IT took them an hour and twenty minutes to reach Kensington. The team members studied the dressage test most of the way, and Bobby studied them. Inga, who radiated confidence of a rather bounding kind, appeared to be about to burst out of her tight black jacket and breeches, although the boots made her rather short legs look slimmer than usual. She wore her bowler hat on the back of her head, and her frizzy brown hair burst out all around it. Adria, on the other hand, looked extremely well turned out in her hunting clothes, although her hair as usual looked rather a mess, in its straggling bunch. She seemed rather nervous, and was frantically muttering the sequence of movements in the dressage test to herself. Vi looked even paler than usual, with too much pale powder, and a horrible purple lipstick. Her hair looked lifeless, and as though it had been recently peroxided, and she wore a very tweedy costume with high heeled sandals, a queer combination, thought Bobby, though it seemed to fascinate Mike, who was dressed in chocolate coloured breeches, brown boots, and a broadly checked hacking jacket. Dora, who had the appearance of a badly tied parcel, in her too small brown jodhpurs, yellow Aertex shirt, and creased brown hacking jacket, seemed unable to keep still for a moment. One second she was talking to one of the horses, the next she was leaning out of the window, or hearing someone’s dressage test; she fidgeted with the bridles, rubbing the bits, and straightening the reins, and generally seemed more excited and nervous than any of the team members.
The horses all travelled well, and the two club horses looked extremely well turned out. Columbia’s reddish bay coat shone, and his eyes were bright and bold. His mane and tail had been brushed until they shone like black silk. Smoke’s grey coat did not shine, but he had obviously been bathed that morning, and he was spotless. Phoenix was the most excited, looking round the box with head high and ears pricked and pawing the wooden floor at intervals. Bobby wished that he would doze like the other horses, but there seemed no hope of that. Isabel glanced at him several times with a mixture of pride and apprehension, and Bobby felt far more nervous than she would have done had she been going to ride the chestnut herself. It could do the stables so much harm if Phoenix went badly.
The box driver, who knew the way from previous occasions, made straight for the Bayswater Road when they got into London, and turned right at the top of Kensington Church Street. Isabel and Dora hung eagerly out of the window as they turned in between a pair of high, dark green gates, and jolted slowly down a wide pathway flanked by high stone walls. Then they were in Kensington Palace Paddock itself. It was a very long field, and fairly wide, with the Embassies in Kensington Palace Gardens backing on to it on the right, and the park beyond iron railings on the left. At the far end were the grounds of Kensington Palace. The boxes were parked across the top of the field, on the rough grass behind the football pitch which took up the greater part of the paddock. Their box joined the line, the engine was switched off, and the driver came round to lower the ramp. It was ten past ten.
“Teams have to parade at ten-thirty,” Isabel explained to Bobby, as they jumped down.
The three horses were bridled and unloaded, Phoenix showing signs of excitement, and Bobby saddled him while Isabel held his head. Smoke was trying to graze, and Columbia stood quietly, looking about him without undue excitement. Bobby removed Phoenix’s various pads and bandages, tightened his girth, and held his head while Isabel gingerly mounted. Adria was up on Smoke, and Inga heaved herself on to Columbia.
“Don’t hold him too tightly,” Bobby warned Isabel, as the three horses moved away. “And keep him on his bit.”
All around them other teams were mounting, and beginning to ride down towards the collecting ring, and Bobby walked after them with Dora, Vi, and Mike, feeling strangely out of place as non-riding groom.
Phoenix seemed to be going quite sensibly, with Columbia on one side of him, and Smoke on the other, as the chestnut was the biggest of the trio. A beautifully turned out team of greys trotted past them, and Phoenix jumped forward, but Isabel had him under control again quickly. The collecting ring was a circle of trampled earth above the dressage arena, which was marked out in a hollow, at the far end of the paddock from where the boxes were parked. Spectators sat on the banks to watch, and the judges were housed in a small tent at the top. Bobby stood by the collecting ring, watching the teams parade below her. There were eight teams there, and Bobby bought a programme to look them up. Most of them were fairly local, from Surrey, Kent, Buckinghamshire, and the suburbs, and one came from slightly further away, in Hampshire. The greys were the home team, and naturally had many supporters. A few onlookers leaned on the park railings, watching the scene with some surprise.
The Abbington and District Club were third on the programme, and in the parade, and Bobby was glad to see that so far Phoenix was behaving well. Smoke and Columbia were the perfect companions for him, steady, experienced horses who had done it all before. The teams formed up down the centre of the arena, and the president of the Kensington Club made a short speech, welcoming everyone, and wishing them an enjoyable day.
Then the teams left the arena, the number one riders remained in the collecting ring, and the dressage tests began. Isabel was Abbington’s third rider, and it would be two hours before her turn came, and so Phoenix was taken back to the box with Smoke, given a drink, and shut into his narrow stall. Smoke was tethered to the outside of the box, and Isabel, Bobby, and Adria walked slowly back towards the arena, looking at the cross-country course on the way. It was a small course, eight fences, once round the field, and nothing exceeding three foot three. But most of the fences were fixed, and they would be unpleasant things to hit at speed. The first fence was a low pile of brushwood bundles. Then came a set of upright poles, followed by a log pile, wired to a solid framework. A sharp right-handed turn, round a flag, and the course went on over a ditch and brush, and a wall consisting of two wooden doors fixed to sloping wooden uprights, another right turn, and over a solidly built stile, the hogs back, and a thick brush in a framework on the downward slope to the arena. There was a run in across the hollow, and between two flags. Isabel was rather silent as they walked on to the rows of chairs overlooking the dressage arena, where a black horse was performing a not very expert test, and Bobby hoped that she would not lose her nerve when she found Phoenix heading for a fence.
Inga had already ridden her test, and her marks were quite good. Adria wandered back to the box to collect Smoke, and ride him in before her turn came, and Bobby and Isabel sat beside Dora, Vi, and Mike, and watched several more horses go through the test. The most common faults were over freshness or lack of impulsion, and many of the horses seemed rather stiff. One golden chestnut did a beautiful test with the polish of a budding expert, and a big grey with an ugly head refused to do anything but buck. Then it was Smoke’s turn. He was very calm, and Adria, too seemed calmer now. They did a very nice, quiet test, with one bad transition, and left the arena to scattered applause from the small audience, and Inga looked pleased. Bobby and Isabel went off to get Phoenix.
The chestnut was more excited this time without his two sensible companions, but after staring about him rather wildly for a few minutes he began to settle down, and Bobby watched as Isabel exercised him in a quiet corner behind the boxes. One day the horse might be famous, she realised, as she watched his tremendous impulsion, and the power in his smoothly extended canter, but whether it would be in Isabel’s ownership was a different matter. She lacked the extra drive which they would need to take them ahead, and she was too much inclined to cling on and hope for the best without giving her horse any help. But they should get through test Z easily enough, decided Bobby, as she walked back to the arena beside the chestnut.
And they did. Phoenix pulled a little during the canters, but Isabel kept her head, and managed to steady him without letting him come off the bit. Their circles were a trifle large, owing to the fact that he was pulling, and they knocked one marker over, but at the slower paces Phoenix was a model of good behaviour. He looked immensely fit and powerful, with the muscle swelling under his dark red coat, and beneath the ripple of his dark mane, and Isabel looked somehow inadequate against his strength. Bobby met them as they left the arena, and Isabel dismounted.
“He feels awfully fresh,” she said, a trifle anxiously. “I’m sure I shall never be able to stop him this afternoon.”
“You will if you try,” Bobby told her. “Forget that there are any fences until you are actually about to jump them, just concentrate on keeping him balanced, and going steadily. It’s no use trying to break records round here, you will find him a handful if you really let him gallop on. These fences aren’t as high as some you’ve jumped often at home, and they’re perfectly straightforward.”
But Isabel was still unhappy as they led the chestnut back to the box.
When the marks went up Inga was thrilled to find that Abbington was standing second.
“Dressage is usually our worst part,” she told Bobby. “And so we should be all right now. Smoke and Columbia can jump that course easily, and Phoenix should, don’t you think?”
“He can,” Bobby told her. “As long as he isn’t going too fast.”
“Oh well, at least he shouldn’t exceed the time limit, by the look of him,” said Inga cheerfully. “And if he hits one it’ll make him pick his feet up in future. I say Vi, how about a cup of coffee? They’re selling food in that tent.”
“That would be nice,” admitted Vi. “Come on Mike. I hope they’ve got some of those little creamy cakes again. Do you remember those cakes last year? They were delicious.”
“They were,” agreed Inga. “Coming Bobby?”
“No thank you. I’m going to have a look round,” replied Bobby.
The others went off to the refreshment tent, from which came a strong smell of coffee, and the fainter odour of dish cloths, and Bobby wandered back to the side of the arena, where the last horse, one of the greys from the Kensington Club, was just finishing its dressage test. Abbington was still standing second, and Bobby realised that a lot would probably depend on how Isabel managed Phoenix in the cross-country. She suddenly wished that the afternoon was over.
The dressage ended, and Bobby returned to the box to eat her sandwiches sitting on the ramp alone, as the others had dashed off to explore. It was a lovely day, warm, with a blue sky, crossed by swiftly moving white clouds, driven by a pleasantly brisk breeze. Bobby finished eating, and lay back on the ramp, sheltered from the breeze, feeling the sun hot on her twill covered legs. The others should be back soon, but for the moment it was pleasant to forget the rapidly approaching problems of the afternoon and to lie with closed eyes, listening to the heavy, dull murmur of London, and yet smelling all the familiar scents of a country horse show, trampled grass, damp earth, horses, and warm leather. But if the others did not return soon, Bobby suddenly realised, there would not be time for Isabel to get Phoenix going again before the start of the cross-country, when there would be galloping horses about to upset him. She got up to saddle the chestnut inside the box, but there was still no sign of Isabel when she had finished, and it was almost two-thirty, and time for the second part of the event to begin, when they finally appeared.
The three horses were unloaded, and the team members hastily mounted. Everyone else seemed already to be on their way to the other end of the field, and Isabel swung Phoenix round as he tried to leap forward. Bobby saw trouble ahead. Isabel was already nervous and very excited, and Phoenix’s excitement was frightening her more. He jogged all the way down to the start, and Bobby had a nasty feeling that it was only the company of Columbia and Smoke that kept him under control. She hurried after them with the rest of the Abbington supporters.
Every horse in the field was gathered in the corner behind the start. Several were being cantered in circles or taken over the low practice bar, which Bobby told Isabel she must later jump. But first she made the girl trot and canter her horse in circles and figures of eight until he was going more calmly, and Isabel seemed to have settled down on him, and regained proper control of him. Then they jumped the low pole. Phoenix rushed, Isabel grabbed the mane, completely lost all contact with his mouth, and entirely forgot to do anything about steadying him. Only the hedge in front of his nose after landing prevented Phoenix from charging off with her. Bobby, wishing that she was fifty miles away, attempted to explain quietly to Isabel that if she dropped her reins and let her horse jump exactly as he liked in that way, she was extremely unlikely to get round without a fall or a refusal, when Phoenix found himself completely unbalanced and wrongly placed at a stiff fence.
Isabel tried again, slightly more successfully, and Bobby made her canter her horse in more circles and jump from the other direction. At last Isabel seemed to be riding properly again, and Bobby told her to let him relax for a few minutes. But Phoenix was far too excited to relax. Horses were galloping out and racing in only a few yards away from him, and in the distance he could see them galloping and jumping on the course. He was trembling with excitement by the time Columbia went, and flung himself forward after the bay in an enormous leap. Somehow Isabel managed to swing him round, her face suddenly white and set, and Bobby cursed Inga and her interference in demanding Phoenix for her team. But it was too late to do anything now, and even if she suggested it Bobby knew that Isabel would not agree to withdraw at this stage. She would just have to go through with it. Phoenix had quite a lot of sense, and once he was away from the crowd he should steady up a little. And Bobby had never known him to make a serious mistake when jumping.
Columbia went very well. He was a good, steady jumper, and fairly fast. As far as Bobby could see they made no bad mistakes, and Inga was grinning and patting him hard as they slowed up after the run in. There were more spectators now, lining the park railings and drifting in through the gate from the park, buying their tickets from the girl on gate duty.
“He didn’t do a thing wrong,” cried Inga, as Columbia stopped beside them. “And it’s a lovely course, much better than last year.”
She jumped off, and loosened her horse’s girth. The bay was wet on his neck and flanks, but he was not blowing too hard. Phoenix was pawing the ground violently, digging up the grass, and Isabel looked terrified.
“I’m sure I shall never stop him,” she told Bobby.
“You’re perfectly capable of stopping him,” Bobby told her. “But you must think what you’re doing, and not go all weak when you see a fence coming. Remember, as long as you ride him in the way you can at home, you’ll be perfectly all right. He could get round this course on three legs.”
But Isabel did not look convinced. Horse after horse went, a bay pony pecked at the log pile, and his rider fell off, and a grey had two refusals at the ditch and hedge, which meant that he lost ten points, and went on to the next fence. Then it was Smoke’s turn. Luckily Phoenix did not see him go. He was talking to Columbia, standing nose to nose with him, and for the moment he was quiet enough. Smoke went beautifully, and of the Abbington team only Phoenix remained to jump.
“I’ll never stop him,” said Isabel for the hundredth time.
Bobby tried to be bracing, and decided that she might be more use out on the course, if anything did go wrong, and told Isabel that she would go up to the second fence.
“Good luck,” she said. “And I’m sure he’ll be all right.”
“Thank you,” whispered Isabel.
She was walking her chestnut in circles, looking white and scared, and Bobby wished that they had never let her think of coming. But they had tried to prevent it, and you could not force people to do what you wanted with their own horses. Bobby walked up the field to join Vi, Dora, and Mike by the second fence.
A bay cob went round at a slow canter, a black ran out at the stile, and it was Isabel’s turn. Bobby, her fingers crossed and her palms suddenly sticky, watched anxiously. Phoenix was coming very fast towards the brushwood bundles on the upward slope, though Isabel did seem to be steadying him a little. He flew them in his stride, without really bothering about them, and Bobby was glad to see that Isabel was still riding him properly as they headed for the second fence. This was larger, and solid. Phoenix was going at a reasonable pace, he jumped well off his hocks, but Isabel grabbed the mane, and Bobby saw the reins slip through her fingers, and her legs fly back. The chestnut landed, found his mouth free, and his rider all over the saddle with her legs miles away from his sides, and was off towards the log pile, which was slightly lower on the take off side, and had quite a good spread. Bobby prayed that Isabel would regain control before they reached it, but Isabel was plainly just hanging on and hoping. Phoenix was galloping flat out, lumps of mud and turf and small stones flying from beneath his scooping hooves. But he steadied himself of his own accord a few strides from the fence, and cleared it beautifully, landing far out on the other side, with his reins still loose and Isabel clinging to his mane, with her toes right down and her legs flying all over the place. Then he was away down the field towards the horse boxes. The gates were shut, Bobby noticed gladly, as Phoenix approached the yellow corner flag. But Isabel had realised that she must do something if she wished to remain on the course, and she somehow managed to drag her horse round the corner in a wide sweep. Phoenix, furious at the pull on one side of his mouth, and the checking of his glorious gallop, leaped through the air off his hocks, tearing the reins through Isabel’s frightened fingers, and charged the ditch and brush at a tremendous speed. He took off far too soon, and flew through the air in an enormous leap which took him right out on the other side. Isabel lost a stirrup, and was clinging desperately to his mane with both hands as they went straight on over the wall, at which her other stirrup went. The park railings were directly ahead, and Bobby caught her breath sharply as she realised that Phoenix was going straight on.
Isabel realised it too, and as the chestnut took off she flung herself forward, desperately trying to stay with him. The railings were about four foot six high, spiked on top, with a tarmac landing. If Isabel fell off on that … But Isabel did not. Phoenix cleared the railings beautifully, with Isabel somehow clinging on, and spectators scattering in all directions. It was a magnificent jump, and if it had not been so obvious that Isabel was utterly terrified and out of control Bobby would have been thrilled. But as Phoenix landed safely on the other side, and galloped wildly away across Kensington Gardens, his hooves clattering sharply on the tarmac paths, Bobby began to run. Someone gave her a leg up over the railings, and she was running on across the park. She could see Phoenix in the distance, head in the air, stirrups flashing, Isabel still in the saddle. They were heading for the Round Pond, and Bobby took a short cut over some low railings, and across a corner of Kensington Palace Grounds. Other people were running in the same direction, everyone was stopping to stare, and a park keeper on a bicycle was pedalling furiously in the direction that the horse had taken.
It was by the bandstand beyond the Round Pond that Bobby caught up with them at last. Phoenix had slowed to a canter of his own accord, and a young man in a dark blue track suit had grabbed the reins, jerking him to a halt, and sending Isabel up his neck. Now the chestnut was grazing as fast as he could, with the athletic young man gingerly holding the reins, and Isabel was sitting on a bench surrounded by curious onlookers, with her face hidden in her hands. A motherly looking middle-aged woman with a fat Scottie dog on a tartan lead was fussing round her, and everyone was making helpful suggestions.
“Do you know this young lady?” a soldierly looking man asked Bobby.
“Yes,” agreed Bobby, trying to push her way up to Isabel.
“Disgraceful business,” stated the man. “Should never have been allowed on such a dangerous brute.”
“Are you all right Isabel?” Bobby asked her, ignoring the man.
“All right? Of course she isn’t all right,” snorted the soldierly type. “Would anyone be all right after a shock like that?”
“Someone ought to get an ambulance,” said the motherly woman. “The poor child should be properly looked after.”
“I don’t want an ambulance,” said Isabel shakily, roused by this remark. “I’m all right now.”
“Nonsense,” declared the woman. “You should go straight to bed.”
“Let’s get back to the paddock,” said Bobby. “Come on Isabel.”
In spite of the protests from their audience Isabel obeyed, Bobby took Phoenix’s reins from the young man, and thanked him. Then they began to walk back across the grass towards the Broad Walk, with Phoenix walking quietly beside Bobby. Isabel was very white at first, but as the crowd was left behind, and the park keeper met and explained to, her colour began to come back, and by the time they reached the gates into Bayswater Road, from which the paddock was entered, she looked normal again.
“I’m terribly sorry,” she told Bobby yet again, as they entered the paddock. “It was my fault. I just lost my nerve when he started to gallop. But I’ll never dare ride him again. And Inga will be furious.”
Bobby had tried to be bracing all through their walk back to the paddock. Now she said, “I’ll settle Inga. And it was really my fault. I should never have let you bring him. I knew neither of you was really ready for it yet. Anyone would have had a job with him today.”
“You couldn’t have stopped me coming,” said Isabel. “He’s my horse, or he is at present. I suppose Mummy will sell him now. She won’t want me to ride him again.”
“But you want to, don’t you?” asked Bobby.
“I want to. But I wouldn’t dare,” replied Isabel.
Then Inga arrived, followed by the rest of the club members. “Isabel, thank goodness you’re all right,” cried Inga. “We were terrified when he jumped the railings. You should have sawed his mouth, that would have stopped him.”
Bobby opened her mouth to argue, but Isabel interrupted. “I’m awfully sorry,” she said. “I’ve Iet you all down.” She was obviously on the verge of tears, and Inga said, “But it wasn’t your fault. He’s thoroughly dangerous. That riding school should never have let you bring him.” She glared at Bobby, who opened her mouth to protest, but again she was stopped, this time by Dora, who broke in with, “I’ve heard they aren’t safe. We’ve had several inquiries, Isabel, from people who think Bracken stables are dangerous, and they had an accident in front of us once, a child was badly hurt then. You made a big mistake in sending Phoenix to them.”
“I … ” began Isabel, but Bobby, losing control of her temper, stopped her.
“If it’s anyone’s fault that there was almost a serious accident it’s yours, Inga,” she snapped. “If you hadn’t interfered Isabel wouldn’t have ridden Phoenix in an event like this for months yet. I told you that we were only schooling the horse, and you knew perfectly well that Isabel wasn’t riding him at all when you first saw him, because he was difficult. But you think you know better, and so you ’phone Isabel and tell her that the horse is just what you need for the team, and beg her to ride him for you in this competition. And now, of course, it’s all our fault that things have gone wrong.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” snapped Inga. “Trying to shift the blame on to me like this. I know it’s hard on you, losing so many horses and having your boss in hospital, but if you can’t manage the stables safely without him you shouldn’t try. Isabel might have been killed, and the horse as well. And it’s not the first time your stable has been involved in a nasty accident. Everyone here thinks it’s disgusting. I only suggested to Isabel that she might ride Phoenix in the team. I suppose you were too frightened of losing her custom to tell her that the horse was thoroughly dangerous.”
“Phoenix is not dangerous, he’s young, and rather highly strung, and has got slightly out of hand,” retorted Bobby. “And I did warn both Isabel and Mrs. Goldman that he wasn’t really ready for anything like this, but Isabel didn’t want to let you down, after you had explained to her how desperate you were for a third horse.”
She turned her back on Inga, and began to unsaddle the chestnut. Isabel, looking thoroughly miserable, held his head, and Inga, with an angry shrug, turned and walked away towards the ring.
“Come along Isabel,” Vi instructed her. “You must have a cup of tea or something. It will help you to get over the shock.”
She glared at Bobby, who took no notice, and Isabel said, “I ought to help with Phoenix.” But Bobby assured her that she could manage, and so Isabel rather doubtfully allowed herself to be shepherded away towards the refreshment tent. Bobby was left to box Phoenix on her own, as the box driver had disappeared. She did not feel at all happy. Far from helping to keep Bracken going Phoenix seemed to be making things even worse. With a name like that he should have brought them luck, thought Bobby miserably, as she tethered him to a ring in the side of the box. It had seemed a good omen when he first came, and he had started so well. But now, and mainly because of Inga Jacobs, he would leave them with an even worse reputation, besides losing them eight guineas a week.
Miss Wilson was certain to hear of the affair, though the Bracken House contract had always seemed something of a forlorn hope, and other owners would certainly not be encouraged to send their young horses to Bracken for schooling. They might even lose Jupiter and Scotch, when their owners got to hear of Phoenix’s performance. And apart from everything else Bobby felt sorry for Phoenix. He was such a gay, bold horse, and he had never had a fair chance. And now he would either be shot or sent to a sale, as Mrs. Goldman would feel that it was impossible to hope to sell him privately. She would be convinced that he was dangerous, as Inga, and probably half London, were already. If only Guy had been at home, and able to persuade Isabel not to ride Phoenix in the team. But even Guy might not have been able to stop her.
When Bobby returned to the side of the arena Inga and Adria, who could still compete for the individual awards, were both in the collecting ring awaiting their turns to jump, while Isabel sat watching, surrounded anxiously by the other Abbington members. Bobby kept well away from them. She had no wish to be involved in another row in front of the entire audience and all the other clubs.
Both Columbia and Smoke jumped well. It was a low but twisty course, and several of the jumps were strange looking, a pole with sacks flung over it, a “bean row” with twists of silver paper hung on strings from the top, and a plank resting on trestles with a row of buckets filled with water standing beneath it. Inga eventually won the individual rosette for the best performance in the combined training events, and second for the best round in the jumping. Smoke was individual reserve, and also won the musical hats, which was the last event. As Isabel was out of the team they were unable to enter for the Gretna Green race, which ended in a mad steeplechase back up the ring, over a low pole, two riders holding hands and the third, the preacher, following them, and on in a thundering crowd across the football pitch. The team cup went to the Longdale Dressage and Cross Country Club, with the Kensington Club second. The day was over.
Boxes crept slowly and joltingly out of the unobtrusive gates which hid a corner of London that was still the country, out into the roaring traffic of the Bayswater Road, leaving the green, tree-shaded corner behind them, remote from the exhaust fumes, and the snarling, roaring engines, the hurrying crowds, and the rushing Underground trains, a corner where horses jumped on Sunday afternoons, and the Army horses schooled in the early mornings. At least it had been a show worth visiting, decided Bobby, even if it had ended so dismally for the Bracken Hills Stables. The others said little about Phoenix or Isabel during the journey home, and Bobby spent most of the time staring out of the window at the passing traffic, and the slowly thinning, suburban houses, and wondering if it was her fault that things seemed to be going from bad to worse. Perhaps she had not schooled Phoenix properly, or there might be something wrong with the way she had taught Isabel. But she could think of nothing that she had skimped, or been careless about, and she was glad when the box finally stopped outside the stable yard. Phoenix was unloaded, and Isabel, who was being given a lift on to the bus stop, said that she would telephone later to let them know what was to happen to the horse. Then the box drove on, and Bobby led Phoenix sadly towards his box, with his tack carried over her other arm. Heath and Yoland came out of the tack room at the sound of his hooves, and Yoland took the tack from her. Bobby told them the sad story of the day as she stabled the chestnut.
“There’s one thing to be grateful for, anyway,” she said at length, as they bolted Phoenix’s door. “Mrs. Goldman wasn’t there. I should think she’d have died if she’d seen it. It was rather a frightening exhibition.”
She glanced at Shelta before going up to the house, and was welcomed by an eager whicker, and a soft, thrusting nose pushed against her. She gave the chestnut mare a carrot, and rubbed her shining white star, knowing that whatever happened to Bracken stables it would take a very great deal to make her part with Shelta. And after eating Mrs. Joyce’s large and excellently prepared supper of grilled lamb chops, new potatoes, peas, and mint sauce, followed by a delicious apple pie with just enough large black cloves to flavour it, even Phoenix’s performance at the show no longer seemed quite so dreadful. Though she did wonder briefly for how much longer they would be able to eat like that, if things did get much worse.