by Dave Warner
Lucinda shuddered at the thought. 'Obviously she's poor but in my book there's no excuse for not at least having a cleanser, scrub and foundation.'
The others nodded at the truth of this fact. Emma slid into her designer outfit. 'To think for a moment there I was feeling guilty about using up all the hot water.'
In the shower, Charlotte shivered. It was only partly because the water was freezing. It was equally nerves at having to change into that frock for dinner.
Chapter 7
'Chicken broth ... pot roast ... apple crumble ... Where's "eye of newt"?' Rebecca dismissively flipped the menu away. She, Emma and Lucinda were seated at one of the long wooden dining tables where they would eat their meals over the course of the next few weeks. Crafted from hardwoods that had travelled from the south-west of Australia by bullock and dray, oaks that had been shipped from England in steamers, and maple that had wound its way from Canada, the dining room of Thornton Downs was solid, cavernous and dark.
Just the way Miss Strudworth liked it. Old Tobias had employed wood carvers to work horses' heads into the picture rails all around the room. A giant oil painting of the old man himself – with his mutton chop whiskers, ruddy nose and suspicious eyes that looked as if he'd just caught a greengrocer weighing his potatoes with trick scales – dominated the front of the room.
From her platform beneath that flinty gaze, bouncing on the toes of her pristine riding boots, Miss Strudworth looked over the students and felt her pride swell. This was her vocation: to take these girls and give them not just a better seat, but a better path to life as young ladies. Oh yes, Miss Strudworth knew that was an old-fashioned concept in these days of wireless phones and ordering vegetables over the internet. She was old-fashioned. Frankly, she was proud to be. Just because much of the modern world had gone to pot didn't mean Thornton Downs had to follow the example.
'Old Dudworth is looking more like a horse than ever,' observed Lucinda, doodling on the back of a form she'd found on the table. The caricature featured a horse in jodhpurs with an unmistakable facial resemblance to Miss Strudworth.
'Did you guys know that Todd Greycroft is our neighbour?' Emma dropped the bomb casually in their midst. As one, Lucinda and Rebecca fell upon it.
'Todd Greycroft's at Milthorp?'
They spoke in unison with exactly the same reverent tone. Milthorp was the boys' riding academy, the equivalent of Thornton Downs.
'He's a god!' Lucinda's jaw was almost on the table.
'His family is so rich their servants have servants,' said Rebecca in awe.
Lucinda announced, 'Well, when we mingle with the Milthorp boys, I'm setting my sights on little ol' Todd.'
Emma rolled her eyes. 'Please. The only way Todd Greycroft would spend time with you was if he was selling zit cream.'
Lucinda smiled back brightly. 'You're right. You've got a much better chance. He does a lot of charity work with the handicapped.'
Rebecca's attention was on the table of girls at the front of the room beneath Strudworth. 'Those girls are talking about us.'
Lucinda shrugged. 'Oscar Wilde said it's much better to be talked about than to be caught wearing last season. Or something like that.'
Rebecca snatched Emma's phone off the table. 'I want to hear what they're saying.'
She inserted the earpiece and cranked up the volume on the 'eavesdropper' to full. It was rather unfortunate timing. Just as she pointed the phone at the table of girls, Strudworth cracked her riding crop loudly against her boot. Rebecca's eyes crossed then rolled back into her skull. She managed to pull out the earpiece just as the crop once again snapped against leather. Miss Strudworth spoke as she had been taught in many elocution lessons. Clearly and loud.
'Welcome to Thornton Downs. As you know, this is an opportunity for you to showcase your skills and win a place in the JOES. But matters equestrian are not all that is important. While you are here I will expect good manners, camaraderie and ...' As she spoke Miss Strudworth noted the large door at the back of the dining room creak open and a latecomer make her way in. She stopped cold and glared. '... punctuality.'
Charlotte tried to move as silently as possible but each step she took on the wooden floor sounded like a gunshot, with the gun pointed right at her heart. Her shower had lasted two minutes, leaving just enough time to get ready, but then she had spent a good two minutes staring at that frock, wishing that it would magically change. It was so ugly compared to the clothes the other girls had but she had nothing else to wear besides jeans, and the note had specifically said jeans were not permitted at dinner. Besides, her father and the people of Snake Hills had meant well.
She still might have made the dining room in time but she had never been in such a big building and she took several wrong turns before finding her way. Now with each step she could see Miss Strudworth's frown more clearly. She could feel the looks of the other girls turning on her. Then she became aware of giggles and suppressed laughter. Her skin started to feel prickly and hot.
The colour drained from Rebecca's face.
'Oh, no. She's been sick on her clothes.'
'No, that's the dress,' hissed Lucinda.
Emma said it would help with her diet as it had put her off her food.
When Miss Strudworth resumed speaking it was with a bark.
'You, young lady, are ...'
Charlotte imagined herself in front of a firing squad with Miss Strudworth having just yelled 'fire'.
'Charlotte Richards,' she said.
'That may be your name but what you are is late. Take your seat.'
Charlotte slunk in beside Rebecca, feeling the size of a half-chewed peanut.
'As I was saying,' continued Miss Strudworth, glaring at Charlotte, 'I place particular store in manners. You may be the best horseperson in a saddle but I'm afraid if you fail at matters of character you will not make the JOES. At Thornton Downs our motto is ...'
Those who had previously been through the academy chanted like ancient druids, 'The family that rides together has pride together.'
Strudworth smiled, pleased. 'Exactly. Enjoy your dinner.'
The meal passed without event. Charlotte enjoyed the roast. Lucinda, Rebecca and Emma talked among themselves and, to be honest, Charlotte didn't understand half of what they said. It seemed to be in some foreign language. Rebecca tried to include her, asking her what her favourite TV show was. When Charlotte said they didn't have TV in Snake Hills, Emma assumed she meant cable, whatever that was. Charlotte said no, they didn't have TV at all.
'So what? You just hang around the mall?' asked Lucinda, as she played with a grape.
'Mall? You mean shops?' asked Charlotte, who had never seen one but had heard girls at school talk about them. The other girls nodded eagerly: finally she understood!
'Yes, shops. You know, Smart Girls, Backchat, Vixens, Rave, Argument, Trolly Dolly, Mucus.'
Charlotte didn't know any of these shops. She explained that in Snake Hills there was just the hardware shop, which doubled as the stock and station agent, the newsagent that doubled as a post office, and the general store that doubled as an electrical shop.
The others were stunned.
'So they do have electricity?' asked Emma.
'Most of the time,' said Charlotte.
'But what about clothes shops?' Lucinda couldn't quite believe this third world stuff she was hearing.
'People make their own clothes.'
'Oh.'
Emma couldn't think of anything more tragic. Having nothing to add, she swung back to Lucinda and Rebecca and reignited their conversation about cute tops, skirts and accessories. Not wanting to just sit there like a dork, Charlotte picked up her plates and took them to the kitchen. Emma shook her head disapprovingly as Charlotte disappeared.
'Now she's cleaning up!'
Rebecca sighed. 'That's sooo cheap.'
When Miss Strudworth noted the Richards girl helping stack dishes and taking them to the kitchen, she felt a twinge of remo
rse for scolding her. In all the years she'd run the academy, Miss Strudworth could not once recall one of the students helping the kitchen staff like that. She herself had done it – old Tobias had expected children to help. Miss Strudworth realised now this was the girl from the cattle station in the outback. Perhaps the girl had simply got lost en route to dinner? Miss Strudworth prided herself on her fairness. She would not put a black mark against her name just yet.
Returning from the kitchen, Charlotte heard Miss Strudworth slap her boots with her crop again and silence quickly descended.
'On your table you will find a form that absolves Thornton of any blame should you be killed, maimed or put on weight during your time here. Sign it and hand it to the right.'
Determined not to be last this time, Charlotte snatched a form and began filling it out. Strudworth continued as the forms were passed forward.
'Most of you will not make the JOES. Sadly, as those four crazy mop-tops from Liverpool once sang: we can't all get what we want. If you do make it, well done. If not, don't wallow in self-pity. Move on and do something at which you might be better. We can't all be champion equestrians any more than we can all be happy brides sharing toast and marmalade with a handsome Master of the Hunt.'
'What's she on about?' hissed Rebecca.
'Being an old maid,' Emma hissed back.
Lucinda was about to join in when a cold fist of fear seized her heart. The cartoon she'd done was on the back of a form in Strudworth's hand, which she was waving around as she spoke. Lucinda had been entirely ignorant of the fact that her drawing paper had been a form that would be handed up. Strudworth would kill her. Unless – she felt the tiniest glimmer of hope – because it was on the back of the form, maybe she wouldn't notice?
That slim hope was dashed when the girls at the front table began pointing and laughing. Strudworth stopped, followed the trajectory of their eyes and found the cartoon. Her mouth tightened. Lucinda's stomach knotted.
'Girls, get changed for bed. We have a big day tomorrow.' Strudworth shook the form with her fist. 'Charlotte Richards, I wish to speak to you.'
Lucinda was stunned. Obviously Charlotte had accidentally picked up the form she'd doodled on. She wondered for a second if she should say something. Emma read her mind and gripped her wrist.
'Don't be stupid. Charlotte's not going to make the JOES anyway.'
Lucinda guessed she was right and she quickly left with the others.
Charlotte assumed she had made some mistake in filling out the form but she had no idea what that might have been. She shuffled forward to the front of the room.
'Yes, Miss Strudworth?'
Strudworth flashed the drawing in her face.
'Where you come from, Richards, being cruel may be considered humorous, but at Thornton Downs there is no place for this cruelty. I hope your horse-womanship is better than your art. Dismissed.'
Charlotte tried to speak in her defence.
'But, Miss ...'
'I said dismissed, Richards. Six a.m. sharp, parade ground, dressed and ready to mount.'
Charlotte turned on her heel, angry. The others had set her up. She'd tried to be friends with them but if they wanted war, she would oblige.
Catching them at the top of the stairs, Charlotte ran past them, blocking their way. 'Which one of you did that cartoon?'
Lucinda shrugged. 'I didn't mean Strudworth to see it.'
'You do that again, you'll pay.'
Emma joined in. 'Get over it. That poor-kid, Eminem-chip-on-the-shoulder-thing doesn't cut it here, Charlotte.'
Lucinda piped up. 'We're privileged and proud.'
The three off them pushed off again.
'I'm not finished yet,' Charlotte called angrily, but when she went to go after them she tripped on the enormous satin monster she was wearing and went sprawling onto the hard wooden floor. While she'd had many worse tumbles from horses, the embarrassment was dreadful. The Evil Three, as she now thought of Lucinda, Emma and Rebecca, turned back to her and laughed their heads off. Charlotte picked herself up, slowly. This time she gave them plenty of time to get away from her. She was already missing her dad, Stormy and Rusty. Thirty days of this would be hell.
Leila shifted uncomfortably in her stall. This straw was the pits. If only there were cable, at least that would help pass the time. It was like watching treacle spill in here. Mmm, treacle! Leila smacked her lips. What she wouldn't do for a stack of pancakes. Well, one thing she wouldn't do is jump hurdles or prance around like a window dresser on Melrose. She caught the grey mare looking over at her with a superior gleam in her eye.
'What are you looking at, Greybeard?'
The mare whinnied, 'You don't belong here.'
'For once you ain't talking drivel,' she shot back.
'You're a lazy spoiled brat. We're equestrian horses, we're proud of what we do.' The mare turned her back on Leila and the other horses followed her lead.
Leila shook her head. Like she cared. Her whole childhood she'd been on her own so the silent treatment was no big deal. Still, she couldn't stay in this dump. If Joel Gold or Tommy didn't show up soon, she'd have to phone them. But then, she didn't know the number to call. She relied on Feathers for that stuff. Where was the scrawny piece of avian fluff when you needed him?
A morose Feathers was sitting on his perch wondering where Leila was and trying to figure out how to give these dopes a clue about the bad guy he'd seen the night she disappeared. Okay, so Leila was a pain in the tailfeather, vain and self-centred – but there were mitigating circumstances, as Feathers was only too well aware.
For a start, after Leila's dad had died in that horrible accident, Leila's mother had become very protective of her. She hadn't ever been allowed to mix with other horses in case she got an infection or something. Instead her mother would sneak her into the shack where the stablehands watched TV. Something happened with that TV exposure because one day Leila started speaking like a human.
Well, her mom had flipped! She was happy for her daughter because it opened up a whole load of possibilities but, at the same time, she warned her never to reveal to humans that she could talk. Leila's mom was doing a dancing show at the time and she made sure Leila got all the showbiz tricks she needed: how to mug to camera, how to toss your mane just so, how to suck up to the director. But she was a working mom and her work took her away for long stretches. She was away when Leila got her first big role, and of course Leila slayed them in the aisles.
Next thing she's got a mountain of chocolates, her own spa, a massage bed. Naturally that's going to go to a young filly's head. And a lot of it was Leila wanting to get back at her mom for what she saw as deserting her.
Still, Feathers had never given up hope on Leila. He was sure she just needed the right catalyst to make her understand what was truly important. Now, though, she was gone. Feathers felt very, very sad and worried about how he would break the news to Leila's mom. He wondered if they would ever see Leila again.
Chapter 8
Next morning at five-forty-five, Charlotte was already dressed in her new riding clothes. She liked the feel of the tailored jacket and jodhpurs, which she had ironed assiduously. No way would she give Miss Strudworth an excuse to fault her today. But she couldn't find her boots anywhere. She was certain she'd left them under her bed last night after polishing them to a bright sheen, but they weren't there now. She spent ten minutes looking everywhere she could think of. Now she was growing worried. The Evil Three were dressed and heading out.
'Have you seen my boots?' she asked in desperation.
She noted the sly flicker of a smile on Emma's lips.
'You're not suggesting we did anything to them, are you?'
And Charlotte knew then that they had.
'What did you do with them?'
She saw Lucinda and Rebecca scuttle out but Emma stood her ground.
'You're so paranoid, Charlie.'
Charlotte would have loved to have punched her then and there but
she couldn't afford the time. Where had they put her boots? She had searched the bedroom and bathroom. Her gaze slowly settled on the window. She threw it open and looked down on the parade ground below, where some girls were already assembling. She couldn't see any boots. And then she noticed the big tree right in front of her window. She looked up.
There they were, wedged high in the branches. She checked her watch. Four minutes to six. She had no option but to try and get them.
She climbed up onto the window sill. It wasn't that far to jump to the nearest branch but it was a long way down if she slipped. Taking a deep breath, she pushed off with all her might.
She felt the thrill and terror of sailing through the air before gravity began to pull her down. Her hands shot out and wrapped around the closest branch, but the momentum was too great and she began to slip. In desperation she dug in with her fingernails. She held, dangling high above the assembly of girls. Gradually she worked her palms into a more secure position and then summoned her strength and swung herself up and onto the branch. Safe. She breathed a sigh of relief.
The boots were about three branches above and, even on tiptoes, Charlotte couldn't quite reach. She would have to climb to the next branch. She started scaling the trunk, using her knees and hauling herself up. She could see Strudworth on her horse directly below and hear her urging the girls to fall into a straight line. Charlotte started out along the next branch, straddling it like a witch on a broomstick. This bough was nowhere near as sturdy as the first one. She edged very carefully, the branch bending under her weight. She daren't go any further for fear of it snapping, but if she lay along the branch and stretched, she might just reach.
She tried. Nearly ... She stretched a little more and her fingers encircled the heel of one of the boots. She started to drag it towards her, a centimetre at a time. It was going well until it hit a bump in the branch and slipped from her grasp. The second boot went with it. She watched helplessly as they dropped like bombs, zeroing in on Strudworth's head.
