Phantom Horse 3: Phantom Horse Disappears Read online

  Angus had slid down from the roof by this time. He had torn his sweatshirt and lost the shotgun. He looked at me and muttered, “This is the end. Why didn’t you gallop away across the hills?”

  I don’t know what the Irishmen would have done if we hadn’t been interrupted. They looked embarrassed and undecided, and I don’t think they wanted to kill us. But, unexpectedly, there were now cars blocking the drive and out of them policemen streamed like angry bees from a hive. The men started to run in all directions, leaping into their Land Rovers, starting the engines, running towards the hills shouting things to one another in Gaelic. But they were too late. All the escape routes were blocked and the policemen called to them by name.

  “O’Connelly, come over here! Sean O’Flattery, and what do you think you’re doing?”

  They slowly collected like a shame-faced pack of hounds and started to excuse themselves.

  “I was doing nothing for sure,” one said, and, “It was a night out we were having,” and, “It’s a funny thing, when you’ll be spoiling a saint’s day celebration for sure.”

  Then we saw Fiona coming towards us. Her face was red from crying.

  “Who sent for the police?” asked my brother, but suddenly we knew. We could see it in her face as she looked at us.

  “I thought they were killing you, Angus,” she said. “I couldn’t have you killed. But they are my father’s friends, you understand. It was a terrible decision. Now I don’t know what will happen, for sure, for there’s explosives and all in the attic. And my father will never speak to me again, that’s certain, for he’s a funny man if ever there was one.”

  Angus put an arm round her shoulder. “Thank you. Thank you very much,” he said.

  It wasn’t enough of course. Nothing would ever be enough in return for what she had done. The police were now carrying the ammunition and explosives from the attic. Dawn had come all warm and rosy with a smell of damp leaves, dew-drenched grass, and threads finer than silk hanging on the bushes along the drive.

  I dismounted and Donnie O’Reagan said, “You had best be putting your little horse in the paddock now. The stable’s full of bullets and we wouldn’t want him swallowing one in his hay.”

  As the police questioned him, I wanted to cry, “Not him, not Donnie, he’s all right!”

  Fiona was crying and none of us knew what to do.

  The other Irishmen were put into trucks and driven away. An inspector told us that he would be wanting to talk to us all in the big house as soon as we were washed and dressed.

  Suddenly it was another day. Phantom rolled over and over in the grass.

  Angus said, “Don’t worry, he’s too tired to jump out for a bit.”

  “We had better tell Mother,” Fiona said in a miserable voice. “She must still be asleep and will be getting a terrible shock if we don’t prepare her.”

  “I wish we could pay you back somehow,” Angus told her.

  “You can’t wipe out the past, however much you try,” said Fiona. “My father’s been found out but what he was doing was a truly terrible thing.”

  My foot in plaster, with its sock, was soaking wet. My toes ached. The front door was unlocked. The dogs greeted us and, to my surprise, the post had been delivered as usual.

  “They’ll all hate me now, truly they will. That was Mrs O’Flattery’s son they led away. I betrayed him,” said Fiona.

  Angus and I looked at one another and could think of nothing to say. “I’ll give you all my money if that’ll help,” I offered. “I won a bet with a rich American last year so I’ve got quite a lot. You could give it to Mrs O’Flattery as compensation.”

  “I’ll give you the money that Dad was going to spend on a horse for me,” offered Angus.

  “It would only buy more guns, and that would mean more trouble,” replied Fiona wearily, as though we were two tiresome children and she was our grandmother.

  The dogs welcomed us with excited barks.

  “I shot one of the men,” said Angus. “I hit him in the foot, and I got a graze on my arm.” I saw the blood on his clothes for the first time. However tiresome he is, I thought, he’s brave – braver than I shall ever be.

  “We had better bathe it or something. Does it hurt?” I asked.

  “Not much, though it felt terrible when it happened. It’s nothing to fuss over,” replied Angus, but I saw that he was suddenly sagging at the knees.

  “Put your head down,” I told him. “Put it between your knees.”

  We had followed Fiona into the house. Upstairs she and Cousin Mary were having a tremendous argument. The police were in the sitting room and the sun was shining through the windows, showing up the dust and cobwebs which Mrs O’Flattery never got round to cleaning.

  “But calling the police, that was going too far. Why didn’t you wake me?” cried Cousin Mary. “Now heaven knows what will happen.”

  “Shh, Mother, they are in the other room.”

  “I could have dealt with them.”

  “They were trying to kill Angus. Shooting at him in the stable. Did you want him murdered, Mother?”

  I had pushed Angus’s head between his knees and slowly the colour came back into his face. He said, “I must have fainted. How silly and feeble.”

  “You had better come upstairs and show this to Cousin Mary,” I replied, taking his arm. “You don’t want tetanus and you will certainly need an injection and maybe stitches in it.”

  “I wish they had never visited us,” said Cousin Mary, unaware of our presence in the hall. “They’ve been a bother from start to finish and as for Jean, she thinks of nothing but horses and riding.”

  “I like them, Mother,” said Fiona. “Angus is the nicest person I’ve ever met. Truly he is. He’s brave and kind and not selfish at all.”

  “Wow!” I whispered in Angus’s ear. “Did you hear that?”

  “Shut up. You can’t be beastly about someone who has just saved your life. Anyway, I like being admired. It does my ego good,” replied Angus.

  We started to climb the stairs together and then he fainted again. Cousin Mary came rushing down, saying, “He’s bleeding all over the carpet!”

  Fiona cried, “Mother stop bothering about the carpet; he’ll bleed to death in a minute.”

  We carried him into his room where Cousin Mary applied pressure with a large wad of cotton wool, and presently the bleeding stopped.

  “I must have fainted again. How silly,” said Angus, sitting up.

  “Lie down at once,” replied Cousin Mary. “Fetch him some water, Fiona. Don’t just stand there like an idiot – you children will be the death of us all. Everything was all right till you came.”

  “You asked us,” replied Angus in a faint voice.

  “You are wanted downstairs, missus,” said Donnie O’Reagan’s voice through the door.

  “We’ll be needing the doctor;” said Fiona, returning with some water. “Angus shouldn’t be questioned yet.”

  “Will I have to see the police by myself then?” I asked, but no one answered. Suddenly everything seemed too big for me to manage. For how could I explain everything without making Cousin Mary or Fiona sound guilty? Would they believe me? Would anyone? Wasn’t the whole tale too unlikely, too fantastic? I couldn’t believe any of it had really happened myself now that it was over, so how could I convince anyone else? I wished that I was wounded and could faint like Angus. I wanted to run away to Donnie O’Reagan’s cottage and hide myself among his children.

  “I can go downstairs,” said Angus. “I’m all right.”

  “Your wound will bleed if you move,” replied Fiona. “If they must question you, they can come up here.”

  Cousin Mary had gone. There were still three police cars parked outside in the drive. It was a perfect summer day. Leaning out of Angus’s window I could hear bees buzzing among the flowers.

  “You had better change,” said Angus. “You really are disgusting to look at. Your plaster is covered with horse dung, your face i
s filthy and there’s blood down the front of your jumper.”

  I didn’t answer. I could see a vehicle coming along the drive, and it wasn’t a police car. It looked like a camper van with two people waving at us – a man and a woman.

  “There’s more visitors,” I said. “They look like guests.”

  “What a moment to come,” cried my brother.

  “No one is expected,” said Fiona.

  They were coming nearer now and I started to jump up and down, yelling, “It’s Mum and Dad … They’re here!”

  “Let me see,” said Angus in a funny, hoarse voice. “Get out of the way, Fiona.”

  “Don’t,” I cried. “You’ll only faint again.” I ran along the passage, down the stairs, across the hall, through the wide-open door. I could hear the police talking in the big sitting room and there was one standing in the hall who said, “And where will you be going, miss?”

  “Just outside,” I cried. “I won’t be long.”

  Dad jumped out of the camper van first. “What’s going on?” he called. “We’ve been stopped three times by the police!”

  “What’s happened to you, Jean? And where’s Angus? Is Angus all right?” cried Mum.

  “He’s been shot, but he’s all right,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, to sound normal and comforting.

  “Shot?” Mum gasped. “Is he in hospital?”

  “It’s only a graze,” I answered. “He’s upstairs in bed.”

  “You look awful,” said Dad. “What’s the matter with your foot?”

  “It’s getting better. We’re all right,” I answered, staring into their faces. “We’re all right, honestly, quite all right. Oh, it’s all such a long story. I lost Phantom. They took him.”

  “They?” asked Dad.

  “There’s blood all down your jumper,” said Mum.

  “I was just going to change.” Everything was getting jumbled up, and my voice seemed to be coming from a long way off. Mum and Dad receded into the distance. “I was just going to change. It’s Angus’s blood,” I muttered. “I have to see the police. I don’t know what to say …”

  My parents seemed to be coming back from a long way off.

  “She nearly fainted!” said Mum.

  Dad picked me up in his arms. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this,” he cried, “and I’m going to ask the questions! I am not having you bullied by a bunch of policemen!”

  “But you don’t know what happened.”

  “Well, if you have to be questioned, you’ll be clean and in bed. Not like you are now.”

  At last I knew that I was safe, that the grown-ups were taking over.

  “Where’s Angus’s bedroom?” cried Mum, running ahead of us up the stairs.

  It was like clambering into a safe cave after being hunted. I knew no one would hurt us now that Dad and Mum were here to sort out everything.

  “You came just in time,” I said. “I’m not very good with policemen and I didn’t want to get Cousin Mary and Fiona into trouble, but now you can tell me what to say.”

  13

  I was clean and washed and in bed at last.

  “Begin at the beginning,” said Dad.

  “I don’t know where it all began,” I answered, “but I’ll begin with the attic.” There were two policemen in the room and one had a notebook open. A doctor had arrived and was attending to Angus in the next room. Dad had talked to Angus and knew about the gun and the shooting. In fact he knew almost everything.

  “We shouldn’t have gone in the attic, I can see that now,” I began. Everything came back to me and I could see the boxes again and Fiona standing in the doorway in her nightie.

  When I had finished Dad went outside with the two policemen. My toes were aching and I felt very sleepy, which was hardly surprising since I hadn’t slept much last night. Dad returned bearing a tray with scrambled eggs on toast and a cup of tea.

  “What will happen to Cousin Mary?” I asked. “She didn’t know anything about it. And what about Fiona? I think they are victims of circumstances.”

  “Cousin Mary turned a blind eye, like Nelson. I don’t think the police will have a case against her. After all, she slept through everything, though whether by design or accident, I don’t know. And you can’t punish an intimidated child. Fiona’s been through a terrible time. She knew about the ammunition and explosives in the attic and she burned your letter to us because she was afraid. She’s younger than you are and I think she’s been very brave. Her father is the real villain of the piece and he’s not here. But Angus shouldn’t have used a gun, of course, and he did shoot first.”

  I ate my scrambled eggs and asked after Phantom. Dad said that he was all right and stuffing himself with grass. He told me that the police were leaving and that he had a surprise for me and Angus, but that he would not tell me about till later.

  Fiona appeared with some toast and marmalade. She looked like a small hunted animal and I felt very sorry for her, knowing that she was blaming herself for everything. But great waves of exhaustion were sweeping over me and I was having difficulty in keeping my eyes open any longer. I ate the toast, then muttering, “Thank you,” collapsed in bed and without another thought fell asleep, to dream of nothing.

  Everybody seemed to be in my room when I awoke.

  “This is a council of war,” said my brother.

  “Not war, peace,” replied Mum quickly. “How is your foot, Jean? I think you will need a new plaster.”

  “The plaster’s rather loose, I think it’s cracked, but otherwise it’s all right,” I answered, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Why are you all here?”

  “Dad has some good news,” said Angus, who now had his arm in a sling. “We’ve all been waiting for you to wake up.”

  Cousin Mary sat a little apart from the others. I wondered whether she was still angry with me and Angus. She sat on the edge of her chair with her hands in her lap.

  “What about Donnie O’Reagan?” I asked.

  “He’s all right. He’s looking after Phantom. We’re all going to see him in a minute,” replied Dad.

  “We must owe him lots of money,” I said.

  “We’ve got really good news,” said Mum. “I won some money with my Premium Bonds, so we’re going to try and buy a Range Rover and a trailer, plus a horse for Angus – and all drive back together.”

  I sat up in bed. “A Range Rover and a trailer?” I cried. “So that we can go to lots of shows, and hunt. And we can go? We aren’t going to prison or anything?”

  “That’s right,” replied Dad. “I’ve been through everything with the police and since we aren’t going to bring any charges against anyone, we can leave when we like.”

  “Donnie O’Reagan’s got a fantastic grey,” said Angus, and then stopped.

  “He’s really super,” I continued, “but terribly expensive.”

  “We’ll look at him anyway,” replied Mum. “You see, the prize was very large – twenty-five thousand pounds in fact.”

  “Twenty-five thousand pounds!” exclaimed Angus.

  “It’s the first time I’ve ever won anything,” said Mum.

  “I want to dress and see Phantom,” I said. “Also Cousin Mary and Fiona are coming back with us for a holiday,” continued Dad. “We hope to leave tomorrow.”

  Fiona was staring at Angus and Angus’s eyes had gone glassy. (He told me afterwards that he was imagining himself hunting Donnie O’Reagan’s grey at that moment.) Everyone left my room and while I dressed I digested the news that I had heard. I hoped we would buy a proper trailer with a roof and groom’s compartment with a little door. I put on a polo-necked jersey and the jeans which Cousin Mary had slit at the bottom, so that they would fit over my plaster easily. I stared at the view outside and imagined the house empty and wondered what would become of Sean and Connie.

  I found everyone waiting for me outside on the weedy gravel. It was one of those beautiful Irish evenings with the hills all blue in the distance and the gra
ss greener than any grass I’ve ever seen. A sort of melancholy peace hung over everything.

  Phantom was still grazing; he looked better already.

  “The vet came when you were asleep,” Dad told me. “He isn’t coming again. He says Phantom’s cured himself.”

  Donnie O’Reagan was weeding his vegetable garden.

  “You kids look at Phantom while we talk,” said Dad.

  “I’m not a kid,” said Angus.

  “Young people then.”

  I put my arm round Phantom’s neck. He looked very beautiful. “We’ll soon be home,” I told him. “You’ll see Twilight again and the orchard will be full of apples.”

  The grey was in the stable. Angus went straight to him. “He’s rather big,” he said. “But I’m sure to grow, and I know he’ll be good across country because I’ve seen Donnie lunging him over banks and walls; he’s got the most marvellous scope and Donnie says he’s as clever as a cat.”

  Donnie O’Reagan was coming across the yard with a saddle and bridle. “A babe in arms could ride him, you know,” he said.

  Angus mounted the grey off a mounting block. He could only ride in one hand because of his injured arm so he didn’t jump, but he cantered circles and reined back and he kept stopping to call, “He’s absolutely fantastic.”

  “He’s big enough,” said Mum.

  “Just right,” replied Donnie O’Reagan. “I will sell him cheap to you. I don’t want to make any profit, not after what’s happened. He’s three thousand to you.”

  “He’s the best horse I’ve ever ridden,” announced Angus, halting in front of us. “There’s so much in front and such power behind. He’s fantastic.” He slid to the ground. “But he’s awfully expensive,” he added, “so I think we ought to look at some more horses. I don’t want you to spend all your money on me.”

  But Mum was already writing in her cheque book.

  “Three thousand is little enough for a horse nowadays, and I can never repay you for all you’ve done for Angus and Jean – you’ve been marvellous,” she said.