Circus Shoes (22 page)

“I’m not,” said Santa.

Ted handed her his bag of candy.

“Take another, and don’t talk nonsense. If you’d practiced even half an hour every other day you’d show it. You haven’t.” He looked at her. “Have you?”

Santa looked at her sandals.

“No.”

“All right. No need to look ashamed about it. It’s just game to you. No need why you should work. But if it’s a game no point in my troubling to show you how. The other kids can do that.”

Santa looked at him out of the corner of her eye.

“I don’t want it to be a game. I want to learn to do it properly.”

“Enough to practice half an hour?”

“Yes.”

Ted got up.

“Right. Come outside and let’s see you touch your feet a dozen times.”

After her lesson Santa went to look for Peter. She knew she would find him in the stables. He spent all his spare time there. He was leaning against one of the tent-props watching Nobby clean some harness. Santa came and stood beside him.

“What d’you want?” said Peter.

“I just thought you might walk round with
me
a bit.”

Peter gave her a look. If she said a thing like that she must want to talk about something. He followed her outside.

They skipped over the guy-ropes. They went be tween the forage tent and the men’s kitchen. They sat down on the ground at the back of the staff wagons. “Have you thought what you’re going to do when you leave school?” Santa asked. To her surprise he did not say at once “No” and “Why should he?” and then change the subject. Instead he said, “Why?”

She told him about her talk with Ted. She found it a relief telling Peter because, of course, with him she did not have to pretend she had worked. He knew very well she had not. Peter did not answer at once. He put his arms round one of his knees. Then he said, in an embarrassed was, as though she were dragging a secret from him, “I’m going to be a groom.”

“ A groom! What, like one of the men in the stables.

Peter nodded.

“There’s no need to sound grand about it. Our father was. Anyway, it’s a very good job. You can ride the horses when you like.”

Santa stared at him. In the old days she had known what he was thinking about things, even though they never talked about them. But now Peter seemed changed and she never knew. Imagine his thinking he would be a groom. It was only a short time ago that he had been angry to find their father had been one.
S
he was changing too, she knew. But all the same not enough to make her think being a cook like her grandmother would be a good thing. When Ted had spoken of it she had taken it for granted he was joking.

“Would you try to be one in the circus?”

He shook his head.

“No. Not to begin with. They don’t have boys of fourteen. I’ve talked to some of them. Nobby and some of the others. They say the best chance for a boy would be in private work, where somebody keeps hunters.”

“Could you get that?”

Peter picked a blade of grass. He put it in his mouth.

“I think it’s the thing I’d get easiest. All those people, the duchess and that Lady Vansittart who gave Aunt Rebecca the solitaire board, are just the sort of people who keep grooms.”

Santa giggled.

“That solitaire board! I’d forgotten it. And the spillikins. Do you remember them?”

“Of course.”

“They were rather fun.”

‘They were all right when there was nothing else to do.”

Santa stared in front of her. She saw the sitting room in London, just after Aunt Rebecca died, when they were so miserable.

“Do you remember that farm we made?”

“Um. It was lucky we carne away. We were awful fools.”

Santa thought of school.

“Are you getting cocky? We aren’t all that bright now.

Peter threw himself on her. He rolled her over and tickled her.

“Pax!” she screamed. “Pax!”

“Not till you say you’re sorry for calling me cocky.”

I am,” she wheezed. Peter let her go. She sat up. “Imagine me calling anyone cocky who only wanted to be a groom.” Peter made a move to roll her over once more. She stopped him. “No. I won’t say it again. How are you going to get to them as a groom? Will you write to little Lord Bronedin”

“He’s not little now. He’s about as old as I am. Matter of fact, when I get a chance I’m going to ask Gus to write. That Mr. Stibbings asked if the annuity could go on is all they know about us. But they might remember Gus. At least the old ones would.”

“I it because you want to be a groom you’re always in the stables?”

Peter got up.

“Partly.”

“What else?”

“It’s the horses. They’re much more interesting than people, and much easier. They aren’t different eve
ry
day.”

They began strolling back toward the caravan. Santa stopped to pick a daisy.

“Nor are people.”

‘Yes, they are. When they have a mood they feel angry inside and then they’re angry with somebody else to work it off. When a horse has a mood he’s just miserable. He doesn’t get angry with other people.”

Santa stuck the daisy through the wool of her practice dress.

“Well, you can have them. I like horses all right but I can’t tell them apart. Their faces are so alike.”’

Peter snorted with disgust at such a silly statement. Then he stopped and sniffed.

“What’s for dinner?”

“It’s chicken. I’d forgotten. Gosh, I’m hungry. Let’s run.”

On Sunday at Taunton, as soon as the build-up was finished, Peter went to find Ben. He found him in the stables. He was leaning against a post staring at Canada. He was chewing his usual straw. He did not look up, but Peter knew that he realized he was there.

“Mr. Cob’s gettin’ rid of old Canada here.”

Peter was horrified. He had come to feel that getting rid of a horse was like getting rid of a child.

“Why?”

“He’
s
going to America. We had six other grays we sold there.”

“But why? He’s very good in the Liberty act. He does a decapo.”

Ben moved his straw over to the other side of his mouth.

“One of the other osses can do that, son. We’re breaking in a whole lot more grays before next tenting. Maxim and Mr. Cob, they want sixteen of them.”

“Well, then, they’ll need Canada.”

“No. He’s not as good a match as the others. Matchin’ up well has a lot to do with smartness in the ring.”

“When’s he going?”

“Couple of weeks. I’ll be sending one of my boys with him.”

Peter looked at Canada with pity.

“I do hope he won’t hate it.”

Ben nodded.

“So do I. Never could bear to sell a oss I’d had any time.”

“But what’s Lorenzo going to do without him?”

“Or ‘im without Lorenzo. That’s what I’ve been tellin’ Mr. Cob. He says they’ll settle, but I say I doubt it. I broke both of them. Never been parted, the
y
haven’t.”

“Poor Canada!”

“It’s more Lorenzo that’s troublin’ me. Seems like the one that’s left alway
s
feels it most. Canada, he’ll ‘ave strange
people
and look at Canada’s stall. I don’t like it.”

“Couldn’t they both go?”

Ben nodded.

“They could. They wanted a pair or America, but Mr. Cob, ‘e says ‘No,’ ‘E’ a wonderful waltzer, is Lorenzo, and he won’t part with ‘im.”

Peter gave Lorenzo a pat. He felt in his pockets for
some
sugar for him and Canada. He went into Canada’
s
stall and fondled him while he fed him. He looked at Ben over his
sh
oulder.

“Do you know it’s August this week?”

“I haven t forgotten “ He smiled. “I don’t think I said beginnin’ of August, did I?”

“No. You said you’d see how I shaped. Am I shaping better?”

Ben spat out his straw.

“Yes. We’ll start tomorrow. I’m going to have a doss down now. Didn’t get much sleep. Seemed to be shuntin’ us
all l
ast night.”

Peter looked after him. He felt swollen with happiness. Tomorrow he would start
haute école.
He would be allowed to try and see if he could make a horse obey every little movement that he mad. To take a horse through that difficult routine must be the grandest feeling in the world.

He stretched out his arms. He looked at President. He went across and gave him a friendly pat.

“Gosh, it must be awful to be him,” he thought. “Too proud to have a friend in the world.” Careful to keep well away from his heels, he sidled up the stall and gave him a lump of sugar. President ate the lump.

Peter thought he looked surprised. As a matter of fact he was. It was a long time since anybody had singled him out for special attention. Not knowing that Peter was starting to learn high-school riding in the morning, he wondered what he was celebrating.

Because Peter had not wanted her at his early riding lessons, and because afterward she had other things to do, Santa had never watched him at his lessons. But at Exeter she was there by accident. Since Ted Kenet’s talk on work she got up at half-past seven and did her exercises before breakfast. There was an alarm clock which woke her. It was in a drawer in the caravan doing nothing and Gus said she could borrow it for her tent. This morning it went off as usual. She yawned and stretched and got out of bed. She poured some water into her basin. Washing was one of the few things about tenting she did not like. Even in the middle of August she hated cold water. She shivered as it ran down her. Having washed, she brushed and braided her hair. She put on her practice dress. It was then she heard the pit-a-pat on the canvas. She went to the tent flap and looked out. It was raining. Not just a few drops but a hard, steady downpour. Much too wet to practice outside. She pulled her raincoat off
its
hook and put on her rubbers. She went out and across to the big top. At this hour she would find a place where nobody was working. She had by now become more circus-minded, and as she splashed along she felt sorry it was a pull-down day. If this went on the men would have a bad time getting out.

The weather had kept most people away from early work. There was nobody in sight except Ben, who was leaning against one of the king-poles chewing his usual straw, and Peter, who was riding. Santa chose a place in the main entrance to work. She took
off
her raincoat and rubbers. She went into the big top to put them on a seat. Then she stood staring at Peter.

“Make him change now, Peter.” Ben spoke dearly in spite of the straw. “
‘E’s
cantered enough on that fore.... Stop ‘im.... That’s right. Now start ‘im on the near fore.... Circle to the right.... That’s it. Now start again.... Keep doin’ it over and over till you’ve got ‘im nice and light to ‘andle... Stop. Make ‘im start clean at the first pressure of your leg. Remember
’osses
are like children. They don’t want more orderin’ about than they must ’ave, but if you do give one see it’s obeyed instant… That’s nice an’ clean… Don’t let ‘im ‘urry … ‘Urrying, ‘e gets ‘is ‘unches out of line.”

In the shadow in the entrance Santa was not seen. In any case both Ben and Peter were too absorbed to notice anyone. To say Santa was startle was to put it. If she had thought about Peter’s riding lessons all she had pictured him sitting quietly on a horse which walked slowly round the ring. But all this cantering was startling. Besides, even to her ignorant eye Peter had a good seat. He looked part of the horse. And he was so calm and confident carrying Ben’s orders. She made a face at herself. Look at him! Why hadn’t he told her how good he was getting? No wonder he thought he had better be a groom.

She went back to the entrance and began her exercises. She worked especially hard. If Peter could ride like that it was time she did something well. She sat down and held her toes. She straightened her knees. She bent forward. She would get her forehead right down to her knees today. Peter wasn’t going to be the only one who could do things.

It was while she was working that something made her remember they’d be at Torquay tomorrow! Then it would only be three days to Gus’s birthday. She must catch Peter after his lesson. Nobody had said anything more about fireworks. Perhaps they could risk buying the driving gloves that morning. Exeter was a big town. Just kind of place to buy them.

She found Peter in the stables. He was feeding Mustard and talking to Ben.

“Hallo,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s raining. I couldn’t practice outside.” She came up to Peter. She whispered although she knew it was rude, but really there was nothing else to do. “Do you think we could get the gloves today? It’s next Wednesday.”

Peter head having her whisper. It looked, he thought, as if they were saying something about Ben.

“Don’t whisper m my ear,” he grumbled. “It tickles. Why can’t you speak up? There’s nothing Ben can’t hear.

Santa was indignant. They had kept all their plans for Gus’s birthday a secret. Peter was a fool. He might have realized what she was whispering about. Very well, she would teach him. She raised her voice to a positive roar.