New Boss at Birchfields (23 page)

So Hettie was back to the consideration that Blane was older than she was! But that was part of the attraction he had for her. He made men like Jeremy seem immature and, in fact—Briony had to admit to herself
—
boring.

‘
And it
’
s not only that Blane Lennox is older than you are—he
’
s devious too. It
’
s just that you
’
re too young to realise that. You haven
’
t had enough experience of men.
’

‘
I can
’
t see what difference it makes,
’
Briony said wearily,
‘
considering he has every intention of marrying Senga MacNeil. And no doubt she
’
ll be mature enough to deal with him,
’
she added ironically.

But she was thinking that Hettie showed herself a very poor judge of character. On the contrary, an overpowering directness and almost brutal tactlessness was Blane
’
s most outstanding characteristic.
‘
Don
’
t let
’
s talk about him any more,
’
she said at last.
‘
I
’
m simply employed by him. His character has nothing whatever to do with me.
’

But as Hettie turned and stared at her directly, she busied herself with picking energetically at the seam and it was with a shake of her head that Hettie slipped her tray of sausage rolls into the oven.

On the following morning the children from Laureston School arrived for their lesson. As usual, Senga accompanied them and she and Blane strolled off together while Briony took over the children.

For the first time since her adventures with the bicycle Sandra appeared, and immediately Briony was struck by the improvement in her. The episode seemed to have made Sandra a person of importance
among her young friends. And, to Briony
’
s amazement, girls who previously had treated Sandra with contempt now s
poke to her quite deferentially.

There was also the fact that, thanks to the private lessons Briony had given her, Sandra
’
s riding had improved so much that she was able to take her place among the others with a measure of self-confidence. It was doubtful if she would ever develop a good style; she simply wasn
’
t a born rider, but at least, she was no longer a misfit.

When the lesson was over Sandra eagerly approached Briony.
‘
I
’
ve written to Daddy and asked him to buy Teddy, so that he can be a companion to Snowy—that
’
s my white pony at home, you know. I think he must be lonely when I
’
m away at school and Teddy would be company for him. I
’
m sure
Mr.
Lennox will agree. He can always get another donkey, can
’
t he?
’

Briony could hardly restrain a laugh at Sandra
’
s new
attitude.

Briony caught sight of Blane and Senga standing outside the loosebox in which Golden Sovereign was kept. Senga was feeding him lumps of sugar and when, a little later, Briony went into the next loosebox she could hear Senga say,
‘
Golden Sovereign seems very restless.
’

‘
Yes,
’
Blane replied,
‘
he hasn
’
t been getting the exercise he should have. I
’
ll see he gets a good run each day after this. Although, come to think of it, I have to go into Aberdeen in the morning. That will be another half day lost.
’

‘
But what
’
s been happening?
’
Senga asked.

‘
Things fell behind a little while Briony was off. The boys—and myself for that matter—were loaded with work.
’

‘
Oh yes, invaluable Briony!
’
Senga laughed lightly.
‘
I
hope she doesn
’
t get to know that the Lennox Riding School quite falls apart at the seams when she
’
s not here.
’

What would Blane have to say to this? Briony wondered, as she tied up a hay net in the adjoining stable. But he chose to ignore the remark.
‘
We
’
ll just have to make it up to Golden Sovereign,
’
he told her.

‘
I was only joking,
’
Senga said quickly.
‘
I know how things were with you while she was away. But now that she
’
s back what about our having that celebration dinner we were so much looking forward to? At least
I
was, and I hope you were too! Now that she
’
s here again you
’
ll be able to take an evening off. You owe it to me, you know. After all, I did win for you.
’

And as Briony left the loosebox she could hear Blane saying,
‘
Let me see, what would be the best evening
—’

CHAPTER TWELVE

On
the following morning Briony packed a haversack with her purchases. Hettie
’
s baking had proved to be a resounding success. But she had considered Briony
’
s offerings just a bit too sparse for what she termed
‘
two growing boys
’
, and had included a napkin packed with ham and tomato sandwiches. She had also added some bottles of her own special home-made ginger beer. She insisted too there was nothing boys liked better than trifles with genuine cream, and on the previous evening she had set about and made these up in small plastic cartons, and placed them in the fridge to set for the morning.

Briony smiled wryly as she hitched the haversack across her shoulder. If the boys really consumed as much as Hettie had provided they would be completely unable to do a stroke of work during the rest of the morning, she decided.

When she arrived at Birchfields she stored the haversack in a cupboard in the tack room that was seldom used and immediately set to work getting through her chores as quickly as possible.

Before it was time for the morning break, she had cleared her work load, and felt entitled to go to the tack room a little earlier than usual. She cleared the table of brushes, tins of saddle-soap and the odds and ends of tack, metal polish and vaseline which usually littered it. On the surface she laid sheets of brightly patterned wrapping paper, on which she arrayed the goodies she had brought. From the shelf on which they usually rested she took the chipped mugs they used at morning break.

As the two boys came in, she was rewarded by the look of astonished delight which came into Johnny
’
s face as he spotted the pink and white iced birthday cake prominently displayed, flanked on each side by bottles of ginger beer and surrounded by the assorted goodies.

‘
Well, this is something I didn
’
t expect,
’
he exclaimed, rubbing his hands in anticipation.
‘
Now that the boss has gone to Aberdeen, we can have a good tuck-in!
’

‘
All the same, we
’
d better not delay over our break,
’
Andy said cautiously.
‘
You never know—he might come back early, and he
’
s not in too good a humour these days, as we know.
’

Johnny switched on the transistor.
‘
We may as well look on the bright side! He may be delayed.
’

‘
After all, it won
’
t take us so much longer to get through this than it would to take our ordinary break,
’
Briony interposed.

But here she proved to be wrong. Because, in spite of Andy
’
s pessimism, they felt relaxed and in a festive mood.

‘
This is the first cheerful thing that
’
s happened in ages,
’
Johnny remarked as they got around to the cake
-
cutting part of the feast. They were laughing and chatting as if they hadn
’
t a care in the world when, as the picnic was over, Johnny pushed back the table and invited Briony to join him in a waltz to the blaring music from the transistor. He was so happy that, although Briony was increasingly aware that they had far exceeded their break time, she hadn
’
t the heart to call a halt to the festivities.

They were, however, to receive a rude awakening.

As Johnny spun her around in a breathtaking climax to the dance, there was the sound of firm footsteps, and a shadow fell across the doorway. They came to a sudden halt as though frozen by Blane
’
s unexpected appearance.

With a few swift strides he crossed to the transistor and roughly switched it off. When he turned, his face was dark with anger.
‘
And just what
’
s going on here?
’
he began. He glanced at his watch.
‘
Do you realise what time it is?
’
And then his eyes narrowed as they fell upon the remainder of the feast and the table pushed up against the wall.
‘
And what
’
s this?
’
he asked blankly.

‘
It was all my idea,
’
Briony said faintly, as the two boys stood in embarrassed silence.
‘
It
’
s Johnny
’
s birthday and I got a few extra things to celebrate.
’

‘
So you took advantage of the fact that I was going into Aberdeen, to hold a party!
’
he gritted.
‘
In future, don
’
t hold celebrations on my time!
’

Sheepishly the two boys edged towards the yard, and Briony, to her dismay, found herself alone with a
grim-faced
Blane. Nervously she began to crunch up the empty plastic cartons and to thrust them into the oil
-
drum that served as a waste-paper basket.

‘
You can do that afterwards,
’
he told her quickly.
‘
In the meanwhile get on with your work!
’
And turning, he strode from the tack room.

Left alone, surrounded by the debris of the party, Briony
’
s nervousness disappeared with a rush and was replaced by furious anger. In defiance of his instructions she began to gather together the plates and mugs, and dump them on the shelves. Then, seizing the coloured papers, she rolled them into a ball. How typical of him, she thought furiously. After all, it wasn
’
t as though they were in the habit of wasting their time or lounging around the tack room. In fact, the boys and herself had more work than they could handle. Surely, for once, Blane could have turned a blind eye!

As she crossed the yard, still seething with resentment, she came upon Andy.

‘
I don
’
t know what the boss is thinking of, giving the Shetlands to Johnny,
’
Andy told her gloomily.
‘
After all, he can
’
t manage everything—and neither can I, for that matter!
’

‘
He took the Shetlands away from me out of spite,
’
Briony exclaimed furiously,
‘
and Johnny simply hates having them. I think the best thing I can do is take
them on again, and
—’

‘
You
’
d better not,
’
Andy interposed.
‘
The boss made a big point of Johnny having them. You
’
ll get the sack for sure, if you don
’
t toe the line.
’

‘
Well, what way can I help, then?
’
Briony asked, exasperated.

‘
I only wish you could exercise the palomino,
’
he sighed.
‘
He
’
s fidgety and restless. He hasn
’
t got enough exercise for the past few days. But of course, there
’
s no question of your doing that.
’

Immediately Briony took up the challenge.
‘
Why shouldn
’
t I exercise him?
’
she demanded.
‘
After all, I was told when I started work here that I
’
d have to do anything a stableboy can undertake.
’

‘
But you won
’
t be able to manage him!
’
Andy protested.
‘
He
’
s not one of your Shetland ponies, you know,
’
he added with a grin.

‘
Senga MacNeil rides him,
’
Briony flashed.

Andy nodded, in his slow, stolid way.
‘
Yes, but she
’
s much more experienced. And, to be straight with you,
’
he added bluntly,
‘
you
’
re not as good a rider as Senga.
’

In her heart Briony knew he was speaking the truth, but she would not admit it. She kept arguing with Andy with feminine persistence, and eventually he gave in.

‘
All right, then,
’
he said at last resignedly,
‘
but stay inside the grounds. Take the path behind the Dutch bam and you
’
ll be able to give him a good gallop on the level, and get some of the steam out of him.
’

She had no sooner mounted than she realised that Andy had been right, for she found that Golden Sovereign was jibbing and prancing with nervous tossings of his head. Her own nervousness had somehow conveyed itself to the animal, for although she tried to hold him with all her strength, she was barely able to control him.

As she came level with the Dutch barn, she caught a glimpse of Blane mounted on the Hanoverian. But she did not know if he had seen her because she had enough to do trying to control the palomino as it waltzed sideways as though in a complicated dance. A moment later and she had reached the flat area behind the bam and was able to let Golden Sovereign have his head. He surged forward so suddenly that she was almost unseated.

Immediately her nervousness changed to exhilaration. How wonderful to ride a powerful horse like this, she thought, as the ground seemed to fly away beneath his heels. She delighted in the speed of this wonderful animal as the turf flew behind his bounding hooves.

It was only when she began to try to rein him in that she discovered that he had no intention of obeying her. Golden Sovereign was aware that she did not have the authority of Senga. A horse of this calibre was away beyond her skill, and the palomino was only too well aware of it. Briony pulled frantically on the reins as she realised the animal was bolting with her, but her exertions proved useless.

Vaguely she remembered instructions she had once received about what to do in such a situation. Pulling frantically on the reins was exactly the wrong thing to do. Instead of gradually and smoothly slackening the reins before tightening them, she found that she relaxed them too suddenly and her mount took this as encouragement to put on even more speed.

She remembered too, with growing panic, that a horse is at least eight times as strong as its rider and that trying to pull in a bolting horse is useless.

Feeling helpless, she was overcome by panic and gave a shriek of pure terror. Golden Sovereign laid his ears back and seemed to fly along at even greater speed,
while Briony concentrated on trying to keep her seat.

It was then she heard the sound of galloping hooves behind her, and caught a glimpse of the Hanoverian coming up behind. Gradually it gained on her. Side by side the two horses galloped at breakneck speed. After a while it dawned on Briony that Blane was forcing the palomino to run in circles which gradually decreased in size. There came a slackening of speed and Briony found to her relief that the danger was at last over.

But the Golden Sovereign had still one last trick up his sleeve. In the centre of the field was a marshy patch of turf. Here he decided finally to stop, but drew up so suddenly that Briony flew over his head and found herself with her face and hair forced into the sticky clinging mud.

In a second Blane had slid down from the saddle of the Hanoverian and was by her side. She tried to wipe away the tears that made little channels through the mud that coated her face.

‘
Are you hurt?
’
he exclaimed.

‘
No, there
’
s nothing the matter with me,
’
she told him quaveringly, feeling completely demoralised.

‘
But you
’
re crying,
’
he insisted.

‘
I
’
m crying because I
’
m angry!
’
she burst out.

For a moment he looked at her in silence, then, flinging back his head, went into roars of laughter.

Disconcerted by his reaction, Briony gazed at him speechlessly, aware of what a spectacle she must present, her face coated with mud, her hair in sticky dripping wisps.

‘
I
’
m not going to ask you why you did that,
’
he said, as he helped her to her feet,
‘
because I know it was my own fault. After all, you did want to hold on to the Shetlands. But it was a very foolish thing to do. The palomino could easily have broken your neck.
’

He pulled a silk scarf from about his neck and gently mopped her face.
‘
Do you know,
’
he said quietly,
‘
that
little nose of yours looks even cuter covered with mud.
’