Mrs. Malory and A Time To Die (2 page)

She wrenched open the rear door of the car, flung her riding things inside and scrambled in after them, presumably in case any of her friends saw her with people who made such uncool remarks. Rosemary looked at me and pulled a face, and I smiled back.

However, in the car—presumably safe from the observation of her peers—Delia held forth at great length about the glories of the ride.

“We had a lovely lot of cantering. Tsar canters really well; he really likes to go. And we got as far as the Giant’s Chair this time. You know how last time it was too windy high up there and the horses were getting spooked. Tsar tried to bolt, but I pulled him round all right. Liz said I did really well. Gran, do you think Daddy
will
see about that loan pony we saw advertised? If
you
speak to him, I’m sure he will. Liz said there’s room for us to keep him at livery here. Oh yes, and Mummy said I could have another jumping lesson, so I booked in for next Friday, and Charlie said he’d be taking it! Isn’t that wicked!”

Not surprisingly, Charlie is something of a hero with the young who frequent the stables, and he’s wonderful with them. He and Jo have no children of their own but are always surrounded with a crowd of the young. Mostly girls, of course.

 

When Rosemary dropped me off at home on her way to pick up Alex (“He’s completely unmusical,” Rosemary says, “but Jilly thinks piano lessons are somehow good for him—I can’t imagine why!”), I let the animals out and, on an impulse, got out one of the old photograph albums that live in the chest in the hall. I turned over the pages and smiled at the pictures of my younger self, formally dressed in boots, breeches and hacking jacket with a shirt and tie, on Prudence, an elderly mare who once lost her head and bolted with me, trying to join the hunt when she heard the sound of the hounds in the distance. There were photographs of Michael in riding gear too, but boys seem to grow out of their horsey phase more quickly than girls, and he soon gave it up in favor of fishing and ferreting. I suppose it won’t be long, though, before Alice wants to ride too.

My thoughts were interrupted by the phone. Its ring seemed to have a particularly imperious tone and I wasn’t surprised to find that the caller was my friend Anthea. Brunswick Lodge is a large house, the center of most of the social activities of Taviscombe. It is staffed entirely by volunteers who, as is well-known, need a very firm hand to control them. Anthea is that firm hand.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, without any sort of preamble. “I’ve been trying to get you all afternoon.”

“I went with Rosemary to fetch Delia from the riding stables,” I said, an apologetic note creeping involuntarily into my voice.

“Oh.” From Anthea’s tone I gathered she didn’t think it was much of an excuse. “Well, anyway, it’s about the bring and buy next Wednesday morning. Can you take over? Maureen says she’s got to go to visit her mother in hospital in Taunton, though why she can’t go in the afternoon, I don’t know.”

At times like this one doesn’t say no to Anthea, and I found myself agreeing to do far more than simply “take over”—providing cakes and scones, for example, and arranging for the trestle tables to be picked up from the Scouts’ Hall. I was just about to ring off when Anthea suddenly said, “Oh yes, and talking about the stables, you know Charlie Hamilton, don’t you?”

“Well, yes,” I said warily.

“I thought it might be a good idea to get him to give a talk about show jumping and all that sort of thing when we start our autumn season. It might bring in some of the younger people. We could do with some young blood. The over-sixties are all very well, but we have to look to the future.”

Since Anthea’s views on the young are usually condemnatory to put it mildly, this was quite a turnaround. Still, I was determined to not get involved.

“Not really a good idea,” I said. “I don’t think it would be tactful to ask him to talk about the old days.”

“Whyever not?” Anthea is not renowned for her tact.

“Oh, you know, the way everything fell apart for him, the memories must still be very painful.”

“What nonsense.” I sometimes wonder if Anthea has ruthlessly expunged from
her
memory anything that might give her the slightest feeling of disquiet. “Oh well,” she went on, “I’ll have a think about it and get back to you.”

As it turned out, Ron Murphy, who usually fetches the trestles for us, was away on holiday. (“What he wants to go to
Egypt
for, I don’t know,” his sister said when I rang. “I blame all these television programs about pyramids and pharaohs and nonsense like that.
I
wouldn’t cross the street to see one of those horrible mummy things—morbid, if you ask me!”) As a result I had to try to make other arrangements, without success, so I had to fall back on my last hope—Michael.

“I know you’re busy, darling,” I said, “but it’ll take you only half an hour and I’d be so grateful. There’ll be someone there to help you load them into the Land Rover.”

“I suppose I could manage Thursday evening,” Michael said, “but in return, I’ve a favor to ask you.”

“Of
course.
What is it?”

“Will you look after your granddaughter next Friday? Thea and I want to go to Taunton to see poor old Jonah. He’s just had his gallbladder out and is feeling a bit low, and frankly, I don’t think Alice and hospital visiting are a good mix.”

“Very wise. Of course you must go and see Jonah—he’s your best friend after all. Do give him my love. And I’d love to have Alice. If it’s a nice day, we could go to the beach.”

 

As it turned out we didn’t go to the beach because Rosemary rang me that morning in some agitation.

“Sheila, I hate to ask, but could you possibly collect Delia from her riding lesson this afternoon? Jilly’s out of action and Roger’s taking Alex to the cricket, and now I’ve just heard from Mother that she’s made an appointment to have her eyes tested. Mr. Mackenzie doesn’t usually see people in the afternoon, but she persuaded him! And she didn’t think to tell me until this morning. I can take Delia to the stables, but if you could collect her at three o’clock and take her back with you, I’ll fetch her as soon as I’ve sorted Mother out.”

Since Mrs. Dudley is another person one doesn’t say no to, I quite understood Rosemary’s predicament.

“No, that’s fine. I’m looking after Alice, but I’m sure she’d love to go to see the horses. Unless,” I said, “you think Delia might find it
embarrassing.
”

Rosemary laughed. “Apparently it doesn’t work like that. Small children are all right—at least small
girls
are. They can be bossed about and patronized. She’ll be delighted to have someone to show off to.”

We got to the stables early and stood watching Delia in the ring below with two other girls. Charlie stood there, leaning on his stick and calling out instructions while Liz, one of the stable girls, moved forward occasionally to pick up a pole that had been knocked down. Alice was enthralled and tugged at my arm.

“Gran, Gran, can we go down and see them? I want to see the horses!”

“Hallo, Sheila.” Jo had come up behind me. “And who have we here?”

“Oh, hello, Jo. This is my granddaughter, Alice.”

“Hello, Alice. Would you like to come and see
my
horses?”

Alice, who is usually shy with strangers, took Jo’s hand immediately, and they went off towards the stable yard. When I caught up with them, Jo had lifted Alice up to stroke the nose of a large chestnut whose head protruded from one of the loose boxes.

“It’s all right,” Jo said to me. “Captain’s very gentle.”

“Captain,” Alice said with satisfaction, “
likes
me stroking him.” And, as Jo put her down she asked, “Can I ride him?”

“He’s too big for you,” Jo said. She thought for a moment, and then she called out to the other stable girl, who was filling a hay net, “Pam, could you bring Cracker out into the yard, please.”

Pam led a small Exmoor pony from one of the stables and put a saddle and bridle on him. Jo turned to me. “She’ll be quite safe on him. Pam will hold him. Is that all right?”

Alice was wild with excitement, so I nodded.

Jo lifted her onto the pony’s back and said, “Hold on tight to his mane.”

“I want to hold the strings,” Alice said, so Jo showed her how to hold the reins, and Pam slowly walked the pony round the yard.

Jo smiled. “A natural. Look how well she’s sitting down. How old is she?”

“She’s seven, nearly eight,” I said.

“The perfect age to start,” Jo said. “And no, I’m not touting for customers. I just think, like I said, that she’s a natural, and she’s obviously enjoying it.”

“I’ll have to see what Thea and Michael think,” I said.

Pam brought Cracker back round the yard towards us. I was amused to see Alice’s solemn face, concentrating hard on what she was doing.

“She did very well,” Pam said, lifting her down. “She’s full of confidence.”

“Did you see me, Gran?” Alice was all excitement again. “Can I come ride Cracker again—ride him properly?”

“We’ll have to see, darling,” I said, but I knew from experience that once Alice had set her mind on something, she was unstoppable.

We collected Delia, and all the way home and while they were both having tea, Delia and Alice talked horses. Or rather Delia laid down the law, and Alice, her fervent acolyte, drank it all in.

When Thea and Michael called to collect her, I explained what had happened (with antiphonal comments from Alice) and told them what Jo had said. With some relief I learned that Thea used to be a keen rider in her youth.

“I’ve been meaning to get back into it,” she said, “but I never got around to it. I’d love to go with Alice.”

“Jo’s a very good teacher,” Michael said, “and Charlie was wonderful. He could still go hacking when I was learning—that was before his leg got so bad—and it was a terrific experience to go out with him. No, if Jo says Alice is up to it, and if”—he turned to his daughter—“
if
she’s a very good girl, then I don’t see why we shouldn’t give it a try.”

“Oh well,” Rosemary said when I told her about it, “it had to happen sooner or later. And, really, it’s been marvelous this holiday. Delia spends all her time up at the stables—never wants to go anywhere else. Not just riding, but mucking out and cleaning tack, polishing bits and bridles and so forth.”

“Most stables are partly run on child labor,” I said.

“Very true,” Rosemary agreed. “It was so funny, the first time Delia asked Jo if she could help around the stables, Jo agreed and then gave her a bucket of water, some soap and a brush, and told her to scrub down all the tables and things in the tack room.”

“Goodness!”

“And Delia was thrilled—Delia, who considers herself martyred if she has to stack the dishwasher, and as for tidying her room . . . !”

I smiled. “Little girls and horses,” I said. “And I can see
I’m
going to be hanging around stables quite a bit myself from now on.”

Chapter Two

“Are you going to Dunster Show?” Rosemary asked.

“I don’t know; it depends on the weather,” I replied. “It was pretty miserable last year, trailing about in the rain and absolutely
ghastly
trying to get the car out—all that mud. Lots of people had to be pulled out by tractors.”

“The forecast isn’t bad. Overcast but not actually wet. I said I’d go with Jilly and the children. Roger’s working, of course. Delia’s mad to see the horses. One of her school friends is showing her pony and she says Delia can help her groom it beforehand, so we’ll have to get there early. Do come and we can lunch together in the Members’ Tent.”

“I might go with Michael and Thea, in the Land Rover so we don’t get stuck. I expect Thea—and Alice now—will want to watch the jumping. I love watching for a bit, but they’re always hours behind and it goes on forever, so lunch with you would be a marvelous excuse for getting away!”

We’ve all been going to the show ever since we were children, and every year for the last I don’t know how long we’ve all said we’re not going
this
year—it’s too exhausting, too crowded, and, anyway, not what it was—but, in the end, we usually do go. It’s not just the show itself that draws us, but, really, it’s a way of catching up with people we hardly ever see at other times, old friends from way back, people who’ve moved away, but who come back “one more time,” a chance to catch up on the news.

“It’s not only Jilly and the children,” Rosemary said, “but Mother expects me to go, now that she can’t manage to get there herself, to take back the gossip.”

“Oh well,” I said, “there’ll be plenty of that in the Members’ Tent. Drinking gin and tonics rather too early in the day does seem to loosen tongues quite remarkably.”

The weather wasn’t too bad—gray and chilly—a typical English August day, in fact. We got there quite early and wandered round, looking at the livestock—the massive Red Devon cattle and jolly little Dexters, and all the wonderfully woolly Exmoor Horn sheep, the only breed I can recognize. After a bit we met up with Rosemary and her family, who were sitting on straw bales round the ring, waiting for the horsey events.

“Oh, poor Jilly,” I said. “Is your wrist still in plaster?”

“No, it’s just bound up now and getting on quite well, but I thought I’d put it in a sling so that, with any luck, people won’t jostle me.”

“Where’s Delia?” Alice demanded.

“She’s helping her friend with a pony, but she’ll be back here soon,” Rosemary said. She made a place for us beside her, and Michael took Alex, who was getting restive at the lack of activity, to look at the tractors and other assorted farm machinery. Delia joined us just as the tannoy was urging the child’s pony novice class to “go into the collecting ring
now
.”

“Rachel’s awfully nervous,” Delia said, addressing Alice as the only person present worthy of the information, “and Muffet—that’s her horse, a Welsh mountain pony that is absolutely marvelous—was playing up. I had to hold him while she was plaiting his mane and tail, but he settled down, so I think she’ll be all right.”