“I’m so glad you’ve come. It’s years since we had visitors,” said Cousin Mary, turning round to smile at us. “You’ll be very welcome and so will your horse, Jean. Don’t worry about him. He’ll be in clover.”
But there was no clover. There had been lush green fields outside Dublin, with the hay newly-cleared and fat cows grazing to their hearts’ content; there had been racecourses and mares and foals, plump and contented, standing under beautiful trees. But here, instead of hay there were cones of peat drying on the moors, and nothing except the bleating of sheep and the faint clip-clop of wild donkeys’ hoofs to be heard. It was wilder than the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.
It made me think of the beginning of the world. I expected dinosaurs to appear from behind boulders. The houses were built of stone with only one storey. I felt that they had stood there for centuries.
“This is just a small part of Ireland. It isn’t all like this,” said Cousin Mary.
I could see ponies grazing in a field. The sky was blue again now. It looked marvellous against the vivid yellow gorse. We turned a corner and there before us lay a lake with wooded hills beyond, almost too beautiful for words to describe.
“Tourists come here for the fishing,” said Cousin Mary.
But there was no one there; just a few boats lying on the shore.
“Only a few more miles now,” said Fiona. The hills were flattening out. There were tracks through gentle valleys and fewer boulders. A tower stood in the distance, completely alone. We passed a cluster of cottages and a shop.
“What a paradise,” exclaimed my brother. “I wish we lived here. Not just occasionally but all the time.”
“You would too. It’s a beautiful place, surely it is,” replied Fiona.
I could feel my heart thudding against my ribs with excitement. The road dipped downwards now. Low mountains lay around us like sleeping giants. The ground was drier: there were no turf-cutters here.
I could see horses grazing in a field. Beyond the field stood an incongruous grey house, looking naked against the hills.
“That’s home,” said Fiona. “And you’re very welcome, I’ll be telling you. And that’s Mr O’Reagan’s cottage,” she said presently, pointing to a low building at the beginning of the drive. “If your horse has arrived he will be caring for it, Jean, have no fear.”
I was trying to imagine weeks and weeks in the unwelcoming grey house.
“It’s a fine place,” said Fiona. “Everyone says so; and there’s history about it too. Have you warned them about the attic, Mother? You had better be telling them for sure.”
“You mustn’t go up there. The floors are not safe,” explained Cousin Mary. “Last year a young boy went up and fell through the ceiling and broke his leg.”
“It was a terrible business,” said Fiona. “He was crying and crying and no one heard him. So please understand, you mustn’t go up there, isn’t that so, Mother?”
“I’ve just said so,” replied Cousin Mary.
We stepped out of the car. The garden was overgrown. The paint was peeling off the front door. Two rough collie dogs greeted us with smiles and licks. The air smelled fresh and a breeze stirred the gorse on the hills.
“It’s fabulous,” cried Angus, taking great gulps of air. “I’m so glad we’ve come.”
The hall floor was covered with brown linoleum. Everything was comfortably shabby: the carpets, the chair covers, the curtains.
“I’ll be showing you your rooms,” said Fiona.
As I followed her upstairs, I wished that I could reach her somehow through her Irishness. I had an awful feeling that I was never going to know her properly.
My room looked out at the hills. Clean, home-washed sheets lay in a heap on the bed. The window was open.
It was a big room with an armchair and an enormous cupboard, a table covered by a cloth, an ancient chair and a gigantic mirror. Someone had put a vase of flowers on the table.
“It is a beautiful room,” said Fiona. “Now I must show you the stairs to the attic. They are very unsafe. They will break if you step on them, truly they will, and the attic door is locked.” She seemed obsessed by the stairs though they appeared ordinary enough, just a single wooden flight leading to a door.
“Okay, I’m warned,” I said. “Thank you for everything.”
“And the bathroom, you’ll be wanting to see the bathroom.”
I expected an old-fashioned bathroom but it was quite modern and looked towards Donnie O’Reagan’s cottage.
“That will be all right then,” she said with a brief smile. “Tea will be ready very soon.”
I returned to my room and wondered where Phantom was and why our parents had not written. It was evening already, our first evening in Ireland. I wished that Phantom had arrived; I wanted to see him, to know that he was all right. I changed out of my skirt into jeans and a sweatshirt, and washed my face in the bathroom. I could see a square of buildings behind Donnie O’Reagan’s cottage. They would be the stables, I decided.
Angus joined me in the passage. “It’s tea,” he said. “We are about to taste Irish soda bread for the first time. Isn’t it super here? I shall be able to collect stones for my geology project and ride O’Reagan’s horses. I’m so glad we came, aren’t you? And Cousin Mary’s nice, isn’t she? Not like Aunt Nina. She won’t buy you frilly nighties.” He was laughing now, half dancing down the stairs. There seemed to be sunlight everywhere, shining through the passage windows, and suddenly I felt happy too.
“Phantom will like it here,” I said. “It’s so peaceful.”
4
It was a high tea. The milk was straight from Donnie O’Reagan’s cows and the butter was pale, home-made butter.
I kept listening for the sound of a horse box. “Phantom should be here by now,” I said. “He left yesterday.”
“Be patient,” replied Cousin Mary.
After tea we wandered along the rough drive to Donnie O’Reagan’s cottage. Fiona knocked on the cottage door.
A woman opened the door. She was holding a child in her arms and had three more standing behind her, all small and grubby.
“Is it Donnie you will be wanting?” she inquired. “He’s down at the village just now.”
“These are my relations from England,” Fiona said. “Will he be long?”
“An hour, but you’re welcome to wait.” Mrs O’Reagan smiled at us while a child started to scream in the background.
“Can we look round the horses, please?” I asked. “And has mine arrived by any chance? He’s a golden palomino.”
She shook her head. “No, but you’re welcome to go and look at Donnie’s horses, though. ” she added.
The stable reminded me of Virginia. The loose boxes were inside, each walled in concrete with a wooden door; there were windows at the back of the stable and the horses could look out through them. The floors were covered with peat.
“He’s brought them in because of the flies; he’ll put them out when he returns home,” Fiona said.
There were only four horses: a big bay with a blaze and two white socks behind, an iron grey which was only three, a chestnut called Sunrise and a piebald of about fifteen-two.
“He has some ponies outside,” Fiona told us. “I don’t know their names but Mr O’Reagan is real fond of them all; they’re like children to him.”
“If only Phantom would arrive,” I said. “I can’t help worrying.” The hills were shrouded in mist now and the house looked greyer than ever when we returned to it. Only a few windows were curtained; most of them blazed light into the gathering dusk.
“Have you lived here long?” my brother asked.
“All my life except when I’m at school. I did go to the national school, but now I attend a convent. It is truly marvellous,” Fiona made “marvellous” sound like something out of this world. “I am going to be a nun,” she continued, “like dear Sister Teresa. She is hardly on this earth. She is a saintly woman if ever there was one.”
“How can you be a nun?” I asked after a short silence. “You’ll have to give up so much.”
“But I will be like Sister Teresa; I will be at peace,” she said.
There were mugs of hot chocolate and biscuits waiting for us in the kitchen. “Can’t I stay up till Phantom comes?” I asked.
“O’Reagan will attend to him,” replied Cousin Mary.
“But he’s out …”
“You have had a long day. You must go to bed soon,” Cousin Mary replied in a determined voice. “I have made up your beds and put hot water-bottles in them. I hope you sleep well.”
It was nine-thirty. The whole valley was covered in mist. Fiona’s going to be a nun, I thought, but perhaps it will suit her; she is certainly peculiar enough. I opened my bedroom window and leaned out. I could see the pebbly drive below, nothing more. Phantom hadn’t come. I shall never sleep, I thought. I can’t when he’s missing. What will we do if he never turns up? Why didn’t Mum give us more details of his arrangements? This place must be miles from any studfarm. I could hear my brother singing next door as I pulled the ancient wooden shutters across my window, undressed, put on pyjamas and climbed into bed.
I don’t know how long I had been asleep when I heard someone banging on a door. At first it was just part of a dream, then I knew it was real. I thought I was still at home and for an awful moment I could find neither the light switch nor the door. I fell over the Jacobean chair, bruising my shin, before I realised the truth. Then I put on the light, opened the shutters and looked out into almost utter darkness. A voice called out, “I’ve brought the horse. I couldn’t make O’Reagan hear. Where shall I put him?”
“Hang on. I’ll be down in a minute,” I shouted. “He’s my horse.” I could see the dim outline of a Land Rover and a trailer. When Phantom heard my voice he whinnied. I put on wellingtons and a jacket over my pyjamas, switched on a passage light and ran downstairs. The front door was bolted, barred and chained. It was ages before I could open it. Outside there was a fog, what Dad would have called “a real pea-souper”.
A man wearing a cap stood with a flashlight. “It took us nearly all morning to load him. You’ll have to back him out of there,” he said.
Phantom gave a low whinny. A light went on in O’Reagan’s cottage. We let down the ramp and I backed Phantom out slowly on to the gravel drive.
“I’ll take him to the stable. Could you bring your light?” I asked. Phantom was covered with dry sweat and shivering in the night air.
“He wouldn’t eat a thing,” the man said.
I put Phantom in an empty box and fetched him hay and water. Then we walked back to the house.
“It’s twenty pounds you’ll be owing me and I’d like you to settle up now if you don’t mind. It was a terrible long way on a night like this,” the man said.
“Twenty pounds!” I exclaimed. I’ll have to wake up Angus, I thought. I wonder how much Dad left us.
“I’ll wait here,” said the man. “But I’d be glad if you’d be quick. It’s a long time I’ve been on the road.”
I ran upstairs and knocked on Angus’s door. He didn’t answer so I went in and shook him, shouting, “Wake up, Phantom’s come and I’ve got to have twenty pounds.”
“Twenty pounds?” exclaimed Angus at last. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Where is it? The man’s waiting outside. I can’t think why you didn’t wake up. He must have been banging on the door for ages,” I said.
“In the breast pocket of my jacket.”
I grabbed some notes and ran downstairs again. As I ran I could have sworn I saw a light go out in the attic.
I slammed the front door behind me. Mr O’Reagan had appeared by this time. “I’ve found your horse a rug,” he said. “He’s awful cold.”
I handed the driver twenty pounds. Angus was beside me now, as we walked down to the stables, saying, “I think there’s someone in the attic! I heard noises up there. Do you think we had better wake up Cousin Mary?”
But now I could only worry about Phantom. “He’s shivering, he may get pneumonia,” I said.
“Who’s he?” my brother asked stupidly.
“Phantom of course.”
Mr O’Reagan had hung a lantern in the stable. He had rubbed Phantom down and rugged him up. “He’s a grand little horse,” he said. “Now you slip back to bed. He’ll be all right in the morning. He’s just awful cold from the journey, and it’ll be you who’ll be getting pneumonia in a minute.”
Angus stood beside me with chattering teeth. “The light keeps going on and off too,” he said. “It’s very mysterious.”
“It’s nothing,” I answered. “It can’t be, you know what Fiona said.”
“Exactly.”
My teeth were chattering too by this time. It was as though the fog had reached the marrow of my bones. I did not want to think about the attic. I just wanted to go back to bed and sleep.
“There isn’t a light now,” I said. “Look. We’ve just imagined it because we’re tired. I’m going back to bed.” I was too cold to run back up the drive. Angus followed in silence.
“I’ll lock up,” he said. “I don’t know why Cousin Mary isn’t awake; you made enough noise. The whole house shook when you slammed the front door.”
“She must be a sound sleeper.”
“And Fiona, too.”
I helped him shoot the bolts. “I shall have to look in the attic sometime,” he continued, following me upstairs. “There’s something going on.”
“Phantom’s arrived, isn’t that enough without inventing mysteries?” I replied.
“I’m not – I haven’t invented anything,” Angus answered. “There was someone in the attic.”
“A ghost,” I said. “Goodnight.” I was too tired to be afraid of ghosts. I tried to stay awake. I strained my ears hoping to hear footsteps, but almost at once I fell asleep to dream that I was riding Phantom in a show.
The next thing I knew was Fiona shaking me. She was wearing an apron and smelled of kitchen soap. The sun was streaming through the bedroom window.
“It’s breakfast time,” she said. “It’s past nine o’clock.”
“I’m sorry,” I answered, sitting up. “Phantom arrived in the night.”
“I know. I heard everything.”
I wanted to say, “Even somebody in the attic?” but I didn’t. Angus will be telling everyone soon enough, I thought. And we will look silly if it’s rats or mice.
I dressed quickly. I wanted to see Phantom, but Cousin Mary was waiting by the breakfast table. My brother was eating porridge.
“Phantom’s arrived,” I said.
“So I heard. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Fiona insisted on waiting on us. It embarrassed me, but Angus seemed happy enough with the arrangement. It was a perfect morning for a ride, and I wanted to be out on the hills before the weather changed.
“Did you hear any noises last night?” Angus asked, buttering soda bread. “I mean, besides the trailer?”
“Surely. I heard your sister going down the stairs and the door opening,” Fiona replied. “But Mother takes sleeping pills; she hears nothing.”
“I heard lots of strange noises,” my brother said thoughtfully.
“It must have been the mice then. We have an awful lot of mice,” replied Fiona quickly.
“In the attic? That explains it,” replied my brother, but he didn’t sound convinced.
“And rats, too, a terrible lot of rats.”
“We need a cat,” said Cousin Mary. “We must ask the O’Reagans for a kitten.”
But rats don’t switch on lights, I thought suddenly. So there is a mystery, and now Angus will never leave it alone. He will be like a hound on the scent of something, running here, running there, with his nose to the ground, when all I want is peace and a chance to school Phantom.
“There’s the postman,” said Cousin Mary, and collected half a dozen letters off the mat
in the hall. “One for each of you,” she said, sorting through them, “and all the rest are bills.” Mine was from Mum. She said that they were all right, but that they envied us the peace and quiet of Ireland. The heat is tremendous, she wrote, and the people wear very bright clothes! I hope Phantom has turned up and is in good shape. Help Cousin Mary and try to be friends with Fiona, who is by all accounts a lonely and reserved child. There followed a whole page about the people she had met. Then she sent love from them both.
“Mine is from Dad,” said Angus. “He hasn’t been kidnapped yet.”
“Swop,” I suggested, holding out my letter. Cousin Mary watched us with the envy of someone who never gets a letter. I wanted to say, “I’ll write to you every week when I get home.” But suddenly home seemed very far away, almost like another world.
We didn’t pass our letters to Cousin Mary to read. I thought they were too personal and it never occurred to Angus. I put my dirty breakfast things in the kitchen sink. “Can we wash up?” I offered.
Cousin Mary shook her head. “I’ve got nothing else to do this morning, but you can make your beds. Fiona will help.”
Fiona was an expert bed-maker. She did not think much of my efforts.
“You have not tucked in your corners,” she observed. “And the bottom sheet will come adrift, truly it will.”
“I don’t mind. I’m a good sleeper. I don’t notice creases,” I said.
“Now we will be making your brother’s bed,” she said.
“Can’t he make his own? He always does at home,” I said. My heart was aching to see Phantom, to make sure he was all right.
“Boys can’t make beds,” sniffed Fiona.
Angus had pulled his together and opened his window, but he had forgotten his pyjamas which lay in a heap on the floor. Fiona sniffed and took the bed to pieces while I stood sullenly by, thinking, I’m not going through this every morning.
But at last I was outside running down the drive. Angus was talking to Donnie O’Reagan. “You have been an age,” he said. “I’m going to ride the piebald. He’s called Peppermint.”
Phantom Horse 3: Phantom Horse Disappears Page 3
