Читать книгу Blaze and the Dark Rider - Stacy Gregg, Stacy Gregg - Страница 10

Most thirteen-year-old girls have pictures of pop bands and Jake Gyllenhaal on their walls. But Isadora Brown was a horsy girl. In her bedroom, horses—bays, chestnuts, greys, Appaloosas, paints and palominos—covered every square inch of wallpaper.

Issie had cut pictures out of magazines of her favourite horses and riders. There was Pippa Funnell at Burghley on her big bay Supreme Rock. Next to that was a big poster of Zara Philips taking a water jump on Toytown. And on the back of her bedroom door there was Araminta Chatswood-Smith, jumping an enormous brick wall on her horse Wilful Lad in the showjumping at the World Equestrian Games.

Issie had spent a long time staring at that picture of Araminta and “Willy” on her door. Now, she was staring at the real rider herself.

Araminta cast a brief look down at Issie and her friends, gave them a stiff smile, and slid her dark glasses down from her scarf where they were perched so that they shielded her eyes.

“Minty!” Avery’s voice boomed across the paddock as he came striding towards them. Araminta’s smile grew wide as she saw him approaching.

“Tom! How glorious!” she said, trotting down the stairs with her arms outstretched. She gave him a firm embrace and pushed her sunglasses back up again, looking at Tom with warm, hazel brown eyes.

“It’s been years!” Araminta said. “Are you still competing?”

“No.” Avery shook his head. “After that bad fall at Badminton they told me I shouldn’t really ride again. So now I teach here and, of course, I’m still working for the ILPH.”

“That’s where I got Blaze from!” Issie blurted out.

Araminta and Tom turned around to see Isadora, Stella, Kate, Dan and Ben all standing there on the clubroom steps, clearly making no bones about snooping in on their conversation.

“Araminta, have you met my star riders?” Avery grinned at them. And he did introductions, naming each of them in turn and telling Araminta a little about the young riders and their ponies.

“…and finally, this is Isadora,” Tom said. “Issie’s a terrific rider. She’s been looking after Blaze, an Anglo-Arab mare that the horse protection league found. Totally nursed her back to health and then won the Chevalier Point ODE on her last season.”

“So you own the mare now?” Araminta asked Issie.

“Umm, no,” Issie said, “I’m just her guardian. Blaze still belongs to the ILPH.”

“Well, it sounds like you’re quite the horsewoman. I respect your dedication,” Araminta said. She checked her watch. “I’m sorry, Tom, we’ll catch up another time. I have to go and help Morgan get some last-minute practice in for this afternoon.”

“If she’s anything like you were in your day, Minty, she won’t need any practice,” Tom said.

Araminta sighed and shook her head. “Tom, I was only good because I used to practise so hard. Morgan needs to realise that she could be great too if she worked at winning. I need to push her all the time. She’s got to be committed to be a star. That’s what I keep telling her—” She stopped suddenly and gave Avery a smile again. “Anyway I need to go and help her warm up now. It was lovely to see you, Tom. And to meet you.” She smiled at Issie and her gang. “See you soon.”

Araminta strode off to the practice jumps on the far side of the paddock where Morgan was warming up her black gelding.

“Come on,” Dan said, charging up the clubroom stairs now that Araminta was gone, “are we getting ice creams or not?”

The Chevalier Point clubroom looked like an old shearing shed, which was exactly what it had once been. It was raised up on poles allowing storage space under the floor at one end for hay bales during the winter months. Underneath the other end was a locked-up space for equipment like bending poles, hard feed for the horses, saddle horses and racks for tack which the riders stored here when they were grazing their ponies at the club grounds.

Upstairs, the clubroom itself was warm and dry, with a musty smell of hay and the sweet warm hint of pony sweat.

At the far end of this big barn-like space was the area that everyone called the “Riders Lounge”. The lounge was made up of five old worn-out armchairs, all of them with the stuffing coming out of the arms and fabric worn threadbare so that the springs showed. A large, very worn Persian rug covered the floor and there was a long, low coffee table with old copies of PONY Magazine stacked on it.

At the front end, near the clubroom door, was the kitchenette, with a freezer and an honesty box for ice creams and a cold drinks machine. Coffee mugs hung on a wooden tree next to the sink and there was a big handwritten notice that said, PLEASE DO YOUR OWN DISHES—THE PONIES CAN’T CLEAN UP BY THEMSELVES!

Opposite the kitchenette on the main wall was the noticeboard and it was here that Avery had posted up the results.

“Yikes!” Stella squealed. She had been examining the pieces of paper on the corkboard and adding up who had the most points. “Look at this! I’m winning!

I’ve got the highest score so far!” It was true. Stella was the only one who had won her heats in both the bending and the flag races that morning.

Issie searched frantically for her name on the corkboard. Her eyes scanned the column. There she was—Isadora Brown. She had three points so far for winning her heat of the flag race. Stella had six points and so did Dan and Ben. Issie knew she would have to ride really well this afternoon if she wanted to win enough points to make the team. She suddenly felt her tummy churn with nerves, almost putting her off her ice cream. “Come on,” she said to Stella, “let’s go get saddled up.”

That afternoon seemed to fly by as the days always do at pony club. By the time they reached the last event of the day, Issie and Kate had both ridden well in the rider on the flat and over hurdles and both girls had added to their points tally. Each of them had six points now just like Stella. There was only the showjumping against the clock to come.

“There are ten fences in the course. You’ll be jumping this same height at the Interclub on Shield Day when the fences will all be between eighty centimetres and one metre,” Avery explained. “It’s the same system today as the Interclub. You will receive four faults for every rail you knock down. The rider who completes a clear round with the best time on the clock will win.”

As Stella and Kate rode off to warm up over the practice jumps, Issie sat by the ring to watch the first rider and see how they handled the course.

As she was watching the horse take the first fence she looked across and saw Morgan. The girl was sitting all by herself on her black gelding, looking extremely bored.

It must be awful, Issie thought, being the new girl and not knowing anyone—even if you are the daughter of a famous rider like Araminta Chatswood-Smith.

“What do you think, Blaze? Shall we make friends?” Issie murmured to her horse.

She picked up the reins and trotted Blaze over to the shade of the large plane tree where Morgan and her pony were standing alone.

“Hi,” Issie smiled brightly at Morgan, “I’m Issie, well, Isadora really, but everyone calls me Issie.” Issie patted her liver chestnut mare, who gave her head a shake and jangled her bit as if to suggest that the introductions weren’t quite finished yet.

“And this is Blaze!” Issie laughed. “I think she wants to meet your horse. What’s his name?” she asked, gesturing towards the black gelding.

“Black Jack,” Morgan replied in a quiet voice, “but I just call him Jack. We were—”

“There you are, Morgan!” The sharp voice of Natasha Tucker trilled out, interrupting them. Natasha pulled her horse up between Black Jack and Blaze and cast a snooty look at Isadora. “It’s so nice to have you here, Morgan,” Natasha purred. “So nice to have a proper rider at this club with me finally. And with a proper horse too,” Natasha added, looking at Black Jack. “I can tell that he’s a purebred. Goldrush is too, you know. Bloodlines are so important, don’t you think? It’s a shame they let all sorts of mongrel ponies join the club these days. I think you’ll find that some people at this pony club have horses that are simply out-classed by horses like ours. They can’t afford well-bred mounts like we can,” she said. She gave Morgan a sly smirk. “You’re new here, but you’ll learn. I’m sure I can fill you in on who’s worth bothering with.”

“What-ever, Natasha,” Morgan replied dryly. “I think I can figure out good breeding all by myself. And I know exactly who is worth bothering with—and who is not!”

And with that she leaned over in front of Natasha and smiled broadly at Issie. “Your horse is beautiful. I love chestnuts with blonde manes.” She looked admiringly at Blaze’s flaxen mane, which was pale honey blonde, long and silky. “Is she an Arab?”

“I think so.” Issie smiled back. “Avery says Anglo-Arab, but I got her from the ILPH so I don’t really know for sure.”

As the two girls nattered happily away, Natasha’s face darkened. She gave a haughty sniff, pretended she had somewhere better to be and rode off in a sulk.

“I’m so glad she’s gone!” Morgan pulled a face as she watched Natasha ride off.

“I thought you were friends?” Issie was confused.

“No way!” Morgan was shocked. “She is horrible to me at school. Natasha and her friends are all in the popular’ group and they won’t even speak to me. Now suddenly she turns up at pony club and discovers who my mum is and wants to be my best friend!”

Issie nodded. “That sounds like Natasha all right.”

Morgan sighed. “It happened at my last pony club too. All these girls who just wanted to hang out with me because of my mum…”

“It must be amazing.” Issie grinned. “I mean, having a mother who is a really great rider. My Mum can’t stand horses.”

“Yeah, it’s OK,” Morgan said without much enthusiasm. She looked at Issie. “It’s just that everyone expects me to be this fantastic rider just because Mum is. And everyone is always asking me about her.”

Issie felt herself blush. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…I just thought it would be so great to grow up in a horsy family. How old were you when you first learned to ride?”

“I was three. Mum took me out hunting before I had even turned six.” Morgan rolled her eyes dramatically. “Mum thinks I should be the youngest ever rider to win Badminton. She says she expects me to do it by the time I am eighteen years and 246 days old—since Richard Walker was eighteen years and 247 days old when he won it on Pasha in 1969!”

Issie sighed. “Oh, I wish Araminta Chatswood-Smith was my mother! My mum thinks Badminton is a game you play with a shuttlecock and a racket.”

Morgan laughed at this.

“Do you want to come and meet Kate and Stella?” Issie offered.

Morgan nodded and the two girls were about to leave when another voice called Morgan’s name. “There you are! What are you doing? Why aren’t you warming up?” Araminta Chatswood-Smith demanded as she strode purposefully towards them.

“There are only three more riders before it’s your turn,” Araminta said. “You should be at the practice fence giving Black Jack a bit of last-minute schooling.”

“Sorry, Mum,” Morgan sighed.

“Well, let’s go then,” Araminta said, turning on her heels and marching off towards the jumps. She looked back over her shoulder. “I mean now, Morgan!”

Morgan shrugged, waved goodbye to Issie and gave her a smile as she trotted off after her mother.

Issie watched as Araminta schooled her daughter over the two low practice fences, back and forth again and again. She looked very serious as she called Morgan to her, making gestures and gripping Morgan’s hands in her own to adjust their position on Black Jack’s reins. Issie could hear her saying, “Half-halt…then leg on…try to keep your head in the game this time, Morgan!”

By the time it was Morgan’s turn to ride the showjumping course she looked tense in the saddle. Her face looked even paler than usual as she entered the ring.

At the first jump, Morgan rode hard at the fence. “Get up!” she shouted in a frightened voice at Jack as they approached for the final stride. But the little black gelding stopped dead in his tracks, and Morgan flew forward out of the saddle and on to his neck. She scrabbled back down and got her seat back, turning Black Jack and riding at the first fence again. This time she shouted more firmly, and he leapt with a snort and cleared it easily. She finished the round with four jumping faults and a very slow time.

It was enough to put her well out of the running. By the time the riders had all been through the course, there would be eleven clear rounds in total that day. With so many clear rounds, only the riders with the best times on the clock stood a chance of receiving points.

“Well, that rules me out!” Kate said grumpily. She was still grouchy with Toby, who had got a bee in his bonnet about something at the third fence and refused twice.

It was no surprise to anyone when Dan, Ben and Stella managed to come out on top as the three fastest riders on the day.

“I told you we’d been having extra practice.” Ben grinned as he and Max scooped up two more points.

“It’s all right for you,” Stella groaned at him, “you came second. Now you’re bound to have made the team.”

“Oh, Stella! You’ll get in. You got third and you did brilliantly at the games,” Kate tried to reassure her.

But Stella shook her head. “Don’t! I don’t want to jinx it. Avery said he would be posting the final team lineup at the end of the day. Let’s not talk about it until then!”

“Stellas right. There’s nothing we can do now so let’s go and have afternoon tea,” Issie suggested. “Meet you back at the picnic blanket?”

The girls all agreed that this was a good idea and they decided to ask Morgan too—after Issie told them the story of what happened with Natasha.

But when Issie rode over to ask Morgan to come and join them, Araminta couldn’t have been less enthusiastic. “I hope you don’t mind, Isadora, but I’d prefer to give Morgan a bit of extra schooling after Black Jack’s performance in the ring today,” she replied coolly.

“Oh, Mum, we’re all done for the day! Can’t I just go and unsaddle and get a drink and hang out with Issie and her friends?” Morgan pleaded.

Araminta fixed her with a steely glare. “I think you need to work on your position, Morgan. There was no excuse for that refusal.” She turned to look at Issie and her frown unfurrowed a little. “I’m sorry, Isadora,” she said, “Morgan is busy for the rest of the day. That is final.”

“Wow. It sounds like Araminta is pretty tough on Morgan,” Stella said as Issie told her what had happened. They were lying on the tartan rug and munching the bacon and egg pie and some more sponge cake that clever Mrs Brown had kept back from lunch.

“Araminta is super-competitive. I guess she really wants Morgan to win.” Issie shrugged.

Still, Issie knew what Stella meant. Poor Morgan had looked so desperate to go and hang out with Issie and her friends instead of training for a change.

While Issie and Stella had been lying on the picnic blanket finishing off the bacon and egg pie, Kate had been in the clubroom. She emerged, running towards them with a piece of paper gripped tightly in her right hand.

“Ohmygod!” she said. “You are not going to believe it.” Her face was stiff and miserable.

“What?” Issie and Stella cried out together.

“I’ve got the team list results,” Kate said. She looked deadly serious now. “And, well…they’re terrible. None of us have made the team.”