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

by Amanda Wills

  ‘How did you do in the end? At the show?’ said Georgia.

  ‘We were third,’ said Poppy proudly. ‘We had the fastest round in the jump-off but we clipped a fence and had four faults.’

  ‘That pony of yours jumps like a dream. How he cleared that wall with us both on his back. I don’t suppose you want to sell him, do you?’

  ‘Georgia!’ shrieked Poppy, outraged. ‘Honestly, you’ve got a nerve, you really have. No, you can’t buy my pony. He’s not for sale. He never will be.’

  Georgia shrugged and said testily, ‘There’s no need to throw a hissy fit. You should be flattered that I’m even asking.’

  Poppy was speechless. Perhaps there was a direct correlation between money and manners. The more you had of one, the less you had of the other. It was no wonder Georgia rubbed so many people up the wrong way.

  Blind to Poppy’s chagrin, Georgia carried on. ‘Well, if you ever change your mind –’

  Poppy realised she was grinding her teeth. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ she said grimly.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Poppy felt a wave of tiredness sweep over her as they trudged across the field to the house. When she and Scarlett had set off for Flint Cottage, Riverdale had been in darkness, but now lights blazed from almost every window and a police patrol car was parked outside. It looked as though Scarlett had successfully raised the alarm.

  A small delegation of people was heading in their direction, led by her dad. Caroline walked alongside him. A couple of paces behind them strode Inspector Pearson and PC Bodiam with serious expressions on their faces. The inspector was talking urgently into a police radio.

  Cloud stopped, his eyes boggling. ‘It’s OK,’ Poppy whispered. ‘They’re just checking we’re alright.’

  Poppy’s dad clasped her shoulders and looked her sternly in the eye. ‘Don’t ever, ever disappear like that again, Poppy McKeever. Goodness only knows what could have happened!’

  ‘Sorry, Dad,’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘Come here,’ he commanded, wrapping his arms around her. ‘We’re just glad you’re safe.’

  ‘Is Scarlett OK?’ she mumbled into his coat.

  ‘She’s absolutely fine. Bill’s taken her home. You can see her in the morning.’

  Poppy clung to her dad. He felt safe and familiar. She felt weak with relief. Despite all the odds, they’d rescued Georgia and made it home in one piece.

  She could hear PC Bodiam telling Georgia that her parents were on their way.

  ‘Have you caught them?’ Poppy asked.

  Inspector Pearson broke away from his radio conversation to give her a reassuring smile. ‘We certainly have. Fortunately for us Ricky isn’t the sharpest tool in the box. He drove his truck into a patch of boggy ground and was quite literally stuck in the mud when our patrols arrived. He’s on his way to the cells at Plymouth as we speak.’

  ‘What about Bev?’ asked Georgia.

  ‘Officers found her in the cottage trying to cover up their tracks. It turns out she’s on licence from prison so she’ll be back behind bars before she knows it.’

  ‘Was she at Eastwood Park?’ Poppy asked.

  Inspector Pearson nodded, surprised. ‘How did you know that?’

  Poppy caught PC Bodiam’s eye and a look of understanding passed between them. ‘Just a lucky guess,’ she said.

  By the time Cloud was snug in his stable with a fresh bucket of water and a full haynet, Poppy was drooping with exhaustion. Caroline settled her at the kitchen table with a mug of hot chocolate and a shortbread biscuit as though she was six. But Poppy didn’t mind. She wrapped her fingers around the mug and watched her stepmum fill her hot water bottle.

  Georgia’s parents had screeched up the drive in their Range Rover and had whisked their daughter home. Not before the older girl had sought Poppy out in the tack room and thanked her for rescuing her.

  ‘God knows what would have happened if the police had left it to my parents to pay up. I’d have died in that cellar.’ She said it lightly, but there was a lingering fear in her eyes. Poppy couldn’t imagine how Georgia had survived such a terrifying ordeal and guessed that the scars would take a long time to fade.

  The two police officers had also gone, telling the McKeevers that statements could wait until the next day. Inspector Pearson had agreed to bring forward PC Bodiam’s shift to the morning, which meant she would be able to watch her daughter in the Nativity after all.

  Charlie had slept through the whole thing.

  ‘He’ll be gutted when he discovers he’s missed all the excitement,’ said Poppy. To her embarrassment her voice was all shaky.

  Caroline sat beside her and put her arm around her shoulder. ‘Hey, are you OK?’

  She stared into her hot chocolate. ‘I’m glad Georgia’s safe, of course I am. But I was stupid, putting everyone in danger. What if Cloud was killed?’

  ‘Well, he wasn’t, was he?’

  ‘And Dad’s mad at me.’

  ‘He was worried, Poppy. We all were. The first thing we knew something was wrong was when Scarlett started banging on the door yelling something about kidnappers. Your dad was all set to race off in his pyjamas but I convinced him to call the police and let them deal with it.’

  The image of her dad sprinting across the moor in his stripy jimjams was enough to tease a smile out of her.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Caroline, patting her arm. ‘Inspector Pearson said he was going to nominate you and Scarlett for a Chief Constable’s award for bravery. Imagine that!’

  Poppy groaned. ‘I really hope he doesn’t. Fame and fortune are over-rated. Look where it got Georgia Canning.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The skies were heavy with the threat of snow when Poppy peered out of her bedroom window the next morning. Chester and Jenny were watching over their stable door, their long ears pricked and their eyes fixed firmly on the back door as they waited for her to arrive with their breakfast. Suddenly desperate to see her pony, Poppy eased the window open and whistled softly. Cloud appeared, looked up at her bedroom window and whinnied.

  She was pulling on her jeans when Charlie flung open her bedroom door, his face a study of incredulity.

  ‘Ever heard of knocking?’ said Poppy pointedly.

  Ignoring her, he sat on the end of the bed. ‘Mum’s just told me what happened last night. Why didn’t you take me with you? I could have helped!’

  Poppy grabbed her sweatshirt and made for the door, sighing inwardly as Charlie followed her.

  She decided to appease him. ‘I know. But there wasn’t time to wake you. I will take you next time, I promise.’

  ‘Oh, OK.’ Charlie seemed to accept this. ‘Don’t forget what day it is.’

  Poppy always lost track of the days during school holidays. ‘Saturday?’ she hazarded.

  ‘I don’t mean what day it is, I mean what day it is. It’s Christmas Eve! It’s Nativity day.’

  So it was. Poppy had clean forgotten in all the excitement. ‘Well, we’d better make sure Chester is looking his best, hadn’t we?’

  ‘And Jenny,’ said Charlie. ‘A pair of net curtains says she can come, too. The more the merrier, she told Mum.’

  ‘Pity she didn’t decide that after the donkey auditions. George Blackstone would have had no reason to take Chester.’

  ‘But we’d have never got Jenny then, would we?’ said Charlie, with the simple logic of an eight-year-old.

  ‘True. But you really have got to stop calling her that.’

  ‘Stop calling her Jenny?’ said Charlie, his eyebrows knotted. ‘But that’s her name. It was your idea, remember.’

  ‘No, you idiot. I mean the Reverend Curtains. I mean Kirton. See? You’ve got me doing it now!’

  Charlie creased up laughing and Poppy batted him lightly on the arm. ‘Come on, little brother. Let’s go and groom those donkeys.’

  The Nativity was due to start at three o’clock and at half past two the McKeevers set off along
the windy country lanes towards St Mary’s Church with Chester and Jenny.

  The two donkeys had stood patiently as Poppy and Charlie groomed them until their thick coats shone. Caroline had made Poppy a makeshift shepherd’s costume to match Charlie’s, which she was wearing over her black jeans and brown leather boots.

  ‘Bill reckons it’ll snow tonight,’ said Poppy’s dad, looking up at the leaden sky. ‘I can almost smell it in the air, can’t you?’

  Caroline laughed. ‘Crystallised water doesn’t smell.’

  ‘Yes, it does,’ he said. ‘What do you think, kids?’

  Poppy breathed in deeply. The sharp, cold tang of snowflakes filled her nostrils. ‘Definitely,’ she said.

  ‘Of course it does!’ said Charlie.

  Caroline made a show of sniffing and shaking her head. ‘Nope, can’t smell a thing.’

  ‘What if we’re snowed in for Christmas?’ said Charlie.

  ‘It won’t be the first time, and I don’t suppose it’ll be the last. It’ll be an adventure. We’ve enough food in to feed an army and I don’t think a bit of snow will stop Father Christmas and his reindeer, do you?’

  Charlie looked at his dad pityingly. ‘He’s not real, you know.’

  But Mike McKeever was watching a burly man dressed in camouflage gear and carrying a video camera disappear into the church. ‘I don’t believe it!’ he said, striding after the man and tapping him on the shoulder.

  Poppy watched as the mysterious red-haired man she’d seen at Witch Cottage turned in surprise. His face split into a grin.

  ‘Mike McKeever as I live and breathe! What are you doing here?’ he said, pumping her dad’s hand.

  ‘I live up the road, old friend. The question is, what are you doing here?’

  The man held up his camera. ‘I bumped into the vicar in the pub yesterday and she asked if I could film the Nativity. She’s planning to sell copies to raise money for the church roof appeal.’

  Poppy’s dad beckoned them over. ‘Come and say hello to John. We worked together in the Middle East years ago. Until John decided that filming wild animals was more fun than filming war zones.’

  Charlie was staring at the man slack-jawed. ‘Are you John Dunne the wildlife cameraman?’

  The bearlike man’s eyes crinkled. ‘The very same. And who are you, young man?’

  ‘I’m your biggest fan,’ said Charlie earnestly. ‘I’ve watched your film on snow leopards like about a million times. And that’s my sister, Poppy.’

  Poppy gave the cameraman a quick smile. ‘Actually, we’ve already met.’

  John Dunne looked puzzled, and then his face cleared. ‘The girl with the grey pony. Of course. I didn’t recognise you without your hat.’

  ‘You still haven’t told us what you’re doing here,’ said Poppy’s dad.

  ‘I’m filming a pair of barn owls in an old croft near Princetown for a new documentary. I’ve been camped out for about a week, that’s why I look a bit rough.’ He scratched the stubble on his chin and grinned self-consciously. ‘I think I probably gave Poppy a bit of a fright the other day, but she galloped off before I could tell her who I was.’

  Poppy realised the three-legged contraption he’d been carrying in the woods must have been a tripod for his camera. Not a trap at all. She shook her head.

  ‘No, you didn’t scare me at all.’

  Scarlett was already at the back of the church with Daisy the sheep and the rest of the cast. They watched the congregation slowly file in. It seemed as though the whole village had turned out for the service. Even Barney Broomfield, who ran the village shop, was there in his trademark red sweater. With his white beard, twinkly blue eyes and generous stomach, he bore more than a passing resemblance to Father Christmas.

  Poppy nudged her brother. ‘Still think there’s no such thing as Santa?’

  Charlie grinned. ‘Maybe I was wrong.’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything,’ she said drily.

  They waved to Bella, Tory and Sam. Poppy mouthed, ‘Where’s Delilah?’

  ‘Back in the loft, thank God,’ Sam mouthed back.

  PC Bodiam, wearing a pretty teal dress, denim jacket and black leather boots, walked in hand-in-hand with her daughter Meg, who looked the picture of Christmas in her angel costume, albeit her tinsel halo was slightly askew. PC Bodiam straightened the halo and ushered her to the back of the church before sliding into a pew.

  Poppy felt hot breath on the back of her neck.

  ‘Charlie!’ she admonished. But it was Nelly the alpaca nibbling her hood.

  ‘Look, there’s Georgia,’ whispered Scarlett.

  Sure enough, Georgia was stalking into the church with a man and woman flanking her like bodyguards protecting a film star. Poppy did a double take when she realised the smiley woman with rosy cheeks, bundled up in a damson-coloured quilted coat, was Georgia’s mum. She bore no resemblance to the muted ghost of a woman Poppy had spied through the keyhole at Claydon Manor. Even Georgia’s dad looked happy. Poppy was glad for them. It could have been such a different story.

  Gradually the pews filled up and before long the church was packed to the rafters. The Reverend Kirton bustled over to see them.

  ‘Everyone remember what to do?’ They nodded. ‘Marvellous! You are my Christmas stars, every one of you. Even you, Matthew,’ she said, bestowing a benevolent smile on the smallest of the Three Kings, who was balancing a homemade gold ingot on his head.

  The organ wheezed into life and the congregation shuffled to their feet as the first few bars of O Little Town of Bethlehem rang around the church.

  Poppy glanced out of the small leaded window beside them and gasped. Snowflakes were falling, scurrying and whirling in the half-light of a late December afternoon.

  ‘It’s snowing!’ she breathed. The gaggle of children stared out of the window, transfixed. They passed on the news in excited whispers. The words gained a momentum of their own and soon the entire congregation was laughing and smiling at the thought of a white Christmas.

  Suddenly Poppy felt giddy with happiness. The horror of the last few days felt like a bad dream. Chester and Jenny were safe. Cloud was tucked up in his stable, waiting for her to come home. Tomorrow was Christmas. And Poppy had a feeling it was going be the best one ever.

  Afterword

  Thank you for reading The Riverdale Pony Stories. If you enjoyed Poppy and Cloud’s adventures it would be great if you could spare a couple of minutes to write a quick review on Amazon. I’d love to hear your feedback!

  About the Author

  Amanda Wills is the Amazon bestselling author of The Riverdale Pony Stories, which follow the adventures of pony-mad Poppy McKeever and her beloved Connemara Cloud.

  She is also the author of Flick Henderson and the Deadly Game, a fast-paced mystery about a super-cool new heroine who has her sights set on becoming an investigative journalist.

  Amanda, a UK-based former journalist who now works part-time as a police press officer, lives in Kent with her husband and fellow indie author Adrian Wills and their sons Oliver and Thomas.

  Find out more at www.amandawills.co.uk or at www.facebook.com/riverdaleseries or follow amandawillsauthor on Instagram.

  www.amandawills.co.uk

  amanda@amandawills.co.uk

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  Poppy faces her showjumping fears with help from her best friend

  Scarlett and her beloved Connemara, Cloud.

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  Also by Amanda Wills

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  The Thirteenth Horse

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  The Pony of Tanglewood Farm

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Flick Henderson Files

  Flick Henderson and the Deadly Game