Six Ponies (29 page)

“Jolly good,” said Susan as Hilary came back to her place.

“Thank goodness it’s over,” said Hilary. “I think Noel’s got it, don’t you?”

“Me?” said Noel in surprise. “Of course not. You, John, June, I should think.”

“I do wish they’d hurry up,” said Susan.

“I believe they keep us in suspense on purpose,” said Hilary. “Perhaps they think it’s good for our characters.”

“I can’t imagine what Noel’s done to her,” said Evelyn, of Romany, to her family. “She looks quite different—almost like a show pony. Honestly, I can hardly believe my eyes.”

“She goes just like one of Major Holbrooke’s horses,” said Margaret. “But I’m sure Noel can’t have schooled her. I’m positive she’s been helped.”

“Marga,” said Roger, “you’ll be saying that it’s not fair next.”

“I shan’t,” said Margaret. “But it does look fishy, doesn’t it, Evelyn?”

“Shut up,” said Evelyn crossly.

“Why should I?” asked Margaret. “Surely a person can speak if they want to.”

“Not on such controversial matters in public—it’s tactless,” said Roger.

Mrs. Cresswell stood by her car at the ringside, twisting her fingers together in suspense. In her heart she knew that June had lost, but it was too late now to do anything—too late to avert the disaster that was upon them. The things that
might
have made a difference flitted through her mind in an endless, mournful procession. But the horrid fact remained: the only thing now that could make the judges award June the coveted first prize would be force of habit. As she watched Noel, Hilary, and John lined up, Mrs. Cresswell felt furious. It was only spite, she thought, that had urged them to improve their riding. They had all been determined to make June look a fool, and as the steward crossed the ring with the rosettes, she hoped that they were satisfied.

No one was more surprised than Noel herself when Lady Wrench handed her the red rosette.

“Gosh,” she said, “is this for me?” And when she was told that it was, “Thanks awfully.” As Hilary was given the blue rosette and John the yellow, it gradually dawned on Noel that she had won the best trained of the New Forest ponies’ class, she who had been afraid to ask for a pony and had certainly never dared to hope that Romany would even be third. But what had happened to June? she wondered. It was absurd that she, Noel, who a year ago had been falling off Topsy every time she swerved, should be placed above June. The fact of the matter was, she supposed, that there was something about Romany which made her easier to school; she had better natural balance, perhaps, and it wouldn’t have mattered who
had schooled her—except Richard, of course—she would still have won.

“Well done, you three,” said Major Holbrooke when Lady Wrench had finished presenting the rosettes. “I’m very pleased with you, especially Noel.” Noel blushed furiously—the Major had never said anything so complimentary before—and patted Romany to hide her confusion.

“This is my cousin, Colonel Shelbourne,” the Major added, and, pushing him forward, “Go on, Harry, say something.” Cousin Harry, who was a stupid, kindly looking man, in spite of his soldierly figure and walrus moustache, seemed rather nervous. “By jove,” he began, and the Pony Club members hastily riveted their attention on their ponies’ ears and tried not to giggle. “You’ve done wonders, all of you. If every child’s pony was as well trained as these, we’d have a great many better child riders. I don’t know all the ins and outs of schooling myself, but I do know a well-schooled pony when I see one, and I’ve seen three to-day. I hope that you will never forget the lessons which you have learned from these ponies and my cousin, and that you will all break and school many more ponies and horses just as successfully.” The Colonel mopped his brow as he finished speaking, and, turning to Major Holbrooke, said, “ ’Fraid I’m not much of an orator, George, but I hope that will do.”

“Yes, Harry,” said Major Holbrooke. “It was an excellent speech; you covered everything, and now I am sure that the children would like me to thank you for giving us this opportunity by entrusting us with your ponies.”

“Yes, rather,” said Hilary and Susan.

“Gosh, yes,” said John.

“Thanks awfully,” said Noel. Richard and June didn’t say anything. Neither of them ever wanted to see a New Forest pony again, and they felt that the only thing they could thank Cousin Harry for was the humiliation that was upon them.

“Well, I think that’s everything,” said Major Holbrooke, “so perhaps we could go on to the next event.”

Noel led the canter round the ring and Romany, who seemed to know that everyone was looking at her, went beautifully. Her gay carriage and shining skewbald coat earned her extra applause from the fast-growing groups of spectators. Once out of the ring, all the horse-breakers, except Noel, hastily mounted their own ponies, for the next event was the showing class for ponies under 14.2 ridden by children under fourteen years.

“I’m determined not to go on the wrong leg this time,” Susan told Noel as they waited in the collecting ring. “I let Sunset down, but I mustn’t do the same to Beauty.”

“It might have happened to any one,” said Noel, who was entering Romany in the showing for fun. “And, if you ask me,” she went on, “winning is mostly luck. Look what a fluke it was Romany getting first! Rocket and Jet, if not Sunset and Grey Dawn, must be better schooled than she is.”

“That’s rot,” said John, who was beside them on Turpin. “Any one could see that she was the best-schooled pony in the class. I heard Mrs. Cresswell telling Mrs. Holbrooke,” he went on, “that she had allowed June to hot Dawn up too much, because she had thought the ponies were to be children’s mounts, and that she hardly thought Romany would be suitable.”

“And didn’t June look furious?” said Susan. “I’m sure she expected to win.”

“Oh, dear,” said Noel, “I shall be unpopular. Do you think it was really unfair?”

“Of course not,” said John.

“Will class two come into the ring at once, please, instead of gossiping?” shouted the collecting steward.

“Gosh,” said Noel, “where’s June? She always leads.”

“Go on, Noel, you idiot,” shouted Evelyn from behind—she was showing Northwind. Collecting her scattered wits, Noel rode into the ring, but before she had gone far Captain Barton began to shout and wave his arms.

“What did you say?” Noel shouted back.

“Go round to the right,” he shouted again.

“Which way?” asked Noel stupidly, wondering what on earth he was talking about.

“The opposite way, you idiot,” said Evelyn. Behind, half the competitors had turned round and were going the other way. Pixie and Martin Minton’s pony, Sir Galahad, were having a kicking match.

“Change the rein, Noel,” shouted Major Holbrooke. “She doesn’t know her right from left, Julian,” he told Captain Barton.

“Really, Holbrooke,” said Sir William, “I do think you might teach the Pony Club members that before allowing them to embark on the finer points of equitation.”

“My dear man,” said Major Holbrooke, “I’ve tried and failed. If you’d like to take her on you’re welcome. But, personally, I’d rather teach a cart-horse
haute école
.”

Noel was feeling very depressed. Oh, dear, she thought, I am stupid. Of course one always goes round this way in a showing class. Why did that beast Evelyn make me lead? She might have known that I would only do something silly.

“Wake up, Noel,” said Evelyn’s voice. “He said trot on.”

The judges soon collected a long back row, and when there were only seven competitors left cantering round, they called them in and told them to line up.

“Is this the back row?” Noel asked Richard, who was beside her.

“Of course not,” he said. “Use your eyes. Can’t you see that June’s here?”

“Oh,” said Noel, squashed, but still wondering what stroke of fate or fortune had got her there. Perhaps the judges hadn’t noticed her, or, horrid thought, perhaps they had told her to go to the back row ages ago and she hadn’t heard. She looked wildly round; she might be able to get there without any one noticing. She started to turn Romany, but the Major had seen her indecisive backward glances. “Stay where you are, Noel,” he said.

June and Golden Wonder gave an excellent show, and
Susan, who followed them, changed legs perfectly. Charles French, who was riding Mrs. Maxton’s Billy Boy, and Felicity Rate on Tinker, were both hopeless. No one could understand what they were trying to do. Mary Compton’s weak seat spoiled Blackbird’s chance as usual; and then it was Noel’s turn. Once more she rode a figure of eight, passes, and back-reined; once more Romany behaved beautifully.

“Jolly good,” said Susan as Noel rode back to her place. Richard was the last person to give a show. Surprisingly, he rode Peter—who was rather lazy—well, and put up a far better performance than Charles French, though he had the better pony.

It seemed to the competitors that the judges talked endlessly before they made up their minds. Then, to everyone’s amazement, Susan and Beauty were placed above June, and Noel crept up to third, while Richard was reserve. Susan’s delight knew no bounds. She patted Beauty profusely and thanked Lady Wrench for her rosette three times. Noel didn’t dare look at June. She felt sorry for her. It must be awful, she thought, to lose one’s assured position so abruptly, and the poem about the statue of King Charles at Charing Cross came into her mind. Meanwhile Lady Wrench had asked her twice whether Romany had ever been to a gymkhana before.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Noel, suddenly realising that she was being spoken to. “At least—I mean—I know she hasn’t.”

“I think she does you great credit, then,” said Lady Wrench as she handed Noel the yellow rosette. “You ought to be proud of her.”

“Thanks awfully,” said Noel, going scarlet in the face and hoping that she didn’t look conceited.

During the lunch interval which followed the showing class, the mistakes and surprises of the morning were discussed.

“I told you that it would happen,” said Mrs. Cresswell to June. “And now it has. They’ve made you look a fool—to
be beaten at a little show like this when you’ve won at
Richmond
.”

“Well, you can ride Wonder at the next show if you think that you can make her beat Beauty,” said June. “It’s not
my
fault that Mr. Barington-Brown is richer than you are and can buy Susan a better pony than Wonder. Everything is easy if you’re rich.”

“But riding must count, my pet,” said Mrs. Cresswell.

“I expect the judges favoured Susan, then,” said June. “Probably Mr. Barington-Brown bribed them.”

“You mustn’t say things like that, darling, however likely they seem,” said Mrs. Cresswell. “And, though I admit that the result of the showing class left room for a matter of opinion, the class for the New Forest ponies didn’t. There was never a moment of doubt. That dreadful Kettering child—who
still
hasn’t got a riding-coat—had the skewbald going like a show hack, and though John Manners didn’t do anything spectacular, his pony knew what it did know thoroughly, and seemed quiet and well mannered. But you, my pet, I really was disappointed. Running backwards all over the ring, cantering disunited, and Grey Dawn’s head carriage was just appalling—there’s no other word for it. We shall be the laughing-stock of the whole county.”

“Nonsense, Mummy,” said June rudely. “Why should any one laugh? There’s nothing funny about it. I can’t help it if Grey Dawn is so stupid and clumsy. After all, you were there and helped choose her.”

“Now, darling, that sort of talk won’t get us anywhere,” said Mrs. Cresswell. “The only thing you can do is to take care to win the jumping this afternoon and do better at the next show.”

Dr. Radcliffe was greeted by shouts from Margaret when he arrived on the show ground with the lunch. “Romany was first and Rocket second,” she yelled. “But I bet Major Holbrooke helped Noel,” she added, looking defiantly at Roger.

“I thought that he helped everyone,” said Dr. Radcliffe,
and turned to congratulate Hilary. Just as they were about to begin their lunch, the Radcliffes discovered that Evelyn was missing and Roger noticed her riding Romany on the other side of the ring.

“Gosh,” said Margaret, “do you think she asked Noel for a ride? She is a nuisance. We wanted to have a blood feud, didn’t we, Jim?”

“Yes,” said James. “We had thought of nine different ways to murder her.”

“You bloodthirsty ruffians,” said Dr. Radcliffe, who seemed to be in a good humour, “you’re not a very sportsmanlike family, are you? But I suppose it’s having your mother’s red hair.”

“I wonder if the next one will have it,” said Hilary. “I hope so. Everybody knows who we are by it.”

“You don’t need the hair to tell a Radcliffe,” said the Doctor. “You can hear them a mile off.”

“But what’s it going to be called, Doc.?” asked Margaret.

“Well, your mother hopes it’ll be a boy, to even the family off,” replied Dr. Radcliffe. “If it is, he’s to be called Andrew, but if it’s a girl, she’ll either be Janet or Frances.”

“Not Janet,” said Hilary. “There’s a frightful girl at Woodbridge called Janet. She sucks sweets the whole time, and has crushes on the games mistress.”