Six Ponies (26 page)

“How you do fuss, Mummy,” said June. “Of course I’ll remember.” While June schooled Grey Dawn, she grumbled that the pony was too fat and out of condition, and when Mrs. Cresswell told her, in exasperation, that it was her own fault for not riding Dawn regularly, she sulked. She became crosser still when Dawn wouldn’t change legs behind, and said that she was wasting her time trying to
school an ugly, common pony without a drop of blood, and that if Major Holbrooke’s cousin had known the first thing about ponies he would have let Grey Dawn be sold for veal, which was all she was fit for.

Hilary lay on the nursery sofa pretending that she was Mariana in the moated grange, for the sunbeams lay athwart the chamber, and the day was sloping toward his western bower. She had had to stop reading because her eyes felt queer, and, bored by solitude, she wondered impatiently how much longer she would have to wait for the return of her brothers and sisters. It was a beastly shame, she thought, that Rocket’s schooling should be completely upset through her catching ’flu. He had missed seven lessons, three hacks, and now the Pony Club rally. It was true that Roger had offered to lunge him, but one didn’t want to be helped. Selfish though it seemed, one wanted to do all the breaking and schooling entirely oneself. Hilary sat up. Mendel’s
Principles of Heredity
and Jane Austen’s
Emma
slid to the floor with a crash; she threw them on the sofa and staggered across the room, thinking that now she understood what people meant when they said that their legs felt like chewed string. Opening the wide sash window, she listened for the sound of hoofs. At first there was silence, then the purr of the Doctor’s car as he turned up the drive. He stopped beneath the nursery window to shout at her, “Are you half-witted? Hanging out of the window on the coldest day of the year when you’re only just over ’flu.”

“I was watching for the others,” said Hilary, raising her voice to be heard above the noise of the engine.

“They’re just coming,” said the Doctor. “I passed them. For heaven’s sake shut that window.”

“O.K.,” said Hilary. She shut it, and sat on the window seat looking out. Soon Sky Pilot’s head appeared through the archway, and then, some way behind as usual, for he walked too fast for them, came Darkie, Pixie, and Northwind. No one could have four nicer ponies, thought Hilary,
looking down on the two blacks. Sky Pilot, with his crooked blaize, his three white socks, and that maddening little tuft of mane on his withers, sticking up as always; Darkie not such a coal black and unrelieved by any white, but walking faster than Pixie or Northwind, in spite of being the smallest of the three, her large eyes shining with the patience and kindliness that had taught all the Radcliffes to ride. Then there was Pixie, fat, round, and piebald; her black parts shone, but her white ones looked distinctly grubby as, thought Hilary, they always did when Marga groomed her. Northwind brought up the rear. His blue roan coat never shone properly, and he always dawdled, especially at the walk, but he was such a sensible fellow and a marvellous hunter, that his laziness and his repulsive habit of overeating were always forgiven him.

Each of the riders waved and shouted to Hilary when they looked up and saw her at the window. They all felt terribly mean to have spent the day enjoying themselves while she had had to stay drearily indoors.

Margaret was the first person to get her pony settled for the night. She rushed into the nursery and said, “Something awful has happened, but I’m not allowed to tell you till the others come, but it really is the limit and we’re all furious. Oh, I do wish they’d come. They are slow. I’ll go and hurry them up.” And she shot out of the room, leaving Hilary to imagine all the horrible things which could have happened. The ponies had looked all right, so they couldn’t have been kicked or anything like that; but perhaps the Major had said something about Rocket or Romany. At last she heard the sound of voices on the stairs.

Roger was evidently squashing Margaret. “It’s a good thing we’re not all slapdash speed-merchants like you,” he was saying. “At least we have time to see that our ponies have plenty of water.”

“What shall we do?” asked Evelyn, bursting into the room. “Noel Kettering’s got Romany.”

“What?” said Hilary, flabbergasted.

“Yes,” said Roger. “Noel Kettering of all people. It’s perfectly ludicrous. All one can think is that the Major has gone stark, staring mad.”

“Gosh,” said Hilary, “do you mean that he’s given Romany to Noel to school?”

“Apparently,” said Evelyn. “But he must have been drunk or something.”

“I bet she can’t jump as high as I can,” said Margaret. “And look how feeble she used to be—always falling off Topsy.”

“She’ll ruin Romany,” said Evelyn. “She couldn’t control her at all.”

“She was galloping all over the place,” said James. “She nearly knocked Darkie over. I gave her a look.”

“One thing is, that I should imagine that the Major’s regretting it already,” said Roger. “He kept taking Noel aside and explaining things to her.”

“Yes, but it didn’t seem to make much difference,” said Evelyn, “and I’m sure that she’s afraid of Romany. She didn’t jump her over anything but a pole on the ground, and considering that she can clear three feet six, I thought it pretty feeble.”

“I should think that Noel wishes she hadn’t got her,” said Margaret. “She was scarlet in the face the whole rally, and she had her arms pulled out all right.”

“But how do you suppose she got Romany?” asked Hilary. “Do you think she asked the Major if she could have her to school?”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” said Evelyn. “But I didn’t think she was quite so conceited.”

“It’s an absolute insult,” said Roger, “to take a pony from us and give it to a complete beginner like Noel.”

“You should have seen June Cresswell’s face,” said Margaret.

“And she actually had the cheek to ask me if I’d been unable to manage Romany,” said Evelyn indignantly. “I was furious. I gave her a frightfully disdainful look and said, very coldly, ‘I never had the least difficulty in controlling
her, I assure you, or I would certainly have asked for your valuable advice and assistance.’ ”

“You squashed her all right,” said Margaret. “She rode off without a word, didn’t she, Jim?”

“Yes,” said James. “The horrid conceited pig.”

“Grey Dawn didn’t behave too well,” said Roger. “The Major gave June a long lecture. What was it about? Did any one listen? It sounded much too complicated for me.”

“Oh, it was a lot of twaddle about collection,” said Evelyn impatiently. “I could have told him that it was pointless to try to teach the ponies that from the start. It’s such a waste of time when they’ll never be show ponies. Anyway, June’s gone and overdone it, which’ll mean another good pony spoilt through too much theory, I suppose.”

“Wasn’t it funny when Richard fell off?” said Margaret.

“You really have got a frightful sense of humour,” said Roger. “And next year, when you go to Woodbridge, you’ll be much worse; you’ll go into school-girlish hysterics over the games mistress’s figure.”

“I won’t,” said Margaret.

“Actually it was rather funny,” said Evelyn. “Only Roger is much too superior to laugh at anything but the kind of jokes that no one else can see.”

“I’m not,” said Roger. “I’ve got a perfectly normal sense of humour, but if you think falling off is funny I’m sorry for you, and at the next gymkhana you’d better join one of those crowds which scream with laughter every time a horse knocked down a jump and have hysterics when the riders fall off.”

“I didn’t say that falling off was funny,” said Evelyn. “It was this particular toss that Richard took which I thought funny, only you’re so jolly fond of the sound of your own voice that you never listen to what other people say.”

“Do stop arguing,” said Hilary, whose head was beginning to ache. “What happened to Richard, anyway?”

“Evelyn had better tell you; because, as no one ever
listens to her, it’ll be quite a treat,” said Roger sarcastically.

“Oh, shut up,” said Evelyn. “You’re just in a foul temper because the Major told you, quite rightly, that you never use your legs.”

“Well, at least I don’t have to see Noel reschooling my pony,” said Roger. Evelyn seized a stuffed dog belonging to James, which was the first thing she saw, and hurled it at Roger. It hit him in the face, and he threw it back at her. James said that they were hurting Rover, and burst into a flood of tears. Margaret danced about, saying that James was a cry-baby and that Rover’s eyes were falling out. Evelyn and Roger were hurling insults as well as Rover at each other when the Doctor walked in. “Come out of there at once,” he shouted, to be heard above the uproar. “Don’t you realise that Hilary’s only just recovered from ’flu?” The noise stopped abruptly, except for James’ sniffs as he rescued Rover and searched for the missing eye.

“Now clear out of here,” said Dr. Radcliffe. “Mrs. Hunt has rung the gong three times and it serves you right if the tea’s cold.”

Richard’s mind was in a turmoil as he rode home, reliving the disasters of the day. They began on the way over to Folly Court when Rufus cast a shoe, a fact which June had pointed out to everyone on his arrival. The sight of so many other ponies had upset Rufus completely, and he had done nothing but plunge and buck. That feeble Noel Kettering had made him ten times worse by continually getting in his way on Romany, who she seemed quite unable to control. One consolation was, thought Richard, that, in spite of falling off, he hadn’t looked quite such a prize fool as Noel. He frowned angrily as he remembered the laughter which greeted him as he crawled out of the rhododendron bush into which Rufus had bucked him. Even Major Holbrooke had been grinning like an ape; not that one could expect much more from a horsy bore who read the Scarlet Pimpernel books, thought Richard scornfully. But it was a curse that Rufus had behaved so badly.
He blushed as he thought of the time the other horse-breakers and Pony Club members would have discussing and tittering over Rufus’ manners. It was all very well for them, thought Richard;
they
had everything in their favour and then they hadn’t done so jolly well as they had expected. June had had a nasty shock, for, though Grey Dawn knew a tremendous lot and could do passes and all that sort of piffle, the Major had said that she overbent, and given June a long, boring lecture, to which no one, except Noel, had bothered to listen. When Richard had tried to relieve the monotony by telling John about his cycling tour with Michael Thorpington, the Major had told him to be quiet, and when, slightly later, he had started to tell John again, Major Holbrooke had said that if he, Richard, wanted to talk about cycling tours, he had better go home to his cycle shed, instead of preventing people who had come to the rally to learn about ponies from hearing. Altogether it had been a beastly rally, and Richard really wished that he had never had Rufus. He had spoilt the Christmas holidays, he was spoiling these holidays, and there was every sign that he would spoil the summer ones too. If it wasn’t for all the people, especially the girls, who would crow over him, Richard knew that he would gladly give up Rufus that very day. He rubbed his shoulder where he had fallen on it, and wondered how he could tactfully get rid of him. If he was going to ride he much preferred Peter, and he hadn’t time to ride both of them when Michael Thorpington was always inviting him to bicycling and bathing parties, which were much more fun than walking round and round the hen-run on a pony which might buck you off at any minute.

Noel spent the evening after the Pony Club rally wallowing in the depths of despair. Romany had behaved worse than she had thought possible, and herself had become so flustered that she had muddled the school figures even more hopelessly than usual. Though Major Holbrooke hadn’t said much more than “Keep calm,” or “Don’t lose your head,” Noel felt sure that he had decided that she was quite unteachable, and that any day she would get a letter asking
her to return Romany. When, on Monday morning, she did get a letter addressed in a strange handwriting, it was a long time before she could screw up the courage to open it; but when at last she did, she discovered that it
was
from the Major. But, instead of a note about Romany, it contained a large sheet of paper, with the school figures neatly drawn on it. Noel was delighted; for obviously he did not intend to take Romany away, and now she would be able to learn the school figures perfectly by the summer holidays, ready for the Pony Club gymkhana, at which the test for the young ponies was to be held.

Mrs. Cresswell and June wrangled ceaselessly as they drove home in the car, with Grey Dawn behind in the trailer.

“It’s all very well for you to say that I should do this and that,” said June when her mother complained that she hadn’t used her legs enough. “You haven’t tried riding Dawn. She’s perfectly horrid: she’s got a short stride, nothing in front, and a badly-joined-on head, and then you expect me to make her go like a show pony. I bet that no one, not even Major Holbrooke himself—for all his conceit—could make her go any better.”