Book 9 – The Adventures of Jill’s Ponies

Chapter One – Musical Horses

Susan King woke on Monday morning after the Blossom Park Hunter Trials and floated down to the kitchen to prepare her husband Barty’s breakfast before he went off to work at a law firm in Rychester. He was his usual fussy, prim self, but this morning she merely smiled at him angelically, “Yes, Barty, no, Barty, anything you say, Barty.”

“I hope you’re not going over to your father’s to ride that horse again today,” he said peevishly.

Susan looked at him from beneath her lashes. She noticed how flat were his cheeks, how thin his lips and his eyes a cold-grey that gave nothing away, like the blank windows of a house which is unoccupied until suddenly a shrewd-looking person pops up behind the glass and shoots out a sharp little malevolent glance.

When he said, ‘that horse’, he was referring to Diablo, a bad-tempered coal-black gelding who jumped like a leaping machine but had a decidedly evil bent. At the weekend, Susan and Diablo had come a creditable fourth in the open event at Blossom Park. The year before, she had ridden him in the ladies’ race at Grassmere Point-to-Point and come second to Jill Crewe on Black Comedy.

The fact that she had come second was not the issue. It was rather that Jill Crewe had beaten her. If it had been anyone else, it wouldn’t have mattered. Susan, whose maiden name was Pyke, and Jill were adversaries from way back. They had grown up in the small village of Chatton in Oxfordshire and had been rivals throughout their childhoods. Jill had had two ponies Black Boy and Rapide, and she had looked after them herself, schooling and competing on them. Susan had been bought one fancy pony after another and had spent her time at school making snaky remarks about Jill, who had often returned this ill-feeling with sharp retorts.

But this morning, Susan was not concerned about Jill, who was far away at Porlock Vale, in Exmoor, working hard on becoming a qualified riding instructor. 

“Of course not, darling,” Susan purred in response to her husband’s comment.

She had a quite different secret plan. She would take the train into Oxford and just happen to walk by Lonsdale College, hoping to catch a glimpse of Austin Pevensy, or perhaps, in the realms of a miracle, bump into him in the street. She had fallen hook, line and sinker (as the cliché goes) for Austin, 

one of the five Pevensy children of the Duke and Duchess of Tolkington. The story of her path to this infatuation is told in Jill’s Ponies: Black Boy and Rapide, and now readers can follow in her footsteps as she pursues her obsession with this personable, young aristocratic man. She had become disillusioned with marriage to Bartholomew King, who she now considered the most uninspiring, petty, and unimaginative man in the whole of Oxfordshire. 

After Barty had left for work, she dressed carefully for her expedition, pondering the sort of outfit that would make her look attractive to a young gentleman such as Austin. Perhaps he would admire a modern style, casual, certainly not gloves and a handbag on the arm like a middle-aged matron. After much deliberation, she selected a pair of casual slacks, brogue shoes and a bright red jumper with an elegant silk scarf tied around her neck. It was not bohemian but as young and casual as she could manage. Making a note to look at what other young women in Oxford were wearing, she decided that clothes shopping was her next mission. But certainly, not from Creations, the upmarket Oxford boutique that was favoured by middle-class matrons where she had recently worked for one horrendous day before making excuses and never returning.

Stepping off the train in Oxford, she realised that she had no idea where Lonsdale College was situated. She had lived in Chatton all her life and regularly gone to Oxford on shopping expeditions but knew nothing about the colleges that were dotted around the city. Walking down the high street looking into shop windows, she thought she might have to buy a tourist guidebook when, by the greatest good luck, or perhaps ordained by Fate who was smiling upon her, she bumped into Aggie, none other than the Duchess of Tolkington and Austin’s mother. 

“Oh! Duchess!” cried Susan, blushing bright red as if caught in a shameful act, not merely walking down a street.

“Oh, it’s Susan, Susan King,” said Aggie, who always remembered names as social connections were her business. “For heaven’s sake, don’t call me Duchess. I’m Aggie to everyone. You’re Evelyn’s god daughter, I believe. I don’t know why we haven’t met before. That was a good effort you made at Blossom Park, and that black horse doesn’t look like an easy ride.”

It was the first time Susan had ever spoken to Aggie, and she was amazed that a Duchess came across as such a girlish creature, with bright, lively eyes and the voice of a young woman. Perhaps it was horses that kept you young, for, by all accounts, Aggie was as horse-mad as any teenage girl.

“I was rather pleased, but it was your daughter Porsche who was the heroine of the hour,” replied Susan in a fawning tone. “To win both the 

novice horse and open event was a miraculous achievement. She is such an amazing horsewoman!”  

“Yes, she did well. And she hadn’t been riding that horse for long. He was just off the track and not looking at all promising,” said Aggie.

In truth, Porsche had been given the horse, Mangala, to ride as a punishment after she had carelessly ridden her older sister’s Mercedes’ star mount, Banjo and staked him on the wing of a water jump, resulting in him being put down. Porsche had turned the tables on everyone, and without the systematic groundwork needed for training a horse, which she considered unnecessary for such a rider as herself, she had ridden Mangala with sheer determination and had beaten all the competition.

Now, Porsche had been promised another horse of her own, as she was never to ride Mercedes’ horses again, and Aggie was interested in Diablo. His lack of goodwill and kindness seemed a good match for Porsche, who could be described as a ‘difficult character’.

“Have you had that black horse long?” asked Aggie artlessly.

“Well, he’s not mine. He’s my father’s horse,” replied Susan. 

“Perhaps you should get something a little easier to ride,” suggested Aggie confidingly. “I’m not saying you’re not up to it, but it can’t be much fun for you.”

Susan looked at her. How very astute this woman was! She didn’t like riding Diablo at all, he was such an unkind brute, and her father certainly avoided getting on him. 

In her turn, Aggie was looking consideringly at Susan. She might just be a suitable friend for Porsche, who never invited anyone to the house. Aggie wasn’t even sure who were Porsche’s friends. Sometimes she wondered if Porsche had friends at all, but her school mistress had declaimed her as the ‘leader of the pack’. She had seen Susan bonding with Austin and Porsche when she had sat with them during the Blossom Park prize-giving. Perhaps she might be a good influence on Porsche whose disposition was, to say the very least troublesome.

“You must come to dinner at Pevensy Park,” said Aggie. “Come early, and I can show you some of the horses that we’re thinking of selling. We won’t be asking a fortune for them, just looking for good homes. I seem to have accumulated far too many horses, again.” She made it sound like a regular occurrence.

“Oh! I would love it,” gushed Susan.

“Next Saturday night, there’s some friends of Mercedes coming, the Wootton-Smiths, and of course Austin will be back from college. It should be a jolly young crowd. Come at three, and we can go for a ride. I’ll look at the horses and see if there’s something you might particularly like. I’m sure we can have a jolly time discussing the merits of each of them,” said Aggie. 

She took a step to continue on her way, but as an afterthought, turned back.

“We do dress for dinner, so come in your riding clothes and bring something suitable for the evening.”

Susan floated away. She would have to find an evening dress that was suitable for dining at the table of the local aristocrats. An outfit that would cast a spell over Austin so he would never look at another woman. It was quite thirty minutes before she remembered that she was married. Aggie had assumed that she was single. Thus, the invitation hadn’t included Barty. It could be awkward to attend a dinner party without one’s husband, but Susan had no intention of taking him along. It would inevitably come to light that she was married, and it would look odd that she hadn’t mentioned him before, but that could be dealt with later. At this moment, nothing mattered except this precious invitation that had been dropped from the heavens upon her head. It was her entrée into the magic circle that she had longed for. The last person she wanted to come along was boring old Barty! 

If only Barty could drop dead of a heart attack! Of course, she would have to go through the motions of a grieving widow, but Austin could console her, and within months they would be together. Such a vision of pure bliss lit up her face and clasping her hands together; she looked to the heavens. 

Ducking down into some of the Oxford side streets, she looked for suitable boutiques. Groovy boutiques, that was what Ann Derry would call them. Ann had been in her form at school, certainly not one of her own group but the best friend of Jill Crewe.

Susan rifled through the racks of clothes in various shops but could find nothing that appealed to her in any way and certainly nothing she would dream of wearing. In the end, she went into the news agency and bought some fashion magazines. It was only Monday. She would bone up on the latest styles and perhaps dash into London to shop there. Carnaby Street! Maybe that would be the place to go.

Aggie went home and began to plot her latest social gathering. Young people that was the thing. Like-minded horsey people who could be chums with Porsche and help steer her into more tranquil waters. Then, she remembered Henry Thurston, the local vet, who was going out with Ann Derry. Ann was a bright young woman, indelibly horsey, fun and witty. 

That would be just the thing. Aggie had no idea of the long history of tension between Susan and Ann. She began to consider numbers. There was that couple that Mercedes had invited who were interested in buying another horse. She totted up the other guests, Mercedes, Porsche, Susan and Ann and then Royce, Austin, and Henry, and she needed one other man to balance the numbers. She racked her brain. She would send a note to Austin and tell him to bring one of his jolly young friends home for the weekend. But, then, knowing Austin’s gregarious nature, he was sure to turn up with a troop of young people. Cook would have to be warned to have extra supplies to hand in case the catering numbers went up at short notice. They would use the large dining room, so it was merely a matter of setting extra places.

She dashed off a note inviting Ann and Henry to dinner and addressed the envelope to Pool Cottage. Although Ann’s parents still lived in Chatton, Ann had moved into Jill’s childhood home and had the use of the two stables and a field with an orchard. The cottage had two bedrooms, and when Jill visited Chatton she had somewhere to stay. 

Aggie also wrote a note to Austin at Lonsdale telling him to bring home one of his nice young gentlemen friends. She went to the kitchen and told Cook what she was planning and asked her to come up with a menu and then hurried down to the stables. This was a far more important mission. She needed to do a stock take of the Pevensy horses and decide which they could bear to part with. She called Bert Munro, the stable manager, into the office and together, they looked through the records.

“I need a list of every horse over the age of three, broken or unbroken, and what stage of training he or she is at. I’ve promised Louis that we’re going to get organised and trim our numbers and make sure there’s nothing promising skulking in a back field and not being ridden. Can you mark with an asterisk anything that you think might be suitable for Porsche? I want her to have something decent to work with now she’s proved herself with Mangala.”

Aggie liked to cover all the bases, in case Diablo wasn’t suitable, or Susan’s father wasn’t willing to sell him. Bert nodded his head wisely. He was an inveterate record-keeper, and it would only take an hour or so to get such a list together.

“By the way, how did Mangala pull up on Sunday morning?” she asked.

“He’s still green, in both senses,” he replied wryly, “but he’s trotting out sound, although he looks a bit hollow. I’ll be keeping my eye on him for the next few days. He certainly got ridden hard.” 

There was a faint note of censure in his voice, but he had been working for Aggie for a long time, and he was a master of circumspection. He knew that Porsche was a sensitive subject, and he didn’t want to rock the boat. On the morning of the hunter trials, they discovered that someone had got into Mangala’s loose box and coloured him bright, iridescent green with food dye. Obviously, Porsche had upset someone. She had not only won both events but on a bright green horse.

“Can you clip Mangala and see if you can’t get most of that green off him? Then, of course, he’ll need to be double rugged if he goes out and an extra blanket at night. The sooner we can get rid of the Green Flash, the better,” said Aggie. “Thank goodness there was no photographer from Horse and Hound there at the weekend.”

“Very well, madame,” said Bert.

Mercedes was in the yard getting Tom, one of the grooms, to trot up Sirius and Sassy Swoop to make sure they had suffered no ill-effects after their exertions at the hunter trials. Aggie told her of the plan to shed some horses. She looked thoughtful.

“Mummy, I was thinking. I do love Sassy with her mischievous spirit, but I have to face the fact that she is not really going to make it to the top. For a start, she’s a mare, and they can be so unreliable in big competitions, perhaps she might be happier in a home where she can go hacking, jump in local events and be petted and adored and the indisputable star of the show.”

“Oh, Mercedes! My dear girl, you’re so sensible!” said Aggie smiling proudly at her favourite daughter. “I think you’re right now that you’ve said it. With all this myriad of horses, there still isn’t anything that has the promise of Banjo. I think we might have to go shopping, perhaps in Europe, and find you something really top-notch. To do that, we must do a cull to persuade Louis that it’s a good idea.”

“Mummy, you know you can persuade Daddy just by batting your eyelashes,” laughed Mercedes. “I only hope when I get saddled with a husband I can manage him so effectively!”

“Do you think your friends, the Wootton-Smiths that you’ve invited this weekend, might be interested in her?”

“Absolutely not. They want something sensible. In fact, Sirius would be right up their street, come to think of it. Sirius would be made-to-measure.”

“You’re thinking of getting rid of your two horses who are already competing!” exclaimed Aggie.

“If I’m serious about eventing, then I have to make hard decisions and finding the right horse is a big part of it. Otherwise, all the training in the world isn’t going to turn them into a champion,” said Mercedes.

“I wonder if Susan King might be interested in Sassy. She’s obviously more of a casual competitor, and you can tell that underneath, she’s scared stiff of Diablo, but she can’t be such a bad rider to have got him around that course clear at the weekend. Sassy might be just the thing for her,” said Aggie thoughtfully.

“Well, Sassy has certainly got the looks and the glamour, and for all her naughtiness, she has a sweet nature and is only mischievous, not devilish,” said Mercedes.

“We’ll put Susan on her at the weekend and see how they get on,” said Aggie. “And if you can bear it, offer Sirius to the Wootton-Smiths, and then we’ll find you some horses that will take you right to the top!”