A HORSE CALLED SEPTEMBER

by Anne Digby

  Mary knew now that there was some kind of chemistry that worked between her and September. Together he became more than just a fine show-jumper but perhaps a champion of champions. Even so, to win the Western Counties' against some of the best-known jumpers in Britain would require all this – and good fortune as well.

  'His name is Good Fortune,' she said, quite calmly.

  'Right – Mary Wilkins on Good Fortune. I've got a note of it, but mind you get the form in.'

  With those words the pips sounded and their conversation ended.

  Mary walked out of the 'phone box and into the village post office, took her blue Savings Bank book out of her pocket and asked if she might withdraw ten pounds. She filled in the necessary form with a flourish, as though it were something she did every day, and walked out with two crisp five-pound notes. She had never held so much money in her hand all at once, yet now it seemed the most natural thing in the world to be not merely holding it but to be planning to part with it.

  Gambling it away, on a ridiculous dream, Dad would think, thought Mary, but the thought did not deject her.

  Now she had another telephone call to make, and this was perhaps the most important part of all. It was to her Uncle Henry.

  They spoke on the 'phone for a long time, with Mary doing most of the talking, and when she put the receiver down there was a smile on her lips. Everything was going so smoothly! Who would have dreamt that Uncle Henry would be such a sport and see things just as she did? Fate must surely be on her side.

  When she had cycled back to Primrose Cottage and wheeled her bike in through the back gate she saw that her father was with September. It was not often that he had time to spare to take an interest in the horse but at the moment he was walking across the grass and gazing at his foreleg action with close interest.

  The sight of them gave Mary a small shock and she hurried over.

  'Anything wrong Dad?'

  'Wrong? Of course not, girlie. I've been meaning to look at him for a couple o' days, just to see if there's any sign of the limp coming back. But he's Al, he really is.'

  'Of course he is, Dad—' began Mary, a worried feeling in the pit of her stomach. She knew that her father was as honest and straightforward as any man could be and that he had entered into this conspiracy with Mary for her sake, and hers alone. He disliked having the horse that Mr Dewar had despatched to the slaughterhouse and never wanted to see again, here in his garden in secret, his coat disguised with black dye. He did not want the conspiracy to go on a day longer than was necessary.

  'You've done a good job, Mary,' he said, as gently as he could, 'but the time's come to sell him now. There's a lot of money I've got to pay Henry back for a start, as well as the expense of keeping him –yes, and the worry, too. I thought I'd put an ad. in Friday's paper—'

  'Dad—'began Mary.

  'It's all right,' he said, seeing her look of alarm. 'We'll pick him the best home we can. Someone local, someone who'll let you ride him sometimes. I could get a lot of money for him now he's fit again, but I'll let him go really cheap, just to cover my costs, and make it a condition that you see him sometimes.'

  'Oh, Dad!' Her father's thoughtfulness brought a lump to Mary's throat, but she had to stop him acting so quickly! 'That wasn't what I was upset about. You see, it's Uncle Henry, I've promised him—'

  'Henry?'

  'Yes, I've just been and 'phoned him. I've told him about September and he can hardly believe it. He's tickled pink. He wants to see him with his own eyes before we sell him. In fact,' Mary drew a deep breath and glanced at her father anxiously, 'he's asked me to bring him over there on Sunday night and stay the night and enter September for something on Monday and see if we can win.'

  'Some little local show, eh?'

  Mary blushed. So far she had told her father the literal truth, but the Western Counties' Championship could by no stretch of the imagination be described thus, so she did not reply. Luckily her father did not question her further. He was not a talkative man.

  'Well that settles it then. I'll not put the ad. in till next week.'

  'Thanks, Dad!' Mary took his hand. 'Then I can go?'

  'Of course.'

  She went in the house to cook their tea. The last obstacle was removed! She hated deceiving her father, she had never done such a thing before, but she knew that never in a thousand years would he agree to her competing against the boss's daughter at Imchester. It had to be kept a secret from him.

  'He doesn't understand human nature,' Uncle Henry, a more worldly man than his brother, had remarked to Mary on the 'phone. 'If you do badly at Imchester you can just pretend you're riding your Uncle's old nag, and the Dewars will feel smug and superior. If you do well, then maybe they'll see you and the horse with new eyes, eh? And, of course, if you walk off with the jackpot, well just think of it!'

  Oddly enough the matter of the prize money had not occupied Mary's thoughts at all, even though it represented a fortune that was surely beyond her father's dreams. But for the Dewars to see them with new eyes – yes! Uncle Henry had pin-pointed exactly the reason that was compelling Mary along the unforeseen and dramatic path that she was treading. She would make the scales drop from Anna's eyes at Imchester. If it was humanly possible, she would do it!

  Luckily John Wilkins was out milking when the postman arrived the following morning. With cool efficiency Mary asked him to sit down while she ripped open the envelope from Imchester. She filled in the entry form, folded it round the two five-pound notes and then sealed it in a fresh envelope already stamped and addressed.

  'Will you make certain it catches the post?' she pleaded.

  'I'll put it in the bag myself when I get back,' smiled the postman, and then went whistling on his way.

  The deed was done.

  'And now we have four precious nights before we go to Uncle Henry's,' Mary explained to September when she gave him his morning feed. 'I'm afraid we're going to be up some very strange hours. We're going to work by moonlight, you and I, and you'll just have to lie in, in the mornings to make up for it!'

  Mary intended that September should become utterly confident about the Demon's Dyke, the Chestnut Farm version of it, by Monday.

  'Remember how you did it for me once before?' whispered Mary as they rode out to the meadow that first night, long after everyone had gone to bed. 'It was a clear night, just like tonight.'

  There was almost a full moon and they might have been phantoms as they cantered round on the dew-covered grass.

  'You know I've got faith in you,' Mary reminded the horse, as she patted him. 'Mr Dewar was so tense with you all the time, wasn't he? It was like the end of the world if you ever made a mistake! Remember that time I helped you get your confidence back?'

  As she took September over a few hurdles to loosen up she reflected for a while on Mr Dewar's strange obsession that Anna should win the Western Counties' Championship this year, an obsession that they had lived with for so long now and on which, in her heart, Mary pinned all the blame for the unhappiness that had come to Chestnut Farm this summer.

  She certainly pinned the blame for September's accident on Mr Dewar. But was she now asking too much of the horse? This, after all, was the place where he had fallen.

  When the high brushwood wall loomed up in front of them, Mary knew a moment's uncertainty: it looked so impossibly high – and beyond was the wide ditch that must also be cleared in the single jump! But September never faltered: in that first anxious moment, he was the strong one, soaring away from the turf to make a perfect clearance.

  As she led him quietly back to the cottage garden and rubbed him down at the door of their big old shed, she said:

  'We've nothing to fear on Monday now: except the clock. From now on we're going to practise tight turns and short run-ups. You always were fast but we've got to get you faster still.'

  To make sure he did not catch a chill after his exertions she settled him in the shed that night, and the three following night
s, on a bed of warm straw, and tied a blanket round him.

  On Sunday afternoon, Mary waved goodbye to her father at the front gate, and set off with September for her Uncle's farm, a saddlebag packed with her overnight things and a few basics for September: brushes, hoof oil, hoof pick and a small bottle of black dye for touching up his coat if necessary.

  'Goodbye, my girl. Watch out for the traffic. Have a nice time.'

  Mary longed to tell her father that she was setting off on the greatest adventure of her life. Instead she just said: 'Cheerio, Dad.' Then September did an unusual thing: he turned towards Mr Wilkins, raised his upper lip and showed his teeth and gave a long, friendly whinny. It was as if to say: 'We might have some news for you when we get back, old fellow!'

  They hacked along the twisting country road to Silverstock and reached Uncle Henry's farm in time for supper. That night September had a proper stable to sleep in, and Mary bedded him down early.

  'No more practices, just plenty of sleep tonight. We're going to be off early in the morning.'

  Uncle Henry once more borrowed the horse-box in which he had brought September to the farm seven weeks earlier, and they left after breakfast.

  They reached the famous course at Imchester by mid-morning. The bunting was waving, music was playing over loudspeakers, and the crowds were already streaming in.

  FIFTEEN

  WINNING – AND LOSING

  The morning was taken up with minor events but it was the Western Counties' Championship that the spectators had come to see. If Mary had mingled with the crowds in the next four hours, she would have felt the excitement and tension building up; but, in fact, she was far too busy getting September settled in at the competitors' quarters, feeding him, grooming him and seeing that he got a little gentle exercise from time to time to loosen him up.

  Uncle Henry left her to her own devices, coming back every now and then from the big refreshments marquee where he had found not only some farming friends to talk shop with but an excellent brew of Devon cider.

  'All right, young 'un? No nerves?'

  'Of course not, Uncle Henry,' said Mary calmly. She could not have been more unruffled by the big show atmosphere, nor even the glimpse of one or two horses and their riders who were household names in Britain. She felt so at home, here at Imchester, that she was beginning to believe that it was destiny that had brought her and September to this place. 'And September hasn't got any nerves, either – even though it's windy and he doesn't usually like the wind. Did you ever see him so relaxed?'

  Henry Wilkins looked at the horse, his coat dull and matted by the black dye, and then at his niece in her faded jodhpurs, black sweater and second-hand riding hat. They made a distinct contrast to the other competitors he had seen.

  'You're a girl!' he chuckled.

  The one other thing that kept Mary busy before three o'clock was keeping out of Anna's way. She glimpsed her several times in the distance, walking King of Prussia round the far enclosure, and was careful not to go in that direction.

  Then, an hour before the competition was due to start, she had a narrow escape. She walked over to the big tent where a buffet lunch had been provided for competitors and almost bumped into Anna and her family coming out! She dived behind two men who were standing near the entrance, deep in conversation, and bent down pretending to adjust her riding boot. For a moment she thought she must surely have been seen, but then, peering round the side of the nearest trousered leg, she could see that the Dewars were preoccupied.

  Mr Dewar had paused to light his pipe and the flare from the match seemed to emphasize the steely glint in his eyes. Mary could see that Anna looked quite frightened of her father, and there was a flustered look about Mrs Dewar's face that Mary had noticed so often this summer.

  'Please don't expect a miracle, Daddy,' Anna was saying. She sounded really scared. 'The wind's unsettled him, I know it has.'

  'Then you'd better un-unsettle him,' said Mr Dewar. 'I've told you everything now – don't let me down, Anna.'

  'Please, Richard,' said Mrs Dewar, 'don't put such a big burden—'

  'Anna should know the truth, Sarah-'

  Mary heard no more for the family moved on and out of earshot.

  The love fostered by a lifetime of friendship with Anna had not yet died away within Mary, and now it came back to the surface. She was troubled and uneasy as she ate her lunch and found herself thinking:

  I don't know what it's all about, but I feel frightened for Anna. I almost want her to win now, even if it is on King of Prussia. I – I've never seen her look scared before; she's never been scared of anything!

  But it was not to be.

  Anna rode out Number 7 on King of Prussia. The horse, already unsettled by the wind, was even more unsettled by the aching tension in Anna's body which communicated itself to him. He refused two perfectly simple jumps, faulted several times, and was eliminated in the first round.

  As Anna walked the horse out of the ring, her head bowed, Mary had an overwhelming impulse to run after her and comfort her. She fought it back. Now was not the moment to speak to Anna. She had just learnt in the most humiliating way possible that the horse she idolized was not infallible; she must be given time for the truth to sink in. Meanwhile Mary must fulfil her ambition and see to it that September acquitted himself outstandingly well in the championship.

  'If we can do that,' she whispered to him, 'it could change everything. Anna will take you back to her heart, she'll see how wrong she's been all this time. She'll want you back for good, instead of King of Prussia, and that means we'll never be separated again.'

  And in wanting September back, perhaps Anna would also want Mary back as her best friend again. That was what she was fighting for: for happiness to return to Chestnut Farm. Now it was up to her.

  Mary rode out Number 23 and did a clear round.

  Twelve horses went through to the second round and the jumps were raised. This time seven of the horses had faults and only five horses went through to the third round. September was one of them.

  Now the jumps were being raised very high indeed and in particular a fresh layer of brushwood was added to the fence in front of the Demon's Dyke, the jump where so many horses had gone down already.

  For the first time a tremor of fear ran through Mary. Having come so far she was now determined to win the championship – nothing less would do! But could they do it? Demon's Dyke was even now no higher than the replica that Mr Dewar had had built on the water meadow, but the crowds were pressing close against the barrier, only feet away from the jump, and the excitement was making them noisy. For the news had travelled fast around the course that an unknown girl on an unknown horse was among the last five.

  'You mustn't let the crowd unsettle you when we get there,' she whispered, patting his neck. 'Just pretend we're back on the water meadow, jumping by moonlight – remember how you cleared it every time?'

  September whinnied softly and then they were being called.

  Mary hardly noticed all the other jumps, falling away easily beneath September's soaring hooves: all her concentration was for the Demon's Dyke. As she approached, the tremor returned. Why did it seem so much higher, here at Imchester, with all the spectators pressing forward, eyes popping, just waiting for disaster ...

  Then she saw the face in the crowd: Anna's. She was staring this way, electrified, still out of breath from running all the way from the competitors' quarters where her mother had told her the news that Mary Wilkins was riding today on an unknown black horse called Good Fortune.

  'Do it!' gasped Mary in the horse's ear. 'For Anna – do it!'

  They were over. Three more jumps and they had a clear round. She silently praised Anna for appearing then, and Anna's father for having had the foresight to build the dummy 'Demon's Dyke' so ruthlessly identical to how the real jump would be in these final stages of the competition.

  They rested for a few minutes and then an announcement crackled over the loudspeakers a
nd the crowds were silent.

  'The winner of the Western Counties' Championship has still to be decided. Good Fortune and Stardust both had clear rounds and both returned identical times. We will now have a jump-off between these two horses. Will all spectators keep well back from the jumps, please. I repeat that. Will all spectators keep well back behind the barriers.'

  The crowd was now dumb with excitement, dumb and obedient.

  'First I call Number 17. Stardust, ridden today by Colonel John Markham and owned by the Duke of Silverstock.'

  Mary watched as Stardust, a beautiful chestnut, glided round the course. As though in a dream she saw that he had done a clear round and watched the time go up on the clock : 3 minutes 50 seconds.

  Suddenly her Uncle appeared by her side, red-faced with emotion.

  'You can do it, girl, you can do it,' he said in a husky voice. 'I only wish your dad were here to see it. But he'll see it on the telly tonight!'

  Then the tannoy was crackling again :

  'Now I call Number 23. Good Fortune, ridden by Miss Mary Wilkins and owned by Mr Wilkins.'

  Mary took September round the course in an all-or-nothing burst. She knew she was risking faults, and she had a clear round to beat, but most of all she had the clock to beat. It would be useless to do a faultless round but go over the 3 minutes 50.

  'Come on, boy, everything's working for us today – the crowd's with us – I can feel it – faster – faster—'

  They took jump after jump, turning in the tightest figures of eight and U-turns, giving September the shortest of run-ups to each jump –but he soared over them all, even the Demon's Dyke. As they took the last jump faultlessly the crowd roared with happiness and Mary knew that the gamble had come off. The clock said 3 minutes 48 seconds.