The Riverdale Pony Stories Box Set (Books 1-6)

by Amanda Wills

  ‘Straight across,’ she said. ‘And then second left. The farm’s down a track on the right.’

  Charlie had been desperate to come but Dad had put his foot down. ‘First, we don’t want to go in mob-handed. And second, you’re eight, Charlie. You should be in bed.’

  Charlie had stormed up to his bedroom in tears of anger and frustration.

  ‘I’d better see if he’s OK,’ said Caroline. ‘Phone me as soon as you can. And please be careful. In fact, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think Poppy should go, either. What if he’s got a gun? We should call the police. Let them sort it out.’

  Dad gave her a brief hug. ‘We don’t even know if he’s taken Chester. Imagine the fall-out if we’re wrong.’

  ‘We’re not wrong,’ said Poppy. ‘And I am going. Sorry, Caroline. But I have to, don’t you see?’

  Poppy had grabbed her coat and disappeared out of the house before Caroline could stop her.

  ‘But you stay in the car, OK?’ her dad said now. ‘I mean it, Poppy. Caroline’s right. Leave it to me and Tory. We’ll sort it out.’

  They drove past the pair of semi-detached farm cottages that stood on the edge of the Blackstone farm. Poppy had ridden past them more times than she could remember. They were on the route of her and Scarlett’s favourite ride. Jimmy Flynn, George Blackstone’s farm hand, lived in Rose Cottage with his mum and dad. Flint Cottage had stood empty since Hope Taylor and her mum Shelley moved out.

  Tory pursed her lips. ‘Margaret was telling me that George has thrown the Flynns out of their cottage. Says he wants to do them both up to sell.’

  ‘But Rose Cottage doesn’t need doing up,’ said Poppy, grateful for anything to take her mind off what lay ahead, even if it was boring talk about people she didn’t know. ‘It always looks so immaculate.’

  ‘They’ve had to move in with Jimmy’s Auntie Flo in Tavistock until they find a new place closer to Waterby.’

  Poppy stared out of the window but the two cottages were in darkness. ‘That’s sad.’

  ‘It’s wicked, that’s what it is,’ said Tory. ‘All that Blackstone man ever thinks about is money. Money, money, money! And at his age! It’s not like you can take it with you. His mother would turn in her grave if she could see him now.’

  ‘Here we are,’ said Poppy’s dad, indicating right and turning onto a roughshod farm track. The car bumped along for what seemed like miles, but was probably only a couple of hundred yards. He winced as they hit a deep pothole, scraping the underside of the car.

  Eventually the headlights picked out a handful of ramshackle farm buildings and an old farmhouse. He switched off the engine and turned to them both with a wry smile.

  ‘Welcome, travellers. We have reached our destination.’

  ‘Remember what I said. You stay here,’ said Dad. He held the door open for Tory, who heaved herself out, still gripping her handbag in front of her like a shield. The door closed with a soft clunk and Poppy scrambled into Tory’s seat to get a better view.

  The yard was in darkness, save for the pale yellow glow of a security light over the back door of the farmhouse. Two border collies had started a cacophony of barking the minute the car had turned into the yard, and they were now straining at their ropes in an excited frenzy. Poppy watched her dad approach them with an outstretched hand. She could see his lips moving and she wound down the window so she could hear what he was saying.

  ‘That’s it, take it easy my friends. We’ve just come to see a man about a donkey.’

  The two dogs grovelled on the ground, their tails pumping as he rubbed their tummies. They may be good sheepdogs but as guard dogs they were about as much use as a chocolate teapot, Poppy reflected.

  Tory, meanwhile, had hobbled across the farmyard and was rapping sharply on the back door with her stick. ‘I know you’re in there, George Blackstone! Open up. You and I need to talk!’

  After an age the door swung inwards and Poppy saw the old farmer silhouetted in the doorway. She counted to ten and let herself silently out of the car. She slunk past the two collies, a finger pressed to her lips, but they were too busy whining at their master to pay her any attention.

  She stole as close to the house as she dared, stopping in a pool of darkness by the side of a tumbledown barn.

  George Blackstone was shouting, his raspy voice filled with malice. ‘I haven’t got your bliddy donkey! And I’ve a good mind to call the old bill, have you two done for trespass.’

  ‘I think you’ll find trespass is a civil, not a criminal matter,’ said Poppy’s dad in his smooth television correspondent’s voice. ‘But we’re more than happy to get the police involved, aren’t we, Tory?’

  ‘We certainly are. Just tell me where Chester is, George.’

  The wily old farmer glanced in Poppy’s direction and she shrank further into the shadows. He turned back to Tory, pointing his finger at her aggressively.

  ‘Now look here, you meddling old bat. You can stop sticking your nose in right now. I told you. I don’t know where your donkey is and I don’t care.’

  ‘So, you won’t mind if we have a quick look around?’ said Poppy’s dad cheerfully.

  George Blackstone took two steps forward and prodded his chest with a nicotine-stained finger. ‘I shan’t say this again Mister Lah-di-dah McKeever. Oh yes, I see you on the telly all the time, all smarm and smiles. Well, you don’t impress me. I haven’t got your cretinous donkey, do you understand? I’ve got far bigger fish to fry.’

  Poppy’s dad held up his hands in a placatory manner. ‘Calm down, there’s no need to shout.’

  But George Blackstone had a murderous look in his eyes. Spittle was gathering at the corners of his mouth and Poppy could see a vein throbbing in his temple. He rose to his full height, his bulbous red nose centimetres from her dad’s face.

  ‘Don’t you patronise me, you arrogant fool. Clear off my land!’

  Poppy’s dad lay a hand on Tory’s shoulder. ‘Come on, Tory, we’d better do as the gentleman says. We can’t search the place without his permission.’

  Poppy frowned in the darkness. Come on, Dad, stand up to him, she willed him silently. But he and Tory were tramping back to the car. She looked back at George Blackstone. He was watching them go with a smirk.

  Poppy clenched her fists, fighting the urge to cry. A warm nose nudged her leg. It was the older of the two collies. His coat was matted and his eyes were milky. Poppy knelt down and hugged him. ‘Poor boy,’ she whispered as his tail thumped against the ground. His master was a cruel and greedy man. She couldn’t take a chance that Chester was somewhere on the Blackstone farm.

  Her mind made up, she crept along the walls of the old barn looking for a way in. She found a pair of big double doors halfway down. A steel padlock glinted in the beam of the security light. Without much hope, Poppy gave it a sharp tug. To her surprise, the shackle came away from the body of the padlock. It hadn’t been locked properly. Poppy glanced over her shoulder. George Blackstone had disappeared inside the farmhouse. Her dad and Tory were whispering urgently a few feet from the car. She knew she had a matter of seconds before they realised she’d gone.

  Her heart in her mouth, she pushed the door open and slipped inside.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was as dark as a starless night inside the old haybarn. Poppy was transported back to her seventh birthday party, to a game of blindman’s bluff in the lounge of their old home in Twickenham. Caroline had carefully tied a blindfold over her eyes and she’d had to feel her way around the room, trying to identify her friends through touch alone. She employed the same tactic now, cautiously inching forwards, her hands in front of her like a zombie.

  She didn’t see the old metal plough lying in her path and tripped right over it, landing face down in a heap of musty straw. Dust filled her nostrils and she pinched her nose in an attempt to stop an attack of the sneezes. But the tickle refused to go away. Atishoo atishoo atishoo. She scrabbled to her feet and listened carefully to see i
f anyone had heard her.

  Nothing.

  To her right, in the cavernous darkness of the barn, she heard a rustling sound. Hoping more than anything it wasn’t rats, Poppy took a tentative step forwards. She sneezed again and stared into the velvet blackness.

  At first, when Poppy heard the mournful hee-haw, she thought she was imagining it. That maybe her desire to hear Chester’s call had somehow conjured the donkey out of the darkness. But when a second hee-haw sliced through the still air in the barn, she knew instinctively that it was him. She stumbled towards the sound.

  ‘Chester!’ she called. He hee-hawed back. Tripping over old farm machinery and colliding with milking pails, she headed deeper into the barn. ‘Hey, boy, where are you?’

  The answering hee-haw was so loud he could only be a few feet away. She remembered her phone, tucked in her back pocket.

  ‘Idiot!’ she told herself, turning on the phone’s torch. Keeping the spindly beam low, she waved it around. There, to her right, were four hairy legs, the colour of milk chocolate. One leg was hobbled to one of the barn’s woodworm-ridden oak pillars.

  ‘Oh Chester,’ Poppy cried, burying her face in his soft coat. He nibbled her pocket. ‘Yes,’ she said, half laughing, half crying. ‘I’ve got some somewhere.’

  As she offered him a Polo another nose appeared. This one was seal-grey. ‘Jenny!’ Poppy thumbed another Polo out of the packet and the donkey took it timidly.

  ‘We need to get you two out of here,’ she told them, ruffling Chester’s bristly mane. She ran towards the barn doors and yelled as loudly as her lungs allowed, ‘He’s in here!’

  Poppy and her dad untied the shackles and used the ropes to loop loosely around the necks of the two donkeys while Tory watched, a mixture of relief and fury on her face.

  ‘Follow me,’ she commanded. ‘He’s not going to get away with this.’ She set off determinedly towards the open barn doors.

  ‘I’d better take Jenny,’ Poppy told her dad. She clicked her tongue and gave the rope a gentle pull. The grey donkey tottered after her.

  Tory was already hammering her fist against the back door of the farmhouse when they emerged from the barn. The door swung open and the old farmer appeared, a pasty in one hand and a dollop of tomato ketchup on his chin.

  ‘What the hell are you doing back?’ he snarled.

  ‘You’re a liar, George Blackstone.’ Tory stepped aside and Poppy and her dad led the two donkeys into the light.

  Blackstone’s rheumy eyes darted from Chester to Tory and back again. ‘This is a set-up. You’re trying to frame me for theft,’ he blustered.

  ‘Oh, come on, you really think we’d do that?’ said Poppy’s dad incredulously.

  ‘Still want to call the police?’ Tory said. ‘Perhaps you’d like to explain to them how Chester came to be hidden in your barn.’

  Like a cornered animal, Blackstone turned on her. ‘Maybe I did take your precious donkey, but that makes us even, doesn’t it? Don’t think I don’t know that you let that damn Connemara out of its stable all them years ago.’ He laughed nastily. ‘What comes around, goes around, old woman.’

  ‘Is that why you took Chester, as revenge for something you think happened years ago?’ said Poppy’s dad, shaking his head in disbelief.

  Blackstone wiped his chin on the sleeve of his filthy tweed jacket and hooted scornfully. ‘I was never going to keep the mangy old nag. Like I need another mouth to feed.’ He waved his hand at Jenny. ‘I thought if she was in the Nativity I’d be able to sell her on for a bit of a profit. Then the vicar picks your donkey. Stupid woman. But if your donkey happened to disappear, she’d have to use mine, wouldn’t she?’

  Tory nodded. ‘I thought as much. I know how your mind works, George Blackstone. It all boils down to money, doesn’t it? Never a thought for anyone else. Your mother would turn in her grave if she could see you now, honestly she would.’

  ‘Stop droning on, woman! You’d have got him back after Christmas, no harm done.’

  Poppy’s dad reached for his mobile.

  For the first time Poppy saw a flicker of fear in George Blackstone’s bloodshot eyes. ‘Oi, you aren’t phoning the cops, are you? I thought we’d sorted this out.’

  ‘I probably should, but no, they’ve got better things to do with their time. I’m phoning Bill to ask him to drive over with the trailer so we can take Chester home.’

  Poppy stepped forward. ‘What about Jenny? We can’t leave her with him,’ she cried.

  The old hill farmer stared at her with loathing. ‘That’s my donkey and I paid good money for her. You must be mad if you think she’s going with you.’

  ‘How much did you pay?’ said Poppy, thinking of the balance in her building society account. She’d been saving for a jumping saddle for well over a year, but that could wait.

  Blackstone paused. Poppy knew he was probably thinking of a number, doubling it and more than likely multiplying it by ten for good measure. She held her breath and waited.

  ‘Three hundred,’ he said eventually. ‘Yes, that’s what I paid.’

  ‘I’ll give you three hundred and fifty for her,’ she said.

  ‘Hold on, Poppy, we need to talk about this first,’ said her dad.

  Poppy looked beseechingly at him. ‘Please Dad. Look at the state of her. She’s half-starved to death. I’ve got the money in my savings. And we’ve got the room.’

  Tory lay a hand on his arm. ‘I’ll pay for her keep, Mike. Poppy’s right. We can’t leave the poor thing here.’

  Poppy’s dad shook his head ruefully. ‘Alright. If Mr Blackstone agrees, I’ll write a cheque now and we’ll take her with us.’

  George Blackstone looked positively jubilant as Poppy loaded Jenny and Chester into the back of Bill’s trailer less than half an hour later.

  ‘I don’t suppose he paid more than fifty pounds for that poor donkey,’ said Tory, as they bumped back down the farm track towards home.

  ‘No wonder he was looking so pleased with himself,’ said Poppy’s dad. ‘I hope he doesn’t renege on our deal and report us to the police for stealing her.’

  ‘He won’t,’ said Poppy with conviction.

  ‘How can you be so sure, pet? He’s as slippery as they come,’ said Tory.

  Poppy held up her mobile. ‘Because I recorded everything. Him admitting he took Chester, agreeing to sell Jenny. It’s all on my phone. As a kind of insurance,’ she added, beaming at them both.

  Her dad grinned back. ‘That’ll teach him to mess with a McKeever. Atta girl, Poppy.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Poppy was awake early the next day. She sat up in bed and consulted her long list of things to do. Caroline had promised to phone the vet first thing to see if she could pop over and check Jenny’s eye, and Poppy wanted everything shipshape before she arrived.

  They’d left Jenny in the small paddock with Chester the previous night, but Poppy’s plan was to clear out the second stable so the two donkeys could share that. Cloud would stay in his own stable next door.

  Poppy pulled on an old pair of jods and her thickest fleece and went downstairs in search of breakfast. Charlie was already dressed and was eating a bowl of cereal at the kitchen table. He’d been asleep when they’d finally arrived home but Poppy had crept into his room and woken him to tell him the good news.

  He looked at her anxiously. ‘It wasn’t a dream, was it? Chester is definitely back? And poor Jenny, too?’

  ‘They’re here. And I have a heap of work to do. Fancy helping?’

  He pushed his bowl away and stood up. ‘Try and stop me.’

  After she had fed Cloud she turned him out with the two donkeys. She and Charlie watched from the gate as the Connemara walked over to Jenny, his ears pricked and his neck extended.

  ‘I hope they get on alright,’ she muttered. But she needn’t have worried. They touched noses and the grey donkey hee-hawed softly. Within minutes they were all grazing peacefully.

  ‘That’s one hurdle
crossed. Now for the stable,’ said Poppy.

  They spent the next couple of hours lugging piles of old flower pots, ancient paint tins and tools out of the second stable. Charlie brushed away cobwebs and Poppy checked the wooden kickboards for loose nails. Satisfied everything was in order she laid a thick bed of straw and filled two water buckets.

  The vet arrived just before lunch. ‘I hear you’ve rescued another waif and stray,’ she remarked, reaching into the back of her mud-splattered Land Rover for her medicine bag.

  Caroline rolled her eyes and Poppy and Charlie grinned at each other.

  The vet gave Jenny’s poll a friendly scratch and examined her swollen eye. ‘It looks like a straightforward case of equine conjunctivitis. I’ll wash it out with some saline solution now and give you some antibiotic ointment to use three times a day. It should be looking better in a couple of days but keep using the ointment for two days after it’s back to normal.’

  Poppy nodded and stroked Jenny’s neck while the vet listened to her heart, felt her legs, checked her feet and examined her teeth.

  ‘How old do you think she is?’ Poppy asked.

  The vet straightened her back. ‘Only about three, I’d say. Apart from the eye infection, and the fact that she’s underweight, she’s in good health. And I know how brilliant you are at putting condition on your animals. Cloud’s looking great, by the way.’

  Poppy flushed with pleasure. The vet had been one of the first people to see the Connemara when he’d come off the moor. He’d been skin and bone, a shadow of himself. Coaxing him back to good health had taken months of hard work.

  ‘So, poor Jenny’s going to be alright?’ Charlie asked.

  The vet smiled at them all. ‘Poor Jenny? I’d say she’s pretty lucky myself. Yes, Jenny’s going to be absolutely fine.’