by K. M. Peyton
The other three were walking their horses round in a circle to cool off. Steam rose from them so that they looked like a small laundry in action. Sarah had ridden up slowly and sat on Catbells talking to Peter. As Tessa came up they raised their eyes and stared.
Tessa pulled up.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it.”
Sarah burst out laughing.
“Sorry?”
Peter came up smiling, and put his hand on the steaming neck.
“It was a great gallop, Tessa. Knocked us for six. He’s never shown anything, after all, never really taken up the bridle before, lazy sod that he is.” He laughed. “What did you say to him?”
Tessa grinned. “He’s the best. I told him he was.”
“You’re the only one that thought it. Now we’re all impressed. Good work, you rode well.”
If only he knew! Tessa thought. She was shaking with post-shock and the glory of it. She joined the other two and they expressed their amazement. And respect, Tessa sensed.
Gilly said, “It was fantastic! What a stride! I couldn’t believe it when you whistled past. And I was flat out.”
Wisbey said, “She was bolting. At least we were in control.”
Was she bolting? Tessa had no idea.
Gilly said to Tessa, “He would say that – typical man. Doesn’t like to be beaten.” And to Wisbey, “She stopped him, didn’t she? If she was bolting she’d be over the next hill by now.”
Sarah came back to join them and they walked back down the valley. Sarah told them not to mention the incident to anyone.
“Especially to Greevy, Tessa. Not a word. We don’t want them to know about it.”
The attitude in the yard towards Buffoon had changed, Tessa sensed. Nobody was going to call him a cab-horse any more. Tessa’s devotion was no longer a big joke. If you had a good horse a bit of devotion was allowed, to be expected. Wisbey was devoted to God Almighty, and resented the fact that Buffoon had passed him as if he were standing still.
He made a lot of excuses. “I still had something in reserve, stands to reason.”
“I could have gone for ever,” Tessa said, remembering the feel.
When he heard all this, Jimmy said, “We’d better see if he can jump before we get too excited.”
He said to Tessa, “He’s so ungainly, he might have trouble.”
But Sarah said, “Not with Jimmy to teach him.”
Nobody said if Tessa would continue to ride work on Buffoon. She did not ask. Just prayed. When she got home for her afternoon lessons – only twice a week fortunately – she fell asleep across the table.
“I didn’t know I was that boring,” the Battleaxe said glumly, giving her a shake. “Are you all right, dear?”
Her body ached all over and her head was still whirling. She tried to pull herself together.
That night at supper, Greevy said to her, “Big chestnut horse in your string – is that a new one?”
“A new one?”
“Can go a bit, I hear. Who is it?”
Tessa was shaken. Jimmy had told her long ago that there were no secrets in the racehorse valley. But how did Greevy know? There had been no one in sight.
“Catbells?” she lied. Catbells was a chestnut, but lean and small, nothing like Buffoon.
Greevy looked puzzled.
Maurice said, “There’s nothing in that stable that can go a bit, lad. What are you talking about? Tessa’s only keeping out of mischief down there. She’s not learning anything.”
He was lighting a cigar, which he always did over coffee.
“That Jimmy Fellowes – he’s wasted in that dump,” Greevy said. “He knows his job all right. Anyone could learn from him. He ought to be a jockey.”
“He’s too heavy,” Tessa said.
She had heard this conversation in the yard. They all said Jimmy should be a jockey, but Jimmy only laughed and said, “I like my food, thank you.” Nearly all jockeys had to waste, to get light enough to take the rides, and many of them looked pale and wrinkled before their time. Jimmy said he was too lazy to be a jockey, and that was true. He worked in an apparently leisurely fashion, although for long hours. His work was slow and patient, suiting his temperament. Jockeys had to get up at dawn to ride work, travel to lots of different stables to try out horses and all over the country every day to racetracks. Jimmy hardly ever left the yard.
“He doesn’t want to be a jockey,” Tessa said.
“Raleigh would give him a job any day of the week,” Greevy said.
“He’s a fool. No ambition,” Maurice said.
Maurice’s smugness infuriated Tessa, but she knew better than to rise to the bait.
“The best, only the best is good enough. I pay for it, I expect it.” Maurice blew a cloud of smoke across the table.
Tessa wanted to scream. She knew Crowsnest had cost over a hundred thousand pounds (Maurice had sold a golf course). The senile Mr Cressington had given one thousand five hundred pounds for Buffoon, the price of a superannuated riding-school hack. Yet Tessa knew – knew now – that Buffoon was worth ten of Crowsnest.
When she said this in the yard the next day they all laughed at her.
“Steady on, Tess! One gallop’s not added ninety-nine thousand pounds to his value! Give us a chance! And Crowsnest’s already won a packet on the flat.”
She told them that Greevy had heard of the famous gallop. She hadn’t said a word about it.
Peter shrugged and said, “I think the birds spread gossip in this valley. Nothing goes unnoticed. The only person I saw was a woman out with her dog and a girl on a pony.”
“Spies!”
“We’ll keep him in the home field to teach him jumping, not use the jumps up the valley. Not yet, anyway.”
The experienced horses were ready to race and the new ones like Buffoon and Catbells and Gossamer would race over hurdles as soon as they learned the game. It did not take long to teach them, even at Jimmy’s ordered pace. Once they learned to jump telegraph poles on the ground, then logs, then a pile of brush, Jimmy sent them side by side with a horse who knew all about it. In company the excitement of the game got to them and they all flew over real hurdles without any trouble.
“It’s just practice now they’ve learned to like it, not be frightened. They need to know how to lengthen or shorten a stride as the jump comes up, to get it right. That comes with experience. We want a good jockey now, to ride for the yard.”
Apparently they had never had a really good jockey before. Really good jockeys were snapped up by the yards with the star horses, like Raleigh’s.
“Do girls get to be jump jockeys?” Tessa asked.
“Yes. A few. But they don’t get many rides.”
“Why not?”
“Most trainers don’t think they’re strong enough.”
Tessa understood this, realizing how Buffoon’s gallop had drained her energy. She hadn’t jumped, or ridden a finish, or done anything save hang on, yet she had been exhausted. Buffoon hadn’t been asked to do another strong gallop since that day, but he had done fast canters and Tessa hadn’t lost her ride. She had gained confidence quickly and he had never carted her. He was an essentially kind horse.
“I’d like to ride Buffoon in a race.” She could say this now to Jimmy, although she wouldn’t have said it in front of the others.
He didn’t deride her, although he smiled his slow, kind smile.
“You have to get a licence first. But if you really want it… well, you’ve got the talent. You need to get stronger. And then you’ll have to charm Mr Cressington to let you ride – that won’t be easy! All owners want the best jockeys, stands to reason, after all they’ve paid out in training fees. Don’t bank on it, Tessa.”
They had never set eyes yet on Mr Cressington, Buffoon’s owner. Peter said he rang up sometime
s to enquire when the horse was going to race.
“Any day you like,” Jimmy said. “He’s ready.”
“He says he’ll come. It was his ninety-third birthday this week. I hope he lasts long enough.”
“What’s he like?” Tessa asked.
“I’ve never met him, only talked to him on the phone,” Peter said.
It rarely occurred to Tessa that she didn’t own Buffoon. The person who actually owned him was the last person who had anything to do with his life, she now realized. Yet he had the power to take him away, or sell him. A shiver went through her. Her mind was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that she had decided to become a jockey. Jimmy had only said it was difficult, not impossible. That was enough for her. She was twelve, and had plenty of time to learn. Get strong. Be the best!
And now Peter said Buffoon would race next week. Expect nothing, he said.
But Tessa expected everything. Of course.
Wisbey was detailed to take Buffoon to his first race.
Tessa was outraged.
“He’s my horse! It’s my job!”
“Tessa, you’re only twelve. You look it. We’ll all be run in if you do this job in public. I’ll lose my licence.”
Peter was sharp.
Seeing Tessa’s face, he said more kindly, “You can come, if you like. Pretend you’re my niece or something. But no interfering. Not a word.”
“Look after Lucky,” Wisbey jibed. “Lead him round the paddock.”
Buffoon hated being away from Lucky. He only accepted it when he was out at exercise, but at home he would kick his door down if Lucky was taken away from him. Peter had tried to wean him off the pony, but to no avail.
“Better than a sheep or a goat,” Sarah said.
They had all seen other trainers with the same problem. It wasn’t uncommon.
Tessa tried not to show how screwed up she was. She travelled in the front seat of the horse box with Wisbey and Peter, who drove. The journey wasn’t far, the meeting insignificant, Buffoon’s race a minor Novice Hurdle with bottom prize-money. Their jockey was an old pro, due to retire.
“Just give him a good time, we’re not expecting anything,” Peter said to him.
Tessa was, and found it difficult to keep calm as Wisbey led Buffoon out of the paddock. Her heart was racing like a Formula One engine and the race hadn’t even started. Buffoon was bottom of the betting at fifty-to-one.
Mr Cressington said he would put a tenner on.
He was a frail old boy pushed in a wheelchair by a seventy-year-old daughter whose face was heavily lined with a permanent frown.
“Don’t know what the stupid old fool is thinking of,” she said to Peter in a fierce whisper. “Getting into this game at his age! I ask you!”
Peter tried to think of something polite to say and failed. He smiled and shrugged.
Tessa felt out of her depth. When the horses had gone down to the start Wisbey came back and she latched on to him gratefully. Peter had gone off to the Members’ stand with his owners but Wisbey was in a bunch with the other grooms – most of whom, Tessa noticed, were in the same state as she was. Even Wisbey now was quite tizzed up.
“He won’t do anything, not first time,” he said. “That old jockey doesn’t try. He just takes the money, keeps safe.”
“I thought they all tried!”
Wisbey laughed.
“You want a young jockey, who wants to make his name. Not a crazy one, but an intelligent one. There’s a few, real horsemen…”
“Who?”
The horses were coming down past the stands, cantering to the start. Tessa couldn’t keep her eyes off Buffoon who loped along in the rear, looking at the stands and the crowd with surprised eyes. She saw that he really was ungainly compared with the rest, his legs seeming to go in all directions. Ahead of him another chestnut, as if to make a comparison, floated over the ground in perfect balance, everything about him exuding class.
Wisbey nodded knowledgeably. “That one – on Aurora – that’s your jockey, one of the best.”
Aurora was at Raleigh’s stable. His lad stood next to Tessa, shaking like a leaf. Tessa thought, I’m not the only one. Even Wisbey was excited, even for Buffoon, she could see.
As if he saw that she noticed, Wisbey said, “When it’s mine – when God Almighty runs – I shan’t be able to watch!”
So, she wasn’t the only potty one then! Tessa felt she was in congenial company for the first time in her life, watching the motley collection of lads and lasses she was with. They were all involved, she could see, even the quiet ones who gave themselves away by their very silence. She had to be a quiet one. She was only twelve, she should be at school. She stood next to Wisbey, cold as ice, trembling.
“That old man, Mr Cressington,” Wisbey said, “he’ll die of excitement, I shouldn’t wonder. And that rat-faced old hag’ll have Buffoon sold for cats’ meat sooner than you can turn round.”
“Don’t say that!” She spat the words out, hating him.
But he laughed, his bristle-brush hair sticking up on end in the cold wind that whistled down the course. Everyone looked frozen.
But it was Aurora’s lad who was shouting, red-faced with joy, at the end of the race. Tessa couldn’t even see Buffoon, her eyes stinging with tears, because he wasn’t there. The horses came past, pulling up, in a fever of sweat and flying mud, and Wisbey and Tessa ran the other way, down the course, to find their horse. Long after all the others had finished, he cantered home, his long pale legs dark with mud, his eyes all surprised at the milling crowd, looking everywhere. He wasn’t in the least put out, hardly sweating. He pulled up and whinnied in a thoroughly unprofessional manner.
“He wants that bloody pony,” Wisbey said grimly.
The jockey slid down, rolled his eyes, and threw the reins at Wisbey.
Peter came hurrying up.
“Well, we weren’t expecting anything,” he said to the jockey.
The jockey laughed. “I’ll be off before your owner joins us – leave the explanations to you. He enjoyed it, like you said, but at his own pace. I tried, Mr Fellowes, honest, but there’s nothing there. He’s as bad as he looks.”
Wisbey led Buffoon away, giving Tessa a kick on the ankle as he went to stop her launching herself in fury at the amiable jockey. Peter had to turn and greet the Cressingtons, trundling towards him, and Tessa, with one glance at the rat-faced woman, turned and ran after Wisbey.
Wisbey had to pull Buffoon up to let the triumphant Aurora go past on his way to the winner’s enclosure, and Tessa looked up at the successful jockey. People were reaching up to shake his hand, everyone wreathed in smiles. His lad was red-faced with joy. The jockey was trying to look nonchalant, but Tessa could see that he was bursting with triumph. He wasn’t much older than Wisbey by the look of him, although it was hard to discern his features beneath the layer of mud. But Aurora was stressed out, head down, flanks heaving, his nostrils red-filled flaring pits. Tessa was shocked.
She stumbled after Wisbey, her emotions played out. Buffoon’s raking stride pulled the lad along and she had to run. But Buffoon looked cool and happy, nothing like Aurora. Was that what winning meant, trying that hard? Oh, how she loved Buffoon!
In the stable yard Buffoon whinnied to Lucky who was standing with his nose sticking up over the stable door – it was too high for him to see over. He gave an excited reply and the two greeted each other like long lost friends. An official came along and asked for Tessa’s identity card – she hadn’t got one and was ordered out. It was starting to rain. Tessa wandered across the grass, soaked and miserable, her mind in a turmoil, trying to come to terms with the gulf between winning and losing. It was what racing was all about. She was going to have readjust her ideas, after today.
Going home in the horsebox Peter said, “Funny thing is, we know he’s got it
in him. We saw it. In spite of what he looks like, he’s got a real engine. And that’s the nub of it, when it comes down to winning. A good engine and a great heart.”
“He’s got a great heart!” Tessa said.
“According to you he’s got a halo and wings as well.”
“You told the jockey not to try!”
“Steady on, Tessa! I told him to give the horse a good time. He knew what I meant. Not put him off racing for life, in his first race. Not get him bumped, scared, hurt. They’ve got seven – eight – years ahead of them, these young horses, if they keep sound and right in the head. There’s no hurry.”
“Jeez, if you think you’re going to win every time you’ve got a tough time ahead of you, Tess,” Wisbey said.
“And remember, Cressington didn’t get him so cheap for no reason. He’s not the sort of horse a trainer would buy. So it’s a bonus if we get anything at all, even finishing. He finished, I give him that.”
Now Tessa was totally committed to work, and given to speaking – too much sometimes – Peter was showing his kinder face. Her passion for her horse worried him.
“He’ll be sold, like as not, if that Cressington daughter’s got anything to do with it, and Tessa will fall apart,” he said to the others in the morning.
“If he’s for sale, those parents of hers ought to buy him for her. It’s the horse that’s transformed her – remember what she was like when she first came?” Gilly was serious.
“Yeah. But that stepfather of hers’ll do her no favours. He’s not just mean – he’s got a cruel streak,” Sarah said. “Remember that horse – what was it called? – Shenandoah something –”
“Shenandoah Star,” Jimmy said.
“That’s it. He bought it for a packet, put a lot of money on it to win, and it didn’t. He lost a fortune. And he told the trainer to punish it – shut it up without food and water for a week!”
“That was when Turner trained for him. Turner refused, didn’t he? Naturally –”
