The End of Summer Page 4

  Sebastian scrambled down from his pony reluctantly.

  “He’s knocked out,” James said. “His head’s bleeding all over the place, look!”

  Sebastian looked and wished he hadn’t. He didn’t know what to say, or do.

  “Can you get the major? You’d better be quick.”

  Sebastian swallowed. He supposed he would have to. He pulled himself into the saddle. At least Idris was standing still. Idris always stood still. Sebastian wondered where Echo had gone.

  “Just go straight, that way. Even if you don’t go exactly the way we came you’ll meet the track. And everyone else will be waiting on the other side of the wood. They won’t go on without us.”

  Sebastian’s brain began to work as he rode. He wondered if the rest of them had heard the gunshot. They must have! Maybe the other horses and ponies had all bolted as well. But it was no good thinking that way. Idris surged sure-footedly through the trees back to the track. Perhaps they should go faster. Echo could have gone anywhere and Dick could be… Sebastian asked Idris to trot and then to canter. He felt just as horrible as he had all day, no worse, as Idris’ steady strides ate up the track.

  The cantering party experienced a mild amount of pandemonium. Columbine tried to climb a tree when the gun went off and little Joey bucked, flinging his passenger harmlessly into the mulch. Patricia Powell let her silly show hack charge past the Widow, but she’d had to stop at the end of the track; there was a five-barred gate and as she said, it was her other horse that was the jumper. Fireworks and Frolic had followed her, but everyone else had had no problems. They were all brushing themselves off and sharing reactions cheerfully when that strange little boy came cantering up the track on his magnificent Welsh pony.

  The boy stopped and gulped like a fish. “There’s been an accident,” he said.

  Major Holbrooke left most of the ride on the track, but he took a good group of bigger people with him after Sebastian. Christopher, David and Nicholas. He hoped he wouldn’t need them.

  “Has he woken up?” the major asked James Radcliffe.

  “No,” said James.

  The major swung down from his horse and went to look. Dick was out cold with an impressive looking bleeding gash on the side of his head.

  “Is there anything else wrong with him?” It felt strange asking this of James, who was only twelve and fairly small for his age.

  James shook his head. “I don’t think so. His arms and legs are all right but we shouldn’t move him. He might have hurt his neck or his spine.” James was incredibly earnest.

  Major Holbrooke smiled at him. “I don’t think we have any choice. We won’t get an ambulance down here; I couldn’t even get the Land Rover near enough to be any use.”

  “Shall I go and look for Echo?” Christopher asked.

  The major shook his head. “Echo will have to look after himself. I need you to marshal the troops, but get down first and give me a hand.”

  It was like being back in the Great War, in a way. There were no ambulances back then, not that the major remembered. If the wounded got a horse to drag them along they were lucky. The boys helped the major haul Dick up in front of him on the Widow. It’s a good job it was Dick who was hurt, Major Holbrooke thought, and not someone who weighed anything.

  The grim procession burst out of the trees where the rest of the pony club was waiting for them.

  “Everyone mount please,’ Major Holbrooke said. “We’ll take the most direct route home, but we’re not going to rush. We walk. Margaret, can you go ahead and get hold of your father? Ask Mrs Holbrooke to ring him, or ring him yourself. The rest of you please stay with your partners in the same order as before. Who was Margaret’s partner? You’re coming with me. Christopher and what’s-your-name go at the back and no overtaking!”

  Dick could hear an explosion in the distance. There was an explosion in his head too, but it didn’t fit with the other one. And it went on and on; an eternal explosion. “Where’s Crispin?” he asked uncertainly.

  “Hello.” The voice was familiar, but peculiar as well. It seemed to be coming from underneath him.

  The explosion receded some more and Dick opened his eyes to bright, painful sunlight, closed them again. He seemed to be riding a horse, but held captive at the same time, with someone’s arms round him, holding him tight. And his head wouldn’t stay straight on his shoulders. He pushed against the arms in case they would let go. They wouldn’t.

  “Steady on,” the voice said. “You’re all right. You fell off Echo. Do you remember?”

  “Echo.” The word echoed and the light faded.

  Echo was waiting for them when they got back, tucking into a mash in his stable with no ill effects from his escapade. And Dick had woken up, though he couldn’t walk and was carried into the house looking bloody and horrible. They said he was going to be all right.

  Sebastian walked home in a large group of the pony club. Christopher and his brothers, Marion and Jean and Gay, the girls he had met on the way that morning. David and Martin bickered and Jean chatted away to Marion, and Sebastian didn’t mind at all. He only wished James was there. James was the one who had been so calm and competent. Was James his friend? It was strange to be thinking about such things while riding Idris. And Idris just walked along the lane, sure and steady, like always.

  “Is that my blood?” Dick asked, sitting up in his old bed in the major’s boys’ bedroom where he had stayed over Christmas.

  “Yes. You’ve ruined my third best hacking jacket. Thanks very much,” said Major Holbrooke.

  Dick couldn’t remember what had happened. Apparently a gun had gone off, Echo had bolted and he’d smashed his head on a tree. It didn’t seem unlikely. He’d come back to Folly Court riding up on the Merry Widow with the major. He could remember that in a way that was like a dream. Then he’d had his head sewn up by Dr Radcliffe. That part was going to be unforgettable.

  “You said something about a feeling of foreboding this morning didn’t you? Disaster. I think you said that too. Seems I’m not cut out to be a pony club instructor.”

  “What nonsense! These things can happen to anyone you know,” the major said seriously. “I’m certainly going to be doing a little investigating into who the devil thinks it reasonable to shoot off guns right next to public bridleways without checking whether there’s anyone coming. But everyone seems to be in one piece more or less. In fact I was impressed how well the pony club acquitted themselves in a time of crisis. Honestly, you missed the best part!”

  “I don’t know about ‘in one piece’.” Mrs Holbrooke was there too. “Dr Radcliffe gave strict instructions that we were to keep an eye on you.”

  “I apologise for my wife,” said Major Holbrooke. “She mothers everyone. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Oh shut up George!” said Mrs Holbrooke.

  March

  James Radcliffe was belted by his father and sent to bed sobbing. It was an unprecedented event. The house was eerily silent afterwards; everyone seemed to have run away to hide. Dr Radcliffe hurried downstairs to look for a drink.

  “God, I hope I never have to do that again,” he said to his wife who was reading a book by the fire in the sitting room.

  Dr Radcliffe didn’t really believe in corporal punishment. To his mind it was what animals did. Human beings had language and reason to use to sort out differences with their offspring. The problem was that neither language nor reason had worked the last time or the time before. James had been forbidden to ride his pony beyond the village on his own, yet he’d done so, and come home after dark for the third time in two weeks.

  “I told him this would happen if he did it again. I honestly never dreamed he would.”

  “He’ll be fine in the morning,” Mrs Radcliffe looked up from her book and smiled.

  “Are you sure? I don’t think you can really tell with James. It’s why I was never bothered about him going away to school. He’s sensitive.”

  “And also stubbor
n. We can’t let James go galloping about the woods in the dark! Sometimes one has to hurt people for their own good.”

  Dr Radcliffe fetched himself a glass of whiskey and sat down with it opposite his wife by the fire. He thought about sewing up Dick Hayward’s head last month. Poor Dick! That had certainly hurt. And what happened to Dick could happen to anyone who rode, but if you were out after dark alone…

  “James thinks he and Rocket are invincible, that’s the problem,” he said.

  “Well, he’ll need to learn different.”

  “All right?” Dick looked up at Susan.

  “Yes!” Susan wasn’t entirely sure really. This was only the second time she had ridden Tranquil since her arm had been deemed fixed and well. Dick seemed a long way down. But she was far too excited to worry. It was a beautiful day and they were about to set off for the first show of the year. Not that she was competing herself, but that didn’t seem to matter at all. Half the fun of showing was the excitement of simply being there and cheering on one’s friends. She would be riding Tranquil to the show and that was going to give her quite enough to worry about.

  Mrs Holbrooke bustled into the stable yard with Archie the cockatoo on her shoulder. “Have you seen George?” she asked.

  “He’s putting Cressida away,” Dick said, up on Echo checking his girth. “I’m sure he won’t be a minute.”

  “Whether he’s a minute or not we’re still late!” Mrs Holbrooke was going to the show too; she had volunteered to help with the teas and the major was judging.

  “Is Archie going with you?” Dick asked, smiling.

  “Oh heavens! I’d forgotten he was there! What do you think Archie? Want to come to a horse show?”

  “Oh no, no, no!” said Archie.

  “The competitors are going to get there before the judges at this rate,” said Major Holbrooke, appearing from the direction of the tack room. “Come on Carol, stop gassing!”

  “Have you got your hat on properly?” Mrs Holbrooke asked Dick.

  Marion would much rather have led Columbine, but Christopher persuaded her to ride so they went along in fits and starts. Mostly Christopher and Crusoe walked ahead and then stopped and waited with obvious impatience.

  “Honestly Marion, I would have thought you’d have got her going better than this by now!”

  “She does go better sometimes,” Marion said.

  “Well I haven’t seen it. I reckon you’re wasting your time.”

  Marion thought that too, in darker moments. If only she were a better rider! Still, she’d given herself till the end of summer to get somewhere with Columbine, and it was only March. “We’re going this way now, to Gay’s,” she said.

  Christopher groaned. “I don’t see why we have to. It’s not even on the way!”

  “I know, but Columbine likes Biddy and Sonnet. And anyway, I’ve arranged it; they’re expecting us.”

  They had already had this argument. Marion had found that Columbine was much less nervous around certain other horses and some horses made her worse; she didn’t seem to like Crusoe at all for example. Marion had more or less decided she was going to ask Christopher to have Crusoe at his house, for a while anyway, only dithering because she knew how much she would miss him. Crusoe stood there, bright and beautiful, shining in the sun. The truth was that Marion had never felt good enough for him.

  “Come on Columbine,” she said, trying to emulate Christopher’s unfailing confidence, “there’s nothing to be scared of at all really!”

  Gay couldn’t help being irritated by Jean’s chatter as they walked along the road. And Columbine kept stopping; they were going to be late! Jean was chattering away about the jumping. She had been going on and on for days, and practising too. Biddy was jumping really well, better than Sonnet. Since both of them were riding in the junior class it was likely that Gay was going to find herself beaten by her own little sister.

  “It doesn’t matter if we’re late,” Jean said, “It’s only the boring old showing!”

  And it was true that none of them had intended bothering to enter either of the two showing classes.

  “Can we at least trot?” Christopher asked. He was obviously fed up too; he hadn’t said anything at all up to that point.

  “Oh goodness, I don’t think so!” Marion said anxiously.

  “If we don’t get there early there won’t be anywhere left to tie up.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” said Marion. “Perhaps you’d better go on ahead.”

  “Perhaps I’d better,” Christopher said angrily. “Anyone coming?”

  Gay stared at Christopher in surprise. How could he be so mean? After all, Marion had lent him her horse to ride!

  “We’ll stay with Marion thanks,” Jean said, crisply.

  “Suit yourselves,” said Christopher, trotting away.

  Christopher felt slightly guilty as he clipped along the roads, but the feeling faded away when he arrived at the show. The second showing class was already half-way though and the showground was packed. He walked along the edge of the field where there were boxes parked and horses and ponies tied to the fence. There was no space at all. He was going to have to hold on to Crusoe the whole time.

  “Hello!” someone called.

  Christopher looked up to see Patricia Powell wandering along from the direction of the ring with her show hack who was wearing a white rosette. “Hello,” he said. “Have you been showing?”

  “Yes, we were fifth, which is ridiculous, but the judges are always halfwits at these sort of potty little affairs.”

  “I thought Major Holbrooke was judging,” Christopher said.

  “Oh, he may have been. I didn’t notice. It’s nice to see a familiar face anyway. Would you like a cup of tea? Our lorry is just along here and we have all the mod cons.”

  “That’s jolly nice of you,” Christopher said. “But I’ve only just got here, haven’t even entered yet!”

  “Oh, well, perhaps you could come along later. You can tie your nag up with ours if you like. It’s the big red lorry; you can’t miss it.” She pointed generally in the direction of a row of trucks where there did seem to be one unnecessarily large one sticking further out than all the others.

  Patricia Powell was all very well with her convenient horsebox and her promises of cups of tea, but Christopher couldn’t help wondering how Marion was getting along. He waited in the queue and paid his entry fees. The junior jumping was about to start and Gay and Jean were both in that, so they had to be about here somewhere. He decided to go and look for them.

  As soon as they arrived Marion realised that she had been an idiot to try bringing Columbine to a show. For a start the mare wouldn’t even go through the gate, despite Jean and Gay coming in and out over and over again to try to tempt her. Eventually they had to go so as not to miss their class. When Columbine understood that they were truly leaving her she snaked her head forward and dashed through after them, neighing pitifully.

  Marion had got off some time before, and was not about to get back on. She found herself hurried along after the two ponies, almost dragged off her feet. Everyone said that Columbine just needed to get used to things; that taking her to rallies and shows would calm her down, but really she was much better at home. No amount of acclimatising seemed to make any difference. She was best of all at Gay’s, with those calm, motherly ponies to follow and copy. But she ought to be listening to me, Marion thought. And she wasn’t. She was barely aware of Marion’s existence. Christopher had been able to do a lot more with her. Christopher was the best rider in the pony club and even he had given up.

  Columbine barged into Sonnet, almost pulling Marion over in the process.

  “This is hopeless,” Marion said to Gay. “I’m going to have to take her home.”

  “Do you think she’ll go?” Gay asked doubtfully.

  “I think she will if you both trot away. I’ll hang on to her. I’m just sorry not to get to see your jumping!”

  “Marion!” C
hristopher was suddenly there, sat up on Crusoe, all properly organised and efficient.

  Marion was startled. Columbine, trying to leap away after her friends, caught her unawares and pulled her over into the mud, but she managed to hold on and drag herself back up feeling like a total fool.

  “What are you doing?” Christopher asked.

  Marion felt like crying. She had managed to get mud in her hair. “I’m going home,” she said.

  “Why?” Christopher looked as if he honestly wanted to know why she was going home. How could he not know?

  “Columbine doesn’t like it here very much.” Columbine was going round in circles, so Marion had to go round in circles too.

  “So what?” Christopher sounded annoyed. “If you go now you’ll miss everything. You won’t get to see us jump! The junior jumping’s already started. You can go home at lunchtime can’t you?”

  “I’m sorry.” Marion took a firm hold of Columbine’s reins and went to lead her way purposefully, but of course Columbine wouldn’t budge. “I hope Crusoe jumps well.”

  Christopher glowered at her, but he didn’t say anything and when he was gone Marion realised she was relieved.

  Sebastian was shocked by the number of people and the number of horses and ponies at the show. He had never been to a horse show before and had had no idea what to expect. Lots of the people weren’t even riding. There were men and women and children in ordinary clothes, not riding clothes, doing things such as swinging on boats and eating candy floss.

  Idris and Sebastian wandered away from the crowds where children, some familiar, took it in turns to ride their ponies around a course of coloured jumps with incredible skill and confidence. Sebastian’s head was spinning. And the combination of that and the familiar fingers of ice-cold fear in his stomach made him feel sick.

  He turned along a row of horseboxes where it was quieter and came across James Radcliffe sitting on a tartan rug staring into space.