by Anne Digby
ELEVEN
A WONDERFUL SECRET
'Dad!' gasped Mary, putting her hands over her ears. 'What – what are you doing?'
As he pressed the horn of his motor-bike relentlessly, the whole world seemed filled with noise. Bir – bir – bir BIR – BIRRR! With the high wall of the slaughterhouse on one side of them, and a tall fence on the other, they were in a kind of tunnel which made the noise reverberate further.
John Wilkins knew exactly what he was doing.
The two men had led September down the ramp of the horse box and were now trying to get him across to the main building. He had been restless before, but now he was almost uncontrollable as the motor-bike horn blasted forth on the other side of the locked gate.
'Calm down, old fellow – calm down!'
September would not calm down. He had looked towards the gate and recognized Mary. He knew that the motor-bike horn was blaring out some desperate message.
Bir – bir – BIRRRRRRR!
He reared up on his hind legs and kicked out at the two men; it took all their strength to hang on to him and save him from bolting.
For the past two minutes Mr Rickard had tried to ignore the presence of Mary and her father, but now he could ignore it no longer.
He hurried over to the high gate and peered through it.
'Stop that noise!' he shouted over the din. 'What d'you think you're trying to do.'
John Wilkins took his hand off the horn. Now all was silent.
'Unlock that gate and let us in,' he said quietly.
'Why – why should I? This is private property.'
'Because I'm going to buy that animal,' said John Wilkins.
He felt in the back pocket of his trousers and pulled out a thick roll of bank notes. Mary stared at the bank notes and then at her father in disbelief. She looked at the blue bank book in her hands.
'Dad – I've got sixty-four pounds, we only need another sixteen.'
'Put that away,' said her father shortly. He climbed off his motor-bike, propped it up, and walked right up to the gate. He grabbed the wire mesh and rattled it. 'Come on, open up. You paid eighty, did you? Well, I'll give you eighty-five.'
Mr Rickard eyed the thick roll of notes with approval, and then glanced across at September, who was still giving his men a great deal of trouble.
'Done,' he said.
The big gate was unlocked and Mary and her father walked through. While he went into one of the buildings with Mr Rickard to sign the necessary papers, she clung to September, feeling weak in the legs from her long cycle ride, and almost faint with relief and joy.
'You're safe,' she whispered, over and over again.
He was quite calm now, and nuzzled her cheek, as if to say 'thank you'.
Mary felt September's warm body against her side and heard his heart beating strongly. A bird on a nearby tree burst into song. It was the sweetest moment of her life.
After they had bought September, father and daughter walked him very slowly out of the town to Uncle Henry's. John Wilkins' brother Henry owned his own small farm on the outskirts of Silverstock, and would be able to borrow a horse-box.
'Can't Mary ride him to Chestnut Farm?' asked Henry, not noticing that the horse was lame.
They quickly pointed this out to him.
'Besides, he's got to arrive under cover of darkness, Henry. I don't want the boss to know I've bought him. Bring him over to the cottage tonight, the later the better.'
'If you say so, John,' said Henry. He did not question his brother; both the Wilkins were men of a few words. Instead he turned to Mary. 'Put him out in the orchard to graze, there's a good girl.'
Before leaving September in the orchard, Mary hugged him warmly.
'It's goodbye, but just for a few hours. I'm going to clean out our big shed when I get home and put down plenty of warm straw, all ready for you to sleep on tonight.'
When she got back to the house, her father was preparing to leave.
'Good of you to lend me the money, Henry,' he was saying gruffly. 'You'll get it back in a few weeks' time, every penny.'
'Of course I will, John.'
They walked back through the town together to collect their respective vehicles. Mary glanced up at her father's weatherbeaten face and felt very tender towards him. He was a poor man and she had wondered how he had managed to find so much money all at once. Now she knew.
Of course, there was no question of their keeping September for good; Mary had realized that from the beginning.
'You'll pay Uncle Henry back when – when we sell September?' she asked timidly.
'Aye, that's the idea.'
'And you think we will be able to sell him?' she said, very bright eyed. 'That there's no need at all for him to be destroyed.'
'I've talked to men who know horses,' he said. 'And I've been reading them books you've got out of the library. It needs time and patience, and a bit o' love, to get that animal right as rain. And my little girl's got all three.'
'Oh, Dad!' Mary grabbed hold of his big hand as they walked along, her heart almost bursting with happiness. She had never heard him make such a speech. 'I know I can get him better. And then lots of people will want to buy him; we can pick and choose and find him the nicest home ...'
Her voice faltered and secretly she thought: The nicest home we can and somewhere nearby, so I can still go on seeing him. She did not want to think about being parted from September, yet. She would not think about it!
'Wait here, Mary,' said her father, stopping by a hardware shop.
When he came out he was carrying some bottles in a bag.
'We'll have to get busy tonight and dye his coat.'
'September's?' said Mary in surprise.
'Aye. We'll keep him in the shed and graze him on our garden, and there's no reason for the Dewars to see him – but we can't take any chances.'
'Do you think Mr Dewar would be angry if he found out?'
'Very angry. We've interfered in his private affairs, you see. And he doesn't see reason about that horse. He thinks he's seen the back of him for good.'
'If he hates September now it's unfair!' said Mary angrily. 'He made him lame. It was his fault. Even Mrs Dewar thinks so.'
'Aye. And nobody likes to be reminded of their mistakes. If he finds out what I've done, it could cost me my job.'
Those words shocked Mary into silence.
On the long cycle ride back to Chestnut Farm she had plenty of time to think about the risk that her father had taken, for her sake and September's, and how very careful she would have to be in the coming weeks.
He had got home before her, of course, and was already busy about the farm, working hard to make up for the time spent in Silverstock.
He ate the huge meal that Mary cooked him and then went straight out to work again. As Mary washed up their plates, her thoughts turned to Anna for the first time that day. How had she taken the loss of September? To think they had once been such dear friends, so close, sharing every experience, big and small. Now something of absolute enormity had happened on the farm, and she had no idea what Anna was thinking or feeling.
There was something terrible about a friendship grown distant.
'Yet I still think Anna's the same person underneath. The way she sobbed about September's leg last week, that was the real Anna. It's that horrible, snobby school that's made her seem different,' mused Mary. She was returning, as always, to her innermost secret hope: that Anna had fallen under some kind of spell which she must surely awaken from as time went on.
'How can she prefer King of Prussia to September?' thought Mary, angrily. 'And how can she like a stuck-up girl like Delphine when we've been best friends for years and years.'
Mary had to fight down the jealousy that welled up inside her and made her feel almost ill. Why had Anna been avoiding her ever since she got home for the holidays? She had to see her, speak to her again, if only to know how she was feeling about September.
It was then
that Mary heard Anna's footsteps coming up the lane.
The two girls met at the garden gate of Primrose Cottage, face to face. Mary tried to appear calm, but her heart seemed to lurch inside her. She had so much to make her happy today, and she could not help but feel happy now. Here was Anna, her playmate from childhood, her hair as blonde as Mary's was dark. They were both grown tall and slender now, still just about the same height. Foolishly she remembered how, as little girls, they were always measuring each other against the barn wall, seeing who could grow the faster.
'Hello, Mary.'
For the first time since she had got home from Kilmingdean, Anna had come to seek her out.
'Hello, Anna.'
'It – it's simply awful about September, isn't it?'
Mary blushed. Looking into Anna's eyes, she realized that she had been crying a lot. So she cared about losing September, she really did care!
Hope was coursing through Mary's veins again. This was the old Anna! She felt close to her again, just for those few moments, and she longed to cry out her wonderful secret: He isn't dead, Anna! He's alive! He's coming back to Chestnut Farm and I'm going to make him better.
Instead she nodded silently and looked down at her hands, unable to meet Anna's eyes. It was terrible to have to allow her to think that September had been destroyed.'
When she looked up the bright artificial smile that Anna seemed to have acquired at Kilmingdean was now in evidence.
'I wondered if you'd like to come and meet King of Prussia?'
'Your new horse?' asked Mary. Why did she feel so shocked? 'Has – has he arrived then, already?'
'Yes, he came this morning. He's in the stable. Come on!'
Anna had grabbed Mary's arm and was pulling her through the gate. Mary allowed herself to be pulled along down the lane and into the farm yard, but her feet were dragging; her whole body stiff and rebellious.
'Come on! What's the matter?'
Anna was too excited to notice or care that Mary did not want to come into the stable. She gave her a good-humoured shove so that Mary tottered in through the doorway.
'There he is. Did you ever see such a beauty?'
As Mary stared at the animal in the loose box, anger welled up inside her. This was September's stable. This much vaunted horse, King of Prussia, must have arrived almost immediately after September's departure. He must have taken up residence in the loose box while the straw was still warm from September's beloved presence.
While she had known all along that King of Prussia was due to arrive some time today, it was only the sight of his physical presence that really brought it home to Mary. The heartlessness of Mr Dewar: the cruelty of it! All so he could win his stupid old championship!
Surely Anna could see how horrible it was?
But no. Mary watched in angry silence as the other girl walked into the loose box and threw her arms round the horse's neck.
'You've come home, King. You're mine now, really mine.'
Mary came out of the stable; Anna followed her.
'Don't you like him?'
'He's all right,' Mary shrugged.
He was a beautiful horse, true enough; a thoroughbred, and perfectly in proportion. He was a small, neat animal in contrast to the rather gawky-looking September. He had a fine dark brown gleaming coat which was altogether more elegant than September's mixture of russet and brown like autumn leaves. He also had, Mary decided, a very haughty expression. Perhaps he had picked it up at Kilmingdean.
'What are you doing, Anna?' came a stern voice.
Mr Dewar had suddenly appeared. Although he was speaking to Anna he was glaring at Mary.
'Just – just showing King to Mary, Daddy.'
'Why? Haven't you explained to her that her services as a groom won't be required now that you are home?'
'It's not fair, Daddy!' Anna suddenly said petulantly. 'None of the other girls at school have to muck out stables and things like that.'
'Perhaps their fathers have more money than I have,' said Mr Dewar bad-temperedly. 'As you are perfectly well aware, Anna.'
To see Anna a stranger again, talking about her as a paid servant made something snap inside Mary. She spoke with a forthrightness that left her surprised at herself.
'It's just as well you don't want me as a groom. I've got plenty of other things to do these holidays. And besides – I don't like the look of your new horse all that much. He's not a patch on September.'
With that she turned on her heel and walked away, conscious of the fact that Anna and her father were staring after her in astonishment.
As Mary opened the back gate and went into the big garden of Primrose Cottage, a tear trickled down her cheek. The few moments of closeness with Anna were almost too much to bear thinking about. The flame of friendship had flickered into life, only to be immediately extinguished.
'It's almost as though there's too much between Anna and I now. Not just the school, not just King of Prussia, but Mr Dewar as well. He doesn't think I'm good enough for her, and that's a big influence on her. Will things ever be the same again?'
She felt all alone, and near to despair.
Yet as she set to work to clear out the big wooden shed that was to be September's home, her spirits began to revive. She began to day-dream about what fantastic things she might do this summer.
TWELVE
FACE TO FACE
The next few weeks were, in one way, the happiest that Mary had ever known.
September was hers – her very own! Of course it was only an interlude. He would have to be sold so that her father could pay Uncle Henry back, there was no doubt about that. But for the moment he was hers, living here at Primrose Cottage: to love and cherish and to nurse. She would get his lame leg completely better, she was determined about that.
At night she could see him from her bedroom window, sleeping out on the piece of rough ground at the far end of their garden: just glimpse him between the trees. It was turning into a beautiful summer, most nights warm and balmy and dry, so that the times when she had to bring September into their big shed and settle him down on straw for the night because of the rain or cold were few.
It was so lovely to see him out there, settling down to sleep, last thing at night before she herself climbed into bed and put out the light.
Of course, he looked completely different these days. His coat was no longer russet and dappled brown, but a dull black colour. Mary's father had seen to that with the mysterious and most effective bottles that he had bought from the shop in Silverstock. It had given Mary a shock at first to see September so utterly changed in appearance and she knew that the colour did not suit him. He looked gawky at the best of times and now without his shining coat he looked a very ordinary horse indeed.
However, she had soon got used to the change, and all that mattered was that he was the same beloved horse underneath, and that their secret was safe. Primrose Cottage was tucked away and although people like the postman came and called, there was no reason for anyone to go exploring round the back where September grazed each day on the Wilkins' piece of ground, which was cut off from sight of the rest of the farm by high hedges and trees. Nevertheless, if anyone did by chance catch a glimpse of him, he was just a horse – any old horse – who certainly looked nothing like September, and not an eyebrow would be raised.
'Barry saw him this afternoon,' John Wilkins told his daughter at supper one day, referring to one of the farm hands. 'He brought some scraps round for the chickens while we were out, and took them round the back. He's just asked me about him.'
'What did you say, Dad?' asked Mary, slightly alarmed.
'I said he was my brother' nag and I was taking care o' him for a while,' said John Wilkins.
'Did he notice the bandage, do you think?'
'I think not,' her father frowned. 'Or if he did, he thought nothing on it. Seems September's passed his first test.'
Mary nodded and glanced at her father with concern. She knew that he hated de
ception of any kind and that all this was a great strain to him. It would be a great relief when the bandage could come off, for that was the one thing that might lead people to connect the horse with September.
From the beginning Mary had known that the one great danger was Anna. For all their past summers Anna had been in and out of Primrose Cottage as though it were her own home, and had treated the Wilkins' garden as her own. Many times they had lingered there, talking, picking flowers, and sometimes just lying in the long grass and whispering all their secrets to each other.
If Anna should wander in the garden just once, looking for Mary, and should chance upon September while his leg was still strapped up – then she, indeed, might recognize him.
However, as the days passed and Anna never came by, Mary knew that her secret was safe. It should have filled her with great relief and happiness, instead it filled her with an aching sense of loneliness.
Anna had not forgiven her for not liking King of Prussia, for making it clear how much she preferred September. She would have nothing to do with Mary now. The two friends were completely estranged and for the first time in the whole of her life Mary was spending the long summer holidays with no one to talk to, no one to share things with.
So although these few weeks were, in one way, the happiest that Mary had ever known, in another way they were not.
Just as Anna carefully avoided Mary, she too took great care to keep out of Anna's way. She knew that she was with King of Prussia a great deal of the time, grooming him and exercising him, and continually taking him round the practice course that they had erected on the water meadow, taking the jumps under the anxious and watchful eye of her father.
Secretly, Mary would have loved to have watched her – to have compared the new horse's performance with September's before he became lame, to try and assess Anna's chances of winning the Western Counties' Championship.
Instead, she stayed well clear, concentrating all her attention on September's well-being.
