It would have been marvellous but for the small, determined figure who came running and pushing through the throng, hotly pursued by another figure in a dark blue dress with black shoes and stockings. Lala Thornapple hurled herself at The Comet’s lowered and dripping head, clutching wildly at him with her crippled, twisted hands. “Genesis!” she cried, “I knew it was you the minute I saw you! I knew it!”
The chief looked at the grey horse, and at me, and at Lala Thornapple, and his chin flew up and down, and the nurse stared at me, appalled. “Tell her it isn’t true,” she pleaded. “Tell her it’s impossible.”
I slipped down from the saddle, ran up the stirrups, unbuckled the surcingle and the girth. I lifted off the saddle and placed it into Nigella’s frozen, stupefied arms. I took the rug from Doreen, standing like a village idiot, with her mouth agape, and threw it over The Comet.
“I think she might be right,” I told them, “I think The Comet is Genesis.”
16
What Do We Do Now?
I stood in front of the selection committee in the secretary’s tent and they all stared at me, their faces registering disbelief, irritation, and disappointment. Outside, a small crowd of competitors and their supporters waited, impatient, watchful and muttering.
“And you actually admit,” a tall, thin woman with greying hair said in a perplexed voice, “that you substituted the grey horse for your own, knowing perfectly well that he was an ex-Olympic eventer?”
“My own horse was injured,” I said, “he was knocked down by a car. He won’t be fit to start work again for three months, and The Comet was the only other horse available. If I hadn’t decided to come on him, I would have had to resign from the scholarship, but I didn’t want to do that; I really needed to win a place,” I added despondently. “I really wanted to. We all did.” I thought of Legend with his leg inflated like a balloon, of the Fanes waiting dejectedly outside, and even of Nick, who had done his best, but who would quite possibly never want to speak to me again.
“But you did know,” another BHS type said, his eyes incredulous, “that the horse you entered as The Comet was, in fact, not The Comet at all, but Genesis?”
“I didn’t know for sure,” I said, “I only suspected. I’d seen the photographs in the book, and in Lala Thornapple’s house, but I didn’t know absolutely, not for certain, not until after the dressage. I’d guessed by then; I’m not very experienced you see, I haven’t been properly trained in advanced riding, and I knew he couldn’t have performed a test like that unless he was a very brilliant, exceptional horse.”
“And the owners?” the tall, thin woman said. “Did the previous owners know? Did they tell you?”
“The previous owners hadn’t a clue,” I said. “To them he was just an old grey horse who jumped like a stag, but had a reputation for being a bolter; he didn’t look like an Olympic champion, there was nothing about him to suggest it. He was always very reserved, a secretive sort of horse …”
The selection committee looked perplexed by this, but then they didn’t know the grey horse other than by his glorious past.
“And you didn’t think to mention your ... suspicions to anyone?”
“No,” I said. “I wasn’t sure anyway, until yesterday, and even if I had tried to tell anyone they would only have laughed. As The Comet, Genesis had a bad reputation locally. He was well known as a bolter; a dangerous horse. They wouldn’t have believed it, nobody would.”
Felix Hissey leaned across the trestle table. For once he wasn’t beaming and his round eyes were worried. “What about young Forster, Miss Would-Be-Event-Rider?” he asked. “Did you tell him?”
I had expected this. I couldn’t bear the thought of Nick being implicated in any way. “You must believe me when I tell you that I didn’t say a word to him about it,” I said. “Nick Forster knew nothing.”
Felix Hissey leaned back in his chair, satisfied. “I believe you,” he said. “I know you, Miss Would-Be-Event-Rider, and I know you wouldn’t lie.”
I looked at him gratefully. Nothing about Felix Hissey was a pretence. He was a genuinely nice man.
“You do know,” the chief barked, throwing up his chin and glaring at me as if there was a chance I might deny it, “that the scholarship was intended for potential event horses and riders, potential, not proven?”
“I did know,” I agreed, “it was in the conditions of entry.”
“So you knew you were breaking the rules?”
“It wasn’t quite as straightforward as that,” I objected. “I suspected that I might be, but I couldn’t be sure, and all the time I hoped that I was mistaken.”
“But you weren’t mistaken, Miss Would-Be-Event-Rider, were you?” Felix Hissey said, scratching his round head in an abstracted manner. “You weren’t mistaken at all.”
“The question is,” the tall, thin woman said, “what do we do now?”
The selection committee looked baffled.
“She’ll have to be eliminated from the competition,” the BHS man said eventually, “and she’ll have to be disqualified from the training scholarship. It’s really most unfortunate for all concerned, but there’s no way round it that I can see.”
I was hardly surprised. It was no more than I expected, and probably less than I deserved.
“I think you had better go outside,” the tall, thin woman said, not unkindly, “whilst we talk it over.”
I turned to leave, hating the thought of emerging from the tent in front of all those curious and accusing eyes. But the chief sprang to his feet, ready to direct a strategic manoeuvre. He unlaced a flap in the rear of the tent, stuck out his head to ascertain that the coast was clear, then propelled me through it. “Make a run for it girl!” he rapped. “Can’t have you running the gauntlet; we’ll detail someone to tell your friends.”
I bolted for the horsebox, reflecting that the BHS knew what they were doing when they appointed men like the chief.
“I just don’t know what to say to you, Elaine,” Lala Thornapple said, and her eyes, despite the pink-flushed cheeks, were contrite. “I’ve been to see the selection committee and I've told them that you couldn’t have known for sure that the horse was Genesis. How could you? You had never seen him in your life before, except in a photograph!” She ran her crooked hands through the grey horse’s mane, still crimped from its plaits. “Why, who would have thought that he would have still been going strong after all this time? But then,” she added fondly, “he always was the most amazing horse.”
“Why did you part with him?” Nigella wanted to know. “How could you have sold him, loving him as much as you did?”
“I didn’t,” Lala Thornapple said. “I went into hospital for an operation on my hands. It was unsuccessful, and the surgeon told my husband that I would never regain the use of them. He didn’t want me to ride again after that, knowing that I would never be fully in control, especially on a horse like Genesis. He sold them all before I came home; I expect he thought he was acting for the best.”
We fell silent, imagining Lala Thornapple coming home to an empty stable yard; finding all her beloved horses gone. No wonder she hadn’t been able to accept it; no wonder she had been forced to pretend.
“I tried to trace them afterwards,” she said, “but it was hopeless. Most of them went abroad, as they often do, top class horses like mine; the English can’t afford them. The money was well invested; it keeps me in comfort now, I suppose. My husband died soon afterwards.”
“And The Comet just got sold on,” I said, “getting more and more of a reputation as he went.”
“He always was a very strong horse,” Lala Thornapple said, “but I can imagine that if anyone took him hunting or anything like that, there would be no holding him; and once it got to be a habit, well, you know what horses are …”
“And we bought him,” Henrietta said in wonder. “But we never guessed; we never knew.”
“And Elaine got him in lieu of wages,” Nigella said. “It’s a
lmost unbelievably ironical that she should end up with an ex-international eventer, without even realizing it.”
“And for him to end up wearing his own saddle,” I said, “that’s the most unbelievable thing of all!”
“I want to ask you, Elaine, my dear,” Lala Thornapple said, “if you would consider selling Genesis back to me. It would make me so happy; he could have his old stable back, and no horse in the world would be better cared for.”
I knew this was true. I had known that Lala Thornapple was going to ask, so I was prepared for it. The nurse and I had discussed it previously and she had assured me that it would be the best thing possible for Lala Thornapple to have the real Genesis in the stables. I had thought carefully about The Comet and his future. I knew we couldn’t use him as a hireling any more, he had caused too many accidents in the past, and anyway, he deserved better than that. Today had also shown me that he was too old now for hard work, his heart and his gallant spirit were willing, but his legs were hot and puffy under his support bandages. Yet now the time had come to part with him, I loved him too much to let him go, and the fact that I knew he would walk away without a backward glance only made it harder to bear.
“I’ll lend him to you,” I said, “I don’t want to sell him to you because …” I tailed off, not liking to finish, not wanting to say because you won’t live for ever, and what will become of the old grey horse then, left alone in the empty stable yard.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Lala Thornapple said, “you think I’ll die and he’ll be sold again. Well,” she sighed, and made a small gesture of resignation with her gnarled hands, “I’ll die, I suppose, but if you agree to part with him, I’ll make a will leaving him to you, together with enough money to keep him in comfort until the end of his days.” She looked at me, and her eyes were round and anxious. “How would that be?”
I looked at the nurse in gratitude, knowing that this had been her doing. “I think that would be very satisfactory,” I said.
“Welcome, Welcome!” cried Felix Hissey. “Welcome to this final prize-giving ceremony! Welcome to you all!”
We stood at the foot of the raised platform, waiting to hear the results. Nobody had either confirmed or denied that I had been disqualified from both the competition and the scholarship, but I knew that I must have been. Knowingly or unknowingly, I had broken the rules, and that seemed all there was to it.
“The results of the two-day event are as follows,” Felix Hissey beamed down at me in what appeared to be an encouraging manner. My heart lifted slightly, then plummeted. “In first place with seventy-seven penalty points, Mrs Zara Gibbons’ Flame Thrower, ridden by Selena Gibbons!”
A delighted cheer went up from the crowd. One or two people nearby turned to stare at me curiously; they knew that something had gone wrong, but they didn’t know what.
“In second place,” Felix Hissey announced, “Harvest Moon, ridden and owned by Timothy Whate! Another cheer went up. I wondered if I could creep away without attracting too much attention, but decided that I couldn’t. The Fanes and Doreen stood stoutly by my side; if they could stand it, then so could I. "In third place,” Felix Hissey continued, “Edwin Drood, owned and ridden by Mary Ann Maddox! In fourth place, Mrs Greta Shannon’s Brown Paper Parcel, ridden by Davina Shannon! And fifth, Master Facey Romford, owned and ridden by Philip Hastings! Finally,” he cried, slapping his hands in a joyous manner, “in sixth place, Fox Me, owned and ridden by Amanda Willis!”
I joined in the general applause, feeling desolate. I hadn’t expected to have been allowed to win; my own sense of fair play told me that it wouldn’t have been proper. But I still felt bitterly disappointed and ashamed, not only for myself but for the Fanes, and perhaps most of all for The Comet, for the last event he would ever compete in, for a glorious career ended in dishonour, and all of it my fault. It was for The Comet that I could have wept.
"And now!” cried Felix Hissey, puffing out his chest grandly, “I have the most enormous pleasure in being able to announce to you, the names of the successful candidates in the Hissey Training Scholarship for potential event riders!”
There was a flutter of anticipation amongst the crowd. Felix Hissey beamed. The chief appeared with a list of names which Felix Hissey took from him with a courtly little bow.
“Scholarships have been awarded to the following,” Felix Hissey announced. “Selena Gibbons and Flame Thrower, Mary Ann Maddox and Edwin Drood, Philip Hastings and Master Facey Romford, Amanda Willis and Fox Me, Vivian Tintoft and Balthazar, and Alice Merryman and The Talisman.”
Roars of approval greeted this announcement. The Fanes and I turned to leave. None of us could take any more. But Felix Hissey was holding up his hands for silence and the cheering died away.
“There is one more successful candidate,” he informed us, “And although the Hissey Training Scholarship provides for only six successful candidates and six have therefore been awarded; by a unanimous vote, and through some entirely exceptional circumstances, we have decided to award an extra scholarship this year.” Felix Hissey paused and drew a deep breath. “That scholarship, for displaying outstanding potential and admirable determination in the face of difficult and quite extraordinary circumstances, goes to Elaine Elliot and Another Legend, owned by the Honourable Nigella and Henrietta Fane.”
The applause was simply deafening.
Sometime during the haze that followed, Lala Thornapple’s nurse slipped an envelope into my anorak pocket. It contained a cheque for two and a half thousand pounds. With it was a short note.
Please don’t refuse it (it said).
Quentin Thornapple got a King’s
Ransome for Genesis when he sold
him, and it’s still only a fraction
of his worth. Put it towards your
training; finding Genesis again has
made an old lady very happy.
I handed the cheque to Henrietta. A year ago she had raised the money to buy Legend by selling the only valuable thing she possessed. Now I could repay her.
“Why are you giving it to me?” she wanted to know. “I thought we had agreed that The Comet was your horse; it’s your money, not mine.” She tried to give it back.
“No, no,” I said, “it’s for you. It’s the money for Legend, repaid with interest.”
Henrietta stared down at the cheque in silence. She didn’t look at all pleased.
“But we’ve enjoyed owning an eventer,” Nigella said. “We don’t want to be paid back. We would rather put the money into the Training Fund.”
“There’s to be no more Training Fund,” I said, “and no more fund raising. Now that I’ve paid you back for Legend and got a scholarship, I ought to be able to make it alone.” I was trying not to be emotional.
I knew there was no future in being sponsored by the Fanes any more, but it hurt, more than I would have believed possible, to have to say it.
There was a silence in the horsebox apart from The Comet, eating his hay.
“Are you leaving us, Elaine,” Nigella wondered, “is that what you are trying to say?”
Now that she had asked, I couldn’t deny it. “I’d like to stay while Legend is recovering, and you will need help for the hunting season,” I said. “The scholarship training doesn’t begin until the spring. I would like to stay until then, if you’ll have me.” It sounded awful, as if I was only staying because I hadn’t anywhere better to go.
“Stay as long as you like,” Henrietta said, “and leave when you like. I don’t suppose we’ll care, one way or another.” Despite the matter-of-fact tone of her voice, I knew she was hurt. She would have died though, rather than have shown it. She turned away and stuffed the cheque into her pocket. In the year and a half that I had known her she had been irritating and difficult, she had been suspicious of me and sometimes bad-tempered, but she had never blamed me for Legend’s accident. Although he represented all of her worldly wealth, and she knew, as I knew, that it had been my fault, she ha
d never said a word.
“Well, I rather think,” Nigella said sadly, “that we’ll all care very much indeed.”
Doreen came leaping into the horsebox, eating one of Felix Hissey’s free currant buns. “Nick Forster’s waiting for you, Elaine,” she informed me. “I told him I didn’t know how long you’d be, but he said he’d wait all the same.”
I led The Comet down the ramp. He was to spend another night in the manor stables. It would have placed too much additional strain on his weary limbs to have expected him to travel home the same day.
Nick and I made our way slowly across the sheep-nibbled turf. The stiff, grey horse walked between us. From the ramp of the horsebox the Fanes watched his progress. None of us quite knew what was going to happen next.
A Hoof in the Door (Eventing Trilogy Book 2) Page 12