7
Wider Repercussions
“The shooting practice is cancelled,” announced Sarah Rooke in a dreary voice when she telephoned Alice on Monday morning. “David’s dreadfully angry and, anyway, there are no pistols.”
“Oh dear, did he give the Robertses a very rough time when they told him?” asked Alice.
“They didn’t tell him. And the worst of it was that Lesley and I thought they had permission to borrow the pistols. So, when my mother rang him, hopping mad that he’d given permission, he blew up completely. They’re still hardly on speaking terms, but it wasn’t our fault, we couldn’t know.”
“What a mess,” said Alice sadly.
“Yes, it’s not going to do the pony club much good. David’s still in a really nasty mood. He’s told the police, but it’s awkward because we were breaking the law too. Though it wasn’t our fault—I mean, we all understood Mr Fuller would be in charge.”
“How’s Bowie?” asked Alice.
“Making a fuss. We kept him in the stable last night and this morning all his legs were like bolsters; the vet says he’s to stay out in the field. Stupid pony causing all this trouble.”
Then Hanif rang Alice. “I expect you’ve heard the latest bad news from Sarah. My parents think we should ride over and apologize without any more delay. The Wheelers want us all to meet at their place at lunchtime and decide what we’re going to say. James, Seb and Tina agree, so I suppose we had better go too.”
“Yes, O.K.,” Alice agreed. “What time do we start?”
“About twelve. We don’t know if the Rookes are coming, they say none of it’s their fault. No one’s dared to phone the Robertses.”
They were all in very sombre mood when they met at the Old Rectory.
“We’ve left our ponies in the field so that you lot can have the looseboxes,” Netti explained.
“James and I have spent half the morning trying to write a letter in case David’s too angry to listen to what we want to say, but Lizzie and Rupert say it’s no good,” Seb complained, his wide mouth downturned, his brown eyes more mournful than ever.
“Was your father very angry about your pistol?” asked Alice.
“Not too bad. He came home in a good mood and was really quite restrained for him. He thinks we may be able to claim on the insurance. If we can’t, it will be fifty quid gone down the drain. He said I was a prize fool and why hadn’t I let the rest of you chase Bowie while I put the pistols away. But the thing that upset him most was that I’d let you all think he would be in charge. He said I hadn’t made it plain why I wanted him to stay at home. He telephoned David to apologize last night, but it was after Mrs Rooke’s fatal call, so he got a very frosty reception.”
“Rubbing salt into the wound,” remarked Rupert in a melancholy voice.
“Go on, Seb, you must tell them what David said,” directed James.
“He said that ‘unfortunately there had been wider repercussions, that the Woodbury Pony Club’s reputation was mud with both the police and the public, and the pistols had been used to inflict cruelty and injure animals’—something like that.”
Alice and Hanif looked at each other despairingly. “It gets worse and worse.”
“Yes, they obviously rode round the villages shooting up old ladies’ cats,” said Rupert, “and we’re getting the blame because we left the wretched pistols lying around.”
“Oh blast …” said Seb despondently. “If only I had thought and not rushed after Bowie. If only I’d told Dad he had to stay.”
They all ate their lunches in the stableyard, sitting on upturned buckets. They had almost finished when the Rookes appeared.
“My mother wouldn’t let us ride over, she says we’re not fit to be in charge of valuable ponies,” explained Lesley, “but Julia Cartwright offered us a lift. She dropped us at the lane and she’s gone up to see David.”
“She’s mad. He’s still in a vile mood and it won’t do any good if he’s made up his mind to resign,” said Sarah.
“If he does resign it’ll be the end of the Woodbury,” Lesley told her. “Mummy says they’ll never get anyone else.”
“Well, the world won’t end and perhaps we could get a sub-branch of the Cranford Vale going instead,” said Sarah, trying to sound unconcerned.
“David’s not really going to resign?” The other pony club members looked at the Rookes aghast.
“We don’t know, my mother says he’s in an impossible mood.” Lesley answered. “That’s why Julia’s coming here when she’s seen him; she’s going to advise us on what to do.”
Tina was the next arrival, she looked hot and exhausted having ridden Oliver’s elderly and neglected bicycle uphill all the way from Woodbury. While Lizzie fetched her a glass of orange the others told her the latest bad news.
“If only I hadn’t tied Bowie to that rail, if only I tied him to something solid,” Tina lamented. “I can’t help feeling that it was all my fault.”
“No, it was all our faults,” Alice told her. “We’re all saying, ‘if only I’d thought of the pistols.’”
“Anyway, it was that beastly Berry who got loose first,” Sarah reminded her. “If she hadn’t kicked Bowie none of this would have happened.”
“Don’t go on about it,” pleaded Hanif. “You might as well blame the Cranford Vale for challenging us to a Tetrathlon. We were all idiots; we all forgot the pistols.”
Julia’s battered car stopped outside the gate long before they expected her. She got out slowly and, as they ran to meet her, they saw that her usually cheerful face was grimly serious.
“How did it go?” they asked, crowding round her. “What did David say?”
“He’s not going to resign, is he?”
“Not well,” she answered. “I’m afraid there’s more bad news. Those crazy wretches on the motorbikes took the track across the downs, the one parallel to the Coombe Lentworth road. They upset a lot of people by firing at dogs and birds, but they weren’t very likely to hit anything while bumping along on the bikes. Then, when they reached the stud farm, they stopped and amused themselves by shooting at the foals. Of course, when the owner heard what was going on he was terribly upset, especially as the foals are all by famous sires, Derby winners and so on, and incredibly valuable. He sent for the police, but by the time they got there the horrible yobs had gone. Then, later on, the police told him where the pistols had come from, and you can imagine how livid that made him.”
“Oh no,” moaned Seb, holding his head.
“Unfortunately, Frank Collingwood knows David quite well,” Julia went on, “so he got on the phone and tore him into strips. He’s not a polite man at the best of times so I can imagine what sort of language he used. As far as I can make out, he told David that if he couldn’t control his pony club he wasn’t fit to be a district commissioner, and he was going to report him to headquarters forthwith. You know how people go on when they’re angry and upset; they don’t pull their punches, and the result is that David’s very sore, very sore indeed. Then, this morning, he had a visit from the police and took a lot more stick from them.”
“Oh dear, and it’s all our fault,” said Lizzie sadly.
“Yes,” agreed Julia. “Anyone can make mistakes, but surely you realized that you were breaking the law? If the police do find the motorbike riders, they’ll charge them and the whole mess will have to come out in court.”
Seb groaned. “It was my fault. I was fed up with father for going off like that when I needed him. It’s impossible only having one parent. When James asked me, I said he was around somewhere, that he’d show up soon.”
“It was all of our faults,” said Lizzie. “We ought to have refused to shoot when we found he wasn’t there.”
“Yes, but at the time I forgot about needing a grown-up,” explained Hanif, “Seb had everything so well arranged.”
“So did I,” admitted Alice guiltily. “It went clean out of my head.” The others made agreeing noises.
> “Were any of the foals badly hurt?” asked Tina.
“I don’t think so, but of course being full of pellets is painful and they could cause trouble later.”
“It was Mr Collingwood who caught Bowie,” said Hanif. “He was very disagreeable to us, and Paul said he had a reputation for bawling people out.”
“Yes, he has,” agreed Julia. “And of course he’s quite a figure in the racing world, which is making David extra sensitive.”
“What are we going to do then?” asked Lizzie despondently.
“I honestly don’t know, it’s a real problem,” sighed Julia. “You can’t put things right—I mean it’s all happened and that’s it.”
“My parents think we should all go and apologize,” Hanif told her.
“I don’t think that would do any good at the moment,” said Julia thoughtfully. “I think he’s still too sore to forget and forgive. He seems to be seeing the pony club as one more disaster on top of all his other disasters.”
“My mother thinks we should apologize and start a fund to replace at least one of the pistols,” James told her. “And my father’s willing to take some of us on as fruit pickers, so that we can earn the money ourselves.”
“Yes, that might help,” Julia agreed. “I think David’s one of those people who think actions speak louder than words. I think you’ve got to convince him that you’re really sorry, rather than just say it. You’ve also got to convince him that you really want to do the Tetrathlon. I got the impression that, even before this pistol business, he felt that some of you were decidedly half-hearted about training, and that hurt.”
“So we start a pistol fund,” said James, glad to have something concrete settled.
“And you think we ought to go on training, in spite of everything?” asked Alice doubtfully.
“Yes, I think you’ve got to prove to him that you’re keen enough to slog away at running and swimming. If you do that, keep the ponies fit and work really hard at collecting the money for a new pistol, he might change his mind about you. I can’t think of any other way, but I will go and see him in a couple of days and tell him what you’re doing.”
“Thanks, you’re a real friend,” Netti told her.
“Yes,” the others agreed gratefully.
“I’ll come and pick fruit at your place, James,” offered Rupert.
“Yes, so will I. I can come down on my bike. When do you want us, James?” asked Seb.
“I’ll ask my father and phone you,” answered James.
“We’d better try and find something nearer home,” Hanif told Alice. “I could offer to wash my stepfather’s car.”
“Are you any good at painting?” asked Alice. “I mean the decorating sort of painting, not pictures. Aunt Margaret is trying to find someone to paint the insides of her dog kennels and all the estimates have been very expensive. I could suggest that we do it.”
“I’ve painted jumps,” said Hanif, “and helped my stepfather to creosote a fence. He’s the biggest perfectionist on earth so I’m probably quite good.”
“Can I help too?” asked Tina. “I’m experienced, I painted all the doors in our flat.”
“Yes, great, if Aunt Margaret agrees. I’ll let you both know,” said Alice.
“What about swimming, couldn’t we all meet at Woodbury pool?” asked Tina.
“We could run through Alice’s woods first, they’re quite shady,” suggested Hanif.
“Run from Alice’s, all the way into the town, and jump straight in,” said Rupert.
“In your clothes, I suppose,” sneered Lesley.
“We have to exercise the ponies too,” Hanif reminded them. “If anyone would like to come and have a school over my jumps they’re welcome. They’re only show jumps,” he explained to Seb, “but better than nothing.”
“Hang on, when are we going to fit in the fruit picking?” asked Seb.
“What about now?” asked Julia. “I could spare an hour. What do you think, James? Would your father be willing to take on a whole gang of plum-pickers this afternoon?”
“He might be, I’ll go on ahead and find out,” offered James, running for his bike.
Twelve people picking with almost non-stop industry for an hour, earned twelve pounds. Julia and James picked more than their share, which made up for Rupert and Oliver picking less. Everyone felt much more cheerful at the sight of the pound notes, which Mr Morgan handed over when the plums were weighed and packed into boxes, for the replacement of one of the second-hand pistols was now in sight.
“You’d better look after it, Julia,” said James, passing on the notes. “If any of us have it it’s bound to get lost.”
“I don’t know that I’m all that reliable,” answered Julia, “but I’ll give it to Mrs Rooke. I’m going to drop the Rookes and Tina at their doors, so I’ll deliver it in person.”
They parted outside Four Cross Fruit Farm. Hanif had invited everyone for a school in his field at ten next morning, and Netti had volunteered to telephone the Robertses and tell them about the schooling session, as well as the pistol plan and the running and swimming practice proposed for the afternoon.
“Did the police come to see you last night?” an anxious-looking Lizzie asked the group of riders gathered in the Franklins’ small gravelled yard, a rectangle between the wooden loosebox and tack room and Mr Franklin’s combined garage and workshop.
“Yes,” answered Alice. “Aunt Margaret was horrified, but the policeman was quite nice, he calmed her down a bit.”
“They went to our house to ask for everyone’s addresses while we were at the Old Rectory,” explained Sarah.
“The one who came to see me was very scathing about our lack of observation; he said surely taking the bikes’ registration numbers would have been the first thing that came to mind,” said Hanif.
“The landlord of The Packhorse was the only person who saw them without their helmets,” observed Seb. “But no one got the registration numbers, not even those people walking on the downs.”
“I’ve telephoned the Robertses,” Netti announced, “but I only spoke to Mrs Roberts, who said that Lynne and Paul were outside somewhere. She sounded funny, a bit cagey. I explained about everything and she said she’d put them in the picture, but it didn’t sound as though they’d be coming today.”
“I do hope David’s not being especially horrible to them,” sighed Lizzie.
“It must be tough living right on his doorstep now we’re in disgrace,” agreed Alice.
“Worse than tough,” said Tina with a shudder.
“Could some of you go into the field, please?” asked Hanif. “The yard’s too small to hold all of you and we don’t want anyone kicked.”
“Aunt Margaret said yes to the kennel painting,” Alice told Tina as they led the way into the paddock. “She’s going to buy sandpaper, paint and brushes in Woodbury this morning, but she won’t discuss payment until she sees how expert we are.”
“I’ve put all the jumps at two-feet-six for the small ponies,” said Hanif, who was wearing the harassed look of a hard-pressed organizer. “For the small ponies and inexperienced showjumpers. Then I thought we could raise them to three feet for anyone who wants them at that height, and the first lot could go again. Then three-feet-three and finally three-feet-six, or higher if you like, but no one to jump more than two rounds.”
“Sounds great, I’d like to go at three-feet-six and three-feet-nine, if that’s O.K.,” decided James. “I don’t often get the chance of a school round a set of show jumps.”
“They’re really classy,” agreed Seb in an admiring voice. “How did you get them, Harry?”
“My stepfather made them. He had ambitions to turn me into a top-class showjumping rider, but I was a great disappointment,” Hanif explained with a hint of bitterness.
“But he got over that last holidays,” protested Alice. “He was terribly pleased when you and Jupe turned out to be good at cross-country.”
“Can I go first, I
’m ready,” called Sarah, cantering at the first fence.
“And me second, Harry,” shouted Oliver. “I want a go before Rosie smashes up the jumps.”
“She’d better not,” said Seb in threatening tones.
“I’ll start at the lowest height too,” decided Lesley. “David’s always telling me to make it fun for Stardust.”
Even Rosie managed a clear round at the two-feet-six height, though she jumped the wall from a standstill and made some very wild lurches to get herself in and out of the combination. Lizzie was the only rider who wanted to begin at three feet and, while she was trying to persuade Rajah to fly round fluently instead of slowing up and peering suspiciously at each new fence, Seb asked Tina, “Would you like to take Jigsaw round at this height? He’s quite fit, he can go three times.”
“Oh, I couldn’t. He’s lovely, but too good for me; I might spoil him,” Tina answered, her freckled face flushing scarlet.
“Don’t be wet. He’s dead easy. And you’ve jumped Vulcan and Bowie,” Seb told her impatiently as he dismounted. “Come on, don’t hold things up. He’s dead easy,” he repeated as he helped her pull up the stirrups. “He’s like Tristram, no peculiarities, just point him at the right jump and he’ll do the rest.”
Hobbit ran out when confronted by the heightened combination, but the three other ponies went clear. Rupert was delighted.
“I never thought I’d sail over real show jumps on Rosie,” he told everyone as he patted her enthusiastically. “Did you see her go round the second time? She really whizzed. I think she was enjoying herself and she got her take-off right every time.”
“Stardust went very well too,” Lesley pointed out, “but I don’t suppose you noticed her.”
“A bit faster,” Seb was shouting at Tina, as Jigsaw, surprised by his light and uncertain rider, drifted round the course. “Push him on.”
Pony Club Challenge (Woodbury Pony Club Book 2) Page 12