- -
- 100%
- +
The bending poles had already been set up for the games. The poles were about two metres high, stuck upright in the ground and evenly spaced with about three horse lengths between each pole. To win the race, riders needed to serpentine their way as fast as they could down through the poles, turning tightly around the last pole at the end, and slaloming back through again as fast as they could to cross the finish line.
For flag races, the same poles were used, but this time a flag was secured with a rubber band near the top of each pole. The riders had to race their horses to each pole in turn, pluck off the flag, then race back and drop the flag precisely into a small wooden box on top of an oil drum. If they missed the box, they had to dismount, pick up the flag, put it in the box and mount up again before they could continue the race.
“At least Toby is a star when it comes to jumping against the clock. You’re bound to win selection points in the jumping,” Issie consoled Kate. “Come on. Let’s finish tacking up and go.”
Issie ran her stirrups down the leathers, gave Blaze’s girth a final check and popped her foot in the stirrup iron, bouncing herself up lightly on to Blaze’s back.
“Here we go again, eh, girl?” Issie said, leaning in low by Blaze’s neck to whisper in her ear. The mare danced and fidgeted anxiously beneath her as they waited for Kate and Stella to get ready Then the three girls set off at a trot towards the bending poles and their first event of the day.
At the clubroom, five other riders were already waiting on their mounts. All of them were wearing the navy jersey and red tie which were the Chevalier Point Pony Club colours.
One of the girls, a blonde with two perfectly straight plaits, starchy white jodhpurs and a sour expression, sat astride a glossy, golden palomino. She saw Issie, Stella and Kate heading towards her and gave them a haughty smirk.
“Oh no, not Stuck-up Tucker!” Stella muttered under her breath. “Why does she have to be in our group? I wish I was doing jumping first like Dan and Ben.”
“Be nice,” Issie warned Stella. Issie knew that being nice to Natasha Tucker wasn’t easy, in fact she was gritting her teeth too in anticipation. The last time Issie had crossed paths with her had been in the jump-off at the one-day event, when Natasha had been eliminated for hitting Goldrush with her whip and Issie had gone on to win.
Needless to say, Natasha wasn’t pleased to see Issie again. “We’ve been waiting for you lot for absolutely ages! I hope you’re not planning to make us late all day,” Natasha said as the girls trotted up to join them. This clearly wasn’t true as the clock on the wall of the clubroom said nine exactly, which was when the rally was due to start.
“Hi, Natasha,” Issie said, deciding it was best to simply ignore her sniffy comment.
“Hi, Issie. Don’t worry about it, we only just got here too,” said a cheerful girl on a dinky twelve-two grey pony. The girl was Pip Miller and her horse was called Mitzy Next to Pip was her little sister Catherine who rode an even smaller twelve-hand grey called Nemo. The girl beside them was Annabel Willets, who was in the year above Issie at school. Annabel’s horse, Eddie, was a pretty palomino gelding with a wall eye.
The fifth rider, who was hanging back on the edge of the group, was a girl that Issie had never seen before. She had long dark hair just like Issie, but her skin was pale to the point of being ghostly. Her club jersey and tie were clearly brand new. She had a navy gilet over the top of her jersey and a shiny white helmet. Her pony who was jet black, was pretty and dainty and about the same height as Blaze.
“Who is she?” Kate wondered out loud.
“Hmmphh?” Natasha Tucker overheard her. “Oh her? That’s Morgan. She’s just started going to my school.”
Natasha didn’t go to Chevalier Point High with Issie and the others. She went to Kingswood, a private school on the other side of town.
“Her mummy used to be frightfully famous in horse circles, apparently—she was a really good rider back in the day. Now what’s their name again?” Natasha paused. “Oh yes, Chatswood-Smith. Morgan Chatswood-Smith. Her mum’s name is—”
“Araminta Chatswood-Smith!” Issie squeaked. “I know her! She was a totally amazing showjumper. I have all of her books.”
“Ah, all here then?” Avery said as he emerged out of the clubroom and bounded down the stairs. “Have you all introduced yourself to our new girl Morgan?” He walked over to the girl on the jet black pony and gave the pony a firm pat on his glossy neck.
“Morgan’s mother and I used to be great rivals when we were riding.” He smiled at her. “Welcome to Chevalier Point Pony Club, Morgan. I’m sure talent runs in the family.”
Morgan sat looking at Avery blankly. Eventually she managed to give him a weak smile in return.
“Good, good,” Avery said, turning to the rest of the riders. “Let’s get on with it then, shall we?”
Avery had set up four rows of poles for the bending so the riders were divided into two heats. After all the riders had been given a quick practice run through the poles, Stella, Kate, Pip and Catherine were the first ones to line up at the start line. “On your marks…get set…go!!” Avery shouted.
The horses leapt forward on Avery’s word and began to weave in a slalom through the four rows of bending poles. Stella was bent low over Coco’s neck as the chocolate mare zipped through her poles at a swift canter. She turned the last pole well ahead of the rest of the riders and breezed home easily in the lead across the finish line.
Kate was not so lucky with Toby who reached the last pole and, instead of turning, kept right on cantering. “Toby!” Kate hauled on his left rein to try and get him to circle. By the time she had got the big bay’s attention and manoeuvred him around, even Catherine on little Nemo had beaten her and was trotting gaily through the last pole and over the finish line.
“Next riders up!” Avery called. Issie, Morgan, Annabel and Natasha lined up at their poles.
“On your marks…” Avery began his countdown. But Issie was still trying to calm Blaze down. The mare was so excited, she couldn’t stay still. She snorted and fretted and Issie was forced to keep turning her in tight circles to stop her bolting over the line and being disqualified.
“Get set…” Avery continued.
“Wait!” Issie squawked. She wasn’t “set” at all—her reins were in a tangle and her arms hurt from holding Blaze back.
She needed to turn the chestnut mare back in time to face the starting line but Avery hadn’t noticed that she was struggling. “Go!” he shouted.
Blaze leapt forward—in completely the wrong direction!
By the time Issie had turned Blaze around, the other riders were halfway down the row of bending poles. Issie tried to steer her through the poles but Blaze kept yanking the reins out of Issie’s fingers; she was far too excited to pay attention. Blaze had missed two poles before Issie had the chance to haul her up and go back again. By the time Issie finally got her under control the others had already crossed the finish line. She was dead last.
The only thing that cheered Issie up was the fact that Natasha hadn’t won either—Annabel had taken out the heat on Eddie.
Of course that didn’t stop Natasha being a know-it-all. “Hey Isadora, I think you’re going in the wrong direction. The bending poles are that way!” she needled Issie as she rode Goldrush past.
Issie watched as Natasha pulled up next to Morgan. Natasha leant over and whispered something to Morgan and then began to giggle.
“Oh no. I think the new girl is friends with Natasha!” Issie groaned to Stella.
“It’s not her fault. She’s new. Wait until she gets to know her!” Stella rolled her eyes and giggled.
The flag races went a little better than the bending. Stella won her heat again, this time narrowly beating Morgan, who rode like a daredevil but still couldn’t catch up with Coco, who was brilliant at stopping dead at each pole and then breaking into a gallop to deliver the flags back to the box.
Issie and Blaze managed their heat well too—no starting hiccups this time. And when Natasha dropped a flag, Issie raced into the lead and this time she beat her across the line.
“Lunch break!” Avery boomed at them all. “Go and tie your horses up—you’ve got an hour off and then you’re doing rider on the flat and jumping this afternoon!”
Issie’s Mum and Dan’s mother, Mrs Halliday, were arranging the lunch on tartan picnic rugs as the riders pulled up their mounts.
“I am totally starving!” Stella said, casting her eyes over the spread. She could see asparagus rolls, little miniature meat pies, club sandwiches, jam roll, chocolate cake and strawberry tarts, all lined up in Tupperware containers on the rug, with a big thermos of tea for the parents and apple juice for the riders.
“You boys! Put that down and wait until the girls have tied their horses up too,” Mrs Halliday said firmly to Dan and Ben, who had already thrown themselves down on the picnic rug and had their hands on the meat pies.
Dan gave his Mum a big grin and bit into the pie. “Too late!” he said with his mouth full. “Better tell them to hurry up!” The food was gone in no time flat.
“Can we get ice creams, Mum? It’s so hot today,” Issie begged.
“Yes! Ice creams!” the others agreed, leaping up off the rug and heading for the clubroom.
“I wonder if they’ll have this morning’s results posted up yet?” Dan said. He and Ben were both feeling confident that their skill in the showjumping ring would earn them both a place in the Chevalier Point team.
“Kismit is jumping brilliantly at the moment.” Dan grinned.
Ben nodded in agreement. “We’ve both been having extra lessons lately with Iggy Dalrymple. He’s really helped my technique.”
They stepped up to the door of the clubrooms now, and heard a woman’s voice inside. She sounded upset. “What went wrong?” she was saying. “These results are dreadful!”
“I don’t know, Mum. I had a bad start in the bending and then Jack was nappy in the flag race, I guess…” a girl’s voice responded.
“Well, now you’ll have to make up lost ground this afternoon,” the woman said briskly. “Come on, saddle up. We’ll pop Black Jack over some practice fences and I’ll look at your position before they get back underway.”
The woman and the girl headed for the door of the clubroom and Issie, Stella, Kate, Ben and Dan all scattered to the sides of the steps to let them through.
Morgan came out first. She looked much slighter than she did on her horse. She was sparrow-like, with skinny arms and legs and that long, dark hair and pale skin. She gave Issie a wan smile as she walked past.
Behind her, a woman stepped from the dark of the clubhouse to the bright light outside. She too had jet black hair and pale skin. She was tall and very glamorous in violet Hunter wellingtons, sky blue jodhpurs and a dark navy shirt, with a violet Hermes scarf tied around her hair and big, black sunglasses.
Like Avery, she carried a riding crop in her hand which she tapped lightly against her boot as she looked down now at the five riders on the clubroom steps below her.
Issie held her breath. She knew this woman. She recognised her at once because she had a picture of her on her bedroom wall. It was Araminta Chatswood-Smith.
Chapter 3
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.