DURNG the next couple of days Bobby continued to ride and school Phoenix in the field and school, and to hack him quietly about. She also started to pop him over a few low poles, finding him perfectly manageable, and improving rapidly. The chestnut would certainly jump, she decided, feeling the punch in his hind quarters, the scope and freedom, and the way he arched his back as they flew over. And she heard from Heath and Yoland how well he picked up his feet as he jumped. He never showed the least sign of refusing or running out: in fact it was usually difficult to prevent him from jumping everything in sight, when schooling on the flat in the field. Isabel certainly had a horse in a thousand, if she could learn to ride him.
They also began to school Jupiter again, and Heath rode him inside the school on the lunge rein. Jupiter was a bay heavyweight hunter, big and powerful, with a tremendous girth and a neck like a bull. For the first few minutes Heath had a rough ride, but gradually Jupiter calmed down, and began to behave more sensibly. By the time the lesson ended he was walking and trotting quite easily on the lunge, and both girls felt pleased with him as he was led into Snow Goose’s box to eat a small feed while the grey went out on the next ride.
The inquiry into the ’plane crash came up at Hestonbridge, but neither girl was needed to give evidence, and Guy, of course, was unable to attend. It was definitely proved that the two convicts had taken the ’plane: they had been seen on the edge of the airfield by a farmer, out after rabbits, and shortly afterwards he had heard the ’plane take off, though at the time he had thought nothing of it. The convicts had been wearing ordinary, rather shabby clothes, and he had taken them for a couple of gypsies. The charter company to whom the ’plane belonged had been so near to closing down, and so short of money, that nothing had been done to repair the engine fault which had kept the machine grounded for over a week before it was stolen. And of course the insurance company, who had never received their premiums regularly anyway, would not pay.
Guy agreed to the riding club using the Bracken paddock, and Bobby and Inga arranged the first practice for Thursday evening. Bobby, Heath, and Mr. Joyce spent the evening before in rebuilding the broken-down shelter in the brood mare’s field, as the flies were getting bad now that summer was coming. Normally the mares and foals came in during the day, but there were no longer enough boxes for them. There were three with foals this year, Puff Ball, the ancient skewbald Shetland who had dropped a foal regularly for the last six years, Singing Sand, the pure bred Arabian mare, who had a filly foal by Riskala, and Suntrap, the bay thoroughbred, who had a brown colt by Crosstalk. They had the smallest paddock, the grass kept horses had the big field, and the third field had been fertilised, and was resting.
The five club members entered the jumping paddock at six o’clock the following evening. Inga was, as usual, on her bay, her sister had the cob, and the pale girl had the grey pony. The other two riders were a pale, fair-haired, anaemic looking girl on a very weedy, weary looking liver chestnut gelding, and a short, spotty youth with light brown hair on a fiddle headed brown gelding, well over sixteen hands in height, with great shallow feet, cow hocks, and a rat tail. The riders all exclaimed enthusiastically over the jumps and the properly marked manège, with its white markers, and Bobby asked them if they wanted to use the cross-country course, which ran across the field behind the paddock, as if so those horses who might become upset at the sight of others jumping would have to be caught. But Inga said that they would just use the paddock that evening, and so Bobby and Heath retreated to the boxes, to get the horses ready for the late school, and to watch the club practise as unobtrusively as possible.
Inga was directing the practice, and acting as instructress to the others. Her bay certainly went well, thought Bobby, watching them claim a corner each for a short period of school work. She rode him in a plain jointed snaffle, with a drop noseband, and an old jumping saddle. He was calm and obedient, leading easily on either leg, cantering very nice figures of eight with a flying change, extending nicely when she asked him to. His trot was good, full of impulsion, and again his extension was quite impressive. Inga rode well, though her hands seemed slightly fixed. In another corner the pale girl, whose name appeared to be Adria, was riding her nice little grey, who did not look more than fourteen three. He had a plain, sensible head, a short back, and nice, clean legs. He too was going very well. Dora was struggling to persuade the cob to extend, instead of merely scuttling faster when asked to trot out, and the blonde girl and her weary mount were jogging in dreary circles, both looking as though they could not care less. The boy was cantering oddly shaped circles much too fast, the brown horse going with his nose in the air, and his mouth wide open. Both he and the liver chestnut wore double bridles, and the brown wore a standing martingale.
Then they began to jump. Again the bay and the grey were outstanding, competent and quite polished. The cob scrambled over somehow. He cat jumped like a cork out of a bottle, but he was far too slow for cross-country work. The liver chestnut just scraped over, ears back, legs trailing, nose in the air, and the brown took off round the paddock with his mouth open, ignoring the jumps, and almost coming down as he tripped over the furrows where people’s cars had turned in to reach the temporary stabling. The boy, whose name was Mike, seemed quite unable to stop him, and the blonde girl, Vi, did nothing towards waking up her unenthusiastic mount. Inga shouted instructions, which were ignored, and eventually gave up, and she, Adria, and Dora began to school more seriously on their own.
Heath’s school lesson arrived, and shortly afterwards the riding club took their leave, Inga handing Bobby ten shillings before following the others towards the gate.
“Will it be all right if we come again on Monday evening?” she asked.
Bobby looked in the book, and agreed that it would. Then Inga rode away after the others, her bay moving at a nice, slow canter, and Bobby turned back to her work.
That Saturday Bobby went to another show, taking Shelta and June, and Yoland went as well this time, with one pony, Coffee, as Froth could not be spared. Mr. Joyce again drove the box, and as the show was nearer and started later than the last, Bobby and Yoland were able to help Heath get through most of the work, apart from the rides, before they left. Bobby had wanted Heath to go instead of her, but had finally allowed the other girl to persuade her into going herself.
It was a big show, bigger than Dovington, and both girls discovered many friends and acquaintances among both onlookers and competitors. Ian Garland, against whom Bobby had jumped at Harringay, was there, with Painter’s Progress and a novice called Picture. Keith Rhodes, who came from Berkshire, was there with most of the Johnson string, and unexpectedly Joanne Armstrong, a member of the British Team, who came from Essex, was there with her world famous Murphy and a borrowed horse called Cresta. This meant that most of the usual members of the team were at the show, and not for the first time Bobby wondered if she had been silly to stop in a paid teaching job with Guy, thus making herself professional, when she had a good chance of getting into the team if she was amateur. But now it was too late. She could not possibly desert Guy as things were now.
June Evening was third in the novice class to Keith Rhodes’s Fantasia, and Ian Garland’s Picture, and Coffee, in spite of her rest, won the Junior class with ease. In the Open class, rather to her own surprise, Bobby came first, after two jump offs, Keith was second with Rampant, and Ian, Joanne, and Keith again were equal third, with Painter’s Progress, Murphy, and Citroen.
The gamblers stakes, the last class, was great fun. Each fence was judged separately, by the value of the playing card hung on the wings, and the number of fences jumped had to total seven. The people with the best horses, including Bobby, went for the high scoring fences, and the competition was very hot. The ace was in the centre of the ring, a big treble, and several people jumped it more than once, though not always with success. Keith, on Rampant, having jumped the ace seven times, and hit it twice, was well in the lead until Shelta sailed round, taking most of all the highest scoring fences twice, and securing a clear round. The audience yelled its approval, and Keith grinned at Bobby before re-entering the ring on Flare Path, to repeat Bobby’s course apart from the treble, which he jumped three times, having missed jumping the stile, and just scraped into first place. Bobby also jumped June, and was eventually fifth, very good indeed for a novice horse, against such stiff competition. Having received their rosettes Keith and Bobby, first and second, led a race round the ring, Shelta and Flare Path, both chestnuts, galloping neck and neck, and Shelta finishing with a not unusual series of bouncing bucks, while Flare Path charged out of the ring ahead of her.
Still laughing they were riding back towards the boxes when Bobby saw Mrs. Vauxhall watching them, from beside Phillipa Sydney, who rode for her, and one of her famous jumping ponies, Magician. Phillipa would be out of junior competitions in a year or less, and it was for her that Mrs. Vauxhall wanted an open jumper. She waved, and Bobby reluctantly stopped Shelta beside her. After a moment’s hesitation Keith rode on, and Mrs. Vauxhall said, “Changed your mind yet, about the mare?”
“No,” replied Bobby. “I shan’t be selling her.”
She tried to ignore the small nagging voice that whispered, “What shall you do if Bracken seems to be closing down? It’ll be partly your fault, the money for Shelta would help a lot. And what would Guy do without Bracken? If he can’t ride any more, he’ll have an awful time trying to find another job.” But the next moment the problem seemed solved for her, for Mrs. Vauxhall said, “What about the novice? She’ll make a decent jumper, with more experience and schooling.”
“I don’t know about June,” said Bobby thoughtfully. “Mr. Mathews might think of selling her.”
“Well, I’ll probably get in touch with you about her,” said Mrs. Vauxhall. “She’d suit me quite well, I think.”
She nodded, and walked away, with Phillipa riding beside her, every hair neatly in place beneath her crash cap, not a mark on her dark blue showing jacket. She was a good, but mechanical rider, and never really appeared to be enjoying herself. Bobby did not know whether or not she hoped that Guy would sell June. Deep in thought, she let Shelta walk on towards the boxes. It would be a considerable help to the stables, and it would remove the slightly guilty feeling that she had about keeping Shelta, when selling her could be such a help to Guy, and Bracken, but on the other hand she liked June, and she knew that Heath was extremely fond of the mare.
Keith was waiting for her near the boxes, and he asked if Mrs. Vauxhall was still after Shelta. Bobby explained that she now seemed interested in June as well, and Keith looked relieved.
“You won’t sell Shelta, will you Bobby?” he asked her. “I should miss you, if you stopped coming to shows.”
Bobby looked at him in surprise. Keith Rhodes, slender, fair haired, with his distinctive, unorthodox jumping style, and brilliant string of horses, was at most shows to which she went, and though they sometimes had a drink together, after their classes, it was the first time that he had said anything to show that he specially liked seeing her. She was rather flattered. Keith was one of the most popular and attractive young men in the show jumping world, and it was fun to think that he enjoyed her company. He suggested a drink before they left for home, and Bobby readily agreed. Yoland was still down at ring two, riding Coffee in some of the less violent gymkhana events, and Mr. Joyce helped Bobby to load Shelta while Keith took Flare Path along to the Johnson box. Then they walked together through the familiar noise, confusion, and excitement of the show ground to the refreshment tent.
By the time Bobby got back to the box Yoland had ridden in her last race, loaded Coffee, and she and Mr. Joyce were waiting with resigned expressions on their faces for Bobby’s return.
“Sorry,” exclaimed Bobby, realising that the last event of the show, open musical sacks, was in progress, and that everyone not entered had left for home. “I didn’t realise it was so late.”
“So we thought,” Yoland told her, grinning. “Keith was obviously at his most fascinating.”
Bobby made a face at her, and climbed into the back of the box with the horses. Yoland had to go in the cab, for otherwise the motion of the lorry made her feel sick. Five minutes later they turned out into the road.
Heath was filling hay nets with the help of two eager pupils when the box turned into the quiet yard. The horses were settled, and it was not until she and Heath were sitting in the lounge after supper, still feeling strange alone in there without the pupils or Guy, that Bobby told the other girl about Mrs. Vauxhall’s interest in June. Heath did not like the idea of the deal. June had been her special mount for a long time now, but she agreed that it would be useful to the stables. Bobby was going to see Guy the following afternoon, and they decided that she would ask him about it then.
Bobby had received two letters by the evening post, one from Silvia, and one from her cousin Ellen. Silvia’s was long and chatty, painting a vivid, incident packed picture of her life in the London hospital, and in her shared bed-sitting room in Kensington, with occasional rides in Hyde Park or at Wimbledon when she could afford them. She was intensely interested in her work, and besides riding in her spare time she frequently went to the theatre, in a gallery seat, and visited most of the exhibitions and art galleries in London.
From the sound of Ellen’s letter she too was enjoying life. She loved finishing school, and Switzerland, and was greatly looking forward to joining the social round in London when she came home. Bobby had no doubt that she would be as happy as her mother, doing the round of parties, balls, first nights, and fashion shows. She replaced both letters in their envelopes, and put them into her small stationery drawer, suddenly feeling dreary and impossibly horsey. For her, everything seemed to be leading to a dead end. If June was sold only Shelta would be left to jump, Yoland would soon be too old for Junior classes, and Coffee and Froth would either be sold or become riding school ponies. It would take them ages to pull up to their old position, after this set-back, if in fact they ever did, and instead of gaining more experience on many different horses show jumping, as she had expected to spend the summer doing, she seemed doomed to become just another groom-instructress, and Bracken one more little riding school. Shelta would get older, her form would start to deteriorate, and with no young horses coming along Bobby felt that she would gradually be forced to stop jumping altogether. Feeling thoroughly depressed, with the fun of the show, and Keith Rhodes’s flattery, forgotten, Bobby got into bed.
The following day the weather, which had been wonderful, broke, and it was in miserable weather that Bobby caught the two-thirty bus into Hestonbridge. Layers of grey cloud hung low overhead, and a thick drizzle was blowing across the hills and fields, and finding its way in through the cracks of the imperfectly closed bus windows, to drip down on to the seats. Bobby was glad to get out near the hospital and hurry along the street and up the steps, shielding the two new books which Heath had fetched from the library for Guy under her white raincoat. The reception hall was dry and brightly lighted, and the ward looked much the same as usual, visitors drifting in, every cover, table mat, and flower vase in its place, one or two different faces in the beds, but Guy’s next door neighbour had not changed, and today he was talking to a pleasant faced, middle-aged woman who was almost certainly his wife. Guy was delighted to see Bobby, and pleased with the books. He said that the hospital book service was not up to much. For the first few minutes they discussed the stables, and the slow progress of the rebuilding, and then Bobby told Guy about Mrs. Vauxhall’s offer.
“I’m pretty sure she’ll pay a good price,” she told him. “But do you want to sell her?”
Guy was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Well, it’s like this Bobby. If I keep her, she may be a good advertisement for us, and bring in a little money in prizes, but on the other hand she might go lame, or have a run of bad luck, and do us more harm than good. The same applies to any of the horses, of course. Coffee, Froth, or even Shelta. But if I sell her, at a decent price, it could be quite a big help. You could even buy a couple of steady horses for the school, to replace her. It sounds as though you could do with them, after that Annabel Dene affair.”
Bobby gasped. “How on earth do you know about that?” she asked.
Guy smiled. “George, in the next bed, was told about it by his wife,” he replied. “She was here the day Annabel was brought in, and she spoke to Mrs. Dene. I overheard bits of the conversation, and got the whole story out of old George later. What exactly did happen?”
Very carefully Bobby explained. Guy was frowning by the time she finished. “It doesn’t sound too brilliant,” he remarked. “Snow Goose always was an ass. It’s a shame, Annabel was one of the most promising kids I’ve ever seen. Still, it wasn’t your fault. Now, about June. I think you’d better find out what Mrs. Vauxhall is willing to offer, and if she asks what I’ll take say three fifty. June’s well worth that, she’s only a six year old, and she’ll be Grade A pretty soon.”
“All right,” agreed Bobby, rather sadly. “Shall I ’phone her, or wait until we see her again?”
“Better ’phone her,” replied Guy. “Get it settled. You could do with at least one of those reliable horses, though I’m afraid Heath will be rather upset about June. But it’ll be for the best, I think, especially as it looks as though Bracken will have to concentrate on being a riding school more than a show stable for quite a time. But do go on taking Shelta to shows Bobby. There’s no earthly reason why you shouldn’t, and she’s going well, isn’t she?”
“Yes, very,” agreed Bobby. “She’s being wonderful.”
They went on to talk about shows, the riding club, and various other things until the end of visiting hour. Bobby stood up to go, and Guy took her hand. “I’m sorry I’ve landed us in this mess,” he told her. “I still can’t think how Heath and I managed to forget that premium. Bobby, if you get an offer to ride for someone else, do take it. It may be ages, if ever, before Bracken is able to do much more showing if we manage to keep open at all, and I should hate you to turn down any good offers because of me.”
“But I don’t want to leave,” protested Bobby. “And I’m not likely to be offered anything else, anyway. I can still take Shelta to a few shows, in any case, and I’m sure it won’t take long to get Bracken back to what it was. Don’t blame yourself Guy, it wasn’t your fault all this happened.”
Guy looked unconvinced, but the sister was approaching briskly to warn Bobby that it was time to go, and there was no time to say more than “Goodbye”. Guy watched her walk down the ward, grinning at one of the other patients who had winked at her, and the man in the next bed to Guy said, “Nice little girl. Always looks so cheerful. I’ve seen her picture in the papers lots of times. Running the great Ian Garland pretty close in honours at one time, wasn’t she?”
Guy agreed that she was, and realised not for the first time how much popularity Bobby had won in her single brief season of top-class jumping. And now, mainly through his own carelessness over the insurance, it looked as though she would gradually become forgotten, Shelta’s brilliance would be wasted on a few agricultural shows, and Bobby, through her wonderful loyalty to him, would spend her days trailing strings of ponies round the lanes, teaching beginners in the school, and mucking out dirty boxes in the pouring rain. It did not occur to him that all days would not be wet, and that all the riders would not be beginners, that Bobby could still take a few days off for the bigger shows, and that there might be more behind her insistence in staying at Bracken than mere loyalty alone.
Bobby, waiting at the bus stop in the soaking drizzle, did not feel much more cheerful. So June was to be sold, and Guy was doubtful about the future of the stables, especially where showing and jumping was concerned. She wondered whether he had always been so uncertain about their chances of keeping going, or whether it was just the thought of selling June, the last of his big jumping horses, that had depressed him. He was still making steady progress, as far as they knew, and the chances of him regaining the use of his legs were no worse than they had been. It did not occur to her that Guy might be more worried about the way in which he had helped to spoil her career than about his own future. The bus came slowly into sight round the bed, water streaming from its roof, and dripping from the wheels and platform, and Bobby climbed gladly into the steamy interior, suddenly thinking of tea, and the dry comfort of Cedarwood.
Heath was already home when Bobby came dripping into the hall, and struggled out of her wet mackintosh, scattering rain over Lucy’s carefully Cardinalled red tiles.
“What did he say about June?” she demanded, coming out of the lounge at the sound of Bobby’s entrance.
“I’m afraid he’s going to sell her,” replied Bobby, turning from the hallstand. She told Heath what Guy had said, as they went slowly into the lounge. The tea trolley stood in front of a comfortable fire, as the rain had brought a cold snap with it, and Mrs. Joyce, who had heard Bobby come in, appeared with the teapot to ask how Guy was getting on. Although it was still early she drew the heavy blue curtains across the big windows, shutting out the view of the grey, driving drizzle, and the wet, tossing trees, and Heath and Bobby sat down to tea in the warm room, drinking hot tea, eating toast spread thickly with apricot jam, and discussing Bobby’s visit to the hospital. Sitting there talking to Heath and Mrs. Joyce Bobby was quite unable to imagine leaving Bracken Hills, the familiar village and stables, and the big, ugly house that had been her home for over a year now, and she knew that she would always hate the thought of working for anyone but Guy. She told Heath what he had said about Bracken’s future, and the possibility of them having to close down, and Heath said that it was not a new idea, but that since the accident he had always been afraid of it happening. “I expect he mentioned it to you today because he doesn’t want you to feel that you’re bound to stay at Bracken, if it means throwing away a good chance show jumping,” she told the younger girl.
“It doesn’t make any difference,” Bobby assured her. “I wouldn’t leave Bracken for anything, until the day it changed hands.” Then she went on to tell Heath about Guy’s knowledge of Annabel’s accident, and the other girl was suitably astonished, and agreed that it was a good thing they had not known that he knew at the time, or it would have made the consequences of Annabel’s second ride seem even worse. Then Heath remembered some news of her own. “Mrs. Goldman telephoned,” she told Bobby. “They’re coming over tomorrow evening to look at Phoenix.”
“Help. What time will they be here?” inquired Bobby.
“At about a quarter to six,” replied Heath. “Mr. Goldman is coming as well, and he can’t make it until then.”
“The riding club will be using the paddock at six,” Bobby remembered. “Still, I don’t suppose they’ll get in the way. I only hope Phoenix behaves.”
Heath agreed, and rose to go down to the stables to finish up for the night. When she returned Bobby sadly telephoned Mrs. Vauxhall, who asked if she could come over the following day with Phillipa and a friend to try June Evening. Bobby agreed that it would be all right, and Mrs. Vauxhall said that she would be over during the morning. Bobby rang off, and looked at Heath.
“We’re going to be slightly busy tomorrow,” she remarked. Monday morning luckily was dry, and Bobby groomed June Evening thoroughly while Heath took the first ride in the school. Bobby had started to groom Shelta when Mrs. Vauxhall’s new station wagon drew into the ruined yard, and parked behind the one builder’s lorry that had so far arrived that morning. Mrs. Vauxhall came towards them along the cinder causeway, followed by Phillipa, who wore riding clothes, and the friend, a small, pleasant looking grey haired man with a small, clipped moustache. Mrs. Vauxhall introduced him to the girls as “Colonel Crisp, an old friend of mine.”
Heath, who had finished her ride, took them along to see June, and after making a careful examination, and seeing her trotted up, Mrs. Vauxhall asked if Phillipa could try the mare. Heath fetched the tack, and a few minutes later June was out in the paddock with her blank faced, mechanical young rider.
The bay mare did not put a foot wrong during the trial. She had never been a temperamental horse, and a change of riders, which was not an infrequent occurrence anyway, did not upset her in the least. The show jumps were all at a reasonable height of around four feet, and in spite of the slippery state of the ground after the previous day’s rain, June jumped beautifully. Even Phillipa looked pleased as the bay mare trotted back to the gate, her lovely, bold head held high, ears pricked, and scarred knees looking very obvious in the strong sunlight.
“Nice little mare,” said Colonel Crisp as June stopped in front of them. “Very nice.”
“What was the price Miss Graham?” asked Mrs. Vauxhall, who did not believe in hedging over such matters.
“Three hundred and fifty guineas,” replied Heath, equally abrupt.
“Well, Colonel?” asked Mrs. Vauxhall.
“She’s a good mare,” replied Colonel Crisp. “I advise you to buy her.”
“Good. Well, I’ll send my vet to examine her, if that is convenient,” Mrs. Vauxhall told Heath. “If he passes her as sound I will send you a cheque. Thank you for letting us try her. Good morning.”
“Good morning,” said Colonel Crisp, and added to Bobby, who was hovering unobtrusively in the background, “Don’t sell Shelta, Miss Morton, she goes too well for you.”
Then he followed Mrs. Vauxhall and Phillipa to the car.
Heath unhappily returned June to her box, and Bobby said, “That was nice of him. He could have tried to persuade me to sell Shelta, as he’s a friend of Mrs. Vauxhall’s. I wonder who he is?”
“I’ve heard of him,” said Heath, starting to remove June’s saddle. “Doesn’t he do quite a bit of work for the B.S.J.A.? And I think he has something to do with one of the horse magazines.”
“Yes, that’s right,” agreed Bobby, turning back towards Shelta. Neither of them mentioned the almost definite sale of June Evening.
Bobby took the eleven-thirty ride from Phoenix, as it consisted of two competent riders on Cloisonné and Froth. The chestnut went very well, pulling only when she kept him behind while the others cantered. He was a wonderful ride, very powerful, but supple and smooth, with a naturally good head carriage, and a long, free stride. If he had never been ridden in that brutal bit, and had been schooled from the start by someone like Guy, or Ian Garland, he would never have been anything but bold and brilliant, decided Bobby as they turned in through the stable gateway once more.
After lunch she took the chestnut into the paddock while Heath went out with three riders. Heath rode June herself, trying not to think that it was probably for the last time.
Phoenix was still going well. Bobby jumped him over all the lower, natural type fences in the big jumping field, finding him far less bit shy than he had been. He was rather an impetuous jumper, but if she was careful not to let him rush, and then get away from her on landing Bobby found him perfectly manageable, though whether Isabel would when she finally came to ride him she was not so sure. Bobby could not help wishing that he belonged to Guy, as she took him in after half an hour’s jumping and schooling. It would have been fun to school him with a view to riding him in jumping competitions, or combined training events, herself, instead of merely getting him quiet and manageable enough for his inexperienced owner. She rubbed dry the sweat mark from the saddle, and began to groom him. Phoenix was a friendly soul, he was not particularly ticklish, and she did not bother to tie him up, but let him stand with his head over the door while she body brushed his already shining red coat. By the time Heath returned he was finished, every hair groomed sleekly into place, so that he appeared to be smoothly encased in glowing, dark red satin. His mane and tail rippled like dark silk, and the white race down his nose was startling against his dark coat, as he raised his head to whinny to the returning ride.
“He certainly looks like a champion,” said Heath, pausing outside his box with June Evening’s tack. “Let’s hope the Goldmans think the same.”
Bobby agreed, rubbing the chestnut’s nose as he turned to nuzzle her. A failure in the re-schooling line was just about all that Bracken stables needed to ruin them completely.
Heath went on to the tack room with June’s tack. The bay mare had gone well that afternoon. Heath did not usually allow herself to become too fond of a horse, as there was no future in it when Bracken had always been partly a dealing yard, but she had always liked June, ever since she had helped Guy with the mare’s schooling, over two years ago now, and ridden her in her first show, in the hunter class, as the mare had been unblemished in those days. Heath tried to turn her thoughts away from the vet’s examination, probably the following day, and his certain decision that the mare was sound, for apart from her knees there was nothing whatever wrong with the mare. But there were more urgent things to worry about than the sale of a favourite horse.
The Goldmans arrived right on time that evening, Mr. Goldman driving them in the car he always used, a new grey Rover 90. He was a big, heavily built man, rapidly going bald, with a fleshy face, and alert dark eyes behind thick glasses. Bobby took them straight out to see Phoenix, and Isabel gave a cry of delight at the sight of him.
“He certainly looks very well, Miss Morton,” said Mrs. Goldman. “I do hope his manners have improved as well. It would be such a shame if we were forced to sell him.”
“He has been going very well this last week or so,” replied Bobby, mentally crossing her fingers. “Would you like to see him ridden?”
The Goldmans agreed, and Bobby left them still exclaiming over Phoenix’s beauty while she fetched his tack. She had been riding the horse in one of Guy’s beautifully made Sowter all-purpose saddles, but today she put the Goldman’s saddle on him. She would have to mention the unsuitability of it to them, she decided. But first they should see him ridden. The chestnut was by now much quieter to saddle, having discovered that he was not going to be pinched with the girth, and banged with the stirrups, or have his mouth and ears hurt with the bridle, discomforts which Isabel’s other horse, Selina, had long ago learned to accept. Isabel was delighted with his progress. She was not wearing jodhpurs, Bobby had been glad to see, and so she definitely did not intend to ride her horse, which Bobby was afraid at the moment might be fatal to both his schooling and Isabel’s nerves.
Bobby brought the chestnut out, and mounted quietly, making him stand quite still until she was settled in the badly cut saddle. Then she asked him to walk on. He went beautifully, trotting, cantering, circling on either leg, turning on the forehand, backing, and a brisk extended canter round the field. Bobby was about to jump him when she realised that the riding club members had entered the paddock, and were sitting on their horses just inside the gate, watching Phoenix. Bobby rode across to them, and asked Inga if she would mind waiting a few minutes.
“I’ve just got to jump him, then we’re finished,” she explained.
“I don’t mind at all,” Inga assured her. “That’s Isabel Goldman over there, isn’t it?”
“Yes, she owns this animal,” replied Bobby, turning Phoenix towards the jumps. “We’re schooling him for her.”
For the second time that day Phoenix jumped beautifully, clearing the natural fences, and some of the slightly higher show jumps, with impressive ease. He was not even sweating as Bobby walked him back to his owners. Isabel looked delighted, and Mr. and Mrs. Goldman were smiling.
“Well, that certainly seems to be an improvement,” said Mr. Goldman, as Bobby stopped Phoenix in front of them. “How long do you think it will be before Isabel can ride him?”
“I don’t think it will be long,” replied Bobby. “He’s lost most of his fear of his mouth now, and in a few weeks he should be quite happy with a change of riders.”
“Good.” Mr. Goldman beamed at his daughter. “So you’ll soon be at the White City, eh, Isabel?”
Isabel laughed happily, and patted her horse. Mrs. Goldman was staring across the paddock in the direction of the riding club members, who were now riding across the field.
“Isn’t that Inga Jacobs?” she asked her daughter.
“Yes. She and her riding club use the paddock to school in,” explained Bobby, dismounting.
“I used to ride with them,” said Isabel. “I suppose I’m still a member really. I only need to pay my subscription again to ride there. But Selina wasn’t good enough for the team, and they didn’t take much interest in anything but entering inter-club competitions, and so I dropped out.”
“I see.” Bobby patted Phoenix, and there was a short pause while the Goldmans gazed at him. Bobby wondered about mentioning the saddle, but thought better of it. Now was not the moment to make any complaints of that kind. It was better to wait until Isabel came nearer to riding Phoenix herself. Mrs. Goldman said, “Well, thank you very much for letting us see him ridden, Miss Morton. You’ll let us know when you consider him ready for Isabel to ride, won’t you?’
“I will,” promised Bobby. “And I don’t think it will be too long now.”
The Goldmans gave Phoenix a last pat, and vanished in the direction of their car. Bobby unsaddled Phoenix, and the Abbington and District Riding Club started their schooling session.
There was no late ride that evening, and Bobby was about to go home when Inga Jacobs rode into the yard on her bay, who was sweating slightly.
“We’ve just finished,” she told Bobby. “Is it all right if we come again on Thursday?”
Bobby agreed that it was, and Inga said, “You did say that the chestnut belonged to Isabel Goldman, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” agreed Bobby. “Why?”
“I was just wondering,” replied Inga. “Why doesn’t she ride him herself?”
“Well, actually we’re re-schooling him,” replied Bobby. “He was well schooled at some time, but he’s got rather difficult, and we’ve had to start pretty well from the beginning again. But he’s going much better now.”
“He looked all right to me,” said Inga. “Well, I’d better be going. Goodbye, and thank you for the loan of the paddock.”
She rode away to join her friends, and Bobby turned back to lock the tack room door, wondering just what had made Inga so interested in Isabel’s horse.
Mrs. Vauxhall’s vet came the following morning to examine June. Heath held her while he examined legs, teeth, eyes, and heart, trotted her up the yard for him, and then galloped her round the field to test her wind and her heart again. When the examination was finished and the mare back in her box the vet measured her, and then asked a few questions about her name and breeding before congratulating them on her good condition and perfect soundness. Sadly, the two girls watched his shining Hillman van turn out of the yard. If only he could have found something, something very slight, wrong with June to prevent Mrs. Vauxhall buying her. But that was a selfish attitude, when the money would be such a help to Guy and the stables. Anyway, there was nothing that they could do now. It would only be a matter of days, at the most, before June left Bracken for good.
Mrs. Vauxhall telephoned that afternoon, to say that the vet was perfectly satisfied that June was sound, and that she would send a box for the mare the following morning, and would post the cheque at once. Heath was rather quiet for the rest of the afternoon, though she did not mention June’s going again, but she avoided the mare’s box, letting Bobby water and feed her, and give her a fresh hay net. Instead, Heath made a fuss of Silver Fountain, riding him in the paddock for an hour, and then grooming him really thoroughly, until he looked like a little horse of silver, needing only a stand to turn him into a cold, frozen statue, instead of a warm, lively, flesh and blood pony.
They had a late ride that evening of rather advanced pupils, and Bobby stayed to help Heath with them, instead of going on home. They had finished supper, and were sitting in the quiet lounge reading when the telephone rang. Bobby answered, and found herself speaking to Isabel Goldman.
“It’s about me riding Phoenix,” she said, and Bobby thought that she sounded excited. “Do you think I could possibly try him myself tomorrow? You see, Inga Jacobs telephoned me this afternoon, and said that she’d seen you riding Phoenix yesterday, and heard that he belonged to me. She’s desperately trying to find a third member for the team, Dora and Frecks usually have to be in it, but Frecks is rather slow, and when she saw Phoenix, and knowing that I used to be a member, she thought that we would be far better.” She stopped for breath, and Bobby said, “What exactly is it that she wants you to go in for?”
“It’s a miniature combined training event,” replied Isabel. “Dressage test Z, cross-country, and show jumping, followed by some gymkhana events. It’s being held on a Sunday, in just over a fortnight’s time.”
“I don’t know that Phoenix is really ready for anything like that,” said Bobby slowly. Privately she did not think that there was much wrong with the horse’s manners, with her, at least. But she was not quite sure what would happen in an affair like that, with Isabel in the saddle.
“Couldn’t I just try riding him?” asked Isabel. “If he plays up I shall just have to tell Inga I can’t do it, but I would love to, and Selina isn’t good enough. She’s hopeless with ditches and things, they terrify her.”
“You could bring her over here for some schooling before the event,” suggested Bobby.
“I’ve tried schooling her,” replied Isabel. “It’s no use. She won’t even jump ditches out hunting, and she doesn’t like timber of any kind. I think she must have had a bad fall before I had her. Anyway, Inga doesn’t want Selina, she never did when I rode regularly with them. It’s Phoenix she wants.”
Bobby realised that she would have to give in. After all, Phoenix was Isabel’s horse, and he was going calmly enough at present. The only thing to do was let Isabel try him, and see what happened.
“All right then.” She tried to remember when she had a free hour the following day. “Can you come at two o’clock?”
“Yes. Thank you very much Miss Morton.” Isabel sounded delighted. “I do hope I can manage him.”
“So do I,” agreed Bobby. “I’ll see you at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon then.”
“Thank you so much. Goodbye Miss Morton.” Isabel rang off, and Bobby went thoughtfully back into the lounge to tell Heath.