Secret of the Stallion

by Bonnie Bryant

  “I think we should always travel with her,” Max teased. “She knows everything. I’m still half asleep.”

  “Oh, really?” Veronica said, sounding surprised. “Didn’t you sleep well?”

  Max didn’t answer. He did, however, put his arm out to keep Stevie from throttling Veronica, who had spent the five minutes since they’d met at the door of the plane telling the others how nice first class was.

  Lisa collected their passports and presented them to the immigration officer all at once.

  “Business or pleasure?” he asked.

  “Business,” said Max.

  “Pleasure,” said The Saddle Club.

  “We’re going to be riding horses,” Carole explained.

  “Have a good visit,” said the officer, stamping their passports.

  Fifteen minutes later, they had found their luggage and passed through customs. Now all they had to do was find transportation into the city.

  “Daddy’s ordered a car service for me,” said Veronica. “If you want, a few of you could come along, though it won’t be much fun if it’s crowded …”

  It was an invitation that did not endear Veronica to her fellow travelers.

  “No thanks,” Stevie said. “We’ll manage in tourist. You just go ahead in first class.”

  “Oh, all right,” said Veronica, apparently oblivious to the irritation she was causing.

  They took their bags out to the curb.

  A long, shiny black limousine pulled up near where they stood. Veronica’s eyes lit up in expectation. The door opened. Out jumped a girl about the age of The Saddle Club’s members. She had a big grin on her face and she waved wildly, trying to get their attention.

  “Lisa! Lisa, it’s me!”

  Lisa turned. “Tessa! You came to meet us?”

  “Of course!” The girls ran to meet one another and hugged. “And there’s plenty of room in this boat of a car for everyone, plus bags. Hamilton,” she said to the driver, “can you help them stow the luggage in the boot?”

  Hamilton tipped his hat and the trunk lid slid open. He started taking suitcases.

  As Stevie handed her bag to Hamilton, she looked at Veronica. Veronica was still waiting for the car service her father had ordered, looking impatiently over the sea of cars and taxis. Then it came.

  A small, once red car that looked as if it had seen better days—many of them—pulled up to the curb. A scruffy, unshaven man stepped out. He pulled a piece of cardboard out with him. It said “diAngelo” on it. He spotted the group from Pine Hollow and walked over, partly in response to a wave from Stevie.

  “Miz doy Hangelo?” he asked Stevie in a very thick accent she assumed was what the English called Cockney.

  “No, not I,” said Stevie. “This is Miss diAngelo.” She pointed to the pale Veronica.

  “Royt this whoy, miss,” he said, picking up Veronica’s suitcase. She had nothing to do but follow him. The look on her face as she headed to the old beat-up car while her friends climbed into a spacious limousine was worth every bite of soggy pizza that Stevie had suffered while cramped in the economy section of the airplane. Stevie sighed with contentment.

  None of the group started laughing until after the limousine’s doors had shut and the windows had been raised. Then even Max couldn’t contain himself.

  They agreed that they would be sure to call her “Miz doy Hangelo” only on very special occasions.

  A FEW HOURS later, The Saddle Club felt like different people. They’d had a chance to check into their hotel, unpack a few things, and take a nap. They were refreshed and ready to see the world by noon when Tessa showed up to take them on the grand tour.

  Again Hamilton was there with the car. The girls invited Veronica to join them, knowing she wouldn’t be able to resist the limousine. Stevie thought it was too bad that Veronica was so impressed with Tessa’s car that Veronica never seemed to notice what a nice person Tessa was. That was just like Veronica, too.

  “First stop—the Tower of London,” said Tessa.

  They took off.

  The Tower was an old castle in the center of what was now London’s business district—like Wall Street in New York. It had stood on the banks of the Thames River (Tessa pronounced it “the Tems”) for a thousand years. Kings and queens had been beheaded there, and nobody knew how many had suffered torture and death in its infamous dungeon.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” said Carole.

  “Me too. Isn’t it wonderful?” Stevie remarked.

  “Can you imagine all the history this place has seen?” Lisa sighed.

  “Where are the crown jewels?” Veronica wanted to know.

  They saw the creepy parts, the wonderful ones, the historic places, and, of course, the crown jewels. It gave them all a start to realize that, as even a distant cousin to the queen, Tessa was probably related to some of the people who had ruled, and suffered, within the walls of the Tower of London.

  “Very distant relatives,” Tessa explained, laughing.

  Even Veronica couldn’t resist laughing when Tessa said silly things like that.

  Their next stop was Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum. It was a collection of wax statues, very real likenesses, of famous people, all dressed in costumes of their times. In some cases, like the one of Elvis Presley, the wax statues were wearing clothes that had actually belonged to the real people.

  “Oh, look at the gowns!” Veronica remarked, admiring some of the clothes the wax royals were wearing.

  “I don’t know,” said Stevie. “In some ways, this is creepier than the Tower of London. At least there, I could just imagine the people. Here, I have to see them—in wax.”

  Carole sat down on a seat next to another tired tourist. A second look at her seatmate revealed that it was actually another wax statue! She laughed and called her friends over.

  “Maybe they’ll make statues of us to put in here someday. We wouldn’t take up much space, would we?” she asked.

  “I don’t think they’re interested in American riders here,” said Tessa. “They mostly want the famous, the infamous, and the gory—”

  “Preferably all three,” Stevie said, passing by a gruesome dungeon scene.

  “This stuff turns my stomach,” said Lisa.

  “My empty stomach,” said Stevie.

  “You know, until you mentioned it, I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” said Carole. “The last real meal we had was that soggy pizza they served us for dinner.” She glared at Veronica so she wouldn’t say anything about the steak she’d had on the plane.

  “Well, then, how about some good pizza?” Tessa asked. “There’s this wonderful little place …”

  She didn’t have to say it twice. The American girls followed her gladly to the limousine. Hamilton drove them to Tessa’s favorite pizza restaurant.

  They gathered at the table, placed their orders, and talked about plans for the rest of their visit to London.

  “Tomorrow you’re all going to come to our home and ride with me, aren’t you?”

  “Yes!” came three enthusiastic responses.

  “I’m afraid I can’t,” came the fourth. The girls looked at Veronica. “It’s these friends of Daddy’s,” she explained. “I called them as soon as I checked into my room and they’ve invited me to tea at their home. They live in Mayfair …”

  She let the word “Mayfair” hang in the air. It suggested so much. It suggested wealth and glamour, country estates, and very blue blood. It was just a word, but Veronica had managed to pack a whole world into that one word.

  “How nice for you,” said Tessa. She sounded as if she meant it, too.

  “Yes,” said Stevie. “How nice.” She didn’t sound as if she meant it.

  Veronica smiled and took a bite of pizza. A gob of gooey, greasy cheese slid off the top of the pizza and landed on her lap. Everyone handed her a napkin. Nobody helped her clean the mess.

  AFTER A VERY good night’s sleep, the three American girls had been picke
d up by Hamilton and driven to Tessa’s country home. It wasn’t far from London. The trip was only about forty-five minutes, but they had a good look at the lovely green countryside that surrounded the city.

  They’d followed signs to a town named Harcourt-St. Claire’s-in-the-Wold, which Hamilton referred to as Hart-Sinclair. That struck Stevie as a neat way to get rid of a lot of extraneous syllables.

  As they drove they chatted nervously about their hostess, Tessa’s mother.

  “I’ve never been to a lady’s home before,” said Stevie. “I’m going to do something awful and be an embarrassment to every American. I don’t even know how to hold a teacup.”

  “Just don’t crook your little finger,” said Carole.

  “How do you know?” asked Lisa.

  “Veronica told me,” said Carole.

  “I guess we can count on that, then,” said Stevie. She practiced holding a teacup without crooking her little finger. Instead she stuck it straight out in the air.

  “No, not like that, either. Just hold it normally,” said Carole.

  “You mean like regular people? But Tessa’s mother is a lady!”

  “So’s Tessa,” Lisa reminded her. “And she’s normal, isn’t she?”

  Stevie thought about that while the sleek, black limousine turned into a long drive and then to a circle in front of a big old stone house that Tessa had called Dickens.

  Tessa came running out of the house to greet the girls. Her mother followed, with a welcoming smile that immediately put the girls at ease.

  “Come on in, then, and change your clothes for your ride,” said the woman. “You’re to go have yourselves a good ride and then come back here for lunch. I’ve made a special treat for our American visitors.”

  Everybody was introduced, and within a half hour the four girls were in the saddle.

  “I can’t believe it!” said Stevie. “I’m actually riding on an English horse, with an English lady, in the English countryside! Pinch me!”

  “I would, but somebody needs to pinch me first,” said Carole.

  “This way!” said Tessa. Lisa, Carole, and Stevie followed. “I’ll show you all around Hart-Sinclair—the only way to see it, on horseback.”

  Stevie’s horse lunged forward eagerly, and she was only too happy to let him have his head. He was an energetic sorrel named Copperfield after David Copperfield. All of the horses at Dickens were named after characters in Charles Dickens’s novels. Lisa was riding Pip, a gray. Carole’s horse, a chestnut mare, was named Miss Havisham. Those were both names of characters from Great Expectations. Tessa’s own horse was named Humbug after Scrooge’s favorite exclamation in A Christmas Carol. Everything at Dickens was even nicer and more fun than Stevie and her friends could have imagined.

  VERONICA FROWNED ONE final time before she reached for the bell at the Chumleys’ house. She was not happy to be there and she was going to be sure her father knew that she’d missed a chance to ride at Dickens in Hart-Sinclair. Perhaps he’d find a tangible way to express his gratitude to her—like a new saddle.

  Veronica pressed the button. A maid answered and requested her name. She was invited inside and asked to wait in the sitting room. She sat and waited.

  The sitting room was dark and grand. The walls held oil portraits of what she suspected were generations of Chumleys. There was a strong jawline that seemed to appear in most of the generations. It wasn’t a very attractive strong jawline, just a strong jawline. Veronica wondered if anybody famous had done any of the paintings. The furniture was old, too. Veronica wondered if any of it was Chippendale. The rugs were oriental. Perhaps they were valuable, too. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  The door opened. Mr. and Mrs. Chumley walked in slowly. Veronica’s first thought was that they were old. Her second thought was that they were very old. Mr. Chumley used a cane. Mrs. Chumley squinted through her glasses, trying to focus on Veronica. Veronica stood up and shook their frail old hands as she knew her father would expect her to do. She smiled as she knew her father would expect her to do. She told them how pleased she was to see them. But all she could think of was how much she wished she were at Hart-Sinclair. Even being with Stevie, Lisa, and Carole was better than this.

  “Edna, bring the tea, won’t you?” Mrs. Chumley asked the maid. “And those nice little almond cakes?”

  They sat.

  Veronica smiled again. “Daddy will be so pleased that I’m having a chance to meet you,” she said.

  Mr. Chumley jutted his strong jaw forward and leaned toward Veronica. His bushy white mustache quivered as he began to form his words.

  “Who’s that?” he asked.

  “M-My father,” Veronica stammered.

  “Mr. diAngelo—from the bank in Virginia, dear. Remember him?” said Mrs. Chumley.

  “DiAngelo, diAngelo,” said the old man. “Can’t say as I do.” He sat back in his chair.

  “Of course you do, Alastair,” said Mrs. Chumley. “And this is their daughter, Jessica.”

  “Veronica,” said Veronica.

  “Of course, Veronica,” agreed Mrs. Chumley.

  The tea arrived. Veronica smiled wanly as Mrs. Chumley assembled a cup of tea and an almond cake on a plate for her. Her eyes were on Mrs. Chumley, but her mind was somewhere else: Harcourt-St. Claire’s-in-the-Wold. She swore to herself that her friends would never, ever, in their entire lives know what a ghastly time she was having with the Chumleys. She blinked back a tear.

  “Tell me, Je—I mean Veronica,” Mrs. Chumley said, “just what it is you’re doing here.”

  “Visiting you,” said Veronica. “You invited me for tea, remember?”

  “You mean you came all the way to England from Virginia for our almond cakes?” Mr. Chumley asked.

  “No, dear,” Mrs. Chumley said to her husband. Then she turned to Veronica. “Actually, I knew I’d invited you to tea. What I meant was that I can’t recall why it is you came to England.”

  “Horses,” said Veronica. “I’m a rider. My Pony Club is doing a mounted games demonstration at a three-day event in Cummington.”

  “Oh, of course, the Cummington,” said Mrs. Chumley.

  “You’ve heard of it?” Veronica asked, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

  “Naturally. Everybody has,” said Mrs. Chumley. “And I do hope you’ll have a chance to see the ghost while you’re there.”

  “The ghost?” Veronica asked. This whole tea party was acquiring the most surreal quality!

  “The duke’s ghost, of course. To protect the treasure, don’t you know.”

  “The treasure?” said Veronica.

  “Is there an echo in here?” asked Mr. Chumley.

  “Oh, hush, Alastair,” said Mrs. Chumley. “It’s just our American visitor. She doesn’t know about the buried treasure at Cummington Castle.”

  “So, why don’t you tell her?” Mr. Chumley suggested. That was the first and only time that afternoon when he said anything that made sense to Veronica.

  “Indeed I shall,” said Mrs. Chumley.

  Veronica took a bite out of her almond cake and a sip of tea. She put her cup and plate on the table and sat up expectantly. She didn’t want to miss a thing.

  CAROLE GAVE MISS Havisham a final hug. “You’ve been a wonderful horse to ride and I wish I could ride you again,” she whispered in the horse’s ear.

  “Isn’t she a dream?” Tessa said.

  “She was great,” Carole agreed. “She was especially good at fast starts and stops. I kept thinking how good she’d be in mounted games, like the ones we’ll be demonstrating at Cummington.”

  “I had the same thought about Pip,” Lisa said. “He could turn on a dime.”

  “You should say seven pence,” Stevie interjected. “We’re in England now and they have different money. A dime is somewhere between six and seven p, I think.”

  “I know what a dime is,” Tessa said. “I also knew what she meant. Pip is very maneuverable.”

  “B
ut he’s not as fast as Copperfield,” Stevie said. “Copperfield’d beat anybody in a race, I’m sure.”

  “So you all liked your horses?” Tessa asked.

  “Yes,” came three enthusiastic responses.

  “Then you’ll probably be glad to know that I’ve arranged for you to ride this lot at Cummington. I couldn’t stand the idea of you having to take whatever old horse nobody else wanted for your demonstration. They’re being driven to the castle tomorrow and will be waiting for you there.”

  “You what?” Stevie asked.

  “I told you she was wonderful, didn’t I?” asked Lisa.

  “Yes, but you didn’t say she was this wonderful,” said Carole.

  “I’m sending another horse, a dappled gray named Nickleby, for the other girl—what’s her name?”

  “Veronica,” Lisa supplied.

  “Right. Well, Nickleby’s a jolly good horse, too.”

  The Saddle Club couldn’t believe how wonderful and generous Tessa was being and they told her so. She explained that she had the horses and the van and the driver and, since she was planning to be at Cummington to cheer them on, they were going to have to do well and the best way to be assured of that was to provide them with good mounts. It was all as logical as it was wonderful.

  The girls finished grooming and watering their horses and packed their tack for the trip to Cummington. They each delivered a final hug to their horses and then returned to the main house for lunch.

  “I wonder what your mother has cooked up for us,” Stevie said, sniffing the air suspiciously.

  “It smells good,” said Carole.

  “It smells familiar,” said Lisa.

  “It smells like pizza,” said Tessa. “She thinks it’s the most American food there is and I guess she decided that would be what you’d want. Isn’t that funny? Well, can you stand pizza two days in a row?”

  They all smiled enthusiastically. Nobody told Tessa’s mother that it was more like three days in a row because it had been dinner on the airplane, too.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Lisa edged through the crowd. She didn’t want to miss a thing.

  Carole heard it first. “They’re coming!” she said. She turned to look. So did several thousand other people.