“Lead Shadow home?” said Simon in a very surprised voice. “Well, I suppose I can. But what on earth’s the mystery about? You’re not going to do anything silly, I hope. I mean, you haven’t gone mad, or anything, have you?”

  “Of course not,” I replied with dignity. “Surely a person is entitled to transact private business if they want to?”

  “I think that you might have let Gay ride,” said Lucy. “It’s an insult to use the ponies as transport; you could easily have caught a bus or borrowed a bicycle.”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake shut up,” I said, handing Shadow’s reins to Simon, who was looking very disapproving.

  “For heaven’s sake be sensible, Christabel,” he said, “because if you get into a mess I shall get into a row for letting you go off like this.”

  “All right,” I said in a very irritable voice. “I haven’t the least intention of doing anything silly—I’m not eight, you know.”

  “Are you going to be home in time for lunch?” asked Adrian.

  “I hope so,” I said, “but you needn’t eat my share if I’m late. Good-bye,” and before they could think of any more questions to ask I was running back up the towpath as fast as I could go. It was a much longer walk back to the field where I had seen Sweep than it had appeared when I was riding; as I walked, I made a series of plans ranging from cunning to violence. I felt that if it was necessary I ought to be able to overpower the small boy easily enough, but, as I didn’t wish to be taken up for assault or anything else, I wasn’t going to use force unless it was absolutely essential. I was just beginning to feel that I should never reach the field where I had seen Sweep and that, if I did, he would have long since disappeared when, to my delight, I saw the boy walking along the towpath swinging the chain, while Sweep dawdled behind at a very leisurely pace, stopping to sniff every interesting tuft of grass. I decided that, for once, fate was acting with me and I felt in my pocket to make sure that I still had the piece of meat I had pinched from the kitchen. The boy eyed me curiously, I suppose he wondered what I had done with my pony and why I had come back. Sweep was quite a long way behind and as I passed him I called his name softly and showed him the meat. As I had hoped, the sight of food was enough to tempt a spaniel.

  Sweep turned and began to follow me. I told him that he was a good dog, gave him a small bit of meat and then, showing him the rest, broke into a gentle run. He still followed me. The boy didn’t notice what was happening until he reached the gate at the other end of the field, then he started to call “Sweep, Sweep,” in a frantic and rather shrill voice. Sweep listened for a moment with cocked ears, but I told him that he was a good dog, that there was no need for him to go, and showed him the meat again. We ran on swiftly, and when we were out of the boy’s sight, I stopped and slipped my belt through Sweep’s collar. He didn’t mind at all and he followed willingly as I hurried back to Grimley, running as much of the way as I had breath for.

  I asked a fat woman, carrying a heavily laden shopping basket, the way to The Cedars, which, luckily, was quite close. Deciding that I had now outwitted and out-distanced the dog-snatching boy I walked more slowly, feeling quite pleased with myself, though I wished that my antagonist had been worthier; it would have been much more fun to outwit a bearded burly man than a boy half my age and size. As I neared The Cedars my mind became filled with misgivings. I began to wonder whether the spaniel was really Sweep, but I reassured myself by calling to him, he certainly knew his name and anyhow I remembered that the boy had called him Sweep, rather rashly, I thought, considering that pretty well everyone in Lower Grimley must know that he was missing, but perhaps he had forgotten secrecy in the horror of the moment. Not that it would have been much good calling any name other than Sweep as, of course, the dog wouldn’t have obeyed. When I reached the elegant white gates of The Cedars my heart sank lower still. In spite of being reasonably sure that I had got Sweep, I felt that it was impossible that I should really get a five pounds reward—it was the sort of thing that only happens in books. Still, I reminded myself, evidently books were based on life because I had found Amber pulling a cart, though I had always dismissed Lucy’s lurid suggestion of his probable fate as pony book nonsense. The thought of Amber and what might happen to him on Saturday if I hadn’t enough money to buy him, drove me forward.

  Resolutely I walked up the weedless drive, between the smooth lawns scattered with cedars. The house was white and looked to me as though it belonged to the Georgian period. Quite a lot smaller than Bute’s Court, it couldn’t be called magnificent, it wasn’t imposing enough, but I thought that, on the whole, it was the more beautiful of the two houses, and it certainly looked more frivolous. The gardens, though very stately, were a little dull and I could see no sign that their gardener was able to grow carnations! I rang the bell; for ages nothing happened. Sweep yawned, whimpered and finally lay down on the doormat and went to sleep. I decided that at Bute’s Court Daddy would probably have sacked such an inefficient maid before Mummy had even had time to “speak.” Of course, at Underwood Farm people often waited for hours while Gladys peeped out of windows to see who the caller was. If it looked like an impressive stranger she would change her apron and then be very disappointed when she arrived downstairs to find that one of the family had already let him in. The peculiar thing was that all the Westlakes, including Mr. who was, I think, the most conventional, thought this a great joke and no one dreamed of sacking Gladys.

  As I waited, I wondered what Mummy’s smart friends would have thought of Underwood Farm, but of course they would think it quite suitable for an actor and a poet.

  Not that I thought it was being actors and poets that made the Westlakes live as they did; it was just that they didn’t believe that things like impressing people, having smart friends or fashionable clothes, mattered. My reflections were interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps and a maid opened the door. “Good morning” I said, “I believe you’ve lost a dog and I wondered if this was the one?” And I pointed to Sweep.

  “Oh, Lor’, surely Master David ’asn’t been and lost ’im again,” she said. “Sweep, Sweep,” and when he got up and wagged his tail, “Yes, that’s ’im all right. Oh, that boy; ’e is a nuisance. ’Is Mum told ’im to keep the dog on the lead and the police only sent ’im back yesterday. Where did you find ’im?” she asked.

  “On the towpath,” I said, the horrid truth dawning on me slowly. “Well, I’d better be getting along.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to see Mrs. Feltwick?” asked the maid. “She’ll be ever so grateful; Sweep’s such a one for straying; ’e was ten miles away when they found ’im yesterday and then, after all that fuss and bother, Master David goes and lets ’im go again.”

  “ I really think I must be off now,” I said, backing away down the drive. However the maid pointed out that she had my belt and would have to put Sweep indoors before she could give it back to me. While she was doing this I heard the most frightful noise break out inside the house; by the sound I guessed that Master David, or in other words my dirty dog-snatching small boy, had returned and was telling his sad tale. He appeared to be shouting from one end of the house to the other and I caught an occasional sentence. “Stolen by a beastly girl” was one, and I began to wonder whether it wouldn’t be a good thing to leave without my belt, when the door opened and the maid practically flung it at me. “You’re a nice one,” she said. “Tempt the dog away from the poor kid and then come ’ere, trying to claim the reward. I’d like to fetch a policeman to you, that I would. Go on now; be off with you.”

  “Actually,” I said, feeling myself go red with rage, “I thought that David was a dog thief. How was I to know that you’d found your wretched dog? You should have put another notice in the paper or something. Anyway I think you’re jolly ungrateful; I’ve walked miles to bring him back and now I’m going to be frightfully late for lunch. If you lose him again, you can be quite sure that I won’t look for him or even bring him back if I see him. And you can tell David that if he washed occasionally people would not mistake him for a dog thief.”

  Feeling that my temper was quite out of control I turned and hurried down the drive before the maid had had time to recover from the violence of my attack. As always, I was regretting the foolish words, which had escaped me almost before they were out of my mouth. I was so angry that I strode back to the village at a tremendous speed and couldn’t bring myself to talk politely to the old man who told me how to get back to Underwood Farm by busing into Fritney and out again to Langley Hill. I had to wait twenty minutes for the bus and when it did come it was frightfully bumpy and had extremely hard seats. How I longed for our smooth Rolls-Royce, faultlessly driven by Dobson, the chauffeur. I had a miserable journey home: I knew that I had made an utter fool of myself, I didn’t know what to tell the Westlakes, who would probably ask what I had been doing and, worst of all, I was still no nearer to buying Amber. When at last I reached Underwood Farm, with legs aching from so much walking and feeling slightly sick from the jolting of the crowded bus, everyone had finished lunch. I told Mrs. Westlake that I was sorry to be so late, but she answered that “it was quite all right.” After I had eaten, I wandered up to the nursery; it was raining and all four of the Westlakes were there.

  “I hope,” said Simon, as I walked in, “that you transacted your secret business successfully?”

  All my bottled-up feelings of anger, misery and hurt pride seemed to escape at these words.

  “No, I didn’t,” I said furiously, “if you’re so jolly inquisitive that you must know, it all went wrong. I was accused of trying to steal a dog and now Amber is sure to get a bad home, because however hard I try, I can’t make any money.” And then, feeling that once again I had made a fool of myself and that tears were imminent, I rushed out of the room, slamming the door behind me.

  8

  None of the Westlakes mentioned my silly outburst that night, but on Wednesday morning I knew, by their many whispered conversations, that something unusual was afoot and, after breakfast, I submitted to their tactful attempts to shepherd me into the nursery. I had no idea what they wanted me for and I didn’t greatly care. The fact that there were only three posts left for the money from Daddy to arrive by, the thought of Amber’s fate if the money didn’t arrive in time and the still rankling remembrance of the Sweep episode, had all combined to drive me to the gloomiest depths of despair. Gay was sitting on the table looking vague as usual, Simon, who had done the shepherding, shut the door and half leant, half sat on the window sill. The twins sat side by side on the sofa; they looked very self-conscious and were evidently stifling a desire to giggle. I threw myself into the wicker armchair and waited for them to begin. Simon appeared to be the spokesman.

  “Look, Christabel,” he said. “We decided that it was a bit risky to pin all our hopes for Amber on your father’s money turning up in time, so we thought it would be a good thing to have a sort of emergency store and between us we’ve been able to collect forty pounds, from our post office accounts, to lend you in case it doesn’t arrive in time.”

  “We didn’t mean to tell you until after the post on Saturday,” said Lucy.

  “But you were getting so jolly desperate we thought that you might take to a life of crime at any moment,” added Adrian.

  “Anyway that wretched post office expects three days’ notice or something,” said Simon. “I wish that I was old enough to have a banking account.”

  As I expect you will realise I was overjoyed at this unexpected loophole; now, even if Daddy’s money didn’t arrive in time, Amber would be mine again; but I found it difficult to find words to thank the Westlakes in.

  “Gosh,” I said, “that is marvellous of you; thanks most frightfully.”

  The words sounded empty and unconvincing. One used such words to thank people for boxes of chocolates or invitations to the pantomime—when one doesn’t want to go in the least—and they don’t ring true when one uses them in real sincerity. I couldn’t explain to the Westlakes that I felt as though a cartload of coal had been lifted from my mind, so I said, “Thanks awfully,” again, and “I’ll be eternally grateful to you.”

  “Ugh,” said Simon, and I remembered that he hated gratitude.

  “Well, you know what I mean,” I said, “in two days Amber will be mine. Oh, hurray; what a lovely thought.”

  “Of course if your father writes a stern letter saying that he won’t dream of giving you forty pounds, you can still borrow ours,” said Simon, “and pay us back in your old age or from your dress allowance when you ‘come out.’ Debutantes always have huge allowances for kid gloves, don’t they, Gay?” he asked.

  “They used to,” said Gay, “but I should think that allowances have gone to the dogs like everything else.”

  “What shall we do if Amber goes for more than forty pounds?” asked Lucy.

  “I don’t think that it’s very likely,” said Gay.

  “No, not in his present condition anyway,” said Simon.

  “Doubtless the fates will aid us,” said Lucy.

  “I shall tell anyone who starts to bid against us that he’s vicious,” said Adrian, “that’ll put them off.”

  “You’ll be taken up for slander and libel,” said Simon.

  “It’ll be awful if Amber is sold for more than forty pounds,” I said, my delight fast disappearing under this new cloud. “I should have to take to a life of crime after all. But I don’t think that I should make a very good burglar,” I added, remembering the creaking floorboards and squeaking stairs which gave me so many horrid moments on the nights of my midnight rides. “I’m not light-footed enough.”

  “I’ll teach you to pick locks,” said Adrian; “when I lost the key to my money box I opened it with one of Lucy’s hair-grips.”

  “And you lost the hair-grip,” grumbled Lucy.

  “Oh, I do wish that Saturday would come,” I said, “if only the sale were over and Amber mine. The suspense is going to be frightful; I don’t know how I shall survive it.”

  “Compare it with that of people on trial for their lives awaiting the decision of the jury,” said Simon. “Even if someone else buys Amber it won’t be the end. You can save up and make enormous offers for him, which they won’t be able to resist; people are frightfully mercenary, you know.”

  “I suppose everything will turn out all right,” I said, “but I do wish it was over.”

  * * *

  I wished this many more times in the two days that remained before the sale. On Thursday I was anxious enough, but on Friday I felt worse and might easily have gone mad if it hadn’t been for the Westlakes. They decided to devote the morning to riding in the field and I found myself with four instructors. Before long I sacked all of them but Gay, who was by far the best. Simon always flustered me by becoming impatient and scornful; Adrian could generally tell what was wrong but not how to right it, while Lucy thought that I didn’t progress fast enough and sulked when Gay said that I wasn’t to jump the hurdles which Lucy had just put up for me.

  Gay explained everything very clearly and seemed to me to be extremely patient. I rode Shadow all morning, which was hardly fair, as the others were taking it in turns to be horseless, but they insisted, and the Westlakes can be very obstinate if they want. Shadow jumped awfully well and didn’t refuse a single fence and I felt quite pleased with myself, especially as I only fell off once. We spent the afternoon cleaning the tack and playing a mad kind of hide and seek, but, towards evening my anxiety overcame me again. I couldn’t settle down to anything. Books failed to interest me; I sat staring at their pages with sightless eyes, thinking only of Amber. I tried playing darts with Adrian and making people for the hunting scene, but all in vain. I went to bed, but could not sleep. I tossed and turned for hours; I got up and looked out of the window; I tried reading again. I heard twelve strike and then I counted sheep endlessly and I must have fallen asleep for I never heard the clock strike one.

  I wakened early with a feeling of great anticipation, which changed to anxiety as soon as I remembered that it was the day of the sale. “Oh, dear,” were my first words to Lucy, “I’m sure that he’ll go for more than forty pounds.” The horse sale didn’t start until eleven-thirty, so, even after breakfast, I still had three hours and forty-five minutes of suspense. How endless that morning seemed; I have never known time to go so slowly except once in a geometry exam when I only knew the answer to one question and had to spend the rest of the two hours in doodling. Now of course I would write something for The Rider’s Review. But suspense kills inspiration and I certainly couldn’t have written a word on the morning of the sale. The money from Daddy didn’t arrive in the post, so now, if I bought Amber back it would be entirely due to the kindness of the Westlakes and, I told myself, whatever they did or said in the future, I would never say that they were beastly again.