Six Ponies (16 page)

“Hallo,” said Hilary. “Isn’t that Simon Wentwood’s pony?”

“That’s right,” said Noel. “I was allowed to ride him all through the term, and now the Wentwoods have gone
away for Christmas, which is marvellous, as I shall be able to hunt him on Boxing Day.”

“How lovely,” said Hilary. “But when do they come back? Not before the twenty-ninth, I hope.”

“No, the first of January,” said Noel. “Why?”

“Well, you see, John Manners and all of us are getting up a paper-chase, because we thought it would be so awfully dull these holidays with no rallies or anything, and we wondered whether you would like to come.”

“I should love to,” said Noel, “but what do I have to do? I mean, I’m awfully bad at jumping and all that sort of thing. Shan’t I be an awful nuisance?”

“Oh, no,” said Hilary kindly, but not very tactfully. “Marga and Jim are coming, and you can’t be much worse than them.”

“I should love to, then,” said Noel. “But why aren’t there going to be any Pony Club rallies?”

“Haven’t: you heard about Major Holbrooke’s son?” asked Hilary, and when she found that Noel hadn’t, she went on to explain about the accident and how tiresome it would be having Sir Charles as Acting-Master. Then, after reminding Noel to be at the Priory by ten o’clock on the twenty-ninth, she said they must go, for she hadn’t wrapped up any of the presents she was giving her family.

When they were out of sight Noel put up her course of jumps, which she had to keep stacked in the corner of the field, as they were very untidy, being made out of the most peculiar assortment of objects: two hen-coops made the first jump, a heap of hedge trimmings posed as a brush-fence, the wall was an old door, the in-and-out was built of bales of straw, and the triple bars were supported by petrol cans and kitchen chairs, borrowed from the cottage.

Rusty jumped a clear round with everything, except the in-and-out, at three feet. This was an enormous improvement, due, Noel felt, to Susan’s book, which had proved a mine of information, and, luckily, agreed with Major Holbrooke’s views on all important matters. The author’s main advice on teaching horses to jump was, like the Major’s, to
keep the fences low but wide, and to raise them rarely and a little at a time. This Noel had followed and found successful. She felt very elated as she gave Rusty some carrots and turned him loose, and, as she put her jumps away, she imagined the run of the season on Boxing Day. She was still flying over enormous fences, with only the Master in front of her, when she went indoors to tell her mother about Hilary Radcliffe’s unexpected invitation.

The next few days passed in rather a whirl for most of the Pony Club members. First there was Christmas, which was celebrated in the traditional manner, though Richard refused to hang out his stocking on the grounds “that he wasn’t a kid any more.” On the whole, everyone was delighted with his or her presents, though Noel was very indignant at being given
The School Girl’s Annual
by her godfather, and Dr. Radcliffe complained bitterly as he opened the thirty-nine calendars he had been sent by grateful patients.

On Boxing Day everyone was feeling morning-after-the-night-before-ish, especially Sir Charles Dent and the weather. It poured with rain from six o’clock in the morning until the late afternoon, and the wet, combined with his liver, made Sir Charles even more irritable than usual. He quarrelled with the Huntsman, shouted at the field, lectured the children, and took the hounds home at half-past three after a completely blank day. In spite of this, all the Pony Club members enjoyed themselves, though they were looking forward to hot baths by the time they got home.

Then, two days later, there was the paper-chase. It was wet and misty at half-past seven when Noel opened her bedroom’s tiny window and looked out. Rivulets of water were coursing down the sodden thatch, the gaunt elms in the field across the lane dripped miserably, and the air was damp and raw. She wondered whether the Radcliffes would postpone the paper-chase, but she decided that they were much too tough to be deterred by a little rain. In a way she was sorry, for, now that the time had come, her fear
of doing something silly, or Rusty refusing everything, outweighed her earlier pleasure at the thought of a cross-country ride, especially at the invitation of the Radcliffes. As she dressed, Noel wished she was like them; she wished she was tall, dashing and red-headed, with a complete disregard for what other people thought of her and a knack of making the most obstinate ponies jump. But it’s not a bit of good wishing, she told herself. I’m so terribly feeble, and I’m positive that Hilary despises my riding; but somehow, to-day she resolved, I’ve simply
got
to show them, I must jump everything, and, whatever happens, I’m not going to be last.

A little later Richard went to his modern, hygienic, steel-framed window. “Oh, dash it!” he muttered on seeing the weather. “It would have to rain. I bet they put it off, and I’m dead certain I could have beaten John and those girls, for paper-chases aren’t like races—you’ve got to use your brain a bit. Anyway, I’m sure Peter is faster than Turpin when it comes to a straight gallop.” Still, he reminded himself, one thing is, that I can go back to bed. And, slamming the window, he did.

By nine o’clock it had stopped raining, and by half-past a faint but persevering gleam had appeared in the sky. Roger and Hilary, stuffing haversacks with sawdust, made encouraging noises to it, but Richard cursed it heartily. Besides losing everything in his effort to hurry, he had a furious row with his mother, who suddenly said he was to take Jill with him. In vain he argued that she hadn’t been invited, couldn’t jump high enough, and as he wasn’t going to hang about while Wendy grazed and refused, would certainly get lost. Mrs. Morrisson insisted, and as Richard was already late in starting, he had no choice but to let Jill follow him. Neither of them spoke the whole way to the Priory, where there was also an atmosphere of thinly veiled unpleasantness; for Susan, seeing Evelyn mount Romany, had asked, in slightly shocked tones, if she was going to ride her in the chase.

“Yes, why not?” replied Evelyn, giving her twin a belligerent look.

“I don’t know,” said Susan. “I only thought it wasn’t supposed to be a good thing for young horses to be galloped and raced, but I suppose otherwise you wouldn’t have enough ponies for all of you.”

“Romany isn’t as young as all that,” said Evelyn, “and I haven’t the least intention of letting her become one of those pampered, nurse-maided show ponies; she’s going to be a hunter and gymkhana pony, and she may as well begin learning now. I could have ridden one of Mrs. Maxton’s ponies if I had wanted to,” she went on, “but she would only let me have Woodcock, and he’s so jolly dull and lazy—like most riding-school ponies—I decided that it would do Romany good to have a gallop.”

“I like Woodcock,” said Susan, “and he’s quite a good jumper, you know.”

“Personally, I like a hot pony,” said Evelyn, “not a worn-out riding-school hireling.”

“Woodcock isn’t worn out,” said Susan furiously. “He’s jolly nice, and anyway Mrs. Maxton doesn’t let her horses out for hire.”

“Here’s Richard,” said Roger, glad to see him for once, and wishing Evelyn would keep her mouth shut. “Come on, Hilary, hadn’t we better get going?” Richard rode up, looking very disagreeable, and said to Roger in an angry undertone:

“I’m sorry I’ve brought Jill, but mummy made me, and now she’ll ruin everything, I suppose.”

“That’s all right,” said Roger, though at heart he didn’t think so. “She’s no worse than Marga and Jim, so she can keep with them.” Margaret gave him a furious look and said loudly: “I can jump three feet one and a half inches.” Hilary, who was standing beside her, said:

“Shut up, you little swank,” as quietly as she could. But evidently John heard her, for he grinned and winked, which made Marga angrier than ever.

“You’ll start in a quarter of an hour, then,” said Roger,
deciding to ignore Margaret and mounting Sky Pilot, the black gelding, which Mrs. Radcliffe had given her three eldest children as a Christmas present.

“O.K.,” said John, looking at his watch, “it’s ten past ten now.”

“Cheerio!” said Hilary, mounting Northwind, and the hares rode off down the drive.

The hounds watched them in silence. Noel, who had the “needle,” though she repeatedly told herself that it was ridiculous to have it for a game, racked her brain for something to say. Then she and John both started to speak at once.

“Sorry,” said Noel. “Go on, you started first.”

“I was only going to say that they’d been five minutes,” said John. “What were you going to say?”

“I was only going to ask whether we are hunting in a pack, in pairs, or separately,” said Noel.

“Separately, of course,” said Evelyn firmly. “It’s a race, so if you can get ahead, you do.” There was another silence, then Richard said:

“I presume that if any one gets lost they make their way back here?”

“Either that or ring up,” said Evelyn, “otherwise we shan’t know whether to send out search parties or not.”

“Ten minutes,” said John.

“I’m simply frozen,” said Richard. “My feet are like blocks of ice. Can’t we start?”

“Of course not,” said Evelyn. “We’re supposed to wait a quarter of an hour.”

“Surely a few paltry minutes wouldn’t make much difference,” said Richard.

“ ‘Many a mickle makes a muckle,’ ” quoted Noel absent-mindedly, and then, realising, she blushed with embarrassment. Margaret giggled, and, after another pause, John said:

“Awfully bad luck for Dick getting ’flu, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, his mother said he was fearfully fed up,” said Evelyn.

“Fourteen minutes,” said John, “Are you ready? Go!”

Everyone swept down the drive at a brisk trot, with Margaret in the lead. They passed under the grey stone arch into the road, and there, on their right, was a thin trickle of sawdust. Evelyn let Romany, who was pulling, trot faster, and took the lead from Margaret. John rammed his bowler hat down and shortened his reins. Susan, mindful of Mrs. Maxton’s warnings, took Beauty on the grass verge; Noel and James followed her. Jill rode up beside Margaret and said:

“Shall we two keep together? Wendy’s much better if she’s with another pony.” Margaret looked at her disdainfully and said:

“I don’t mind as long as you keep up, but I’m not going to wait if you start refusing.” Evelyn flung open the five-barred gate leading into a large stubble field.

“Last through, shut the gate,” she shouted and, giving Romany her head, she galloped flat out beside the now wide line of sawdust. James was last through, but Susan and Noel, who had waited, shut the gate. As they galloped on after the others, Noel found, to her delight, that Rusty was fairly fast for a pony of his size. He held his own with Beauty, who was a couple of inches taller, and together they passed Wendy, Darkie and Pixie, and drew near to Dick Turpin and Peter, who were racing neck and neck. Suddenly John and Richard turned sharply to the left. The trail had turned, but Evelyn, in the lead, had been going too fast to notice. When she saw that the others were no longer following her and realised what had happened, she tugged Romany round and tore after them. Everyone was exhilarated by the gallop. John and Richard urged their ponies even faster in an effort to pass each other. Noel and Susan, galloping side by side, gave themselves entirely to the enjoyment of speed, and the feeling of the wind and the sting of the rain in their faces. James’ pleasure was slightly marred by the unnecessary strain of looking out for rabbit-holes. Margaret, already ahead of Jill, was enjoying herself thoroughly. Occasionally she gave vent to
a hunting cry, partly as an outlet for her excitement, but mainly as an encouragement to Pixie to go faster still and catch up with Susan and Noel. In spite of Jill’s frenzied beating and kicking, Wendy, was dropping farther and farther behind the other ponies, and in a panic Jill saw herself deserted, lost, wandering aimlessly about the fields and, finally, a pathetic skeleton, after the style of the Babes in the Wood. Evelyn’s annoyance at losing her lead by forgetting to watch the trail soon evaporated as she felt Romany’s lengthening strides beneath her and saw the way in which she put every ounce into covering the distance between her and the rest of the ponies. She passed Wendy, flashed by James and Margaret, and inch by inch drew close to Rusty and Beauty. Just as she was level with them, the trail turned. It led along the hedgerow for a little way, and then over a bank and down into the road. They clattered across, and then pulled up to a walk as, with John, Richard and Evelyn in the lead, they followed the wet, yellow trail down the Nut-walk, a steep and narrow lane with a close hedge of nut trees on either side, which overhung so low that you had to lie on your pony’s neck to pass beneath.