick, dark-green and almost impenetrable. Behind me were my pursuers. Their voices sounded cheerful now, while my heart was sinking. I was filled with an appalling feeling of helplessness. Then I saw the stile. It was narrow, with two steps and made of roughly-hewn wood. I turned Phantom towards it, trying to collect him between my legs, crying, “It’s our last hope Phantom. You must jump it. If you don’t, we’re finished …”
Then I was riding him forward, holding his mane in my hands, and he almost stopped. Then we were over and galloping on. Now fields lay below us to the river, and just before the river was a house and a yard – the sort of yard you dream about, with loose boxes in a rectangle, grass in the centre and five-barred gates leading into railed paddocks.
There were people like tiny dots down by the river. I recognised the yard, but between us there lay a cross-country course with a variety of fences I had never jumped before. All the gates were padlocked. I knew the yard was my last hope, for now I could hear the voices coming out of the wood. The sun had moved and it now shone straight into our eyes. There were sheep in the first field, which scattered at our approach. Sheared, tidy sheep without lambs. Tall trees along the banks of the river cast shadows on the water.
I galloped on, listening for the roar of the motorbike behind, recalling the Carruthers family who owned the yard ahead of me. They were ardent Pony Clubbers: every Pony Club cup had one of their names on it. They were rich, too, and I was about to jump their cross-country course. There was a shout and I looked back and saw that the men were heaving the motorbike over the stile and that one of them still had a gun.
Suddenly my legs were turning to jelly and I was riding as I had never ridden before, down the hill towards a brush fence as high as Phantom’s ears … I tried to collect him, but he was too much on his forehand and he was very tired. I had never known him so tired before. Without impulsion or much spirit, he was no longer the fiery Phantom whom I loved. I seemed to be holding him together with my legs and my hands on the head collar-rope, and I had the feeling that if I let go he would simply fall apart.
There were three fields to cross before I reached the safety of the yard so I was praying again as we approached the brush fence which looked so neat and civilised. I was praying that Phantom could jump it and carry me on down to the safety of the yard. I could hear the motorbike starting up and the sound sent a cold feeling of fear down my spine. I held on to Phantom’s mane and drove my knees into his sides. Then we were over and galloping on, and by now the people on the river were no longer dots in the distance but real men, women and children. I knew that the motorbike could not jump the brush fence and that the gates were padlocked. Leaning down, I patted Phantom saying, “We’re almost safe, Phantom, just carry me a little further.”
Then I could hear the voices on the river, and saw a figure sitting on a stool, fishing. Then we reached the next fence which was high and wide and complicated. I did not know how to take it – whether it was one or two fences – and my head was pounding again and my heart racing.
But I could not stop Phantom. He was in control, galloping full speed, his weight far forward, his breath coming in gasps, and all my strength seemed to have gone. I grabbed the top of the head collar and shouted, “Whoa, Phantom, steady … Whoa,” but all to no avail. Suddenly I knew with awful certainty that we could not clear the fence. I tried to turn him sideways. I pulled so far that the head collar went over his eye so that he could not see on that side, and then it came off altogether. There was nothing I could do now but hold on to his mane and pray.
Suddenly, I saw that it was two fences and I shut my eyes in terror. Some moments are long in one’s memory, some short. This one cannot have been more than a few seconds, but it seemed to last for ever … A dozen images flashed across my mind – the men scooping me up while Phantom lay with his neck broken; my parents searching for me; Angus exclaiming, “Why didn’t she leave a message? Is she mad?” The men in masks carrying me to a car, the smell of the chloroform. Sparrow Cottage without me or Phantom, my empty bedroom.
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Then we hit the fence, stars flashed and wood splintered before my eyes; voices shouted in the distance. I felt Phantom keeling over, and threw myself sideways before I hit the earth with a terrific thud, which seemed to reverberate through my entire body; then I was crying, “My back! Oh, my back!” trying to move and feeling sick. Phantom was struggling to his feet, the voices were coming nearer and I did not know whether they were friend or foe …
9
I stood up slowly, the landscape spinning before my eyes. The house below lay slumbering in the sun. The voices belonged to the people on the river. The men in masks had gone. “Are you all right, love?” asked a man who put his arm round me to help me up. He was strong and middle-aged and wore a yachting cap.
“Yes, it’s just my back.”
“Do you want an ambulance?”
I shook my head saying “I’ve got to get my horse.”
Someone said, “She’s a game one!” and someone else, “She needs a doctor.”
My back was still hurting and through the pain I said, “I have to go to the house down below. I know the people there. I must send for the police.”
“Someone’s doing that just now. We saw them chasing you. Don’t you worry, love. Why don’t you rest?”
But I could not rest, not with Phantom gone, and all that had happened. At this moment I was certain I had to go on to the end.
“I’m going down the hill to the house.” My legs moved and every step hurt less. The middle-aged man came with me while the others went back to the river. I could not see Phantom any more.
“Why were they after you?”
“I don’t know. One of them was supposed to be a friend.”
“Some friend. Where are your parents?”
“On their way back from Heathrow.”
“You’ll have to have an X-ray. I’m not sure you should be walking at all,” said the man.
Phantom Horse 6: Phantom Horse Wait for Me Page 8