The Prize (13 page)

“I'm sure there's been some misunderstanding, Patricia,” Dominic Blackwell was literally rubbing his hands together. He cast a glance at Kennedy who was still standing there looking sullen. “Kennedy is my head girl, and I can assure you that her end of term assessment will be glowing.”

“Excellent,” Patricia Kirkwood looked at her watch. “I can't stay long, but I'd love a tour of your facilities before I go – that is, if you have the time to show me around?”

“Of course,” Dominic Blackwell ran a hand through his luxuriant mane. “Please come this way.”

He turned back to Georgie. “Untack the horse and get my next mount ready. You can warm him up for me in the arena.”

“I'll do that, Dominic,” Kennedy offered. “Georgie can go back to mucking out the boxes.”

Dominic Blackwell would have preferred to have Georgie warming up his horse for him. But what choice did he have?

“Georgie,” he said, “Kennedy is in charge. You're to do whatever she tells you. ”

Georgie's worst nightmare had become reality.

“You are back on dung duty, Parker,” Kennedy said, snatching the reins off her. “I warned you, didn't I? Never mess with a Kirkwood!”

Ever since she'd been working for Allegra Hickman, Alice had been in love with Damsel. Of all the horses on the yard, the brown mare was by far her favourite. The mare was an Oldenburg, with the same strong physique, a neck with an impressive topline, and a compact frame with powerful haunches that Caspian possessed. Her paces were so floaty, when she was in motion it appeared to Alice as if Damsel barely touched the ground.

Damsel was only a medium-grade dressage mount and had yet to master the more advanced manoeuvres like passage or pirouettes, but the mare was coming along brilliantly and could do a very nice half-pass and lovely shoulder-ins.

Alice was thrilled when she saw on the blackboard in the stables that she was down to ride Damsel in her lesson with Allegra that afternoon.

“I think this mare is ready for some real work, don't you?” Allegra said as she strode into the arena. In her hands she had a piece of string with a series of knots in it, and she came over to Damsel, talking softly to the mare as she attached one end underneath her belly to the centre of her girth.

“OK, Alice,” Allegra said. “Ask Damsel to bend and flex at the poll and drop her head.”

Alice did as her trainer asked. She flexed the mare by putting her legs on and putting pressure on the reins until Damsel dropped her head in submission.

“A little more please, make her take her head down further,” Allegra said clinically.

Alice tightened her grip until her knuckles were white and asked the mare to lower her head further still. Now Damsel's head was bent right over so that her forehead seemed to almost face the ground below her and her nose was tucked into her chest.

“More!” Allegra said.

Alice looked at her instructor, horrified. “I can't get her any lower than this,” she said weakly.

“You can,” Allegra corrected her. “You just need to shorten your reins and take a firmer grip. Now do it!”

“I don't think she's comfortable,” Alice said. She could hear Damsel's tail swishing, and she could feel the mare resisting her hard, brutal hands against the reins.

“Shorten the reins,” Allegra commanded, “Pull her head down. More.”

Alice pulled Damsel's head until the mare's chin was virtually wedged into her chest.

“Hold her there,” Allegra said. She reached down to the piece of knotted string, and taking the free end she attached this to Damsel's bit. Even if Alice released her hands Damsel's head would remain tucked to her chest.

“OK,” Allegra said. “Now take her out on to the outside track of the school and start working her in that frame at a trot, please.”

Alice was so shocked it felt like she was moving in a dream. She did as Allegra told her to. She took the mare out to the edge of the arena and asked her to trot. As soon as they began to move forward into a faster pace, Alice could feel the difference in the mare. She was stiff and her hindquarters seemed to move robotically as if the pressure on her head was causing so much pain that the mare couldn't swing through her back. Her tail kept swishing constantly and her ears were flattened. Alice felt a lump rise in her throat as she heard the mare grinding her teeth against the bit. With each stride she grunted and snorted, unable to breathe through her restricted airways.

None of this seemed to bother Allegra Hickman. “Press her on into a trot!” Allegra commanded. “And now the other rein! Half-pass! And shoulder-in!”

Alice felt a surge of relief when Allegra finally called her back to the centre of the arena.

“I think that's enough of that,” Allegra said as she undid the knot on the string. Then she added, “Now, let's get serious.”

With a sick punch to her stomach, Alice realised what was happening. Allegra Hickman was not removing the string on Damsel's bit. She was preparing to tighten it.

“Pull her head down again for me,” Allegra ordered.

When Alice looked back years later, she would always say that this was the moment that defined her as a professional rider. It is the hardest thing in the world to stand up to an adult when you are young. It is even harder still to tell someone who supposedly knows more than you that they are wrong. But Alice knew she had no choice. She felt Damsel's pain so keenly it was as if her own neck were being twisted to the point of torment. She couldn't be a part of this any longer.

“I'm not doing it,” she told Allegra. “It's cruel and I don't see how you can't understand that.”

She released the reins, but the string held Damsel's head and kept it bent. “I won't ride her like this. Undo the string now and I'll take her back to the stable.”

Allegra Hickman looked at the young girl sat there defiantly in front of her. “Are you kidding me?”

She gave a mocking laugh, as if this was nothing more than a joke to her. But Alice could see that the confrontation had her more shaken than she would admit. Allegra's hands were trembling.

“I have given you the opportunity to be my apprentice, to learn from one of the masters of dressage and you think you know more than me?” Allegra Hickman's tone was growing harsher by the second.

“You are not an authority on riding!” Allegra's words were drenched in venom. “You have no right to question me, or my methods!”

“No,” a voice behind her said. “But I do.”

Allegra Hickman turned around. Standing on the sidelines of the arena with the world's most thunderous expression on her face, was Tara Kelly.

Chapter Thirteen

A
s Tara Kelly strode across the arena towards her, Allegra Hickman made it clear that she was not pleased to have company.

“I wasn't aware you were coming to visit today, Tara,” she said with a chill to her voice. “You might have given me a little warning.”

“It's an impromptu visit,” Tara replied. “I like to check up on my students and see how their placements are going.”

She looked at Alice and Damsel. “And right now I'm not entirely happy with what I'm seeing here.”

Tara walked past Allegra, ignoring the indignant look from the dressage rider, and went straight up to Damsel and undid the knotted string releasing the mare's chin from her chest.

“I wasn't aware that you were working your horses in rollkur, Allegra,” Tara said.

Allegra Hickman went straight on the defensive. “Don't you come here and mess about with my horses and lecture me!” she shook her head in disbelief. “You – the eventer who knows nothing about proper dressage – have come to point out the error of my ways? How dare you judge my schooling!”

“I wouldn't call this schooling,” Tara said keeping her cool, “I would call it torture. How is tethering this poor mare's head down like this supposed to achieve a supple, elastic back and neck? This mare could barely move. She was in pain!”

Allegra Hickman had a defiant look in her eyes. “This is how we train young horses these days,” she snapped. “Without rollkur no horse can achieve the flashy leg movements that get the top scores. If I gave up my methods I would sacrifice my chances of ever winning another Grand Prix. This is what I have to do if I want to win.”

“Riding a horse like that will destroy them,” Tara said. “Their bodies aren't meant to bend to extremes.”

“I don't expect you to understand,” Allegra shot back. “You are ignorant of the top dressage methods.”

Tara shook her head. “I don't understand how someone who I once admired and respected could knowingly make her horses suffer just so she can get to the top.”

“You think just because they've banned rollkur from the warm-up arenas that the riders aren't still doing it in private?” Allegra said darkly. “Wake up, Tara! This is the real world.”

Tara looked at the mare standing beside Allegra Hickman. The mare's breathing had recovered now that Tara had released the knot, but she was still trembling, her coat was wet with sweat.

“This isn't the real world,” Tara said, “This is hell.”

She looked up at Alice who had been in saddle on Damsel's back the whole time. “Dismount and get your things, Miss Dupree. Your apprenticeship is over.”

That day Alice left Allegra's yard for the last time. She didn't say goodbye to her employer – which was fine by her. She had nothing more to say to Allegra Hickman. But she felt a lump in her throat as she said farewell to the horses.

“I'm sorry you had to go through this, Alice,” Tara said as they drove out the gates and on to the back roads that led to Blainford. “When you told me about what was happening, I was so shocked, I'm afraid I didn't know how to react. If I'd had any idea that Allegra Hickman was practising rollkur I would never have placed you on her yard. It goes without saying that you will get a pass mark for your final grade this term.”

“So what's going to happen now?” Alice asked.

Tara considered this. “It's too late to find you another placement at this stage with only two weeks left in the apprenticeships, so I think the best plan would be for you to help me in the stables for the next fortnight. I'll give you some private cross-country lessons on Caspian and we'll get him up to speed for next year. I think he'll be an excellent sophomore horse for you – he's a bold jumper.”

She had expected Alice to be happy about this, but the girl in the front seat beside her still looked upset. “Is there something wrong, Alice?”

“I didn't mean me. I meant what's going to happen to the horses? What are we going to do about Damsel, the brown mare that I was riding when you came today? She's a really lovely horse and Allegra is going to ruin her.”

“Unfortunately that's Allegra's choice,” Tara replied. “She can do what she likes in the privacy of her own yard. All I can do is inform the owners of her horses about what I've seen at her stables – and perhaps some of them may choose to take their horses elsewhere for schooling. I'm afraid Allegra is considered to be a top rider and many of her owners will undoubtedly dismiss my concerns and leave them with her at that yard. They want results and they know Allegra will deliver.”

“But she's putting those horses through agony!”

“I know,” Tara agreed. “Some of the horses will survive her methods – but many others will develop injuries and the damage will eventually make them unrideable. Even the ones who do manage to get through her training will probably have brief lives in the spotlight because their necks and backs won't be able to stand the rollkur for long. Their careers will be short and brutal. ”

“I'm never going to ride like that,” Alice said, tears running down her cheeks. “I don't care if I don't win. I'll never be like her.”

Tara kept her eyes on the road, and gestured at the glove box. “There are some tissues in there,” she said. And then she added, “I'm very proud of you, Alice. As far as I'm concerned, you're already a greater horsewoman than Allegra Hickman.”

The week that followed Patricia Kirkwood's helicopter entrance brought a whole new nightmare for Georgie. Now that Kennedy Kirkwood had been reinstated as head girl it was becoming horribly clear to Georgie just how little Kennedy actually knew about horses.

Kennedy had grown up being lavished with the very best instructors and horses – Patricia even paid for Hans Schockelmann to fly all the way from Europe to give Kennedy private lessons.

But handling a horse on the ground was an entirely different story. On the Kirkwood estate there were staff to do everything, and even at Blainford Kennedy simply paid other first-years to do her dirty work like mucking out the boxes and pulling manes and tails. As a result she knew virtually nothing about the day-to-day care of her own horse. And on a busy working competition yard she was worse than useless.

Even the most basic tasks like manoeuvring horses into their boxes at the end of the day or tying up haynets in the stalls gave her a total meltdown. Her incompetence didn't escape Dominic Blackwell. But now he was forced to turn a blind eye to keep Patricia happy. “Get Georgie to do it for you,” he would tell Kennedy whenever he caught her making a hash of things.

Get Georgie to do it for you
. In fact, get Georgie to do everything because you don't even know how to pick out a hoof or rug up a horse. Kennedy was head girl by name alone. Georgie was the one that Dominic Blackwell actually relied upon.

With Kennedy at the helm, the stables lurched from one near-crisis to the next. On Friday afternoon, just when Georgie thought she had got through the week without a disaster, she caught Kennedy trying to mix raw sugarbeet into the horse feeds.

“Kennedy,” Georgie was horrified. “You have to soak it in water for two hours first!”

“Oh you always have to be right, don't you? You're such a drama queen!” Kennedy had ignored Georgie's protests as she poured sugarbeet pellets into the tubs.

“I'm serious!” Georgie said. “If you don't soak it first the hard sugarbeet swells in their stomachs – it will kill them!”

Kennedy stopped dishing out the pellets and put the bucket down in a huff. “Fine!” she sniffed, “You do the feeds if you're such an expert.”

Georgie took the beet pellets out again carefully and then hunted around the feed room. “Hey! Where's all the sugarbeet that I already soaked last night?” she asked. “It was sitting over there in the red bucket.”

Kennedy stiffened. “Oh,” she said. “I thought that was something disgusting. I threw it out.”

Georgie sighed. “Never mind. I'll give them chaffage instead.”

She began to root about in the storage bins, digging out scoops of various feeds and putting together the meals for all the horses. She was mixing up a bin of chaffage and broodmare mix with her bare hands when Kennedy came back in. Kennedy was reading over the contents of a white folder with a gold and blue sash on the cover.

“What's that?”

Kennedy glared at her. “It's for the head girl, not the minion.”

She sat down on a feed bin and began to flick through the folder while Georgie continued the grubby task of hand-mixing all the feeds. Georgie read the front of the folder. It was the programme for the upcoming Grand Prix at the Kentucky Horse Park.

Georgie stopped mixing the feed. “Can I please have a look?” she asked.

Kennedy stared at her. “Sure. Take my boyfriend and then take my competition programme!”

Georgie groaned. “Kennedy, I keep telling you it wasn't like that…”

“Oh, whatever!” Kennedy clearly didn't want to discuss Conrad. She began flicking through the programme. “It's a two-day event,” she informed Georgie. “Saturday is the mid-grade classes, and on Sunday they're jumping Grand Prix.”

Kennedy turned the page and frowned. “There's a class on the Sunday called Mirror Jumping. Is it like when you jump over a mirror?”

Georgie shook her head. “I've seen them do it at Hickstead. They set up two totally identical showjumping courses – then at the exact same time two riders enter the ring and they both jump against each other. The first one to finish wins.”

“Dominic must be entered because he's got a tick beside it.” Kennedy sighed. “I suppose he's expecting us to work both days. I can't wait for this apprenticeship thing to be over!”

Georgie's blood suddenly ran cold. She leapt at Kennedy. “Let me see that programme!”

“No!” Kennedy whisked it out of her range. “Your hands are filthy.”

“Kennedy!!” Georgie reached out and made a snatch at the programme. “Give it here!”

She had it in her hands before Kennedy could stop her and she flicked to the front of the programme. On the blue sash across the cover the date of the competition was stamped out in gold letters. Saturday the 23rd was Saturday week! The same date as the Firecracker Handicap.