The Dark Horse

by Rumer Godden

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Mr Willie shout again, “Look out!” because, soon as the Streaky was in saddle, Darkie, he put back his ears; his eyes was like I never seen them. Streaky gather up the reins and Darkie – he go puggle – mad… ’ Ching shuddered. ‘Other English jockeys they was watching, laughing like it was a joke but Darkie almost standing on his head, then rearing… They laugh and shout, “Where your magic, Streaky? That horse don’t take to you!” and Mr Bacon no like and as Darkie come up again, he so angry he give Darkie hard cut with his whip, wicked cut,’ said Ching. ‘Cross quarters and down below. Wicked cut – and Darkie make a neigh, high, like I never heard… he threw the Streaky backwards. Then just bolt. Quick I take Flashlight from the syce and go after – Jemadar send riding boy other way. I see nothing – only traffic roaring down Chowringhee… side road empty… I look, I ask… at last come back. Streaky Bacon, I think he stunned. They take him back to stands. I think he not forgive.’

  ‘Nor will we,’ said John.

  VI

  ‘Mother, are we going to try Beauty in the cart this evening?’ Dark Invader had been re-christened Beauty. ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Don’t be simple, child. He’s a racehorse,’ and, ‘I think perhaps a famous racehorse,’ Mother Morag might have added. ‘If we put him in the shafts, he would kick the cart to pieces.’

  ‘Then… ’ Elation went out of Sister Mary Fanny, ‘then he’s no use to us.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Mother Morag would not say any more, but smiled her most enigmatic smile, a happy one, but as if she were secretly amused.

  Sister Ignatius said much the same as Sister Mary Fanny but in her acid way. ‘One mustn’t criticise the Almighty, I know, but while He was about it, He might have sent us a suitable horse.’

  ‘Perhaps He means us to use our wits.’

  ‘But, meanwhile, what are we going to do with it?’ asked Sister Ignatius.

  ‘If possible, nothing at all for twenty-four hours,’ said Mother Morag. ‘That will heighten the tension.’

  Certain measures, though, had to be taken. A track was marked out at the edge of the vegetable garden and three times a day Beauty was to walk ‘round and round it at least twenty times. If Gulab is too afraid I will attend to that myself, or Sister Joanna can,’ said Mother Morag. ‘She used to hunt.’ Gulab was overcome with pride at the monster now in his charge, but equally terrified. ‘I shall have to help groom,’ Mother Morag had a sparkle in her eyes; Gulab was too old to use the ‘hart molesh’ and, later that morning, the Community was edified to see their Superior working with him, brushing the brown coat, combing out the mane and tail with her fingers, sponging eyes and nose clean, and picking out the big feet while Gulab held them up. She even, and skilfully, bandaged the tail, ‘with our widest crêpe bandage,’ mourned Sister Anne, the infirmarian. Three times that day, in her black cloak, Mother Morag led the great horse round and round the vegetable garden, talking to him. ‘What do you talk about?’ asked the Sisters.

  ‘I say my prayers or the psalms. Beauty seemed to like it.’ Walking suited his laziness, just as the piece of bread and salt given as a prize for good conduct at the end suited his greed.

  There were, though, other problems not as easily solved. ‘He must be properly rugged tonight,’ said Mother Morag. ‘Solomon’s blankets are not thick enough. Nor are ours.’ They pondered until, ‘I know,’ said Mother Morag. ‘The quilt off the Bishop’s bed.’

  The bed was not really the Bishop’s – a bishop had only stayed with the Sisters once – but there was one room kept ready for visitors, ‘who are not accustomed to our ways.’ It was seldom used. ‘But Mother,’ Sister Ignatius protested. ‘That quilt came to us from Belgium. It’s handmade patchwork.’

  ‘It’s warm. If that horse gets a chill… ’ and, for the rest of the day, Sister Ignatius went about, murmuring, ‘The Bishop’s quilt! The Bishop’s quilt!’

  Another problem was food. ‘If I issue three or four times what we gave poor Solomon… ’ Sister Emmanuel, who was the cellarer, said.

  ‘The horse will die of indigestion.’ The ‘worry’ line wiped out Mother Morag’s smile.

  ‘We haven’t the money for corn or oats or whatever they have.’

  ‘No, we can’t buy them,’ said Mother Morag. ‘But we could “collect” them.’ The worry line was gone as, ‘Bunny,’ said Mother Morag.

  ‘A miracle!’ Bunny was ecstatic. Mother Morag confessed to Sister Ignatius that she had ‘dressed’ the story up a little for him and, like Sister Mary Fanny, he was quite sure it was a miracle. ‘And you are asking me to take part – to take part in a miracle! Thank you, Mother Morag. Thank you.’

  ‘You haven’t heard what we want you to do yet.’

  ‘Anything. Anything.’

  ‘To begin with, we want to “collect” from you.’

  ‘But,’ Bunny was dashed. ‘I haven’t any money.’

  As he was not yet twenty-one, and as impetuous as he was extravagant, Bunny was under the strict control of a Resident appointed by the Government, ‘my Grey Eminence’, as Bunny called him as irreverently as he called the British Government P.P. for Paramount Power. ‘You know how tight they keep me.’ Only let you live in two palaces, go to London and the Riviera and play polo in India and England with a string of magnificent ponies, thought Mother Morag. ‘I could lend you an elephant, but that wouldn’t help.’ Mother Morag thought of the elephant lumbering with the Sisters and the canisters from restaurant to restaurant and laughed. ‘I know I am ridiculous,’ said Bunny. Then his face brightened. ‘Jewels! I have some of my own from my Mother. They don’t belong to the State. I could give you those.’

  ‘Dear Bunny – but nothing like that. Not jewels. Horse food.’

  ‘Horse food?’

  ‘Yes, the very best, Your Highness.’ Now and again, Mother Morag reminded Bunny of his title. ‘We don’t want this horse to suffer in any way. Solomon did very well on what Sister Emmanuel buys.’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘Mixed Horse Food, Grade Three: barley – sometimes there are weevils, split peas and lentils and rice-straw sweepings… ’

  ‘Ari bap!’ said Bunny, ‘and he lived?’

  ‘Solomon did but… ’ Mother Morag leaned across her desk – she was seeing Bunny in her office. ‘We need what you give your polo ponies and double that amount.’

  ‘I’ll send you a lorry.’

  ‘No, no, Your Highness. Please no. Could you bring perhaps two sacks in the boot of your car?’

  ‘I see.’ Bunny’s eyes sparkled as Mother Morag’s had done. ‘I am sworn to secrecy.’

  ‘Yes.’ The more sensational I am, the better, thought Mother Morag.

  ‘I will do it now.’

  ‘And, for the moment, Your Highness will be discreet?’

  Bunny’s pride in all its Rajput royalty was offended. ‘My ancestors would cut out the tongues of anyone they thought might betray them. You have no need to do that to me.’

  ‘Bunny, I wouldn’t think of cutting out your tongue.’ Mother Morag, who had risen, laid an affectionate hand on his shoulder. ‘Just – thank you and bless you.’

  Bunny brought the sacks. Dil Bahadur opened the gates to let him in and quickly closed them again. Mother Morag was in the courtyard to see them stored and then Bunny saw Dark Invader. ‘By God!’ he said, then blushed. ‘I beg your pardon, Mother, but I can’t wait to see Leventine’s face.’

  ‘Leventine?’

  ‘He’s the owner, Mr Casimir Alaric Bruce Leventine, and I think John Quillan will murder you for this. What fun!’

  ‘I’m afraid he’ll want to – but… one thing more,’ Mother Morag was serious. ‘Your Highness knows the people think our Convent is a place of sanctuary.’

  ‘Indeed yes,’ said Bunny. ‘It is a holy place.’

  ‘We try never to send anyone in distress away. This horse was terribly distressed. He was lathered. He had been beaten. Would you take a look at this.’

 
; Dark Invader looked anything but distressed but the weal from Streaky Bacon’s whip still showed; as Bunny bent down to look further, the disingenuousness left him and he spoke as a horseman. ‘That’s a vicious cut. There’s blood on the sheath. You must call Captain Mack.’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ The regret in Mother Morag’s tone made Bunny look up at her. ‘I think you want me to do something. What do you want me to do?’

  ‘As we can’t keep it secret any longer, spread the news. How Beauty, as we call him, was lathered and beaten. How he took sanctuary here. You know how the people follow you.’

  That was true. Bunny had only to appear on the polo ground and the crowd hailed him. At the end of the game they pressed round to try and kiss his boots, his gloves, his polo stick, even his pony.

  ‘I shall indeed spread it,’ said Bunny. ‘Far and wide.’

  Captain Mack usually drove in through the Convent gates to the courtyard, but now, to his surprise, they were closed and Dil Bahadur, who was watching for him, took him round to the front door which Captain Mack did not remember having used before. A Sister opened it and asked him to come upstairs, ‘to the Reverend Mother’s office,’ where he found Mother Morag.

  ‘This is unusually formal,’ he said.

  ‘It’s an unusual occasion. Captain Mack, will you look out of the window and tell me if you see what I think I see?’

  Captain Mack obediently looked and, ‘Holy mackerel!’ he said.

  Below him, loose in the yard, an unmistakable big brown horse was holding court – no other word for it. Sister Barbara and two other nuns were standing in a semi-circle and he moved gravely to each in turn, nuzzling hopefully, while they gave him bread and salt filched from the refectory. Gulab, who was beginning to overcome his awe, was wisping his flanks with a handful of straw – the Captain winced at the sight; tickling him like that was the surest way to get one of the nuns bitten – but the Invader paid no attention to what was happening to his short ribs. He was far too busy making friends and eating all that came his way. ‘Greedy old devil, always was,’ said Captain Mack. ‘Even ate his bedding.’

  ‘I hope he doesn’t eat Solomon’s, but Captain, that is Dark Invader, isn’t it?’

  The rich brown coat with the dark dapple, the obvious size and strength, the loose, almost lop, ears and the placid incurably friendly disposition seemed to give only one answer. ‘It certainly is, but who on earth brought him here?’

  ‘No-one on earth – that’s what my Sisters think. You see, we had no means of replacing Solomon, but we prayed.’ Mother Morag raised her expressive hands. ‘In fact, we were in Chapel when we heard the sound of his hooves.’

  ‘Extraordinary!’

  ‘Not at all. It often happens to us.’

  ‘You mean the horse came of its own accord?’

  ‘Seemingly so. He was alone, but saddled and bridled. He must have thrown his rider. I sent Dil Bahadur to look but there was no-one. My Sisters think the horse was looking… ’

  ‘Looking?’

  ‘For sanctuary,’ and she said what she had said to Bunny, but more quietly. ‘Captain Mack, he was lathered, distressed – and marked.’

  ‘Couldn’t have been.’ The Captain did not mean to be rude, but, ‘He was one of John Quillan’s.’

  ‘Would you come and look. I had hoped to wait twenty-four hours, but Bunny said… ’

  ‘Bunny! Is he involved in this?’

  ‘Indeed yes, thank heaven.’

  Feeling utterly bemused, Captain Mack followed Mother Morag down to the stable. ‘What do you say to that?’ she asked when he had examined the cut.

  Captain Mack looked up, his eyes dark with anger. ‘Someone must indeed have lost his temper and that wouldn’t have been Ted Mullins, Darkie’s jockey, nor any of the Quillan riding boys. Mysteriouser and mysteriouser,’ said Captain Mack.

  He sent Dil Bahadur for his bag, gently cleaned the wound and handed Gulab a bottle of lotion. ‘Should be all right, but he must have exercise.’

  ‘He does. I and Sister Joanna do it ourselves.’ Mother Morag showed him the vegetable garden track and Captain Mack’s lips twitched as he thought of the nuns in their habits walking the great horse round and round. They twitched still more when he saw Gulab rugging the Invader up with the Bishop’s quilt under Solomon’s old green blanket. Solomon’s surcingle would not go round the Invader, so the nuns had had to lengthen it with some more of their precious crêpe bandages. ‘Really you deserve to succeed,’ said Captain Mack.

  ‘Then you think it’s all right?’

  ‘I wouldn’t interfere with you for the world,’ said Captain Mack, ‘but, all the same… ’

  ‘All the same?’

  ‘You know what Dark Invader is?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Favourite for the Viceroy’s Cup.’

  ‘Which is fortunate for us.’

  ‘Backed to win lakhs of rupees.’

  Mother Morag’s face, for a moment, seemed visionary. ‘Of which a few might come to us, rupees, not lakhs, I mean.’

  ‘Mother Morag. Wake up.’ The Captain had to say it. ‘Reverend Mother, as Veterinary Surgeon to the Turf Club, I am bound to tell the horse’s owner where he is.’

  ‘Exactly what I want you to do,’ said Mother Morag.

  Outside Captain Mack found Dil Bahadur. The little Gurkha was overflowing with gratification and pride. ‘You have seen our horse?’ He and Captain Mack spoke in Nepali.

  ‘Yes – how did he come here?’ Captain Mack was stern. ‘Straight now.’

  ‘God sent him.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we prayed.’ Dil Bahadur was astounded anyone could doubt it. ‘The Sister Sahibs. The Father. Gulab went to the temple. I to my Pujari and did a big puja for five rupees and when I got back the horse was here.’

  ‘Holy mackerel!’ said the Captain again. ‘Four aces and the joker!’

  The Captain’s servant cranked the old Ford and the Captain took the wheel. There was a loud report and the car shot backwards as the Ford Model T was prone to do. ‘Hold up!’ roared Captain Mack as to a stumbling horse, stamping on the pedals. He drove down the road and, as he went, suddenly began to laugh.

  In the late afternoon Mr Leventine, John Quillan and Ram Sen were in the office again after a fruitless search and, ‘Who knows about this?’ asked Mr Leventine.

  ‘The whole stable, of course.’

  ‘I mean the people who matter.’

  ‘In a case like this everyone matters more than you think,’ John wanted to say but refrained. It was no use adding to the misery, and aloud he said, ‘You mean this evening’s parade? I shall say we have sent Darkie to Barrackpore with – Ted.’ John could hardly bring himself to say the name. ‘Because of the crowds.’

  ‘Good. What about Bacon?’

  ‘Streaky’s the last person to talk about a fall – but the others? It’s a matter of time and, anyway, when we have found Darkie, will he be fit to run?’

  ‘A rumour that he won’t would mean a better price, then everyone will be suspicious. I cannot, I will not, countenance anything like that.’

  ‘It may be you’ll have to.’ Again John did not say it and, He’s thinking of his precious stewardship, thought John, of shaking hands with the Viceroy… but Mr Leventine pounded his fist on the desk. ‘Let us get this clear. Until the facts are known, there must be no leakage to the Press or to anyone else. You hear me?’ He hectored the babu.

  ‘I think you are not speaking to me, sir,’ said Ram Sen with dignity and, ‘Then explain to me,’ said John, ‘how you can start to find a horse when you are forbidden to say that you have lost it?’

  ‘Not it – my horse.’ Tempers were getting frayed and, ‘It’s a plot,’ cried Mr Leventine again. ‘Someone is jealous. One of you must have been bought.’ He was, mercifully, interrupted by the arrival of a car, the unmistakable bang and rattle of an old Ford T, and the sound of the bandar-log running to meet it, but Captain Mack, with his accus
tomed expertise, had got rid of them – probably he had a litter of puppies or rabbits in his car – because he appeared alone in the doorway. ‘Good afternoon – or should I say evening.’ He looked down at them all. ‘Och, man!’ he said to Mr Leventine. ‘You do look depressed. Is it possible you have lost a little something?’

  Mr Leventine sat upright in his chair. John lifted his head.

  ‘A valuable little something?’

  ‘Sandy, don’t tease.’

  ‘I’m not teasing.’

  ‘You have found him?’ Mr Leventine jumped up.