Afraid to Ride Page 4

  Jill stood forlornly in the middle of the yard. “I’m not even going near the boxes,” she thought. “I’m not going near a horse, then they can’t make me ride.” And she watched enviously as her cousins made a fuss of their favourites.

  All at once Martin’s mouth dropped open, and for a second he could do nothing but stare.

  “Crikey,” he yelled. “Something must be up. Magic hasn’t even been mucked out and her water bucket’s empty!”

  In all the years that Martin had been coming to stay with Aunt Jo he had never seen such a sight before. A horse standing in soiled straw and without water was something that never happened at the Denelaw Riding School.

  “Neither has Rowan,” shouted Susan.

  “We’d better see if there’s anyone in the house,” shouted Martin. “Come on Jill.”

  They tried the back door but it was locked. Susan banged on it as hard as she could, battering against it with clenched fists.

  “Aunt Jo! Aunt Jo!” yelled Martin.

  “It’s us, Aunt Jo,” shouted Jenifer.

  But there was no reply. Only the deep, hollow barking of Politic from somewhere inside the house.

  “It’s no use,” said Martin. “She’s obviously not here.”

  “Well, what are we going to do?” asked Susan, sucking her knuckles.

  “Perhaps we should just go back home,” suggested Jill.

  The Ramsays looked at each other and then pretended they hadn’t heard.

  “Windows,” suggested Martin. “Though it looks as if they’re all shut, we could try them.”

  “Bet you the little window in the downstairs cloakroom won’t be shut,” said Susan.

  She was right: the little stained-glass window was open.

  “No one ever remembers it,” said Susan, pushing it wide. “I got in this way two years ago when I’d to come back for a hard hat. But I wouldn’t get through it now.”

  “Jill might,” said Martin. “D’you think you could?”

  Jill took off her heavy sweater, climbed on to the window-sill, and slipped through the window without any trouble.

  “Gosh, you must be skinny,” exclaimed Susan. “And you’re two years older than me.”

  “Go round and open the back door,” said Martin.

  “Right,” answered Jill, wondering if Martin thought she was going to settle down for a picnic all by herself.

  She walked cautiously through the empty house. Politic was snarling and barking behind one of the doors, but everywhere else was silence and shadows. As Jill found her way to the back door she kept glancing swiftly over her shoulder just to make sure that there was nothing creeping up behind her. Jill had always thought the Ramsays’ house was full of rosettes and cups and photographs of horses, but Aunt Jo’s even had strings of rosettes hanging in the kitchen above the cooker.

  Jill turned the key in the back door and let the others in.

  “First,” said Martin, “we’d better go right through the house and make sure there isn’t a note for us or anything like that.”

  “Or Aunt Jo lying with a knife in her back,” suggested Susan.

  “Don’t be stupid,” said Martin sharply.

  They let out Politic who had scratched deep scores in the study door trying to get out. He jumped round them, his tail threshing with delight at discovering the intruders were only his beloved Ramsays.

  “Where’s Aunt Jo, Politic?” asked Susan. “Tell us where she is.”

  But although they searched the whole house there was no sign of Aunt Jo.

  “Well, that’s it. She’s not here,” said Jenifer, as they came back into the kitchen.

  “Should we phone the police?” asked Jill.

  “I think,” said Susan, “the first thing we should do is see to the horses. That’s what Aunt Jo would have done long ago.”

  “Gosh, yes,” agreed Martin. “Then we’ll go down to Stirling’s farm and see if they can tell us anything.”

  Martin, Jenifer and Susan hurried into the yard.

  “Where’s Jill?” Susan asked. “She’ll need to help. Mucking out isn’t riding. There’s six horses to do. The more people who help the sooner we’ll be able to have something to eat, and I’m starving.”

  Jill was still sitting on the kitchen table. At first she had thought her cousins were going to leave her there, but then to her dismay she heard them coming back. Quickly she dashed over to a cupboard on the wall and pretended to be searching for some food.

  “Will you come and help?” Martin asked her. “We’ll be finished quicker if you help too. Then we can go down to the Stirlings to ask about Aunt Jo.”

  Jill went on pretending to look in the cupboard. She didn’t care what they thought about her just as long as they didn’t make her go into a loose box with a horse in it. In her imagination Jill pictured the loose box as a tiny, shut-in space filled by an enormous mountain of horse.

  “I’ll get the lunch,” Jill offered in a shaky voice. “There’s baked beans and eggs here. I could make scrambled eggs. Mummy says I make very nice scrambled eggs.” The thought of her mother and of their blue and white kitchen at home was almost too much for Jill. She had to bite her cheeks to stop herself bursting into tears.

  The Ramsays looked at each other not quite knowing what to do next.

  “Look here,” said Susan, in the kind of voice that warned her family to expect something unpleasant. “Just look here, you needn’t think that just because a pony came down on top of you years and years ago that you are going to get away with doing absolutely nothing while you’re here, because you’re not. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  “Who told you about Ginger?” Jill demanded in horrified tones.

  Jenifer trod hard on her sister’s toe, then tried to explain to Jill how they knew about her fall.

  “And we all quite understand,” she finished. “Honestly we do.”

  “Anyone can lose their nerve,” said Martin. “Even steeplechase jockeys. It’s nothing to be ashamed about. All you need to do is to ride a quiet pony for a bit until you get your confidence back.”

  “I’m not riding,” said Jill.

  “We’re not asking you to ride, only to fill buckets and muck out,” said Martin, hoping he was sounding understanding and not angry, the way he was feeling.

  Jill stood without answering. Half of her was longing to go with the Ramsays and help with the horses, the other half of her was so terrified that she wanted to run away from Denelaw as fast as she could.

  “Come on, Jill,” said Martin.

  “Oh, okay,” said Jill at last. “But just to help.”

  Jill filled the water buckets, slipping in and out of the boxes and leaving them just inside the door. When she had filled the last one she wondered if she could go back to the kitchen, but Jenifer saw her before she had time to get away.

  “Here’s a fork,” Jenifer called. “Sort the bedding in Mermaid’s box.”

  “Who’s Mermaid?” asked Jill, taking the fork reluctantly.

  “The grey,” answered Jenifer. “She’s a dear old soul. Aunt Jo’s pet. She’s quiet as a lamb.”

  Jill walked down the row of boxes until she found one with a grey horse inside it. When she had been filling the water buckets Jill had hardly glanced at the horses, she had been too busy getting in and out of the boxes safely.

  “Mermaid?” Jill said in a high, nervous voice. “There’s a good horse.”

  The grey horse snaked its head at Jill, lips peeled back from yellow teeth, ears laid flat against its skull. Jill jumped back from the box door and the horse swung moodily round its box dragging its hoofs through the dirty straw. Certainly Jill would never have described it as a dear old soul.

  Digging her nails into the palms of her hands, Jill forced herself to open the box door. Again the horse made a race at her, its neck stretched out, and its teeth bared. Again Jill sprang back, but this time the door was swinging open. The grey horse barged through it and out into the yard.

  Jill tried to shout to the others that Mermaid had got out but her throat was tight with terror and she couldn’t make a sound. In the yard the grey horse paused, threw up its head, neighed like thunder and then bucked sky-high so that Jill had a glimpse of crescent hoofs flashing high above her head. The next second it had galloped out of the yard and the drumming of its hoof-beats rang out on the road.

  “Mermaid’s out on the road,” Jill screamed, her voice coming back, high and shrill.

  Martin threw down the hay-net he was filling, caught a glimpse of the grey charging down the road, and rushed for a halter and a scoop of oats.

  “That’s not Mermaid,” he yelled. “That’s Blitz, the Brigadier’s point-to-pointer.”

  And Jill, looking back at the row of boxes, saw in the last box an old white mare watching the disturbance with a glint of amusement in her dark eyes.

  6

  THEY ALL chased down the road after Blitz, who was already out of sight.

  “He’s going full lick,” panted Martin, as he listened to the drumming hoof-beats that were rapidly fading out of earshot.

  “Not much point in killing ourselves trying to keep up with him,” gasped Jenifer. “Goodness knows how far he’ll go and I’m puffed already.”

  They all slowed down to a jog-trot, and Jill tried to think of the best way of saying she was sorry for letting Blitz out.

  “Listen!” commanded Jenifer, and they all stood still, listening. “I think something’s turned him. He sounds to me as if he’s coming back.”

  Jenifer was right: the sound of galloping hoofs was growing louder.

  “Stand in a line across the road and whatever happens don’t let him past. If we can just stop him, I’ll get his halter on somehow,” said Martin.

  They stood stret
ched out across the road. “Now, don’t let him pass you,” Martin said again, looking straight at Jill. “Shout, and wave your arms, and he’ll stop all right, when he sees we aren’t going to move.”

  Jill gulped and nodded, hoping that Blitz wouldn’t charge straight at her.

  A minute later Blitz came into sight, galloping back down the road and behind him came a farm tractor, with the driver waving and shouting.

  “It’s Mr. Stirling,” said Martin.

  “Turn him up the farm lane,” yelled Mr. Stirling.

  “Right,” yelled back Martin.

  The four children stood their ground, shouting and waving their arms madly. Blitz skidded to a halt, snorted and swung round. He trotted back, realized that his way was still blocked by the scarlet monster, goggled round for an escape route and trotted up the farm lane.

  “Thanks, Mr. Stirling,” yelled Martin.

  “Good life, if it isn’t the Ramsays!” said Mr. Stirling from the tractor. “You are the last kids I expected to see here. I sent a telegram away first thing this morning to stop you coming. I thought you never came till the six train?”

  “Usually we don’t but this time we were meeting Jill. Aunt Jo knew we were coming earlier.”

  “That’s why she said to phone. I tried, but I couldn’t get through, so I thought a telegram would be sure to get you.”

  “Is Aunt Jo all right?” demanded Jenifer.

  “Why weren’t we to come?” asked Susan.

  “Hospital,” said Mr. Stirling. “Middle of last night. She phoned up the wife and we got the doctor to her. Acute appendicitis. Whipped her away in an ambulance. She was more worried about you kids and her horses than about herself.”

  “Oh, poor Aunt Jo,” said Susan.

  “Have they operated yet?” asked Jenifer.

  “Catch the nag first and I’ll give you the details,” said Mr. Stirling, stopping the tractor in the farmyard.

  Blitz, who was down at the hay-shed, allowed Martin to catch him without any trouble.

  “The wife phoned this morning and they just said as comfortable as could be expected,” Mr. Stirling told them, as Martin lead Blitz back. “But what’s to happen to you lot? No train back tonight.”

  “But we’ll stay at the riding school,” exclaimed Jenifer. “We’re in the middle of doing the horses just now.”

  “Of course we’ll stay,” insisted Martin. “Who’d look after the horses if we don’t?”

  “Well, I did say to Jo I’d do my best. I fed them this morning but I’ve not had a minute to get round to muck them.”

  “No one could expect you to run a riding school and a farm,” said Susan, smiling sweetly at Mr. Stirling.

  “Busy time of the year,” agreed Mr. Stirling, rubbing his chin. “Mind you, there won’t be much to do after today. The Brigadier is coming to take his three away. So that only leaves three in. The old grey one’s no bother, nor the little Welsh mare—really only the show jumper that needs a bit of fuss.”

  “So you see we could easily look after them,” said Jenifer.

  “I must say you’re putting up a pretty good show so far,” agreed Mr. Stirling, making a face at Blitz.

  The Ramsays all looked hard at Jill.

  “I let him out,” said Jill, feeling that she must be the most hopeless person in the whole world.

  “But we are staying,” said Susan, as Mrs. Stirling came to the farm door.

  She, too, was surprised to see the children and agreed with her husband that they should go home.

  “Really,” said Martin, as they walked back to the stables leading Blitz, “You would think we were babies.”

  “Bet you Aunt Jo will let us stay. She’ll be glad to have us to look after the place.”

  After they had returned Blitz to his box they phoned the hospital number which Mr. Stirling had given to them and inquired after their aunt. A crisp voice told them that she had had her operation, was comfortable and could have visitors tomorrow evening from six to seven.

  “I am glad she’s okay,” said Susan. “But as well as being glad I am dying of hunger.”

  “You’re not the only one,” said Martin. “But let’s get finished up outside first.”

  Half an hour later they were all sitting round the table eating fried eggs, bacon and baked beans with pineapple chunks to follow and mugs of cocoa to drink.

  “That is much better!” said Martin, finishing his pineapple and pushing back his chair. “Now I can think. Could we run the riding school until Aunt Jo comes back?”

  “You’re as bad as Mr. Stirling,” said Susan. “Of course we could. We must!”

  “It would be smashing,” said Jenifer, her eyes sparkling. “Perhaps I could have one little ride on Magic?”

  Martin had been thinking about Black Magic as well. He imagined himself taking a ride on her, sitting easily at a collected canter, riding really well and giving all the correct aids—not the secret code of kicks that he shared with Blubber.

  “We’d need to work hard but it would be smashing,” he agreed.

  “We couldn’t give lessons?” said Susan, wondering if Martin thought he could.

  “Heels down, head up, elbows in type, we could,” said Martin.

  Martin, Jenifer and Susan grinned at each other feeling dizzy with excitement.

  Jill had eaten her lunch without speaking at all. Perhaps things weren’t going to be too bad, she thought. Probably if her cousins were all working wildly at being riding instructors they wouldn’t mind letting her make the meals and tidy the house. Jill drank the last of her cocoa.

  “I’m very sorry I let Blitz get out of his box,” she said.

  “You’re not still worrying about that?” said Martin.

  “It was as much my fault as yours,” said Jenifer, realizing that Jill must have been thinking about it all through lunch. “I should have warned you that there were two greys.”

  “If you had let as many ponies get out of their boxes as I have then you would have something to worry about,” said Susan.

  And Jill realized that her cousins really had forgotten all about Blitz. “Perhaps I do make too much fuss about nothing,” Jill thought, grinning.

  7

  Just as they were finishing the washing up, the phone rang.

  “Be for Aunt Jo, I should think,” said Martin, going to answer it.

  “Say it’s someone wanting to book a ride,” said Susan. “Oh Martin, say we’ll take them. Do say we’ll take them.”

  “If it’s someone wanting to ride I’ll tell them Aunt Jo is in hospital,” stated Martin firmly.

  “Hello,” he said picking up the phone, “Denelaw Riding School.”

  “Martin dear, is that you?” said his mother’s voice.

  “Yes,” said Martin. “It’s Mum,” he told the others.

  “Martin, what’s happened? Are you all right?”

  “Great,” said Martin. “Just fine.”

  “I’ve just got this telegram from Mr. Stirling saying that you mustn’t go because Aunt Jo’s been taken seriously ill.”

  “It’s okay Mum. Aunt Jo’s in hospital with appendicitis. Last night, suddenly. So actually it’s a good job we are here to look after things.”

  “Oh poor Jo. How dreadful for her. But can you cope by yourselves?”

  “’Course we can,” said Martin. “Better us than nobody.”

  “We’re going to make lots of money taking out rides,” Susan shouted down the phone.

  “No you are not,” said Mrs. Ramsay firmly. “Martin, promise me that you are not to dream of taking out a ride without Aunt Jo’s permission.”

  “That was only Susan,” said Martin. “We’ll be fine. We’ve got Politic to look after us and Mr. Stirling is just down the road.”

  “Well I suppose it would be more sensible for you to stay and keep an eye on the horses. But you will be sensible, won’t you?”

  “Honestly. We promise,” said Martin.

  “Good,” said his mother. “I’ll phone tomorrow night and see how you’re all getting on. Love to you all and Jill.”

  “We’re never anything else except sensible,” said Jenifer. “Really what do grown-ups think we’d do? Run round setting fire to the place?”

  “Then to prove how sensible we all are, how about some grooming and tack cleaning this afternoon,” suggested Martin.

  By the time nine o’clock came they were all sitting round the kitchen fire half asleep.