The next morning, Jinny was sitting in the back of their car, being driven home from Inverburgh to Finmory. The seat next to her father was empty, but somehow it was safer to be sitting in the back and better for talking to her father. She could say things to the back of his head that she couldn’t have said if she had been able to see his expression.
“There must be someone around here who has a university degree and a teaching whatever-it-is-they-need. MUST be. Please, Daddy. We could put an advert in the paper and I could go to them every day for lessons. I’d learn more that way. Being the only one, I’d learn much more. But honestly it doesn’t matter. Artists don’t need to go to school. We only need to be allowed to draw and paint. That’s all.”
Mr. Manders’ back remained utterly unmoved. Jinny knew that really he wasn’t listening to her.
“Please, please try to understand. I can’t leave Shantih.”
“You won’t be leaving her. I’ve promised to take you over to Miss Tuke’s every weekend so you can ride her.”
“She won’t be mine anymore. Miss Tuke will ruin her, banging about on top of her. She’ll not be the same. She’ll think I’ve left her. How would you like it if you had to leave Mummy? Never see her all week? You wouldn’t like that.”
“Oh, Jinny, try to be sensible. Shantih is only a horse.”
“How can you even think that?” demanded Jinny bitterly. If her father thought that, there didn’t seem to be much point in going on arguing with him. Jinny stared despondently out of the car window.
“As if Shantih were any ordinary horse,” she thought. To Jinny, Shantih was a golden horse, she dazzled in Jinny’s imagination—a horse of the sun—and Jinny loved her more than she loved herself.
They had taken Ken to Nell Storr’s, and Mrs. Manders and Petra to Inverburgh station to catch the Glasgow train. Petra’s piano exam was on Saturday morning. Going to Glasgow today, they would spend the night in a hotel and catch a train back to Inverburgh on Saturday afternoon.
Petra had been cool and confident, her case packed by Thursday morning, certain she had everything with her, not having to check over and over again the way Jinny would have had to do. Even her good luck black cat was neatly packed in its own little box. Not that Petra needed good luck; she was prepared, thought Jinny.
Nell Storr had been waiting for Ken, sitting outside her shop at the wheel of her sports car. Watching them drive off, Jinny had wished that she could have gone with them, that someone had seen her drawings and had wanted to meet her. She had wanted to escape from Finmory. Surely, if she had been driving to London, the Red Horse couldn’t have followed her, and in the excitement of London she might have forgotten some of the things that Miss Tuke had said to her. Mr. Horton had twisted his ankle, Tim had broken his collar bone and Brenda had refused to get on to her pony again. Miss Tuke had held Jinny responsible for the runaway and Mr. Horton had been furious with her.
“It was the lightning that scared them and Marigold’s rainhood,” Jinny had protested.
“If you had controlled Bramble, as you could have done quite easily, none of it would have happened,” Miss Tuke had insisted. “You knew I was riding a young pony. I could do nothing. But for you to go urging Bramble on, yelling like that and charging through them all! I am disgusted with you.”
And there had been nothing more that Jinny could have said to defend herself. She couldn’t have started to try to explain to Miss Tuke that while she had been galloping and yelling she hadn’t been with the trekkers, She had been surrounded by the small dark riders, had ridden with the Pony Folk from the past, her voice mingling with their cries, Bramble’s hoofbeats had been part of their long silent stampede. Even standing in Miss Tuke’s yard when it was all over, the wild, hawk screams of the dark riders still filled her head.
“I am sorry,” Jinny had said.
“Sorry won’t mend Tim’s collar bone or Mr. Horton’s ankle,” Miss Tuke had told her, and Jinny had said no more. There was nothing more she could say.
Mr. Manders parked the car in front of Finmory. They got out and went inside through the iron-studded front door. Standing in the hall, the empty house seemed suddenly menacing, with its high ceilings and shadowy corridors. Kelly came through from the kitchen and, for a second, Jinny didn’t see him as a tail-wagging, welcoming dog. She saw a grey wolf skulking in the shadows, its yellow eyes fixed unblinkingly on her face. Jinny shrieked with sudden fear.
“Whatever is the matter?” demanded her father, and Kelly was dog again.
“Nothing,” Jinny muttered, stroking Kelly, ashamed at being so silly.
Yet she was afraid. No amount of pretending that she wasn’t could make any difference. In her bedroom, the mural of the Red Horse waited for her, and, outside the house, the wilderness of moorland waited for the darkness that would set the Red Horse free, to let it come raging into her dreams. All day they would be going on digging at Brachan, disturbing the things that had lain hidden for hundreds of years. Jinny shivered uncontrollably.
Now there was only herself and her father left. The others had gone just when she needed them most. Jinny clutched desperately at her father’s arm.
“You won’t go too?” she cried. “You won’t leave me alone here? I can’t stay here alone.”
“Of course I’m not going,” said Mr. Manders. “What is wrong, Jinny? What is upsetting you like this? It’s more than being worried about Shantih, isn’t it?”
Mr. Manders looked down anxiously at his daughter’s pinched face, her panic-filled eyes. The weight of her long hair made her face seem sharper and more drawn than ever.
“Can’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
But Jinny couldn’t. She couldn’t start to try and tell her father about her dreams of the Red Horse, how, when she was dreaming, it was more real than being awake. She shook her head dumbly.
“You won’t go, will you? Promise?”
“Is it likely?” said Mr. Manders. “Look, go and make us both a mug of coffee and then come into the pottery and decorate some tiles for me.”
“I’m going to jump Shantih,” Jinny said.
“Make the coffee first?”
“O.K.”
Jinny went through to the kitchen. She filled the kettle and put milk and coffee into two mugs. A gull flew across the window. The sweep of its wings, the suddenness of its moving shadow, made Jinny spring back, her heart thumping.
“It’s only a bird. It’s only a bird. Stop being so silly. Stop it!” Jinny told herself. “It couldn’t happen. I couldn’t be left alone here because I wouldn’t stay here. I’d sleep with Sue, or go into Glenbost and spend the night with Dolina, or to the MacKenzies. I wouldn’t stay here, so it can’t happen.”
Jinny poured boiling water into the mugs, and was about to call her father when the phone rang—shrill, commanding. Jinny froze, the kettle still in her hand, as she listened to her father’s footsteps hurrying to answer the phone. She heard him lift the receiver and give their number.
Jinny could only hear half of the conversation, but she knew at once from her father’s voice that the phone call was something special. As he spoke, his replies grew louder and more excited.
“But I don’t believe it! I absolutely don’t believe it,” he cried.
“How tremendous.”
“Yes, yes. Of course.”
“Certainly.”
“Of course, I do appreciate the urgency.”
“Could I phone you back? Yes, in about five minutes.”
“Yes. Yes.”
“I’ll let you know at once, but, to be quite truthful, I still do not believe it possible.”
Mr. Manders put the phone down with a bang. He came running into the kitchen, grabbed Jinny by the waist and danced her round the kitchen.
“It’s my book,” he cried as they whirled round. “They actually want to publish it. And not only that, they’re rushing it through, bringing it out in three months!” Mr. Manders released Jinny and fell back spread-eagled into one of the kitchen chairs.
“Fantastic,” cried Jinny. “Absolutely super. You’re an author now. A real author!” She was fizzing over at her father’s success. “Wait till Mum hears about it.”
“There’s only one thing,” said Mr. Manders, and Jinny felt a cold clutch of fear tighten in her stomach.
“What?” she demanded, when her father paused.
“Well,” said Mr. Manders, standing up and reaching for his mug of coffee, “all the rush is because there’s a report coming out in three months about the problem of unemployed school leavers. A lot of my book is about this and they want to link my book up with the report.”
“But that’s good, isn’t it?”
“They’re hoping for a T.V. documentary based on the report and the solutions I suggest in my book. If they can get it fixed up it should make quite a difference to the money the book brings in.”
“That’s even better,” said Jinny, still not able to understand what was troubling her father.
“The T.V. producer who might be interested in doing the documentary is having dinner with the publisher tonight, and they want me to fly up to London this afternoon so I can meet them all.”
Jinny felt as if she was choking for breath. Her lungs had stopped working. She wanted to yell, “You can’t! You can’t! You can’t leave me here alone!”
“Seems vital that we get in first with my ideas before anyone else gets wind of the project. I’d be back tomorrow—but what about tonight? You would need to stay here.”
“Of course I can stay here,” declared Jinny, her voice too loud, too high-pitched. “I’ll stay with Sue, share her tent. Of course you must go.”
Jinny saw relief smooth out her father’s face.
“Are you sure you would be all right with the Hortons?” he said.
“Perfectly all right,” replied Jinny. She was gulping down mouthfuls of burning hot coffee to stop herself crying. It had been so sudden. Yet somehow she had known it must happen. “I’ll go and ask them now. I’m sure it will be O.K.” Jinny caught Shantih and rode bareback to the Horton’s tent. It had happened. They were leaving her alone. All her family leaving her alone when she needed them most. Now there was no one left to protect her from the Red Horse.
Sue had seen her and came out of the tent to meet her.
“Hi,” she said. “Have they all gone?”
“How did you know?” demanded Jinny.
“Because you told me. Ken to London, and Petra and your mother to Glasgow.”
“Dad’s going too,” said Jinny. “To London. He had a phone call from the publisher and they are going to publish his book.”
“Good for him,” said Sue.
“They want him to fly to London this afternoon to meet a T.V. producer.”
“T.V. as well !” exclaimed Sue.
“So can I stay with you? Just for tonight.”
“There’ll be no one left at Finmory?”
“No, so please can I share with you?”
“ ‘Course you can. I’ll just tell Mum and Dad.”
Waiting outside on Shantih, Jinny couldn’t quite make out what Sue was saying, only hear the voices inside the tent.
“That’s fixed,” said Sue, coming out again. “They’re dead pleased about your father’s book. Say to give him their congratulations.”
“Thanks,” said Jinny.
“Come over when he’s gone,” said Sue. “We can jump.”
“Will do,” said Jinny, riding away.
For a moment she couldn’t help thinking that there had been something odd about Sue when she had come back out of the tent. Normally when Sue spoke to you she looked you straight in the eye, but just now she had been avoiding Jinny’s gaze.
“Maybe she doesn’t want me,” Jinny thought, but it didn’t make any difference, she wasn’t staying alone in Finmory. For the first time since they had come to live there, Finmory wasn’t home. No one was left there now. Only the Red Horse.
“I can stay with Sue,” Jinny told her father.
“Grand,” said her father. “Thank you. I’ll phone them and let them know.”
“There’s a flight leaving at three-thirty,” Mr. Manders said when he came off the phone. “I’ll be straight back tomorrow morning. I’ll phone your mother and Petra from London. Tell them the good news.”
Jinny nodded, trying to make herself smile, not wanting to spoil her father’s success.
“It’s so unfair,” she thought. “Why has it to be like this? Why couldn’t we all have been here? Why should it happen now? Why?”
And clear into Jinny’s head came a picture of the dig at Brachan. She saw the scarred hillside, the archaeologists with their measuring rods and graph paper. All busy, but not one of them knowing what they were doing.
Jinny shook her head, trying to clear it. “What’s wrong?” she thought. “Why do I keep getting mixed up? Seeing things that aren’t there? Saying things and then not knowing what I mean. Perhaps I’m going mad. I’m so worried about Shantih I’m going mad, but nobody cares.”
Again Jinny saw the dig in her mind’s eye. This time, the archaeologists had bland sheep’s faces. They were passing some small metal object from hand to hand and their hands were like claws. As Jinny stood by the table in Finmory’s kitchen, she saw the grey shapes of wolves coming out of the disturbed earth. Then, as the picture in her head grew clearer, she saw that they weren’t wolves, they were the small dark men she had ridden with yesterday; men dressed in wolf skins, with the wolf masks pulled over their heads. They crept closer to the archaeologists and, behind them, the sky grew red.
At first Jinny thought they were going to attack, and then several of them turned and looked directly at her. The wolf heads they wore didn’t cover their faces and Jinny could see their expressions quite clearly. To her surprise they were not savage at all, but gentle, almost sad, as if they were being forced to watch some tragedy and were helpless to prevent it happening. Then it seemed to Jinny that they wanted to speak to her but couldn’t. As if they needed her help.
“Jinny, what is the matter?” demanded Mr. Manders. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost. What is wrong?”
Jinny blinked her way back to the kitchen. Desperately she wanted to fling herself into her father’s arms, to plead with him not to leave her alone, to tell him about her nightmares. But she couldn’t. If she made a fuss he wouldn’t go to London.
“Anyway, he wouldn’t really understand,” Jinny thought. “No one else can help me. Whatever happens is going to happen to me.”
So she only said, “Oh, nothing. I was day dreaming.” And Mr. Manders, not wanting to interfere too much, didn’t ask any more questions.
“ ’Bye,” shouted Jinny, waving to her father as he started up the car. “Good luck.”
“Take care of yourself,” called back Mr. Manders. “Go straight to the Hortons and I’ll be back tomorrow as soon as I can.”
“Will do,” Jinny shouted back. “‘Bye.”
She stood at the front door, watching the car disappear down the drive, stood listening until the sound of its engine faded into silence. She was alone.
Jinny shut the front door and stood in the hall. In the silence, the whole house seemed to be listening to her breathing. There was the creak of a door being pushed open, and Kelly came padding towards her. He lay down beside her, watching her from under his thatch of grey hair.
Jinny made a dash for the stairs, ran up them, raced along the landing and up the ladder of stairs to her own room. Taking care not to look at the Horse, Jinny found her canvas bag, stuffed a nightdress and a heavy sweater into it. She dragged her sleeping bag from the bottom of her wardrobe and ran back down to the bathroom. She added her toilet things to her canvas bag and tore down to the kitchen. She locked the back door, fumbling in her haste, feeling the eyes of the unseen watchers staring from corners and from behind closed doors. She sped back through the hall, grabbed Kelly by the scruff of his neck and bundled him outside. Turning, Jinny pulled the front door shut and locked it securely. She dropped the key into her canvas bag.
“There,” she said aloud. “That’s it. I’m not going back in there until everyone is home again.”
Kelly had twisted free from Jinny’s grasp. He sat and watched her running down the path to Shantih’s field. When she was out of sight he settled down on the doorstep, waiting for her to come back.