Patricia Leitch: Chestnut Gold (eBook) Jinny 9

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From the high moors the dark figure of a man came striding down through the dawn silence towards Finmory House. The wind whipped his mane of blue-black hair about his gaunt face. His green eyes shone with an inward light like the depth of a wave pierced by the sun. As he made his way towards Finmory, he never lifted his gaze from the small, high window of the room where Jinny Manders lay asleep.

In her field beyond Finmory House, Shantih, Jinny’s chestnut Arab, was standing in the corner closest to the moors. Although she could not see the approaching stranger she seemed to sense his presence and with lifted head, bright eyes and pricked ears she whinnied a welcome.

The man stopped at the edge of Finmory’s grounds. He stood staring up at Jinny’s window, standing without movement, so still that he might have been growing from the hillside. His black clothes seemed moulded to his long limbs and stooping back. The skin of his bony hands and face was dry and wrinkled. He waited while the sky grew clear, the first gulls screeched, and the rising disc of the sun swam upwards behind the mountains. But as the first rays of the sun cascaded over the moorland he turned away and went on towards Inverburgh, a moving shadow through the brightening morning.

No one saw him come or go. Only Shantih’s bannering whinny, and the drum beat of her hooves as she galloped up and down her field, followed him over the hillside.
On the afternoon of the same day, Jinny Manders was sitting on the front steps of Finmory House. She was dressed in her new riding clothes and was watching the hands of her watch creep from four o’clock to half past. When the minute hand reached the half hour, then, at last, it would be time for her to saddle up Shantih and ride to meet the Hortons who were coming to camp at Finmory Bay. Jinny shook the watch irritably, held it up to her ear, but it hadn’t stopped.

‘Ten minutes more,’ she told herself. ‘Another ten minutes and then I can start.’

To set off too soon would be no use, for Jinny knew exactly where she wanted to meet the Hortons. She wanted to meet them where the road snaked down between the moorland to Glenbost village. Then she could watch their car coming towards her, giving her long delicious moments of anticipation—sweet and secret—not yet spoilt by the reality of Sue and her parents. Moments when she could see Pippen’s trailer bouncing along behind the Hortons’ car, and be able to imagine Pippen, self-contained and placid, eyes half closed as he endured the journey, and know that her dream of riding back to Finmory with Sue was about to happen.

‘Sue,’ thought Jinny with pleasure. ‘Sue and Pippen.’
A year ago the Hortons had camped at Finmory Bay and Jinny had made friends with Sue, a girl of her own age who was as crazy about horses as Jinny herself. All summer Jinny had been waiting for the Hortons to come back. They had been on holiday in Greece but had planned to camp at Finmory for a fortnight when they came home from abroad. The fortnight had been changed to a week, and now, in the very last week of Jinny’s summer holidays, they were coming. At last Jinny would have someone to ride with; someone to talk to about Shantih and know that they were really interested in what she was saying.

No one in Jinny’s family was the least horsy. Two years ago the Manders had lived in Stopton, a city filled with metal noise and restless feet, driven by a constant vibration of fear. But now they lived in Finmory House, a stone house in the north-west of Scotland, that stood between wild moorland and Finmory Bay.

Jinny’s father had been a probation officer in Stopton and was now a potter, so worried about making enough money to support his family that most of the time he only saw Shantih as an unnecessary expense. Jinny’s mother listened to Jinny’s endless horse madness because she loved Jinny, not because she was interested in horses.

Mike was eleven, two years younger than Jinny.
Although he rode Bramble, a black Highland pony borrowed from Miss Tuke’s trekking centre, to school in Glenbost village, he was really only waiting for the time when he could trade in Bramble for a motorbike.
Petra, Jinny’s sixteen-year-old sister was smart, noticeably clean and had crisp, brown, curly hair. Most of the time she read fashion magazines and practised the piano. She hardly ever rode. Often Jinny would stare at her sister, wondering what it would be like to be someone as tight and closed in as Petra, someone so certain about right and wrong, should and shouldn’t; someone who only thought about music exams, when there was a pure-bred, Arab mare in her family.

All through her summer holidays Jinny had been waiting for Sue to arrive and now, in another hour at the very most, there would be Sue. Sue and Pippen. Sue with her tales of her English Pony Club; who knew the correct way to do things; riding and jumping in the way she had been taught, not in a mad, uncontrolled frenzy of flying red hair, chestnut mane and intoxicating speed, which was the way Jinny rode Shantih.

The minute hand of Jinny’s watch reached twenty-five past four. It was enough. Even if Jinny did have to wait for a few minutes it wouldn’t be long enough for Shantih to get bored. Jinny sprang to her feet and raced over the rough grass of Finmory’s lawns towards the loosebox where Shantih, groomed to perfection, was waiting.
Hearing her mistress’s running footsteps Shantih whinnied impatiently, kicking at her box door with peevish fore hooves. When the Manders had first come to Finmory, the stables had been decaying outhouses but now they were a loosebox for Shantih, two stalls and a combined feed house and tack room. Suddenly Jinny stopped in mid stride.

‘Drat and double drat,’ she muttered. ‘Forgot my flippin’ hat!’

For a moment she considered going on and riding without it. But only for a moment. Her parents, who didn’t bother too much about what Jinny did on Shantih, were totally fixated on the fact that if Jinny was riding she had to wear a hard hat.

‘Forgot my hat,’ Jinny yelled to Shantih, and spinning round, raced back to the house.

As Jinny grabbed her hat from the hall table the phone, squatting black and toad-like, burbled into life. Jinny stared at it furiously. She hadn’t time to answer it, couldn’t be bothered. Not now. Jinny knew that everyone was out, except Petra who was having a bath. Letting the phone ring, Jinny stared hopefully up the broad staircase, wondering if Petra would come down to answer it.

Although having a bath in the afternoon with bath foam, body lotion and clouds of talc was one of Petra’s favourite occupations, Jinny suspected that today Petra was probably sitting on the edge of the bath having a good cry. That morning Petra had heard that she had failed a music exam.

‘First time for everything,’ Jinny had said cheerfully, when Petra opened the envelope containing the incredible news and announced her failure.

‘Really, Jinny,’ her mother had said sharply. ‘Don’t be so cruel.‘

‘Well, she’s bound to pass next time, aren’t you, Petra?’ Jinny had said, knowing that once she started sitting exams she was bound to fail, totally, completely, utterly, and that she had better make the most of what was likely to be Petra’s one and only failure.

The phone rang on. ‘Might be Sue,’ Jinny thought suddenly and grabbed the receiver.

‘Hallo,’ she said. ‘Jinny here,’ and Petra, still fully dressed, came to the top of the stairs, her red eyes confirming Jinny’s suspicions.

‘Ah, Jinny! Good show! Just who I wanted,’ boomed Miss Tuke’s loudspeaker voice. ‘Crisis here.’

Jinny imagined Miss Tuke’s trekking centre burnt to the ground, her Highland ponies fleeing across the hills, or Miss Tuke in plaster to the neck after some horrific accident.

‘I am phoning you against my better judgement,’ continued Miss Tuke.

‘Who is it?’ demanded Petra.

‘For me,’ Jinny told her, hand over the mouthpiece, thinking that it had nothing to do with Petra.

‘Who?’

‘Miss Tuke,’ mouthed Jinny, expecting Petra to go back to her bathroom once she knew. But Petra didn’t. She came down the stairs and sat on a step close enough to the phone to be able to catch some of Miss Tuke’s conversation.

‘So I must find someone to ride with us.’

‘What’s that? Sorry,’ said Jinny, scowling at Petra to let her know that she had caused her to miss Miss Tuke’s vital, crisis communication. ‘To ride where? When?’

‘For heaven’s sake pay attention, girl. This is urgent. We’re leaving Monday morning. Can you come?’

‘Think I missed a bit,’ said Jinny, not having the faintest idea what Miss Tuke was talking about. ‘Could you tell me again?’

‘Glory help me!’ exclaimed Miss Tuke in exasperation. ‘Having to depend on you. Now listen.’

Jinny wanted to tell her that it was all Petra’s fault for interrupting, but decided not to, in case Miss Tuke lost her patience and put the phone down.

‘I’m listening,’ Jinny assured her.

‘As I’ve already told you, my nephew Royce Bryden is a film director. He’s making a series on "The Horse" for ITV. Pretty big production. Coming over to film at Calmun—a day’s ride from here. Hiring eight of my Highlands. Whole thing fixed up months ago. Six experienced trekkers ready to pay double for a Film and Trek week, which, plus the television fees, should have brought in a nice little bit extra. Phone call this lunchtime, Mr and Mrs Pennington and their two kids struck down with chickenpox. Leaves me with four ponies to be trekked to Calmun and no bods to sit on them. Could box them over, I suppose, but the other two trekkers are on their way here this very min., expecting a two day trek to Calmun. Bed and breakfast booked for Monday night. Calmun Hotel for the rest of the time, back here in one day. So how about it?’

‘You mean ride with you? Me?’ exclaimed Jinny, and for a second she was astride Shantih, leading two Highlands, riding over new country with the thought of filming ahead of her. ‘But Sue’s coming.’

‘Even better. Thought it was this week the Hortons were camping. She can come too.’

‘That would be absolutely super!’

Humans: Jinny, Mike, Petra and Mr and Mrs Manders, Ken, Mr MacKenzie, Miss Tuke, Sue Horton,Brian, Mrs Brothwick Royce, Sally, the Walker

Horses: Shantih, Bramble, Pippen, Beech, Fergus, Juno, Misty, McSporran, Guizer

1. For Love of a Horse
2. A Devil to Ride
3. The Summer Riders
4. Night of the Red Horse
5. Gallop to the Hills
6. Horse in a Million
7. The Magic Pony
8. Ride Like the Wind
9. Chestnut Gold
10. Jump for the Moon
11. Horse of Fire
12. Running Wild