Meridon

2

It was a long, wearisome drive, all the way down the lanes to Salisbury, up the Avon valley with the damp lush fields on either side where brown-backed cows stood knee-high in wet grasses, through Fordingbridge, where the little children were out from dame-school and ran after us and hooted and threw stones.

‘Come ‘ere,’ Da said, shuffling a pack of greasy cards as he sat on the driving bench. ‘Come ‘ere and watch this.’ And he hitched the ambling horse’s reins over the worn post at the front of the wagon and shuffled the cards before me, cut them, shuffled them again. ‘Did yer see it?’ he would demand. ‘Could yer tell?’

Sometimes I saw the quick secretive movement of his fingers, hidden by the broad palm of his hand, scanning the pack for tell-tale markings. Sometimes not.

He was not a very good cheat. It’s a difficult art, best done with clean hands and dry cards. Da’s sticky little pack did not shuffle well. Often as we ambled down the rutted road I said, ‘That’s a false shuffle,’ or ‘I can see the crimped card, Da.’

He scowled at that and said: ‘You’ve got eyes like a damn buzzard, Merry. Do it yourself if you’re so clever,’ and flicked the pack over to me with an irritable riffle of the cards.

I gathered them up, his hand and mine, and pulled the high cards and the picture cards into my right hand. With a little ‘tssk’ I brushed an imaginary insect of the driver’s bench with the picture cards in a fan in my hand to put a bend in them, ‘abridge’, so that when I re-assembled the pack I could feel the arch even when the pack was all together. I vaguely looked out over the passing fields while I shuffled the deck, pulling the picture cards and the high cards into my left hand and stacking them on top alternately with stock cards so I could deal a picture card to myself and a low card to Da.

‘Saw it!’ Da said with mean satisfaction. ‘Saw you make a bridge, brushing the bench.’

‘Doesn’t count,’ I said, argumentatively. ‘If you were a pigeon for plucking you’d not know that trick. It’s only if you see me stack the deck that it counts. Did you see me stack it? And the false shuffle?’

‘No,’ he said, an unwilling concession. ‘But that’s still a penny you owe me for spotting the bridge. Gimme the cards back.’

I handed them over and he slid them through and through his calloused hands. ‘No point teaching a girl anyway,’ he grumbled. ‘Girls never earn money standing up, only way to make money out of a girl is to get her on her back for her living. Girls are a damned waste.’

I left him to his complaints and went back inside the lumbering wagon where Dandy lay on her bunk combing her black hair and Zima dozed on her bed, the babby sucking and snortling at her breast. I looked away. I went to my own bunk and stretched out my head towards the little window at the back and watched the ribbon of the road spinning away behind us as we followed the twists and turns of the river all the way northward to Salisbury.

Da knew Salisbury well – this was the city where his ale-house business had failed and he had bought the wagon and gone back on the road again. He drove steadily through the crowded streets and Dandy and I stuck our heads out of the back window and pulled faces at errand boys and looked at the bustle and noise of the city. The fair was on the outside of town and Da guided the horse to a field where the wagons were spaced apart as strangers would put them, and there were some good horses cropping the short grass. I looked them over as I led our horse, Jess, from the shafts.

‘Good animals,’ I said to Da. His glance around was sharp.

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘And a good price we should get for ours.’

I said nothing. Tied on the back of the wagon was a hunter so old and broken-winded that you could hear its roaring breaths from the driving seat, and another of Da’s young ponies, too small to be ridden by anyone heavier than me, and too wild to be managed by any normal child.

‘The hunter will go to a flash young fool,’ he predicted confidently. ‘And that young ‘un should go as a young lady’s ride.’

‘He’s a bit wild,’ I said carefully.

‘He’ll sell on his colour,’ Da said certainly, and I could not disagree. He was a wonderful pale grey, a grey almost silver with a sheen like satin on his coat. I had washed him this morning, and been thoroughly wetted and kicked for my pains, but he looked as bright as a unicorn.

‘He’s pretty,’ I conceded. ‘Da, if he sells – can Dandy and me go to the fair and buy her some ribbons, and some stockings?’

Da grunted, but he was not angry. The prospect of the fair and big profits had made him as sweet as he could be – which, God knew, was sour enough.

‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Maybe I’ll give you some pennies for fairings.’ He slid the tack off Jess’s back and tossed it carelessly up on the step of the caravan. Jess jumped at the noise and stepped quickly sideways, her heavy hoof scraping my bare leg. I swore and rubbed the graze. Da paid no attention to either of us.

‘Only if these horses sell,’ he said. ‘So you’d better start working the young one right away. You can lunge him before your dinner, and then work him all the day. I want you on his back by nightfall. If you can stay on, you can gad off to the fair. Not otherwise.’

The look I gave him was black enough. But I dared do nothing more. I pulled Jess’s halter on and staked her out where she would graze near the caravan and went, surly, to the new grey pony tied on the back of the wagon. ‘I hate you,’ I said under my breath. The caravan tipped as Da went inside. ‘You are mean and a bully and a lazy fool. I hate you and I wish you were dead.’

I took the long whip and the long reins and got behind the grey pony and gently, patiently, tried to teach it two months’ training in one day so that Dandy and me could go to the fair with a penny in our pockets.

I was so deep in the sullens that I hardly noticed a man watching me from one of the other caravans. He was seated on the front step of his wagon, a pipe in his hand, tobacco smoke curling upwards in the still hot air above his head. I was concentrating on getting the grey pony to go in a circle around me. I stood in the centre, keeping the whip low, sometimes touching him to keep him going on, mostly calling to him to keep his speed going steady. Sometimes he went well, round and around me, and then suddenly he would kick out and rear and try to make a bolt for it, dragging me for shuddering strides across the grass until I dug my heels in and pulled him to a standstill and started the whole long process of making him walk in a steady circle again.

I was vaguely aware of being watched. But my attention was all on the little pony – as pretty as a picture and keen-witted. And as unwilling to work in the hot morning sunshine as I was. As angry and resentful as me.

Only when Da had got down from the caravan, pulled on his hat and headed off in the direction of the fair did I stop the pony and let him dip his head down and graze. I slumped down then myself for a break and laid aside the whip and spoke gently to him while he was eating. His ears – which had been back on his head in ill humour ever since we had started – flickered forward at the sound of my voice, and I knew the worst of it was over until I had to give him the shock of my weight on his back.

I stretched out and shut my eyes. Dandy was away to the fair to see what work she and Zima might do. Da was touting for a customer for his old hunter. Zima was clattering pots in the caravan, and her baby was crying with little hope of being attended. I was as solitary as I was ever able to be. I sighed and listened to a lark singing up in the sky above me, and the cropping sound of the pony grazing close to my head.

‘Hey! Littl’un!’ It was a low call from the man on the step of the caravan. I sat up cautiously and shaded my eyes to see him. It was a fine wagon, much bigger than ours and brightly painted. Down the side in swirly red and gold letters it said words I could not read; with a great swirly ‘E’ which I guessed signified horses for there was a wonderful painted horse rearing up before a lady dressed as fine as a queen twirling a whip under its hooves.

The man’s shirt was white, nearly clean. His face was shaved and plump. He was smiling at me, friendly. I was instantly suspicious.

‘That’s thirsty work,’ he said kindly. ‘Would you like a mug of small beer?’

‘What for?’ I asked.

‘You’re working well, I enjoyed watching you,’ he said. He got to his feet and went inside his wagon, his fair head brushing the top of the doorway. He came out with two small pewter mugs of ale, and stepped down carefully from the step, his eyes on the mugs. He came towards me with one outstretched. I got to my feet and eyed him, but I did not put out my hand for the drink though I was parched and longing for the taste of the cool beer on my tongue and throat.

‘What d’you want?’ I asked, my eyes on the mug.

‘Maybe I want to buy the horse,’ he said. ‘Go on, take it. I won’t bite.’

That brought my eyes to his face. ‘I’m not afraid of you,’ I said defiantly. I looked down longingly at the drink again. ‘I’ve no money to buy it,’ I said.

‘It’s for free!’ he said impatiently. ‘Take it, you silly wench.’

‘Thank you,’ I said gruffly and took it from his hand. The liquid was malty on my tongue and went down my throat in a delicious cool stream. I gulped three times and then paused, to make it last the longer.

‘Are you in the horse business?’ he asked.

‘You’d best ask my da,’ I said.

He smiled at my caution and sat down on the grass at my feet. After a little hesitation, I sat too.

‘That’s my wagon,’ he said pointing to the caravan. ‘See that on the side? Robert Gower? That’s me. Robert Gower’s Amazing Equestrian Show! That’s me and my business. All sorts I do. Dancing ponies, fortune-telling ponies, acrobatic horses, trick-riding, cavalry charges. And the story of Richard the Lionheart and Saladin, in costume, and with two stallions.’

I gaped at him. ‘How many horses have you got?’ I asked.

‘Five,’ he said. ‘And the stallion.’

‘I thought you said two stallions,’ I queried.

‘It looks like two,’ he said, unabashed. ‘Richard the Lionheart rides the grey stallion. Then we black him up and he is Saladin’s mighty ebony steed. I black-up too, to be Saladin. So what?’

‘Nothing!’ I said hastily. ‘Are these your horses?’

‘Aye,’ he said gesturing at the ponies I had noticed earlier. ‘These four ponies, and the skewbald which pulls the wagon and works as a rosinback. My boy’s riding the stallion around the town, crying-up the show. We’re giving a show in the next-door field. Two performances at three and seven. Today and Every Day. By Public Demand. For the Duration.’

I said nothing. Many of the words I did not understand. But I recognized the ring of the showground barker.

‘You like horses,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘My da buys them, or trades them. We both train them. We often sell children’s ponies. So I trains them.’

‘When will this one be ready?’ Robert Gower nodded to the grey pony.

‘Da wants to sell him this week,’ I said. ‘He’ll be half-broke by then.’

He pursed his lips and whistled soundlessly. ‘That’s fast work,’ he said. ‘You must take a lot of tumbles. Or is it your da who rides them?’

‘It’s me!’ I said indignantly. ‘I’ll lunge him all today and I’ll get on him tonight.’

He nodded and said nothing. I finished the ale and looked at the bottom of the mug. It had gone too quick and I had been distracted from savouring it by talk. I was sorry now.

‘I’d like to see your da,’ he said getting to his feet. ‘Be back for his dinner, will he?’

‘Yes,’ I said. I scrambled to my feet and picked up the whip. ‘I’ll tell him you want to see him. Shall he come over to your wagon?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And when you’ve finished your work you can see my horse show. Admittance Only One Penny. But you may come Complimentary.’

‘I don’t have a penny,’ I said, understanding only that.

‘You can come free,’ he said. ‘Either show.’

‘Thank you,’ I said awkwardly. ‘Sir.’

He nodded as gracious as a lord and went back to his bright wagon. I looked again at the picture on the side. The lady with the whip and the rearing white horse was dressed as fine as a queen. I wondered who she was and if she was perhaps his wife. It would be a fine life to dress as a lady and train horses in a ring before people who paid all that money just to see you. It would be as good as being born Quality. It would be nearly as good as Wide.

‘Hey you!’ he called again, his head stuck out of his caravan door. ‘D’you know how to crack that whip, as well as flick it?’

‘Yes,’ I said. I ought to be able to. I had practised ever since I was able to stand. My da could crack a whip so loud it could scare the birds out of the trees. When I had asked him to teach me he had thrown an old rag down on the ground at my bare feet.

‘Hit that,’ he had said; and that was as much help as he was ready to give. Days I had stood flicking the whip towards the target until I had gradually strengthened my little-girl wrists to aim the whip accurately at the cloth, and now I could crack it high in the air or crack it low. Dandy had once taken a stalk in her mouth and I had taken the seed head off it for a dare. Only once. The next time we tried it I had missed and flicked her in the eye. I would never do it after that. She had screamed with the pain and her eye had swollen up and been black with a bruise for a week. I had been terrified that I had blinded her. Dandy forgot it as soon as her eye healed and wanted me to crack a whip and knock feathers off her hat and straws out of her mouth for pennies on street corners; but I would not.

‘Crack it, then,’ said Robert Gower.

‘No,’ I said. ‘It would scare the pony and he’s done nothing wrong. I’ll crack it for you when I’ve turned him out.’

He nodded at that and a little puff of surprised smoke came from his pipe like a cottage chimney.

‘Good lass,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Meridon,’ I said.

‘Gypsy blood?’ he asked.

‘My mother was Rom,’ I said defensively.

He nodded again and gave me a wink from one of his blue eyes. Then his round fair head ducked back in under the doorway and the caravan door slammed and I was left with the young pony who had to be schooled enough for me to ride him that evening if Dandy and I wanted to go to the fair with a penny each.

I made it by the skin of my teeth. Da’s rule was that I had to get on the horse’s back without him kicking out or running off – and apart from a quiver of fright the grey stood still enough. And then I had to get off again without mishap. By working him all day until we were both weary I had him so accustomed to my nearness that he only threw me once while I was training him to stand while I mounted. He didn’t run off far, which I thought a very good sign. I did not work at all at teaching him to walk forwards or stop. They were not the conditions Da had set for a visit to the fair so I cared nothing for them. All he could do by the end of the day was stand still for the twenty seconds while I mounted, smiled with assumed confidence at Da, and dismounted.

Da grudgingly felt in his pocket and gave a penny to Dandy and a penny to me.

‘I’ve been talking business with that man Gower,’ he said grandly. ‘As a favour to me he says you can both go to his show. I’m going into town to see a man about buying a horse. Be in the wagon when I come back or there’ll be trouble.’

Dandy shot me a warning look to bid me hold my tongue, and said sweetly: ‘Yes, Da.’ We both knew that when he came back he would be so blind drunk that he would not be able to tell if we were there or not. Nor remember in the morning.

Then we fled to the corner of the field where the gate was held half-open by Robert Gower, resplendent in a red jacket and white breeches with black riding boots. A steady stream of people had been going by us all afternoon, paying their pennies to Robert Gower and taking their ease on the grassy slopes waiting for the show to start. Dandy and I were the last to arrive.

‘He’s Quality!’ Dandy gasped, as we dashed across the field. ‘Look at his boots.’

‘And he got dressed in that caravan!’ I said amazed, having never seen anything come out of our caravan brighter than the slatternly glitter of Zima’s best dress over a soiled petticoat grey with inadequate washing.

‘Ah!’ said Robert Gower. ‘Meridon and…?’

‘My sister, Dandy,’ I said.

Robert Gower nodded grandly at us both. ‘Please take a seat,’ he said opening the gate a little wider to allow us inside. ‘Anywhere on the grass but not in front of the benches which is reserved for the Quality and for the Churchmen. By Special Request,’ he added.

Dandy gave him her sweetest smile and spread her ragged skirt out and swept him a curtsey. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said and sailed past him with her head in the air and her glossy black hair in thick sausage ringlets all down her back.

The field was on a slight slope, levelling off at the bottom, and the audience were seated on the grass on the slope looking down. In front of them were two small benches, empty except for a fat man and his wife who looked like well-to-do farmers but not proper Quality at all. We had come in at the bottom of the hill and had to walk past a large screen painted with strange-looking trees and a violet and red sunset and yellow earth. It was hinged with wings on either side so that it presented a back-cloth to the audience and went some way to hiding the ponies who were tethered behind it. As we walked by, a youth of about seventeen dressed very fine in white breeches and a red silk shirt glanced out from behind the screen and stared at us both. I know I looked furtive, expecting a challenge, but he said nothing and looked us over as if free seats made us his especial property. I looked at Dandy. Her eyes had widened and she was looking straight at him, her face was flushed, her smile confident. She looked at him as boldly as if she were his equal.

‘Hello,’ she said.

‘Are you Meridon?’ he said surprised.

I was about to say: ‘No. I am Meridon and this is my sister.’ But Dandy was ahead of me.

‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘My name is Dandy. Who are you?’

‘Jack,’ he said. ‘Jack Gower.’

Unnoticed, standing behind my beautiful sister, I could stare at him. He was not fair like his father but dark-haired. His eyes were dark too. In his shimmering shirt and his white breeches he looked like a lord in a travelling play – dazzling. The confident smile on his face as he looked down at Dandy, whose pale face was upturned to him like a flower on a slim stem, showed that he knew it. I looked at that smile and thought him the most handsome youth I had ever seen in my whole life. And for some reason, I could not say why, I shuddered as if someone had just dripped cold water on my scalp, and the nape of my neck felt cold.

‘I’ll see you after the show,’ he said. The tone of his voice made it sound as if it might be a threat or a promise.

Dandy’s eyes gleamed. ‘You might,’ she said, as natural a coquette as ever flirted with a handsome youth. ‘I have other things to do than hang around a wagon.’

‘Oh?’ he asked. ‘What things?’

‘Meridon and I are going to the fair,’ she said. ‘And we’ve money to spend, and all.’

For the first time he looked at me. ‘So you’re Meridon,’ he said carelessly. ‘My da says you can train little ponies. Could you manage a horse like this?’

He gestured behind the screen and I peered around it. Tied to a stake on the ground was a beautiful grey stallion, standing quiet and docile, but his dark eye rolled towards me as he saw me.

‘Oh, yes,’ I said with longing. ‘I could look after him all right.’

Jack gave me a little smile as warm and understanding as his da.

‘Would you like to ride him after the show?’ he invited. ‘Or do you have better things to do, like your sister?’

Dandy’s fingers nipped my arm but for once I ignored her. ‘I’d love to ride him,’ I said hastily. ‘I’d rather ride him than go to any fair, any day.’

He nodded at that. ‘Da said you were horse-mad,’ he said. ‘Wait till after the show and you can go up on him.’

He glanced towards the gate and nodded as his father waved.

‘Take your seats,’ Robert Gower called in his loud announcing voice. ‘Take your seats for the greatest show in England and Europe!’

Jack winked at Dandy and ducked behind the screen as his father shut the gate and came to the centre of the flat grass. Dandy and I scurried to the hill and sat down in expectant silence.

I sat through the show in a daze. I had never seen horses with such training. They had four small ponies – Welsh mountain or New Forest, I thought – who started the show with a dancing act. There was a barrel organ playing and the boy Jack Gower stood in the middle of the ring with a fine purple coat over his red shirt and a long whip. As he cracked it and moved from the centre to the side the little ponies wheeled and trotted individually, turning on their hind legs, reversing the order, all with their heads up and the plumes on their heads jogging and their bells ringing ringing ringing like out-of-season sleighbells.

People cheered as he finished with a flourish with all four ponies bending down in a horse curtsey, and he swept off his purple tricorne hat and bowed to the crowd. But he exchanged a look with Dandy as if to say that it was all for her, and I felt her swell with pride.

The stallion was next in the ring, with a mane like white sea foam tumbling down over his arched neck. Robert Gower came in with him and made him rear and stamp his hooves to order. He picked out flags of any colour – you could call out a colour and he would bring you the one you ordered. He danced on the spot and he could count up numbers up to ten by pawing the ground. He could add up, too, quicker than I could. He was a brilliant horse and so beautiful!

They cheered when he was gone too and then it was the time for the cavalry charge with the barrel organ playing marching music and Robert Gower telling about the glorious battle of Blenheim. The little pony came thundering into the ring with its harness stuck full of bright coloured flags and above them all the red cross of St George. Robert Gower explained that this symbolized the Duke of Marlborough ‘and the Flower of the English Cavalry’.

The other three ponies came in flying the French flag and while the audience sang the old song ‘The Roast Beef of Old England’, the four ponies charged at each other, their little hooves pounding the earth and churning it up into mud. It was a wonderful show and at the end the little French ponies lay down and died and the victorious English pony galloped around in a victory circle and then reared in the middle of the ring.

The drink-sellers came around then, with a tray of drinks, and there were pie-men and muffin-sellers too. Dandy and I had only our pennies and we were saving them for later. Besides, we were used to going hungry.

Next was a new horse, a great skewbald with a rolling eye and a broad back. Robert Gower stood in the centre of the ring, cracking his whip and making the horse canter round in a great steady rolling stride. Then with a sudden rush and a vault Jack came into the ring stripped down to his red shirt and his white breeches and Dandy’s hand slid into mine and she gripped me tight. As the horse thundered round and around, Jack leaped up on to her back and stood balanced, holding one strap and nothing else, one arm outflung for applause. He somersaulted off and then jumped on again and, while the horse cantered round, he swung himself off one side, and then another, and then, perilously, clambered all the way around the animal’s neck. He vaulted and faced backwards. He spun around and faced forwards. Then he finished the act, sweating and panting, with a ride around the ring, standing on the horse’s rump absolutely straight, his arms outstretched for balance, holding nothing to keep him steady, and a great jump to land on his feet beside his father.

Dandy and I leaped to our feet to cheer. I had never seen such riding. Dandy’s eyes were shining and we were both hoarse from shouting.

‘Isn’t he wonderful?’ she asked me.

‘And the horse!’ I said.

That was the high point of the show for me. But Robert Gower as Richard the Lionheart going off to war with all the little ponies and the stallion was enough to bring Dandy close to tears. Then there was a tableau of Saladin on a great black horse which I could not have recognized as the same stallion. Then Richard the Lionheart did a triumphant parade with a wonderful golden rug thrown over the horse’s back. Only his black legs showing underneath would have given the game away if you were looking.

‘Wonderful,’ sighed Dandy at the end.

I nodded. It was actually too much for me to speak.

We kept our seats. I don’t think my knees would have supported me if we had stood. I found I was staring at the muddy patch at the bottom of the hill and seeing again the flash of thundering legs and hearing in my ears the ringing of the pony bells.

All at once my breaking and training of children’s ponies seemed as dull and as dreary as an ordinary woman’s housework. I had never known horses could do such things. I had never thought of them as show animals in this way at all. And the money to be made from it! I was canny enough, even in my starstruck daze, to know that six hard-working horses would cost dear, and that Robert and Jack’s shining cleanliness did not come cheap. But as Robert closed the gate behind the last customer he came towards us swinging a money bag which chinked as if it were full of pennies. He carried it as if it were heavy.

‘Enjoy yourselves?’ he asked.

Dandy gleamed at him. ‘It was wonderful,’ she said, without a word of exaggeration. ‘It was the most wonderful thing I have ever seen.’

He nodded and raised an eyebrow at me.

‘Can the stallion really count?’ I asked. ‘How did you teach him his numbers? Can he read as well?’

An absorbed look crossed Robert Gower’s face. ‘I never thought of him reading,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘You could do a trick with him taking messages perhaps…’ Then he recollected us. ‘You’d like a ride, I hear.’

I nodded. For the first time in a thieving, cheating, bawling life I felt shy. ‘If he wouldn’t mind…’ I said.

‘He’s just a horse,’ Robert Gower said, and put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. The stallion, still dyed black, came out from behind the screen with just a halter on, obedient as a dog.

He walked towards Robert who gestured to me to stand beside the horse. Then he stepped back and looked at me with a measuring eye.

‘How old are you?’ he asked abruptly.

‘Fifteen, I think,’ I said. I could feel the horse’s gentle nose touching my shoulder, and his lips bumping against my neck.

‘Going to grow much?’ Robert asked. ‘Your ma now, is she tall? Your pa is fairly short.’

‘He’s not my da,’ I said. ‘Though I call him that. My real da is dead and my ma too. I don’t know whether they were tall or not. I’m not growing as fast as Dandy, though we’re the same age.’

Robert Gower hummed to himself and said, ‘Good,’ under his breath. I looked to see if Dandy was impatient to go but she was looking past me at the screen. Looking for Jack.

‘Up you get then,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Up you go.’

I took the rope of the halter and turned towards the stallion. The great wall of his flank went up and up, well above my head. My head was as high as the start of his great arching neck. He was the biggest horse I had ever seen.

I could vault on Jess our carthorse by yelling, ‘Hike!’ to her and taking her at a run. But she was smaller than this giant, and I did not feel fit to shout an order to him and rush at him.

I turned to Robert Gower. ‘I don’t know how,’ I said.

‘Tell him to bow,’ he said, not moving forwards. He was standing as far back as if he was in the audience. And he was looking at me as if he were seeing something else.

‘Bow,’ I said uncertainly to the horse. ‘Bow.’

The ears flickered forwards in reply but he did not move.

‘He’s called Snow,’ Robert Gower said. ‘And he’s a horse like any other. Make him do as he’s told. Don’t be shy with him.’

‘Snow,’ I said a little more strongly. ‘Bow!’

A black eye rolled towards me, and I knew, without being able to say why, that he was being naughty like any ordinary horse. Whether he could count better than me or no, he was just being plain awkward. Without thinking twice I slapped him on the shoulder with the tail end of the halter and said, in a voice which left no doubt in his mind:

‘You heard me! Bow, Snow!’

At once he put one forefoot behind the other and lowered right down. I still had to give a little spring to get up on his back, and then I called, ‘Up!’ and he was up on four feet again.

Robert Gower sat on the grass. ‘Take him around the ring,’ he said.

One touch of my heels did it, and the great animal moved forwards in such a smooth walk that it was as if we were gliding. I sat a little firmer and he took it as an order to trot. The great wide back was a steady seat and I jogged a little but hardly slid. I glanced at Robert Gower. He was tending to his pipe. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Canter.’

I sat firmer and squeezed – the lightest of touches and the jarring pace of the trot melted into a canter which blew the hair off my shoulders and brought a delighted smile to my face. Jack came out from behind the screen and smiled at me as I thundered past him. Snow jinked a little at the movement but I stayed on his back as solid as a rock.

‘Pull him up!’ Robert Gower suddenly yelled, and I hauled on the rope, anxious that I had done something wrong. ‘Hold tight!’ he shouted. ‘Up Snow!’

The neck came up and nearly hit me in the face as Snow reared. I could feel myself sliding back and I clung on to the handfuls of mane for dear life as he pawed the air, and then dropped down again.

‘Down you come,’ Robert Gower ordered and I slid down from the horse’s back instantly.

‘Give her the whip,’ he said to Jack, and Jack stepped forward, a smock thrown over his showtime glory, with a long whip in his hand.

‘Stand in front of the horse, as close as you can, nice loud crack on the ground. Shout him “Up!” and then a crack in the air. Like the painting on my wagon,’ Robert ordered.

I flicked the whip lightly on the ground to get the feel. Then I looked at Snow and cracked it as loud as I could. ‘Up!’ I yelled. He was as tall as a tower above me. Up and up he went and his great black hooves were way above my head. I cracked the whip above my head, and even that long thong seemed to come nowhere near him.

‘Down!’ Robert shouted and the horse dropped down in front of me. I stroked his nose. The black came off on my hand and I saw that my hands and face and my skirt were filthy.

‘I should have given you a smock,’ Robert Gower said by way of apology. ‘Never mind.’ He took a great silver watch from his pocket and flicked it open. ‘We’re getting behind time,’ he said. ‘Would you give Jack a hand to get the horses ready for the second show?’

‘Oh yes,’ I said at once.

Robert Gower glanced at Dandy. ‘D’you like horses?’ he asked. ‘D’you like to work with them?’

Dandy smiled at him. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I do other work. Horses is too dirty.’

He nodded at that, and flicked her a penny from his pocket. ‘You’re a deal too pretty to get dirty,’ he said. ‘That’s your pay for waiting for your sister. You can go and wait by the gate and watch that no one sneaks in before I’m there to take the money.’

Dandy caught the penny one-handed with practised skill. ‘All right,’ she said agreeably.

So Dandy sat on the gate while I helped Jack wash Snow and brush and tack-up the little ponies in their bells and their plumes, and water and feed them with a little oats. Jack worked steadily but shot a glance now and then at Dandy as she sat on the gate with the evening sun all yellow and gold behind her, singing and plaiting her black hair.