Phantom Horse 4: Phantom Horse in Danger

by Christine Pullein-Thompson

  “Soon the abattoirs will be open again; time is running out. Did you read the paper this morning? The workers’ union is meeting the management on Wednesday. They could be back to work by Thursday,” Angus answered.

  “That still gives us two days,” I replied. “A lot can happen in two days.”

  “For us or against, that is the question,” replied Angus. “I’m going to ring directories anyway,” he said, going to the telephone. “I want to talk to Geoff Craig. I want to tell him what I think of him.”

  “Don’t be rude,” I said. “Be polite, say we will buy him back – pay a bit more. Offer him more money.

  “I haven’t got any more,” replied Angus, picking up the phone and dialling.

  “We’ll raise it somehow,” I answered.

  The girl at directory enquiries was not very helpful. She said, “Town please.”

  Angus only knew the county. Then she asked “Initial?”

  Angus answered, “G,” and we both knew that Geoffrey might not be his first name.

  “There are thirty-five Craigs in the county and not one of them has G as an initial. Do you want me to look further?” asked the girl in an exasperated voice after less than a minute.

  “No, thank you,” replied Angus, replacing the receiver.

  “Dominic may know,” I said.

  “I don’t want to ask him for help. I’m not six years old,” cried Angus.

  “But Geoff Craig may be ex-directory”.

  “If he had written a cheque we would know his real initials,” replied Angus, pacing up and down the kitchen.

  “And we might have been able to trace him through his bank,” I said.

  “How I hate the word if – if, if, if – and all the while time is passing,” cried Angus. “Do you realise that we will never have today again?”

  “I don’t want it again, not one minute of it,” I answered. “I wish it was over. I wish our parents were home and Killarney back in his stable. I wish the last few days had never happened.”

  Angus was looking through the Yellow Pages directory. His hair was on end and he hadn’t washed his face since yesterday.

  He was looking under Horse Dealers, muttering “Craig” to himself.

  “Shall I ring Dominic?” I asked. “Because it’s our only hope. He knows the address, or his father does.”

  “He knows everything, doesn’t he?” replied Angus. “I’ll ring him myself. I just hoped to get by without him for once.”

  We drank some coffee to raise our spirits and then Angus dialled the number we both knew by heart. It was a long time before anyone answered and all the time the phone was ringing I could feel my heart pounding against my side. At last Angus said, “Dominic? It’s Angus.” He explained what he wanted.

  Dominic answered, “Hang on, I’ll get it. It’s listed under Farmers …”

  Two minutes later Angus was dialling another number, holding the receiver as though it was a weapon, as though it held the only hope left. He said, “This is Angus Simpson speaking. Is that Mr Craig? … I sold you a grey horse over the weekend … Yes, a grey called Killarney; well, I want to buy him back.” His voice was tense, and crackly with emotion. “I am willing to pay extra, to make it worth your while.”

  I guessed that Dominic had told him what to say. I was biting my knuckles as I waited for Angus to smile, to say, “Thank you.”

  Instead, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and said, “I see. Do you really mean that? I don’t want him to go for meat. He’s a wonderful horse, kind and generous. He’ll jump anything across country. I am willing to give you another five hundred. I should never have sold him. I regret it deeply. Please let me buy him back.”

  I could hear Geoff Craig shouting, “When I buy a horse I don’t sell him back a few days later. I keep him. Is that clear? Don’t bother me again. No is my final word on the subject. He’s my daughter’s now. We made a deal and that’s the end of it.” Then he slammed down his receiver, while Angus seemed to turn a shade whiter.

  “He’s insane,” I said.

  Angus was dialling Dominic’s number.

  “It’s no good,” he shouted into the receiver. “He won’t sell him back to us, not even with an extra five hundred. He still pretends he’s for June, but I know by his voice that it isn’t true. He’s just a liar. I don’t know what we can do now.”

  Dominic said, “Come over right away. Don’t waste another minute. And don’t despair. We’ll make a plan. There’s still time.”

  6

  Mrs Barnes opened the farmhouse door for us.

  “Come right in,” she said. “Don’t worry about your shoes. We don’t mind a bit of mud.”

  Inside, the house was low-ceilinged. Coats hung in a narrow hall. Tea was already laid in the large kitchen where there were comfortable chairs as well as stiff-backed ones.

  “Dominic is still milking. He’ll be in in a minute,” she said. “Sit yourselves down.”

  We had changed into tidy clothes. I sat down and a cat jumped on my knee. There were framed photographs of horses on the walls, which Angus started to study.

  Then Dominic came in. “Hello, I’m just going to wash,” he said, while his mother started to make the tea.

  Suddenly it all seemed irrelevant to me. Here we were, preparing to eat while Killarney was under sentence of death, and the ancient clock on the old-fashioned chimney-piece was ticking away the minutes to his execution.

  There was cold ham on the table, salad, pickles, chutney, two home-made cakes, bread and butter, cheese and fruit. High tea at its very best. Mr Barnes hung up his coat before he sat down. Underneath, he wore braces over a striped shirt, old trousers and boots.

  We talked about the weather and Dominic looked embarrassed, half-ashamed and half-proud of his parents. Angus and I ate like wolves, encouraged by Mrs Barnes. The evening sun barely filtered through the small windows.

  “Do you think you’ll get him back?” Mr Barnes said suddenly, cutting himself some cheese. “The horse, I mean,” he added, after a short uncertain silence.

  “I don’t know,” answered Angus.

  “We hope so,” I said, at the same moment.

  “Craig should go to prison,” said Mr Barnes.

  We finished our pieces of cake and drained our cups of tea.

  “That’s where he should be. Horses were never meant for eating, or only when people are starving,” said Mr Barnes.

  Dominic stood up. “Let’s discuss strategy in my room,” he suggested.

  “What about the washing up?” I asked, carrying my plates and teacup to the sink.

  “Leave it, Jean. Forget it,” said Mrs Barnes.

  “You don’t want to listen to Dad,” said Dominic, leading the way up narrow stairs. His room looked towards the barns and milking parlour. It had cracked, brown linoleum on the floor and sporting prints on the walls. It was a cold, bare room. Dominic switched on a heater.

  “Now for a plan,” he said.

  “We must be quick. Time is running out,” replied Angus, in a tight voice.

  “I have a plan. I thought of it in the middle of the night. I don’t think Jean is going to like it, though,” said Dominic.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “It concerns Phantom, and you know how you are about him,” replied Dominic, with a faint smile.

  I was sitting on his bed, which had an old-fashioned white bedspread on it. I felt suddenly afraid.

  “Well, spell it out,” I cried.

  “But it’s got nothing to do with Phantom,” said Angus.

  “We need proof,” continued Dominic, sitting on a small white chair.

  “What proof?” interrupted Angus impatiently.

  “Proof that he bought Killarney under false pretences. For that we must sell him another horse. And I will be the witness.”

  “Not Phantom,” I cried.

  “We’ll get him back,” said Dominic. “I want Geoff Craig to say his piece. I’ll have to sell him Ph
antom as a stolen horse.”

  “And I am going to record it all,” cried Angus, suddenly coming to life.

  “Perfect,” cried Dominic, leaping to his feet to pace the room.

  “He’ll know us!” I gasped, frantically trying to think of objections.

  “We’ll change our appearances. Angus, you can wear a moustache,” said Dominic, beginning to laugh. “And you can be my wife, Jean. We’ll get you a wig.”

  “Very funny,” I answered, not knowing whether to laugh or cry, and with a sinking feeling in my stomach.

  “I belong to the local drama group. We can hire the things,” said Dominic. “We’ll go tomorrow after milking. That’s Tuesday, and on Wednesday we’ll sell him Phantom.”

  “We won’t have any horses then,” I said. “And supposing we can’t get either of them back? I can’t bear it.”

  “Don’t blubber,” said Angus.

  “I don’t want to be your wife, Dominic.”

  “Girlfriend, then. It doesn’t matter. You can wear your hair up if you don’t like a wig. We’ll make you up, so he won’t know you. You can be very quiet – a bit dim. We’ll have to rehearse,” continued Dominic. “Phantom will be mine and stolen, I’ll make that clear. Angus, you can be my mate and you must do the recording. Jean, you’re just another witness.”

  “Thank you very much,” I answered.

  “I’m in a hurry to get rid of Phantom, so I will accept a few hundred, that should whet his appetite,” said Dominic. “Oh, I’m looking forward to it. And you can disappear for the police when we have the recording, Angus, because we want to take Phantom and Killarney back with us – right?”

  “Right,” agreed Angus.

  “I don’t know whether I can bear it,” I said slowly.

  “You must, it’s for the good of the whole horse world,” replied Dominic. “We are going to expose Geoff Craig and his darling daughter for what they are.”

  “And retrieve Killarney,” added Angus standing up, preparing to leave.

  “I’ll arrange for us to get the clothes we need. Let’s meet here at eleven tomorrow,” suggested Dominic, following us downstairs.

  “Okay,” said Angus.

  “I’ll clean out the trailer, at the moment it’s full of pigs’ muck,” said Dominic.

  “I wish we could go there tomorrow,” I exclaimed. “I can’t bear waiting a minute longer.”

  “We need time to think. We can’t afford to make a mistake,” replied Dominic.

  “You know the abattoirs may be open on Thursday, don’t you?” I asked.

  “Yes, but we’ll be there by eleven on Wednesday morning. If that fails, we’ll get an injunction to stop them killing Killarney, but that won’t be easy,” replied Dominic.

  Dusk had come when we started to walk home. I felt very alone at this moment. I wanted to scream, “You are risking Phantom and he’s my horse and you haven’t even asked!” But it seemed pointless, for there was no other way to save Killarney.

  We ran down the lane which leads to the farm, then along the footpath which leads home. Neither of us spoke. I imagined Phantom going and Dominic accepting cash: dirty notes in a plastic bag. I shall have to wear dark glasses, I thought, or Geoff Craig will notice that I’m crying.

  The trees were full of chirping birds. Our cottage looked asleep, the chequered slopes on each side like a patchwork eiderdown. I longed for someone to be there to welcome us, but of course it was empty. Angus put the kettle on.

  “You’re very quiet,” he said. “But I promise you we’ll get Phantom back again.”

  “But he will have been sold, can’t you see?” I cried. “And supposing Geoff Craig doesn’t say anything incriminating? What then?”

  “Dominic will handle it. He’s no fool.”

  “He may make a mistake,” I answered. “He may let us down, miscalculate, misjudge. No one is always right.”

  “We’ll have to risk that,” said Angus.

  “We can’t lose both horses. What will our parents say? Oh, I feel ill,” I cried, “sick to my stomach, sick with fear. I can’t live without Phantom. I can’t even endure school without him. Can’t you understand?”

  “Only half,” replied Angus, pouring boiling water onto tea leaves.

  “He’s my escape. When school has been awful I ride him into the woods and everything is all right again,” I said. “Without him I shall be lost. What shall I do all day? How shall I fill up my time? I’ll go mad.”

  “We’ll get him back. Both of them will be here, grazing under the apple trees just as they used to. We’ll bring them back on Wednesday, I promise,” replied Angus.

  “If only I could believe you. You’re asking so much,” I said. “You’re asking me to sell my horse to save yours.”

  “Not just mine, other people’s too, to expose the whole racket.”

  “But selling horses for meat isn’t illegal,” I pointed out.

  “But promising them a good home and every care and then having them killed is,” replied Angus.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  But I couldn’t be sure. I wanted the law in front of me, written down, not just their assumptions. I looked out into the darkness and I didn’t trust anyone any more.

  The next day Dominic drove us to a store of theatrical clothes. It was above a brewery in a building which dated back to Elizabethan times. He chose himself a faded Homburg hat and Angus tried on moustaches, and in spite of what lay ahead, we couldn’t help laughing.

  We tried on wigs and I became a redhead. Then I tied a patterned scarf over the wig. I looked awful, quite different, years older, and decided I could do without the scarf.

  Angus chose a moustache which turned down at the ends. It changed him completely. He found a checked waistcoat and a lumber jacket. Dominic only wanted the hat. We paid on the way out and promised to bring everything back before the weekend.

  I rode after lunch, and each moment was sacred because I might never ride Phantom again. He was full of energy, glad to be out, but searching for something, too, stopping to stare into the distance, to neigh and paw the ground whenever we halted.

  I decided that he was looking for Killarney and I patted his neck. “Don’t worry, tomorrow you’ll be together again,” I told him. And the words made me believe it.

  We had a last gallop down the track to Dominic’s farm and back, and Phantom seemed to go faster than ever before, or maybe it was just my imagination.

  When I returned home, Angus was self-consciously cleaning Killarney’s tack. “I want it ready for him,” he said. He had bedded down his box as well and hung a full haynet near the door.

  I turned Phantom out with Twilight in the orchard and watched him roll, and another day was nearly gone. Now I was counting the hours until everything was over and we were home again with our two horses grazing together under the trees.

  I started to clean my tack. It was old and comfortable; the bit and stirrups were stainless steel and the girth was folded leather.

  “Dominic is going to be here at eight-thirty to box Phantom. He says not to bandage, etc. Don’t groom him, either. He must look as though he’s been stolen out of a field – and we’re to use our oldest head collar, the one tied together with string.”

  “He rang up, then?” I asked, the sinking feeling in my stomach worse than ever.

  “Yes. And he’s painted the farm trailer a different colour so it won’t be noticed. He won’t accept any thanks,” replied Angus.

  “What else did he say?”

  “To have a good breakfast because an army can’t march on an empty stomach, and if you faint your wig might fall off.”

  “Very funny,” I answered. “If Phantom goes for meat I shall kill myself, did you tell him that?”

  “No.”

  I finished cleaning my tack and wandered indoors. I put the television on, but nothing seemed to register. I picked up a book but the words were just a jumble in front of my eyes. I looked at the time and it
was five o’clock. The day seemed to have lasted for eternity already.

  Mrs Parkin had brought us a cake. She had cleaned the whole cottage from top to bottom and the garden was full of washing put out to dry. The desk in the dining room was covered with schedules of shows in which I had intended to compete, but there seemed no point in entering now; in fact, no point in doing anything until tomorrow was over. I made some tea.

  Angus came in and said, “I’ve tidied the midden and swept the whole yard. Did you see the letter from Geneva? It came by the second post.”

  He gave it to me and I read it through, but nothing registered, because parties in Geneva and ambassadors and embassy officials’ wives couldn’t help us in any way with what lay ahead. That was all that mattered now.

  “Perhaps we should have a drink,” suggested Angus.

  “No, thank you,” I answered, remembering how Geoff Craig had sat in Dad’s chair, drinking whisky.

  “Let’s play Mastermind, then,” he said.

  I shook my head. “I’m not fit to play anything. I can’t live again until tomorrow. My head aches and aches. I think I’m going to bed.”

  “But it’s only six o’clock.”

  “I don’t care,” I said.

  My bed was a haven from the world, a lair where I could hide from the dangers ahead. I didn’t sleep, but lay trying not to think, and slowly the minutes turned into hours. At eight o’clock Angus appeared with some hot chocolate and a bottle of aspirin.

  “You aren’t ill, are you? Shall I get the thermometer?” he asked.

  “No, I’m just waiting for time to pass,” I answered, and it was true.

  Later I slept and wakened to a pale moon riding in a dark sky. Somewhere a cock was crowing, heralding another day.

  I rose at five. The orchard was still dappled with moonlight.

  I made myself tea in the kitchen and boiled myself an egg, and felt courage coming back.

  “We are going to succeed,” I thought. “Tonight the horses will be home again and the nightmare will be finished.”

  7

  At seven o’clock Angus appeared. He picked up the post off the mat and looked at the envelopes.