heat of the flag race. Stella had six points and so did Dan and Ben. Issie knew she would have to ride really well this afternoon if she wanted to win enough points to make the team. She suddenly felt her tummy churn with nerves, almost putting her off her ice cream. “Come on,” she said to Stella, “let’s go get saddled up.”
That afternoon seemed to fly by as the days always do at pony club. By the time they reached the last event of the day, Issie and Kate had both ridden well in the rider on the flat and over hurdles and both girls had added to their points tally. Each of them had six points now just like Stella. There was only the showjumping against the clock to come.
“There are ten fences in the course. You’ll be jumping this same height at the Interclub on Shield Day when the fences will all be between eighty centimetres and one metre,” Avery explained. “It’s the same system today as the Interclub. You will receive four faults for every rail you knock down. The rider who completes a clear round with the best time on the clock will win.”
As Stella and Kate rode off to warm up over the practice jumps, Issie sat by the ring to watch the first rider and see how they handled the course.
As she was watching the horse take the first fence she looked across and saw Morgan. The girl was sitting all by herself on her black gelding, looking extremely bored.
It must be awful, Issie thought, being the new girl and not knowing anyone—even if you are the daughter of a famous rider like Araminta Chatswood-Smith.
“What do you think, Blaze? Shall we make friends?” Issie murmured to her horse.
She picked up the reins and trotted Blaze over to the shade of the large plane tree where Morgan and her pony were standing alone.
“Hi,” Issie smiled brightly at Morgan, “I’m Issie, well, Isadora really, but everyone calls me Issie.” Issie patted her liver chestnut mare, who gave her head a shake and jangled her bit as if to suggest that the introductions weren’t quite finished yet.
“And this is Blaze!” Issie laughed. “I think she wants to meet your horse. What’s his name?” she asked, gesturing towards the black gelding.
“Black Jack,” Morgan replied in a quiet voice, “but I just call him Jack. We were—”
“There you are, Morgan!” The sharp voice of Natasha Tucker trilled out, interrupting them. Natasha pulled her horse up between Black Jack and Blaze and cast a snooty look at Isadora. “It’s so nice to have you here, Morgan,” Natasha purred. “So nice to have a proper rider at this club with me finally. And with a proper horse too,” Natasha added, looking at Black Jack. “I can tell that he’s a purebred. Goldrush is too, you know. Bloodlines are so important, don’t you think? It’s a shame they let all sorts of mongrel ponies join the club these days. I think you’ll find that some people at this pony club have horses that are simply out-classed by horses like ours. They can’t afford well-bred mounts like we can,” she said. She gave Morgan a sly smirk. “You’re new here, but you’ll learn. I’m sure I can fill you in on who’s worth bothering with.”
“What-ever, Natasha,” Morgan replied dryly. “I think I can figure out good breeding all by myself. And I know exactly who is worth bothering with—and who is not!”
And with that she leaned over in front of Natasha and smiled broadly at Issie. “Your horse is beautiful. I love chestnuts with blonde manes.” She looked admiringly at Blaze’s flaxen mane, which was pale honey blonde, long and silky. “Is she an Arab?”
“I think so.” Issie smiled back. “Avery says Anglo-Arab, but I got her from the ILPH so I don’t really know for sure.”
As the two girls nattered happily away, Natasha’s face darkened. She gave a haughty sniff, pretended she had somewhere better to be and rode off in a sulk.
“I’m so glad she’s gone!” Morgan pulled a face as she watched Natasha ride off.
“I thought you were friends?” Issie was confused.
“No way!” Morgan was shocked. “She is horrible to me at school. Natasha and her friends are all in the popular’ group and they won’t even speak to me. Now suddenly she turns up at pony club and discovers who my mum is and wants to be my best friend!”
Issie nodded. “That sounds like Natasha all right.”
Morgan sighed. “It happened at my last pony club too. All these girls who just wanted to hang out with me because of my mum…”
“It must be amazing.” Issie grinned. “I mean, having a mother who is a really great rider. My Mum can’t stand horses.”
“Yeah, it’s OK,” Morgan said without much enthusiasm. She looked at Issie. “It’s just that everyone expects me to be this fantastic rider just because Mum is. And everyone is always asking me about her.”
Issie felt herself blush. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…I just thought it would be so great to grow up in a horsy family. How old were you when you first learned to ride?”
“I was three. Mum took me out hunting before I had even turned six.” Morgan rolled her eyes dramatically. “Mum thinks I should be the youngest ever rider to win Badminton. She says she expects me to do it by the time I am eighteen years and 246 days old—since Richard Walker was eighteen years and 247 days old when he won it on Pasha in 1969!”
Issie sighed. “Oh, I wish Araminta Chatswood-Smith was my mother! My mum thinks Badminton is a game you play with a shuttlecock and a racket.”
Morgan laughed at this.
“Do you want to come and meet Kate and Stella?” Issie offered.
Morgan nodded and the two girls were about to leave when another voice called Morgan’s name. “There you are! What are you doing? Why aren’t you warming up?” Araminta Chatswood-Smith demanded as she strode purposefully towards them.
“There are only three more riders before it’s your turn,” Araminta said. “You should be at the practice fence giving Black Jack a bit of last-minute schooling.”
“Sorry, Mum,” Morgan sighed.
“Well, let’s go then,” Araminta said, turning on her heels and marching off towards the jumps. She looked back over her shoulder. “I mean now, Morgan!”
Morgan shrugged, waved goodbye to Issie and gave her a smile as she trotted off after her mother.
Issie watched as Araminta schooled her daughter over the two low practice fences, back and forth again and again. She looked very serious as she called Morgan to her, making gestures and gripping Morgan’s hands in her own to adjust their position on Black Jack’s reins. Issie could hear her saying, “Half-halt…then leg on…try to keep your head in the game this time, Morgan!”
By the time it was Morgan’s turn to ride the showjumping course she looked tense in the saddle. Her face looked even paler than usual as she entered the ring.
At the first jump, Morgan rode hard at the fence. “Get up!” she shouted in a frightened voice at
