Flambards by K. M. Peyton

Author:K. M. Peyton
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-19-273637-6
Published: 1967-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

‘This is it,’ William said. Christina was relieved, more used to riding than walking, When William pointed out a gateway ahead. Although they were in a back lane which led nowhere, well off the main road, the gates were impressive, set in a high new brick wall. William opened them, and Christina led Sweetbriar through. Inside, the gravel drive curved away between thick woods on either hand, which Christina was sure must be full of good foxes. Curious, and slightly nervous, she led the mare along behind William, until a final wriggle of the drive revealed the front of a small stone Georgian house with a white-painted front door. To the left of the house was a cobbled stableyard, where two cars stood, one on either side of the trough; to the right of the house a big new barn had been built, with doors that opened out into a large field where a herd of heifers grazed. Behind the house there seemed to be more outbuildings and an old orchard. There was no garden, but the grass all around was neatly mown and some early crocuses were showing through. The whole picture was neat and uneccentric, not at all what Christina had been expecting.

Two men were working on one of the cars. They waved cheerfully to William and one of them shouted. ‘The old man’s indoors.’ But at that moment the front door opened and someone who Christina assumed was the old man himself came out. Not that he gave the impression of great age; he was spry, almost gnomish-looking, with tufty iron-grey hair and gold-rimmed spectacles through which he peered eagerly, as if anxious not to miss anything. His clothes were certainly unusual. He wore a large navy-blue jersey like a sailors, black pin-striped trousers, and a leather jacket without sleeves.

‘Ah, Will,’ he said, sounding pleased. ‘We’ve solved that trouble with the carburettor. Lunch is almost ready. What’s that?’ He lifted his head like a pointer and peered down through his spectacles. ‘A horse?’

‘Yes. And this is my cousin, Christina,’ William said.

‘How do you do,’ Christina said politely.

‘Very pleased to meet you, my dear. You may stay to lunch.’ He looked at Sweetbriar again. ‘I don’t know about the horse, though.’

‘It was going to be shot,’ William explained. ‘And we brought it here to save its life. I hoped you wouldn’t mind.’

‘No, indeed. I wouldn’t like to see it shot. Joe will sec to it. It can eat the orchard. Joe!’

One of the men from under the car scrambled out and came up. ‘You understand horses, don’t you? Could you manage this one? It’s to live here, I take it?’ he asked William.

‘If you don’t mind,’ William said.

‘Oh, yes, she’s nice,’ Joe said appreciatively. ‘She can go in the box next to the motorcar. There’s plenty of hay and straw that we got for the heifers. And she can go in the orchard daytime, keep that grass down.’

‘There,’ said Mr. Dermot. ‘I knew Joe would understand.’

‘Her name is Sweetbriar,’ Christina said, handing over the halter.

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