We wandered round the paddock to see if any of the hedge or fence needed strengthening or mending, and then Robin said he must be getting back, and we bade each other farewell.
I fetched the book I was writing and I sat down under the oak tree and tried to work on it, but somehow, I seemed devoid of inspiration, and my artist hero seemed over-sensitive and small-minded rather than tragic and misused. In fact, the passages I had most admired yesterday seemed melodramatic and over-written today. It was all most disheartening.
I called Magic and took her for a short walk, crossing the fields behind the Lyntons’ house. The land was green and lovely; the cornfields gleamed in the sunlight; the sapphire skies; the high banks bright with flowers; the trees serene and glorious in their spring garb were a feast for the eyes, and I walked slowly admiring all and thinking little.
Returning home, I tried to write, but again without success. I was suddenly tired of my self-pitying artist, impatient with him.
Daddy had got going at last. I could see him writing in the living-room. His dark head bent over sheets of foolscap. Mummy was weeding a border.
If only Leary was fit, I could go for a ride, I thought; and I saw myself plunging deep into the distant woods, which even the Lyntons had never explored.
Sitting in the grass and dreaming unprofitably of the future, I gradually fell asleep – slipping down on to my side with my head tucked against a root, one of the oak’s lifelines.
I wakened suddenly; there were footsteps on the garden path. Mummy was no longer weeding. I could hear voices, the Lyntons’ voices. I sprang to my feet. I saw them coming towards me: Jon, Paulla, Gillian, Donald and Annette. They were in single file; they were smiling rather sheepishly except for Annette who looked cross. I stood rooted to the spot. What did they want? Why had they come? I didn’t want any more to do with them. I met Jon’s gaze squarely and defiantly. Suddenly I felt in a fighting mood. All along they have purposely misunderstood me, I thought angrily. I’ve finished with them, for always, I opened my mouth to say, “Go away.” But Jon spoke first: “We’ve come to apologise,” he said.
I shut my mouth then and waited in silence.
“It’s all been a mistake. You never let Jingle out at all. Jangle knows how to open the gate herself. She lifts the little latch with her teeth. We saw her do it this morning,” Paulla explained.
I was still angry. I had been asleep. I had that muzzy disagreeable feeling one had after sleeping in the afternoon. I felt like saying, “So what?” But instead I said, “I’m glad it wasn’t me.”
“We feel awful, really ghastly about the whole thing. We are most dreadfully sorry we accused you and everything,” said Jon.
I began to feel terribly embarrassed.
“We’ve been beastly,” said Gillian.
“It’s all right,” I muttered ungraciously, with their ten eyes upon me.
“It’s dreadful,” Jon continued. “I’m not surprised you were furious with us and you didn’t come up any more.”
“You said I wasn’t to ride Firelight again and I thought you meant it, and I thought I had left the gate open; and I had flu and then my parents had flue, and then it was all somehow too late. I wasn’t furious,” I tried to explain.
“We didn’t really mean it. Anyway, it was only Annette. Of course, we were upset about Jingle and you didn’t seem to care. You didn’t seem sorry and that cut deep,” said Paulla.
“Anyway, we are all going to say we are sorry in turn,” said Jon. “Come on, Annette first, because she’s the youngest and she was the most rude.”
I felt at a loss for words, as, each in turn, the Lyntons made a little formal speech of apology. I had ceased to think it possible that I might not have left the gate open. It had never occurred to me that ponies could lift latches with their teeth.
“Would you like to see my pony?” I asked at last.
“Love to,” the Lyntons echoed in unison.
“He’s in the paddock. He’s had strangles,” I explained, leading the way.
Anything to change the subject, I thought.
“I don’t believe you realise how sorry we are,” said Gillian in a sad little voice.
“I do. Forget it, please forget it,” I said hurriedly. “I want you to look at Leary.”
“He’s a lovely pony. Gosh, what a shoulder! He’s very, very nice,” said Jon, patting Leary’s neck.
“He’s quite a show pony. Has he won much?” asked Paulla.
I told the story of Leary to the Lyntons, and they listened in subdued silence. It was awful to see them so changed, so apologetic.
“Well, I think he’s a wizard pony,” exclaimed Donald, as I finished.
“And Leary’s a super name,” added Annette.
“From Robert Louis Stevenson, isn’t it?” asked Paulla.
“His legs are as clean as a whistle. What is he – seven?” said Jon, looking in Leary’s mouth.
Presently I showed them the saddle and bridle which they admired very much.
“A lovely deep seat,” said Paulla.
“A nice solid heavy bit,” remarked Jon.
Then Magic showed them her two tricks; she shook hands and fetched a glove. Afterwards we all walked across the paddock and looked at the jump Robin and I had made I saw my parents watching us from the living-room and I wondered what they were thinking.
“If you’ve forgiven us, will you come riding with us on Leary one day?” asked Jon.
The word forgiven made me feel horribly embarrassed again.
“I’d love to. It was my fault, too, in a way. How do you like the lawn Daddy’s laid out?” I gabbled.
“Wizard!” exclaimed Gillian.
“You never lopped the oak then?” said Jon.
“No, we didn’t. I love it as it is. I climb up to the top and look across the hills. It’s super. you ought to try I told them.
“Well, let’s,” said Jon.
The next moment we were climbing up the tree, and I was leading the way. Of course, there wasn’t room for us all and only Jon, Paulla and I got to the very top. They gave exclamations of surprise at the beauty of the view, and it was only much later that I remembered how they had told me in the Christmas holidays that they used to climb the tree when the cottage was empty.
When we had all come down again, Jon said, “By the way, I hope you have not got silly ideas about our father from that wretched Downs boy. He isn’t a murderer. The whole thing was most unfortunate. The man was shot with Father’s revolver and Father had written him a stinking letter the day before. There was lots more besides, but I won’t go into that, and so much beastly publicity, etc, that Daddy thought for the sake of us all it was better to change Ransome to Lynton, which is the name of Mummy’s mother.”
“Robin only said your father had been in prison,” I told them. “I don’t know why he had to associate me with his jeers. Actually, he improves on acquaintance. You upset him, I don’t know how.”
“In the usual downright way common to the Lyntons, I expect. We are not a very tactful family,” said Jon.
“The trouble is that if one is a large family, one is in such a strong position. One never learns how to make or keep friends because one doesn’t’ really need them – or one thinks one doesn’t – because one always has one’s brothers and sisters to fall back on. It’s a great mistake,” said Paulla.
“You, as an only child, had better take us in hand, Lesley. Give a piercing scream whenever we are downright or snubbing,” Jon suggested.
“But you’re not downright,” I cried, remembering my early days with them.
“We are,” contradicted Jon. “Anyway, we must go now. Don’t forget you are going to come riding with us on Leary – that is if you can bear to.”
“Of course, I can – the day after tomorrow,” I said.
“Ten o’clock,” called Jon. “We’ve missed you.”
I stood staring after them as they walked away up the lane, dark heads mingled with fair heads. I
picked up my book. The artist seemed utterly stupid now. I stared up into the sapphire sky; my thoughts jostled together; relief mixed with surprise, anticipation with pleasure, until one fact stood uppermost in my mind: I didn’t leave the gate open.
Then I turned and ran indoors to tell my parents the news.
Chapter Twenty
“You mustn’t throw over Robin now that you’re friends with the Lyntons again,” said Mummy, holding Leary while I fastened the girth.
“No, I’ve thought it all out. I’m going to have Gillian and Robin to tea together and make them friends,” I told her. “Gillian is not like the other Lyntons, she’s more sensitive and nervous. She won’t be irritated by Robin’s desire for cleanliness, and they both play the piano.”
We were getting ready for my first ride on Leary. It was another dazzling day, with azure skies, bright sunlight and all the joy of spring in the soft English air. The weather matched my mood. Life, I told myself, was full of lovely surprises; one should never despair; one should never sink into the slush of self-pity; one should never give up. Only God knew what was coming around the corner. I looked at Magic and I looked at Leary and I looked at Mummy, and I thought; I am one of the luckiest children in the whole wide world.
I mounted Leary and, after thanking Mummy, rode away up the lane. The hedges either side were high and gloriously green. Primroses lined the splendid banks. The fragrance of spring flowers hung on the air, and the birds’ ardent voices were full of rapture.
Leary’s stride was long and sure; his little ears were cocked. Before me stretched a sea of green, subtle in its varying shades; acre upon acre, hill upon hill, reaching to the horizon’s line of blue.
The Lynton’s yard was bathed in sunlight. Mercury shone like burnished gold, Buccaneer like polished ebony. The dogs greeted me as an old friend, and the kitten I had rescued purred round my legs.
Jon and Paulla were mounted and waiting for me. The three of us set out together in the April sunlight – the chorus of the birds still ringing in my ears, above the clatter of our horses’ hoofs. Lambs were playing in the meadows. A dozen yellow ducklings took their first swim in the old green pond in the farmyard. Hens clucked busily around their chicks.
We took a narrow path winding up into the hills. At the top we met a low stile, which we jumped in turn, Leary and I going over last.
“Gosh, he’s certainly got scope!” exclaimed Jon.
“I think he’s a super pony,” added Paulla, gazing at Leary with enthusiastic blue eyes.
We crossed a stretch of woodland and slithered down a steep grassy hill into the valley, where a brown river sang as it rushed over the boulders and the land lay green and lush.
And then we turned quietly for home, remembering that this was Leary’s first ride since he developed strangles.
We came back through the wood where I had chased Jangle so hopelessly only a few days before. The path wound rough and stony through the tall trees – a brown thread running in and out of the grey trunks, of the wild undergrowth, climbing gently upwards to the road where the two ponies had galloped by, where Robin had sat swinging his legs on the old five-barred gate.
And Leary took the lead here, walking with a long easy stride, looking around with interest at his surroundings, full of life and the joy of movement. He felt more wonderful than Firelight, more wonderful than the ponies I had ridden in London, more wonderful than any mount I had ever sat astride.
The sun broke through the leaves’ green tapestry and dappled the brown earth and touched the blackberry bushes with gold; and shone on bit and stirrup. A light breeze fanned our faces and lifted our ponies’ manes. Forgetting the Lyntons I started to sing quietly to Leary and myself. I sang “Oh What A Beautiful Morning” and then “Drink To Me Only With Thine Eyes” and “I’ll Walk Beside You” and “When It’s Spring Time In The Rockies.” Presently the Lyntons joined in and we all sang; and the hills echoed our voices; and the ponies cocked back their ears and listened to us.
We found Annette and Donald waiting for us in the yard.
“Put Leary in a loose box and come and have morning tea,” they told me.
We ate bread and cheese and drank tea or milk in the schoolroom; and Brecon sat on my knee, and even Toots was agreeable.
Jon played Le Fiacre, and then Gillian put on the “Blue Danube,” and, filled with the joy of living, we pushed the old deal table into a corner and waltzed round the room. A moment later I saw Robin standing in the road and I asked whether I could invite him in, pointing out he would make a partner for someone. The Lyntons said all right in reluctant voices; and then Gillian said she would go and presently she came back with Robin and although he refused to dance, in a silly way, he listened to the music and ate chocolates, biscuits and talked politely to Gillian just as I had hoped he would.
Soon the grey grandmother clock struck twelve and we bid each other farewell till the morrow, and I mounted Leary and rode away down the lane.
Mummy and Daddy were waiting for me in the garden.
“How did he go?” they asked.
Of course, I told them how wonderful Leary had been, how well he had jumped the stile, how long his stride was and how nice his temperament. And then daddy grinned like the cat which has swallowed the cream and he said:
“Well, I have some good news for you, for us all. Chattaway has just telephoned. We’ve sold the film rights of Forget Not Thy Cloak; twelve hundred pounds for seven years.
I stood and gaped; it seemed such a lot of money, and Daddy said, “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” And then I gasped, “Oh, how wonderful. Twelve hundred pounds! What will you spend it on? Oh, Daddy, how marvellous.”
I dismounted and Mummy, who is demonstrative sometimes, threw her arms round my neck and kissed me.
“What shall we buy you, darling?” she asked.
I thought and I thought; and I looked at Leary and Magic and decided that I had everything I could possibly want at the moment.
“Perhaps some jumps later on, please,” I told them at last.
“That doesn’t sound terribly exciting,” said Daddy. “but would you like to go to Italy for a fortnight in September?”
I thought of the two weeks’ riding I would miss and then I saw golden sands, a blue sea, vineyards, orange groves and cool white houses with verandas. I saw donkeys and oxen, a whole new world opening before me.
I had never been abroad. I felt the wanderlust which had possessed us all when we walked by the sea on that wild and windy day. I imagined the Bay of Naples – beautiful, supremely blue – and I said: “Yes, Daddy, I’d love to go to Italy with you and Mummy, if we can leave Magic somewhere nice and get the Lyntons to keep an eye on Leary.”
“That doesn’t seem too difficult,” Mummy said.
I led Leary away to the paddock then. I took off his saddle and bridle and watched him rolling in the tender spring grass. He looked tiny, like a little china horse, when he was lying on his back kicking his legs in the air.
I’ll re-write my novel, I thought, and set it in Italy, and the artist will triumph over all in the end. He will marry Marcia, gain recognition and live happily ever after.
Leary was on his feet again now; he came back across the field to me and searched in my pockets for sugar. I found a lump and he took it very gently from my hand.
Beyond the nearby hill a church clock struck the half-hour; its sombre notes broke into the enchantment of the moment; a bird burst into song; a cock crowed; and then Mummy called that lunch was ready.
* * *
[Karen Wee1]
[KW2]
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Riding With The Lyntons Page 14