Chapter 11
“I used to be a bit of a rider myself in my day,” Tory began, settling herself into her armchair as the rain pounded against the window.
“You didn’t tell me that,” said Poppy, taking a sip of the milky tea, feeling its warmth spread through her. She held the mug in both hands as Tory smiled.
“Nothing major but I used to compete in local shows and hunter trials. A couple of times I even entered the showjumping classes at the Devon County Show on my mare Hopscotch. She was a chestnut thoroughbred, a beautiful horse, so willing and nice-natured. You would have loved her. When our daughter was born I assumed she would be as pony-mad as I’d been but Jo suffered badly from asthma and being around horses often brought on an attack. Perhaps because of this she was always nervous around them and, of course, they picked up on it. It wasn’t a happy combination.
“Then, 18 years ago, Jo’s daughter Caitlyn was born. Almost from the time she could walk Caitlyn lived and breathed horses and would pester her mum into bringing her to Riverdale to spend time with Hopscotch and Chester. Hopscotch was virtually retired by then but I used to put Caitlyn up on her and take them both onto the moors on the leading rein for hours at a time. Cait looked like a pea on a drum but she loved it.
“When she was about six I was given Sparky, a roan Dartmoor pony, on loan as a companion for Hopscotch and Chester and, of course, he soon became Caitlyn’s pony. Jo wasn’t best pleased but Caitlyn adored him and the two of them joined the pony club and competed in gymkhanas and local horse shows.”
Poppy tried not to feel envious of Caitlyn, who’d had the kind of pony-filled childhood she’d always dreamed of.
“Eventually Caitlyn grew too big for Sparky. Jo didn’t want her to have a bigger pony and was keen for her to give up riding altogether to concentrate on her schoolwork, but I disagreed. Cait was a really instinctive, gutsy rider and I felt sure that with the right pony she could compete at a county level, if not higher.
“Then I heard about a shipment of ponies that had come over from Ireland and were being sold at the next horse sale at Newton Abbot. I drove over there in my horsebox one April afternoon thinking it was worth a try.”
“How long ago was that?” Poppy asked, intrigued.
“Let me think. It must have been six years ago now. Caitlyn was 12 at the time. I didn’t tell her or her mother what I was doing. I didn’t want to get Cait’s hopes up and I knew Jo would try to talk me out of it. So I turned up at the sale and there was the usual mix of coloured colts and mares with foals at foot with the odd riding pony thrown in. The Irish ponies were listed last. They were all nice-looking ponies, mainly Connemaras that had been backed but needed bringing on.
“But the last pony really caught my eye. He was a 14.2hh dappled grey with a handsome face and lovely conformation. He was very nervous and skittered around the ring shying at everything. But he had the kindest eyes. I had a gut feeling he was the right pony for Caitlyn.”
Poppy knew the answer but she asked anyway. “Did you buy him?”
“Yes. I got him for a song because it was the end of the day and I think people were worried he was a bit flighty. Jo was so cross she wouldn’t speak to me for a couple of days but Caitlyn was on cloud nine. She fell in love with him in an instant. And that’s what we called him - Cloud Nine, or Cloud for short.”
“What was he like?” asked Poppy.
“He was gentle with me and Cait but he was a different pony around men. When the farrier came to shoe him he went berserk in his stable and it took over an hour for him to calm down. I’m sure he must have been treated roughly at some stage. But he and Cait clicked straight away. We spent the first few weeks gaining his confidence, just grooming him, tacking him up and taking him out for hours on long reins. All the handling paid off and when Caitlyn did finally ride him he went like a dream.
“Soon they were jumping at local shows and winning their classes easily. Cloud would do anything for Caitlyn. They trusted each other completely. She was desperate to follow in my footsteps and compete in a hunter trial. Her mum was dead set against it. She said it was too dangerous but I talked her around.”
Tory picked up the photograph of the girl and her pony again as if drawing strength for the final part of her story. “We found a novice hunter trial for her in Widecombe. She was so excited she and Cloud practised for hours jumping fallen trees and ditches on the moors. After weeks of dry weather the day of the competition was as wet as today.” Tory looked at the window where the rain was still beating a steady drum against the glass.
“The course was as slippery as a skid pan. Jo pleaded with Caitlyn not to compete but I convinced her they would both be fine, that Cloud had studs in his shoes, he was a really careful jumper and that he’d look after her.”
Poppy could hardly bear to hear what happened next.
“They set off well and Cloud was jumping out of his skin.” Tory gave a half sob before carrying on. “Every hunter trial has its bogey fence and this one was a drop fence followed by a ditch three quarters of the way around the course.”
Poppy had seen drop fences at Badminton and Burghley. Often a log or brush fence, they looked straightforward but had a steep drop on the other side so horse and rider landed on a lower level than the one they’d taken off from.
“The bank on the other side of the fence had been completely churned up and those horses that hadn’t refused were slipping down it,” remembered Tory. She and Jo had been standing close to the fence as Cait and Cloud galloped towards it. Tory remembered the pony’s ears flick back as he hesitated for a second before taking off.
“I don’t know what happened next, no-one really did. Whether he had been spooked by something in the crowd or by the height of the drop I don’t know, but Cloud suddenly twisted in mid-air. As he landed he lost his footing and somersaulted over, throwing Cait underneath him.”
Five years later the scene was still imprinted on Tory’s memory as if it had happened that morning. Cloud had struggled to his feet and given an almighty shake. Below him Cait was lying motionless on the ground. Jo had screamed and together they had run over, Tory repeating under her breath, ‘She’s just winded herself, she’s just winded, she’ll sit up in a minute.’
But thirteen-year-old Caitlyn never did sit up. Within minutes an ambulance, its blue lights flashing and its sirens screaming, arrived and a screen was erected around the young rider, shielding her from the crowds as the paramedics carried her still body onto the ambulance and away.
By now the tears were streaming down Tory’s lined cheeks. “Her death was all my fault. I should never have encouraged Cait to enter the competition. If it wasn’t for me she’d still be here. She would have been eighteen by now. She had her whole life ahead of her and because of me she never even reached her fourteenth birthday.
“Jo blamed me for Cait’s death and I don’t blame her. She’s not spoken to me since. I would do anything to turn back the clock, Poppy. I lost a daughter and a granddaughter that day.”
“What happened to Cloud?” Poppy asked quietly.
“One of the course officials took him back to the lorry and by the time I got back he was shivering with cold or exhaustion - or both. You probably think I’m being sentimental when I tell you that his heart was broken that day. I think he knew what had happened. We both felt responsible for Caitlyn’s death.”
Tory explained how she had taken Cloud back to Riverdale but that the pony’s spirit had been destroyed. She recalled how, in a fug of misery, she had sold him to a pugnacious man called George Blackstone in the hope that it would appease Jo.
Blackstone, who farmed the far side of the valley, was a member of the local hunt and prided himself on his horsemanship skills. But he wasn’t a kind man and Tory told Poppy how she had watched, powerless, as Cloud sank into deeper despair. The pony didn’t even have the energy to fight back as Blackstone, realising he’d been sold a dud, took his frustration out on him.
“Selling Cloud to Blackstone was
a terrible mistake, I quickly realised that,” said Tory. “I knew I had to do something - I owed it to Cloud. I tried to buy him back several times but Blackstone flatly refused - he was convinced he could, as he put it, ‘knock some sense into the pony’.”
Poppy suspected that Cloud must have been the colt the two old farmhands had been talking about in the post office the day Caroline had popped in for stamps. “How did Cloud end up living wild?” she asked Tory, not imagining that Blackstone would have ever set him free.
For the first time since she’d begun her story the old woman looked at Poppy with something resembling a glint in her eye. “Let’s just say he was liberated one night.”
The loud chimes of the antique clock on Tory’s mantlepiece made Poppy jump and she realised with surprise that it was three o’clock.
“Oh no! I’m supposed to be meeting Caroline and Charlie at three. I’d better go or I’ll be really late.” She looked at Tory. “Thank-you for telling me about Caitlyn and Cloud. I’m sure Charlie and I have seen Cloud drinking from the stream in the wood next to Riverdale although he galloped off as soon as he saw us.”
“I’m glad. I worry about him. And there’s nothing I can do to help him stuck here.”
Poppy thought again of the conversation Caroline had overheard in the post office. Something about the annual drift. But she didn’t have time to think about it now. “I’m going to have to go, Tory. But please come and see me and Chester soon. I need to know if there’s anything I can do to help Cloud.”
Poppy felt a rush of affection for the old woman and she reached over and gave her a hug. Tory beamed, although her eyes had grown misty again. “You’re a lovely girl, Poppy, and you remind me so much of Caitlyn. Now, off you go before Caroline starts worrying you’ve been kidnapped by aliens, and watch out for Nosy Parker in the hallway - the interfering old bat’s probably listening at the door.”