One Day Event, page 2
“Oh dear,” wailed Noel, “I know he’s going to lecture me on padlocks the whole way home and when anyone mentions Sonnet I feel like giving six sharp screams.”
“You mustn’t be so temperamental,” said Henry, “anyway he won’t; he’s forgotten all about that by now and if he does you’ll be able to use Mrs. Van Cutler’s remarks to change the conversation, once I’m safely away. When he says, ‘You can get them for seven and sixpence at Flapton’s in the market place,’ you can quickly interpose, ‘Fancy, Henry only got four for his first circle; Mrs. Van Cutler thought Echo stiff, unbalanced and off the bit.’ ”
“I wouldn’t be so mean,” said Noel, “but I can’t help being temperamental when everyone keeps on and on about Sonnet as though I wasn’t already fed up enough at having her full of stitches and nothing to ride all summer.”
“Well, I’m dealing with that problem,” said Henry, “don’t forget my two delightful Anglo-Arabs.”
* * *
To Noel’s surprise the Major didn’t mention padlocks the whole way home. After a short discourse on the rising standard of dressage he asked what she was proposing to do about a mount for the summer and, on hearing Henry’s plan, he became quite enthusiastic and offered Noel a reference. “Just the thing for you,” he said, “fifteen-two is exactly the right size, because, of course, you won’t be able to ride Sonnet in adult tests, they’re practically all for horses over fourteen-two. I’ll tell you what I’d do with her, if she were mine,” he went on, “I’d breed from her now, this summer, while she’s lame. Send her to a thoroughbred; you might get a very nice little horse of hack type.” And when he left Noel at Russet Cottage he added, “If you do decide to breed from her, Noel, let me know. You can turn her out with my brood mares, then she’ll have company and one more won’t make any difference to me.”
Noel was overcome. “Thanks awfully,” she said, and “That’s terribly nice of you,” and she was haunted by remorse for having made such a fuss about one lecture on padlocks. She said good night to the Major and thanked him for the lift, and then she dashed into Russet Cottage to tell her parents all her hopeful news before going out to settle Sonnet for the night and put penicillin in all her numerous wounds.
2
“DON’T be absurd, Henry,” said Mrs. Thornton at dinner on the first evening of the summer holidays. “Of course you can’t go to Folly Court with your uncle and aunt still in the nursing home. Everyone there will have quite enough to do without you adding to their worries. You’d better come to Scotland with Elizabeth and me.”
“I’d rather stay here with Papa, thanks,” answered Henry. “But, though I know you think I’m a burden, I can be quite useful. I can ride most of Uncle George’s horses without falling off; I know most of Aunt Carol’s birds. I can manage Nanny and, except that I dislike honest toil, I could be quite useful on the farm. Anyway, I think someone ought to go to Folly Court and see that everything is O.K. and as all my dear cousins are in foreign parts, it’s practically my duty to go.”
“And if you go careering off to interfere in your uncle’s affairs, who’s going to ride Echo?” demanded Mrs. Thornton. “Just when Finch has taken all the trouble to get him fit.”
“I’ll take him with me,” answered Henry. “Uncle George won’t mind. Think how cheered he’ll be, as he lies in his dreary nursing home, to get reassuring letters from his fond nephew. None of the staff at Folly Court are capable of writing a letter, except Nanny and everyone knows that she lies like the devil if it suits her, or if you’re ill and she thinks you ought not to be worried.”
* * *
All West Barsetshire was horrified by the news of the train smash, and the first reports of the Holbrookes’ injuries were particularly alarming. Most of the subscribers to the Hunt, many of the Pony Club members and all the Holbrookes’ personal friends, telephoned Folly Court for news. But, owing to Nanny’s aversion to the telephone, and the fact that the Lithuanian married couple knew only a few words of English, no one learned more than: “Major Holbrooke away. Him very bad. Mrs. Holbrooke away, her very bad too,” and they all went un-reassured.
Henry was surprised by the warmth of the welcome he received from everyone at Folly Court. Nanny, who had moved into the Court from the Lodge because she suspected that, left on their own for long, the Lithuanians would make off with the silver, insisted that Henry should inhabit the best guest room. Blake, the Major’s stud groom, brushed aside all suggestions that Echo would be a nuisance.
“Of course ’e won’t, Mr. ’Enry. One more won’t make no difference. What we want is someone to ’elp with the exercising. Fred, ’e ’asn’t been feeling too grand lately and Ariel and Apollo—they’re South Wind’s two colts—they’ve ’ad ’im off a time or two and ’e’s packed it up. Won’t ride ’em no more. They’ve ’ad Victor off as well, but ’e don’t worry so much. Then there’s ’armony, well the Major, ’e don’t like ’er ridden by anyone else, so I lunges ’er. The old show jumpers and the ’unt ’orses are all turned out, but there’s Doomsday, ’e’s a Grade C ’orse the Major bought two or three months back, and there’s the Merry Widow, she’s all right, and then there’s that chestnut, Spartan. ’E’s an ’orrible ’orse, ’e is. Kick you as soon as look at you, ’e would. I don’t know what the Major’s going to do with ’im, I’m sure. Though ’e wasn’t too bad as long as the Major was riding ’im. They’re not getting enough exercise that’s the trouble, but my riding days are over, and there’s plenty of work with the mares and foals. We take them all in, every day, into those boxes up at the farm.”
Henry said, “Yes, you certainly seem to have plenty to do. Of course Uncle George reckons to do a good deal of exercising when he’s at home. Still, I’ll do what I can. I’ll go and have lunch now, but I’ll be out again sharp at two; I don’t mind which I ride.”
Henry felt very elderly sitting down to lunch by himself with Stefan, in a white coat, waiting on him. Nanny came in to tell him that the telephone had been “ringing and ringing,” but that she wasn’t going to answer, she couldn’t make head nor tail of what it said.
“Can’t Stefan or Mrs. Stefan answer it?” asked Henry.
“Whatever’s the good of sending an ignorant foreigner like that to answer it?” asked Nanny acidly. “They don’t understand English and no one can understand a word they say. You might as well bring in your poor aunt’s parrot and let ’im answer it.”
Henry said, “Well, when I’m in I’ll answer it and when I’m out it’ll just have to ring.”
After lunch he telephoned Noel. She was very surprised to hear that he was at Folly Court, but he wouldn’t tell her anything about why or how he was there. “Come over to tea. Four-thirty,” he said, “and you shall hear all.” When Noel reached Folly Court she went straight to the stables. She found Henry in the saddle room, cleaning tack. He looked hot and dishevelled with his sleeves rolled up and his fair hair hanging down over his face.
“Gosh!” said Noel. “What unusual energy.”
“I feel very virtuous,” he said, looking up. “But I’ve nearly finished and then we’ll go and have tea.”
“Folly Court seems terribly deserted,” said Noel, “what’s happened to everyone?”
“Blake and Victor are turning out the mares,” answered Henry, “and Fred’s gone home—he’s feeling queer. Everything’s in the most terrible muddle; half the horses haven’t been exercised for weeks. I can’t think what Uncle G. would say if he knew.”
“How are the Major and Mrs. H.?” asked Noel. “No one around here really knows how bad they are—the rumours have been terrific.”
“They’re both getting on marvellously now. Aunt Carol has a broken wrist, cracked ribs and shock—but she’s over the shock and the broken wrist is in plaster and the ribs will take about another fortnight. Uncle G.’s in the worse state. He had concussion and he was unconscious for several hours so he’s got to stay in bed now, to avoid going dotty later. He’s got a broken arm, too, and I gather it was a bit of a mess; they say it’ll be a three month job;”
“Oh dear,” said Noel, “and it’s beastly for them right in the middle of summer. The Major won’t be able to jump for ages, I suppose, and I did want some advice.”
“Advice on your Anglo-Arabs?” Henry asked.
“Yes. They’re quite quiet to ride now, at least they’re as quiet as you’d expect; they buck and shy a bit, but they’re broken in. The trouble is that I don’t seem to get anywhere with my schooling. I’ll bring them over tomorrow and see what you think.”
“Echo being such a wonderful advertisement for my methods and knowledge,” said Henry sarcastically. “Come on, I’ve finished my chores and I’m dying for tea. One thing about Folly Court,” he went on, as he led the way to the house, “You’re wonderfully fed. Uncle G. and Aunt Carol don’t believe in plain living and high thinking like my esteemed mamma.”
Henry and Noel took it in turns to answer the telephone during tea. Every time it was someone enquiring after the Holbrookes and the inquirers were so pleased to find someone who knew the latest facts that they talked on and on. Noel and Henry had no time to converse with each other at all for, no sooner was one caller satisfied than the telephone rang again.
“I’m going to teach Stefan a reassuring sentence,” said Henry in exasperation as the telephone rang again and Noel said that it was his turn and that she must go or she would be late for dinner.
“Well, look,” said Henry, ignoring the ringing, “bring your steeds over tomorrow morning, as early as you can, and we’ll provide each other with moral support.”
“O.K.,” said Noel. “You’d better answer it. Good-bye and thanks awfully for my nice tea.”
* * *
It was much easier to get up, thought Noel, leaning out of her tiny bedroom window amid the thatch, when the sky was blue and the sun shone and you had nothing to do but ride. She sniffed the deep scent of the yellow rose which climbed the cottage, she looked beyond the long meadow, where Tranquil and Truant grazed, to the unbelievable gold of Farmer Cox’s wheat. How could anyone work in an office on a day like this, she wondered. School had been bad enough, but think of spending summer days cataloguing ancient objects in the British Museum. I’m hopeless, she told herself, I shall never be able to find a career. She turned back into the room and began to dress. She would make the tea and waken her parents first, then she would catch the horses … .
Noel had never tried to lead Truant from Tranquil before and she arrived at Folly Court hot, cross and exhausted, the two horses having shied, bumped into each other and proceeded in fits and starts the whole way.
Henry was saddling Spartan. “Hallo, more trouble,” he said. “Fred’s been taken to hospital with an appendix. This doesn’t seem to be Uncle George’s lucky year.”
“Poor Fred,” said Noel, “no wonder he was feeling queer.”
“It’s a good thing I came,” observed Henry. “Even my dear mamma would have to admit that now. Victor could never cope with all the exercising by himself. Look, do you mind coming out for a hack first? I don’t aspire to schooling Uncle George’s horses. Bag a box for whichever one of yours you’re not riding. I’m just going to fetch my bowler—I’m expecting to fall off.”
Noel decided that she would hack Tranquil if Henry was riding one of the Major’s horses and she put Truant in a loose-box. Henry wanted to go round by Lower Basset Farm; he was curious to see John Manners’ new horse, Samson.
“He’s an ugly horse,” Noel told him, “but I should think he was sensible and would make a good hunter. He’s about 16.2, a nondescript bay with a terrific Roman nose.”
“John needs something up to weight,” said Henry, mounting Spartan. “He was huge last summer. He’s not as tall as me but he’s miles broader—a Rugger or rowing type.”
When Spartan reached the end of the drive he said that he had gone far enough. He stopped dead, rolled his eyes and when Henry tried to send him on he took his forelegs off the ground, threatening a rear.
“Shall I go first?” offered Noel.
“O.K., if you like,” Henry answered, “but this feels like a habit so I expect I shall have to have it out with him sooner or later.”
Tranquil, who was generally fairly obliging, decided that Spartan had seen some dreadful danger lurking out in the road, so he said that he was afraid and began to go backwards, bumping into Spartan. Both the horses retreated backwards up the drive clinging to each other and making it very difficult for their riders to use their legs or sticks.
“For heaven’s sake, Noel, get out of the way,” said Henry. “I want to wallop this wretched animal.”
“Sorry,” said Noel, “if you can stand still a sec. I’ll try.” She turned Tranquil and rode back towards the Court. Henry hit Spartan, who swung round with a rear. Henry turned him and hit him again. Spartan bucked. Henry went on hitting him every time he bucked until suddenly Spartan walked quietly forward into the road. Tranquil followed immediately.
“It’s simply that he wants his own way,” said Henry. “He is a wretch. He wasn’t frightened at all. I reckon he’s been having jolly fun with poor Fred.”
“Tranquil’s not on the bit,” said Noel drearily. “I do wish I could get him to use his hocks properly.”
Spartan had another jibbing fit when he was asked to go into the yard at Lower Basset Farm, but this time he gave in quite quickly. There was no one about in the farmyard and no sign of Samson or Turpin, so they took the cart track which led along the valley and met John Manners driving a tractor drawing a load of barley sheaves on the way to the rickyard. The horses at once refused to go forward. They said that the tractor was dangerous. Spartan bumped into Tranquil, who tripped in a rut and stumbled to his knees. John throttled down the engine. “Hallo,” he yelled, “how’s the Major?”
“Much better,” shouted Henry, quarrelling with Spartan. “He’s going on well. We came to see your new horse,” he added as Spartan gave in and consented to pass the tractor. Tranquil followed him, trembling and snorting.
“He’s up over the hill, out with the cows. I’ll bring him over to see you at the end of the week. Got to get this wretched barley in,” roared John.
“O.K.,” said Henry, as the horses, astonished at their own bravery and relieved to be safely past the tractor, fled down the cart track.
“He looks just like a farmer,” said Henry, when they were under control again.
‘“Yes, it’s all terribly satisfactory,” said Noel, “because his parents wanted him to farm and he likes it, though he’s always swearing about the harvest or something. He’ll be able to hunt and ride in horse shows. I do wish I knew what I wanted to do.”
‘“I’m going into the Army,” said Henry, “the Horse Guards, if they’ll have me. You see the world and they like one to ride.”
When Noel and Henry, hot and weary from quarrelling with their bad-mannered mounts, returned to Folly Court they found Susan Barington-Brown rushing about the yard in a great state of excitement.
“Oh thank goodness you’ve come,” she said. “That tiresome Truant jumped out of his box, he was galloping round; I thought any moment he’d slip up and all the other horses got excited and the grey ones went nearly mad. I thought I was going to have the whole lot out, but I managed to get him back. I’ve shut the top door, but he’s still tearing round and round like a mad thing.”
“Oh dear,” said Noel, “I thought he’d given up jumping out. I suppose it was being in a strange place. Thanks awfully for catching him. It was lucky that you turned up.”
“I went to Russet Cottage first, but your mother told me you were here.”
“Heavens!” said Henry, looking at his watch. “It’s half-past eleven. I’m going to school Echo. I wonder if Spartan’s tack will fit him?”
“Are you going to school, Susan?” asked Noel.
Susan answered that if both the others were going to, she supposed she might as well. As Noel saddled Truant she told Susan of the latest misfortune which had befallen Folly Court.
The schooling was even less successful than the hack had been. Truant began by bucking Noel off and galloping round and round the school, upsetting Echo, who gave one of his bucking and kicking displays and very nearly had Henry off too. At last Noel managed to catch Truant and Susan held him while she remounted. But, though he didn’t buck her off again, both he and Echo saw imaginary evil in all the hedges which surrounded the school. Every other moment one of them shied or shot off into a gallop and then, directly their superfluous energy wore off, they began to dawdle. Echo overbent and Truant drooped.
Susan was the only cheerful person. She chattered gaily. “Wonder’s turns are much better. She only needed a little practice. Of course it’s absolutely ages since I last schooled her. I don’t suppose there’ll be a Pony Club team this year with the Major ill and everything. We had ever such fun last year. I wish you’d been in it, Noel, but then of course I probably wouldn’t have been in myself. I don’t know whether I’ll go in the Advanced this year. Not unless John or Christopher do.”
“I don’t think there would have been a team this year if the Major hadn’t had an accident,” said Noel, abandoning her attempt at shoulder-in. “He seemed rather fed up with us all.”
“Oh that doesn’t mean a thing,” Susan told her. “He is a bit grouchy at times, just like anyone else; he’s always threatening that he won’t do this or that, but in the end he always does.”
Henry said, “It’s a quarter to one; we’d better stop.”
“Oh dear,” said Noel drearily, “Truant hasn’t improved a bit.”
‘“Well, Echo goes worse and worse,” said Henry in disagreeable tones, “so if your hopelessness is stationary you’re considerably better off than I am.”
“Goodness!” Susan exclaimed, “I must go. I was told not to be late for lunch. Shall I come up tomorrow and help clean tack or something?”
