National Velvet (18 page)

    
They crowded round to read it.

    
After endless waiting the band arrived. Then the local broadcaster rattled up, mounted on its ancient Ford, and settling into its position against the ropes, began to shout in bleak, mechanical tones . . . “Event Number One! Event Number One! Competitors in the Collecting Ring, please . . . PLEASE.”

    
Instantly the field was galvanised. Children and
ponies appeared from behind trees and hedges and tents. Mally mounted George and rode towards the ring.

    
In five minutes it was over and Mally was back again. George had had no idea of bending. Nor Mally either. They had broken three poles on the way up and were disqualified.

    
“We haven't practised!” said Mally, trying to carry it off.

    
But Velvet, busy saddling Mrs. James, made no reply.

    
“Here's Jacob!” said Edwina suddenly. Jacob sprang lightly against Mrs. James's flank and grinned. “Mi must be here.”

    
“Event Number Two!” shouted the Voice, and Velvet mounted, and made for the Collecting Ring. Seeing Pendean Lucy waiting at the gate for the first heat, she thrust up beside her. The bar fell and Velvet, Lucy and three others, two boys and a fat little girl, were let out to the potato posts.

    
“You know what to do?” shouted the Starter, his flag under his arm. “Leave the posts on your right! Take the furthest potato first! . . .”

    
Velvet tried to take it in but the trembling of Mrs. James distracted her attention. Mrs. James had broken already into a sweat of hysteria that had turned her grey coat steel-blue.

    
They were lined up, the flag fell, and Mrs. James made a start of such violence that Velvet could not pull her up at the fifth post. Six strides were lost before they could turn. Lucy was cantering down the posts with her potato and Velvet heard the jingle of the
bucket as the potato fell neatly into it. The heat was over, and Mrs. James, too big, too wild, too excited, too convinced that she was once again playing polo, was left three potatoes behind when the winner had drawn up beside the Starter. Pendean Lucy won the first heat. . . .

    
“Five shillings gone . . .” muttered Velvet with humiliation as she trotted slowly back to the tree. Mi was there standing beside Sir Pericles.

    
“Five shillings gone, Mi,” said Velvet aloud to him.

    
“It's a gamble” said Mi. “Keep yer head. Afternoon's young.”

    
“Jumping . . .” said Mally. “It's the jumping now. Which you jumping first?”

    
“Sir Pericles.”

    
The blazing sun had dried up the burnt grass and the afternoon shone like a diamond as Velvet sat on Sir Pericles in the Collecting Ring. Mi wormed his way between the crowds against the rope. Lucy came on her roan pony, but the pony refused at the Gate. Twice and thrice times, and she trotted back disqualified. A schoolboy in a school cap quartered in purple and white, rode out. His almost tailless pony jumped a clear round. Jacob wriggled with excitement between Mi's legs.

    
“Number Sixteen!” called the Broadcaster.

    
Sixteen was Lucy's elder sister, a fat girl in a bright blue shirt.

    
“Blasted girl!” said Mi under his breath, as the blue shirt cleared the first and second jumps. His heart was
in his mouth, but he spat whistlingly and joyfully between his teeth as the pony landed astride the wall, and scrambled over in a panic, heaving the wall upon its side.

    
It seemed they would call every number in the world except Velvet's.

    
“Break her nerve, waiting!” grumbled Mi. He could see her cotton hair bobbing as she sat.

    
A small girl came, with pigtails. A little shriek burst from her throat each time her chestnut pony rose at a jump. The plaits flew up and down, the pony jumped like a bird. A clear round.

    
“Hell!” said Mi. “Two clear rounds.”

    
“Number Fifteen!”

    
Out came Velvet from the black gap between the crowds. Sir Pericles arched his neck, strained on his martingale, and his long eyes shone. He flirted his feet in his delicious doll's canter and came tittupping down over the grass. Velvet in her cotton frock stood slightly in the stirrups, holding him short,—then sat down and shortened her reins still more. Mi's stomach ran to soup.

    
“Got her stirrups in her armpits . . .” sighed Mi approvingly. “Little swell!”

    
There was nothing mean, nothing poor about Sir Pericles. He looked gay as he raced at the first jump.

    
“Too fast, too fast!” said Mi, praying with his soul.

    
The horse was over safely and had his eyes fastened on the next jump.

    
“Haul ‘im in, haul ‘im in!” begged Mi of the empty
air. “He'll rocket along . . .” He saw Velvet's hands creep further up the reins, and her body straighten itself a little. The horse's pace decreased. It was the double jump, the In-and-Out. Sir Pericles went over it with his little hop,—one landing and one take-off. Mi saw Velvet glance behind,—but nothing fell. And the Gate. The Gate was twelve paces ahead.

    
He cleared the Gate with one of his best jumps, an arc in the air, with inches to spare.

    
“He'll do the wall,” said Mi with relief.

    
He did the wall, but a lath fell at the stile. Half a fault. She was out of it then. Mi yawned with fatigue. He had held his breath. His lungs were dry. Jacob was gone from between his legs. He looked round.

    
“Bitches . . .” he murmured vaguely, then turned again to the ropes to wait for the piebald.

    
There were no more clear rounds till the piebald came, and when it came a murmur went up from the villagers who stood in the crowd.

    
“Jumping
that
animal!” said a voice.

    
“Why, that's the one she won at the raffle!”

    
The piebald strode flashing into the sun. He paused, stood still, and gazed round him. Velvet's knees held him steadily, and she sat behind his raised neck without urging him on.

    
“I don't expect anything . . .” she whispered. “Do what you can. Keep steady. You're all right.”

    
“You next,” said a man at the bar of the Collecting Ring. “You waiting for anything?”

    
“I'm going,” said Velvet quietly. “He just wants to look round.”

    
Mi saw them come down the grass, the piebald trotting with a sort of hesitation.

    
“He's in two minds whether he'll bolt,” thought Mi.

    
“Showy horse . . .” said a spectator.

    
“Butcher's girl . . .”said another. “The youngest. Got a seat, 'ant she?”

    
The piebald's best eye was towards the crowd, his white eye to the centre of the field.

    
The trot broke hesitatingly into a canter, but the horse had no concentration in him. He looked childishly from side to side, hardly glancing at the jump ahead.

    
“He'll refuse,” said Mally, who had arrived at Mi's side. But Mi made no answer.

    
Sir Pericles had jumped like a trained horse. The piebald's jumping was a joke. Arrived at the jump in another two paces, he appeared to be astonished, planted his forelegs for a second, looked down, trembled, then leapt the little bush and rail with all four legs stiff in the air together. Dropping his hind-quarters badly he came down on the rail and broke it in two.

    
“Two faults,” said Mi.

    
“Only two for breaking that?”

    
“Hind feet. Only two.”

    
Again the piebald trotted, flashing, his grass-fed belly rounded, and his shoulders working under the peculiar colour of his hide.

    
“Why don't she canter 'im?” said a voice.

    
Mi turned on the voice. “First time he's seen anything but his own grazing. It's a miracle if she gets him round.”

    
“The In-and-Out'll finish him,” said Mally under her breath.

    
The piebald jumped willingly into the In-and-Out, then paused, and remained inside.

    
A shout of laughter went up from the crowd.

    
“Oh . . . poor Velvet . . .” murmured Malvolia, agonized.

    
The piebald attempted to graze, as though he were in a sheep pen, and again the crowd laughed.

    
“She's handling him gentle,” said Mi. “She's trying to keep him thinking he's a winner. She's backin' him, see. . . . I don't believe he's ever backed a pace before.” The piebald had backed two paces till his quarters lay against the first jump of the In-and-Out. With a light heart he responded to his rider, and with a spring he was out again and cantering on.

    
“Do they count that as a fault?”

    
“I don't know,” said Mi. “Watch out . . . now. . . . It's the Gate.”

    
The piebald broke the gate. He would have liked a stout, stone wall, but this flimsy thing that stood up before him puzzled him and he did his goat-jump. All four legs in the air at once and landed back upon the laths and broke them.

    
“That horse is breaking up the field,” said a voice.

    
Mi glared. “He's knocked his hock,” said Mi; “that'll learn him.” For the piebald limped a pace or two. It
“learnt” him. Unlettered as he was he had no thought of refusing. He saw the friendly wall ahead, and taking it to be enduring flint he went for it with a glare of interest, ears pricked and eyes bright. The wall was three foot six. He leapt five. For a second it seemed to the crowd as though the horse had nothing to do with the wall but was away up in the air. A little cheer went up and hands clapped in a burst.

    
“Don't she ride him!” said the voice. “It's that Velvet girl. The ugly one.”

    
“What, that kid with the teeth?”

    
“That's who it is.”

    
Mi knew that Mally's beauty stood beside him and he resented it. He half turned his shoulder on her. While Velvet sat the piebald he thought her the loveliest thing on earth. Like Dan, his father, he hardly saw the faces of women.

    
“Hullo, she's missed the stile!”

    
“Did he refuse?” asked Mi, keenly.

    
“I don't think she saw it,” said Mally. “She simply rode on.”

    
The judge waved his stick and called to a Starter. Velvet cantered, glowing, radiant, to the exit gate. The man who held the exit spoke to her and pointed. Velvet looked behind her, paused, then shook her head.

    
“Not coming . . .” shouted the man to the Steward.

    
After a brief pause . . .

    
“The last Competitor,” announced the Broadcaster, “did not complete the round.”

    
“Why ever didn't she!” said Mally, as she and Mi left
the rope to fight their way round to the tree. They scrambled out from the crowd and ran.

    
Velvet was standing looking at the piebald as though bemused. Merry, her face happy with pride, was holding the horses.

    
“Marvellous, Velvet, to get him round!” said Mally, coming up. “Why didn't you jump the last jump?”

    
Velvet turned and looked, and Mi could see how her face was shining.

    
“I thought I'd better not,” she said gently.

    
“Why?”

    
“He did the wall so beautifully I thought he'd better end on that.”

    
In a flash Mi felt again what she was made of. That she could take a decision for her horse's good and throw away her own honours.

    
“It was the right thing to do,” said Mi.

    
Edwina arrived. “What made you miss the stile?”

    
Velvet said nothing.

    
“People near me thought you'd funked it,” said Edwina half indignantly. “You must have bin asleep to go and miss it.”

    
“She's no more asleep 'n my eye,” said Mi. And Mi's little eye, like an angry sapphire, raked Edwina till she shuffled her shoulder and itched.

    
“It's you, Edwina, now!” said Mally, looking at the torn programme. “On Mrs. James. Bending.”

    
“A lot of chance I have!” said Edwina. “Mrs. James'll break every pole.”

    
“She gets rough and excited,” said Velvet.

    
“But it's Adults!” said Merry. “They won't have nippy ponies. It'll be easier.”