Alice-Miranda Takes the Stage Page 5

  “Whatever.” Sloane stared off into the distance. “Do you think we could trot for a while? I’m hungry.”

  “Of course.” Alice-Miranda clicked her tongue and Bonaparte picked up the pace. She rose and fell with the trot. Sloane just bounced along on top of Stumps.

  When the girls finally reached Gertrude’s Grove, Wally had already met Millie and Susannah with a basket and picnic blanket and driven away again. Sloane threw her right leg forward over Stumps’s neck and slid off the pony, hitting the ground with a thud.

  “That was a fancy dismount,” Alice-Miranda said admiringly. Sloane raised her nose in the air and did her best attempt at stalking off toward the picnic. Trouble was, she could barely stand, let alone walk gracefully.

  “Do you want some help with Stumps?” Alice-Miranda offered.

  “Yes, you can tie him up for me, can’t you?” Sloane didn’t even look back. Alice-Miranda grabbed Stumps’s reins and looped them over the nearby gate. She made sure Bonaparte was far enough away that he couldn’t get up to any mischief. It was never a good idea to tether him within reach of another pony.

  “You took your time,” Millie called as she looked up from where she was rummaging through the wicker basket. “We’ve been here for ages, but Wally just arrived with the food a few minutes ago.”

  “There’s a lovely stream over there beyond the willows,” Susannah added. “We had a competition skimming stones.”

  “And I won.” Millie smiled.

  Sloane hobbled over and gingerly lowered herself down onto the edge of the picnic blanket. Her grimace said it all.

  “Sore backside, hey?” Millie queried. “Usually happens when you haven’t been on a horse for a while.”

  “I’m fine,” Sloane retorted. “And who said I hadn’t been on a horse for a while?”

  “Well, it’s dead obvious—” Millie began.

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” Sloane snapped, a crimson rash rising up her neck.

  Alice-Miranda arrived just in time to survey the delicious-looking spread that would be their lunch. “Ohh, look at that!” she gasped, interrupting Millie and Sloane’s exchange.

  Susannah had unwrapped a stack of sandwiches; there was egg and lettuce, ham, cheese and tomato, turkey, Brie and cranberry, not to mention roast beef with a touch of horseradish. From the bottom of the basket, Susannah retrieved four plump scones, a pot of jam and another of cream, and four large slices of devil’s food cake. There were two thermoses, one filled with tea and the other with hot chocolate.

  Sloane reached forward and helped herself to a slice of cake.

  “Would you like to have a sandwich first?” Alice-Miranda offered.

  “No, I hate sandwiches. Unless they’re fully organic, and I can’t tell, so I’d rather not have any,” Sloane replied.

  Millie raised her eyebrows. “But it’s all right to have a huge piece of chocolate cake?”

  “What’s it to you?” Sloane bit into the cake.

  It seemed that the school’s newest student didn’t have the easiest nature, but Alice-Miranda was determined to make her feel part of the group, and hurriedly changed the subject.

  “You know, I came through here when I was on my hike last term,” she commented. “And then I headed over the stream and up into the mountains. It was so lovely.”

  “I still can’t believe you had to do it.” Susannah smiled. “I would have been so scared.”

  “Well, I was a little bit nervous, but I knew that there was nothing out here to hurt me,” said Alice-Miranda.

  “Except the witch,” Susannah lowered her voice and widened her eyes.

  “A witch. As if!” Sloane scoffed. “You’re such a baby. I’m not going hiking. Ever!”

  “Miss Grimm will have something to say about that,” Millie replied.

  “Really? I don’t think so. Mummy says hikes are for tomboys, and I’m hardly that, am I, now?” Sloane spat.

  “Would you like something else to eat, Millie?” Alice-Miranda hurriedly handed her friend a jam-smothered scone.

  “Thanks.” Millie rolled her eyes at Sloane, who fortunately was looking elsewhere.

  The scrumptious lunch had a soothing effect and the girls had a lovely time eating and lying about in the warm sunshine. The ponies were behaving themselves too, with barely a snort or grunt out of any of them. Amid the chirping of birds, the only other sound was the tearing of clumps of grass as Bony and his friends enjoyed the sweet tastes of the meadow.

  “I’m so full!” Millie patted her stomach and lay back with her head in Alice-Miranda’s lap.

  “Me too,” wailed Susannah.

  The girls had all but demolished Mrs. Smith’s feast, leaving only a couple of half-sandwiches and one lonely scone.

  “Look.” Alice-Miranda pointed at the gate. “There’s Wally.”

  The clattering of the old school Land Rover filled the air and Wally Whitstable pulled up beside them. The engine shuddered to a halt and he hopped out of the vehicle.

  Wally eyed the remains of the picnic. “Goodness, you lot must have been famished.”

  “Yes, but now we’re all as full as ticks.” Alice-Miranda sighed.

  “Not me.” Sloane turned up her nose. “Some of us watch how much we eat.”

  Millie sat up and offered Wally a leftover sandwich.

  “Thanks, miss,” he said. “I’m a bit hungry myself. It’s been a busy morning. I’ve been giving some riding lessons to a couple of the girls who aren’t very confident. Perhaps you’d like to join them next time, Miss Sloane?”

  “Why?” snapped Sloane. “I don’t need lessons with beginners.”

  “Well, the offer’s there.” Wally wolfed down the roast beef sandwich.

  Alice-Miranda and Susannah set to, packing the thermoses and other bits and pieces into the picnic basket. Millie picked up the blanket and tried to fold it, but she couldn’t quite get the two ends lined up. Sloane ignored her.

  Millie let out a shuddering sigh. “Do you think you could give me hand?”

  “Oh, all right,” Sloane replied, grabbing at the other end of the blanket. Anyone would have thought she’d been asked to scrub a toilet with a toothbrush.

  “Here, Miss Millie, I’ll do that,” Wally said.

  “It’s all right, Wally. Sloane’s helping me,” said Millie with narrowed eyes.

  “Then let me carry that basket to the car,” he offered as Alice-Miranda and Susannah struggled with the enormous wicker hamper.

  When the blanket was finally folded and stowed in the four-wheel drive, Wally said, “I’d best be off, girls. Are you heading straight back?”

  “Yes, I think so,” Millie replied. “We need to learn our lines for the auditions next week.”

  “Well, be careful.” Wally hopped into the driver’s seat. “Oh, and by the way, Miss Sloane, just watch Stumps—I’ve heard he can be a bit of a bolter on the inbound run, but I’m sure an experienced rider like you won’t have any trouble with him. Just don’t mention the ‘h’ word.” Wally winked at Millie, who smothered a smile.

  “What do you mean, the ‘h’ word?” Sloane called out over the clattering engine of the four-wheel drive. But Wally was halfway up the hill.

  “You just have to make sure you keep a tight rein on him, that’s all,” said Alice-Miranda. “Don’t worry. I’ll ride with you the whole way. If the other girls want to race, that’s fine. I won’t leave you.”

  Susannah and Millie walked off to get Chops and Buttercup from where they were tied up farther down the fence line. Alice-Miranda hauled herself up onto Bonaparte and watched as Sloane attempted three times to get onto Stumps. Thankfully, he really was a dozy old fellow and didn’t even flinch when, on the fourth attempt, she landed a thumping blow to the side of his ribs with her right boot. Alice-Miranda wasn’t concerned about Stumps’s alleged habit of bolting for home. Whenever she’d ridden him last term, he’d been the gentlest chap she’d ever met.

  Millie and Susannah joined Ali
ce-Miranda and Sloane. The four of them were standing abreast when Sloane leaned forward and asked, “Well, are we heading straight home or what?”

  With the mere mention of the word, Stumps let out an ear-piercing whinny. He threw his head back and forth, pawed at the ground and then took off, from zero to gallop in barely a second.

  “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Sloane screamed as she leaned forward and clutched Stumps’s shaggy mane. Millie, Alice-Miranda and Susannah knew they had to catch up—and fast.

  “Hold on, Sloane, we’re coming!” Alice-Miranda called as she dug her heels into Bony’s sides and urged him after the runaway horse.

  Stumps flew across the open meadow, through the stream and toward the woods. Sloane continued screeching as the girls raced to catch up. Millie and Chops were the fastest—his little legs pumped as Millie sat glued to the saddle.

  As they neared the woods, Susannah yelled, “Keep your head down, Sloane!”

  Sloane ducked just in time as a branch grazed the top of her riding helmet. The ponies were flying through the undergrowth, snorting and puffing.

  Up ahead, Sloane could just make out the shape of a fallen tree. She realized that Stumps was not about to stop and braced herself as the pony flew through the air and cleared the trunk with no trouble. Surprisingly, she was still on his back when he landed. Millie and Chops easily managed the jump with Susannah and Alice-Miranda close behind. The ponies raced on. Stumps was increasing his lead. Who would have thought the old boy had it in him?

  The woodland gave way to a clearer path, lined on either side by thick undergrowth. Sloane’s screams echoed through the forest. The trail narrowed and then, without warning, split into two paths. Sloane and Stumps were nowhere to be seen. Chops and Buttercup headed left, and despite Alice-Miranda’s best efforts to follow them, Bonaparte veered to the right. Alice-Miranda jerked the reins as hard as she could. She ordered Bony to stop, but a small child of seven and a half is no match for a pony on a mission. As Chops and Buttercup thundered on in the other direction, with Sloane’s shrieks fading in the distance, Alice-Miranda was aware of Bonaparte sniffing the air around him. In spite of his pace, he was lifting his head and inhaling wildly. Alice-Miranda knew this could only mean one thing—cabbages!

  Alice-Miranda and Bonaparte thundered on through the woods until Bonaparte finally came to a halt outside what must once have been a gigantic vegetable patch. Bounded by a tumbledown fence still high enough to keep the pony out, Alice-Miranda had just managed to stop herself from flying over his head when Bony stopped dead in his tracks. She could see the overgrown rows of gardens, a jumble of weeds sprouting from the hardened earth—rather like Mr. Trout’s uncontrollable clumps of ear hairs, she thought.

  “It’s about time you stopped, Bonaparte Napoleon Highton-Smith-Kennington-Jones,” Alice-Miranda panted. “Thank goodness for that fence. You’re a very naughty pony. And there are no cabbages here anyway, you silly old boy. I don’t know where we are or how far we’ve come. And poor Sloane—I hope she’s all right.”

  Bonaparte whinnied and pawed at the ground, eager to see for himself whether there was anything worth having in the patch. But Alice-Miranda had had enough. She was a very good rider, although no child her age could match Bony’s strength when he decided there were free vegetables on offer.

  Alice-Miranda looked about her. She had been so preoccupied with getting Bonaparte to stop, she hadn’t really taken much notice of where they were. But she did recall passing through a set of enormous derelict gateposts. As Alice-Miranda wheeled Bonaparte around, she noticed a large outbuilding in the distance. She decided to see if there was anyone who might be able to help her find her way back to school.

  Digging her heels in, Alice-Miranda urged Bonaparte forward. But he stayed put. She tried again, giving him a sharp kick to the left flank, but he refused to move. There was only one thing for it. She felt in her jacket pocket and found five slightly crumbled sugar cubes. Alice-Miranda dismounted and pulled the reins over Bonaparte’s head, then showed the greedy pony one cube. He whinnied loudly and reached out to snaffle the treat from her outstretched hand.

  “I have some more, Bony,” Alice-Miranda informed him. “But only if you follow me.”

  Bonaparte might have been stubborn, but he was not stupid. He decided that it was better to have some treats than none. He followed Alice-Miranda back toward the outbuilding. She stopped every twenty paces and offered the little beast another cube, which he greedily gulped.

  Along the gravel pathway, ancient urns on tall plinths poked through the undergrowth. Alice-Miranda thought they looked quite like some she had at home at Highton Hall, except for their state of decay.

  As the tiny girl and her pony reached the building, she realized that there were, in fact, several separate structures bounded by a high brick wall. The entrance to the complex was through a magnificent stone archway, now flecked with mold and decay. Alice-Miranda imagined that in the past it had seen the coming and going of many a splendid carriage. In the forecourt there was a small yard, which she decided would be a perfect pen for Bony while she had a look around.

  The main structure had been a very handsome stable block but was now in tumbledown disrepair. The slate roof looked like a patchwork quilt, and the timber doors were missing several panels.

  Alice-Miranda coaxed Bonaparte over the cobblestones and into the enclosure and handed over the last sweet reward.

  “Now you stay here.” She glared at Bony. “And don’t you get any thoughts about going back to that patch.”

  Alice-Miranda checked twice that the rusted chain was secure. Just as she was about to head inside the main building, a large tabby cat appeared and started rubbing against her leg, purring loudly. She turned around to check on Bony and noticed that three more cats, in shades of ginger, gray and black, were now taking up various positions around the yard. One on a windowsill, another atop the wall that enclosed the stable block, and the other had bravely sidled up to Bonaparte, who was now engaged in a sniff-off with the black intruder.

  “What a lot of cats,” Alice-Miranda said to herself. “You be nice to that kitty, Bonaparte,” she warned. “He’s probably got a good old set of claws on him.”

  Alice-Miranda left the yard and entered the stable block. Immediately her nostrils were assaulted by the smell of damp hay and horses.

  “Hellooo,” she called. “Is there anyone here?”

  The musty brick building creaked and groaned as if apologizing for its current state. She soon realized that there were no animals inside any of the stalls, but the open booth at the end of the passageway was full of ancient saddles and bridles, their leather split and dry, brass fittings tarnished and bits blackened with the passing of time. Several pairs of long riding boots were lined up on a shelf alongside a selection of moth-eaten velvet hats and helmets all coated in thick dusty webs. It didn’t look like anyone had been in the tack room for a very long time.

  In what would have been the feed room, a row of timber hoppers stood open, their contents of oats and barley long gone. A few loose remnants of straw littered the floor and a large open vat of molasses contained an array of grasshoppers and bugs, fossilized in their amber trap.

  “Helloooooo?” Alice-Miranda’s voice echoed through the rafters. She wondered if there might be a flat above the stables just like they had at home. But she couldn’t see a staircase. Her voice brought no human reply, but the yowling of several cats filled the air.

  Alice-Miranda decided that a stable block such as this would no doubt belong to a large house. She wanted to keep exploring but her watch said that it was now half past two. Millie, Susannah and Sloane should have been home by now. Perhaps they would come looking for her.

  Emerging into the afternoon sunshine, Alice-Miranda shielded her eyes and waited for them to adjust to the light. Bonaparte acknowledged her presence with a snort. He was dozing against the gate with one eye open, watching the black cat, who had now taken up residence on top of the feed bin wh
ich hung over the gate.

  “All right, Bony, there’s no one here. But I see you’ve got plenty of friends to keep you company, so I’m off to find the house that must belong to these stables.” Alice-Miranda patted the top of another ginger cat’s head as it rubbed its neck up and down her riding boot.

  The estate was dotted with handsome trees, claret ash, oak and fir, many of which Alice-Miranda recognized from her outings with her own gardener at home, Mr. Greening. He loved that she asked him so many questions about the names of the plants, and although she was still only seven and a half, Alice-Miranda’s knowledge of botanical species was something Mr. Greening was secretly very proud of.

  As she walked farther along the driveway, the grassy edges were replaced with a cobblestoned guttering, a sure indication that somewhere up ahead there would be a house. No one would go to that much trouble for a road to nowhere, Alice-Miranda was certain. Through the jungle of branches, she spied an overgrown lawn. A huge ornate fountain sat partially hidden by the mass of weeds and waist-high grass.

  “Hellooooo,” she called again. The only reply was the meow of a cat. Alice-Miranda looked down to see that the tabby from the stables had joined her on her walk. “Oh, hello, puss.” She reached down and patted the top of his head. “Fancied an outing, did you?”

  All of a sudden, Alice-Miranda had a strange feeling that she was being watched. She turned around to see that her tabby friend had been joined by at least ten more cats padding along silently behind her.

  “Goodness me, there are an awful lot of you indeed,” she addressed her feline audience. “Do you all live here?”

  An uneasy recollection invaded her mind. “Cats, lots of cats,” she said aloud, before dismissing the thought. Alice-Miranda didn’t believe in witches. They were only in fairy stories.

  Like the Pied Piper with his merry followers, Alice-Miranda continued her way up the drive. She rounded a sweeping bend, where the foliage was so thick it created an arch like a giant’s rib cage from one side of the road to the other. Another set of iron gates, hanging open from their limestone columns, beckoned her to enter. There was a name on the left-hand pillar, obscured by a tangle of ivy stuck fast to the tarnished brass plate. She reached up as high as she could and tried to pull back the greenery. It was tricky, but Alice-Miranda caught a handful of leaves and wrenched hard. She traced the blackened outline of the words Caledonia Manor.