of greeting. His whole body reverberated as his clarion call rang out, shaking with a neigh of excitement at having new horses for company.
Hester glared at him. “Oh, do behave yourself, Comet! You really are the most troublesome pony.” She turned to the girls. “I don’t want you to think they’re all this bad. Most of the Blackthorn Ponies we have here are very well schooled. I’ve got several new horses that are perfect learners’ ponies, ideal for the riding school. Come on, let’s put your horses away and then you can meet some of them.”
The stable block at Blackthorn Farm was built from the same white-painted weatherboards as the manor. Inside it was like a giant barn, with bales of hay stacked up in one corner, a storage room for tack and two rows of loose boxes. On the door of each loose box a horse’s head was carved into the honey-coloured wood above a plaque with the horse’s name inscribed on it.
Issie pushed open the vast wooden sliding door and walked inside, followed by Stella and Kate leading Coco and Toby, and Aunt Hester, still with her makeshift dress-belt halter, hanging on to Comet.
“You can put your horses in the first two boxes on the left there, girls,” Hester said.
“What about Comet?” asked Issie.
“I don’t usually box him,” Hester said. “Blackthorn Ponies don’t really like it in the stable as a rule. They prefer to graze out. But I might have to make an exception in Comet’s case–at least if he’s in a loose box he won’t be able to jump out!”
Hester popped Comet in the box next to Coco’s. The stall was freshly mucked out with clean straw on the floor and water in the trough. Comet gave his new home a rather bored once-over and then craned his neck desperately over the Dutch door, whinnying to get attention. Coco stuck her head out of her stall and returned his call.
“Shhh! Coco!” Stella said, giggling. “He’s a naughty pony. Don’t encourage him!”
As they walked down the rows of loose boxes the girls could see familiar faces poking out of the top of each stall door. First in the row were the three palominos, Paris, Nicole and Stardust, the mares they had ridden when they were working as stunt riders on The Palomino Princess. Issie stopped and fed a carrot to Stardust, running a hand through her silver-white mane, admiring the rich treacle sheen of her coat. “Remember me, girl?” she asked softly.
Her question was answered by a nicker from the stall next door as a black and white face emerged. “Diablo!” Issie grinned at him. Diablo was Aunt Hester’s favourite stunt horse, a piebald Quarter Horse that could do all sorts of tricks, including playing dead when a gun was fired–a trick that had almost scared Issie and her friends out of their wits the last time they were at Blackthorn Farm.
In the stall next to Diablo was the enormous draught horse Dolomite. The big bay with the white blaze stood at nearly sixteen-three hands, while, in the stall right next to him, was Titan, the dinky miniature pony who couldn’t have been more than ten hands high!
“Dolly and Titan obviously aren’t any use as riding-school ponies,” Hester said. “You’d need a ladder to mount Dolly.”
“What about Titan?” Stella asked. “Couldn’t one of the little kids ride on him?”
Hester shook her head. “Titan is a true miniature, a Falabella. They’re not really bred as riding ponies; they can only handle very light weights on their back–although he can tow a cart.”
In the stall next to Titan was a dark brown pony who was around thirteen hands high. “This is Molly, one of my new ones,” Hester said. “She’s a Blackthorn Pony that I’ve been schooling up. Very well mannered–the perfect learner’s pony.”
“How many ponies will you need?” asked Issie.
“That depends on how many students enroll,” Hester said. “The ad has only been up on the PONY Magazine website for a few days and we already have five keen pupils lined up.”
“Do any of them actually know anything about riding?” Kate asked Hester.
“The twins, Tina and Trisha, have experience,” said Hester. “They’re ten years old and they’ve been having weekly lessons since they turned eight apparently. I was planning to put them on Paris and Nicole. They’ll be perfect for more advanced riders. The youngest rider so far is Kitty–she’s eight and mad keen on ponies according to her mum, although her brother George, who is ten, sounds like a handful. Both of them have had riding lessons, so they know the basics.”
“Which ponies will you put Kitty and George on?” asked Issie.
“I’m not sure about George, but I was thinking that Kitty could ride Timmy, the sweet chestnut with the star on his forehead. He’s a Blackthorn Pony too, no vices and thoroughly bombproof,” Hester said. “The oldest girl is eleven. Her name is Kelly-Anne and she insists she’s a bit of an expert–but she seems utterly green to me, if you know what I mean. I’m going to put her on Julian. He’s a bit of a plodder, quite safe for an absolute beginner.”
Issie and Stella exchanged nervous glances. Up until now the idea of running a riding school had seemed like fun. But now that they were here it all seemed kind of daunting. Next Monday they would have actual pupils arriving. And some of the riders weren’t much younger than they were. What would they say when they saw that their instructors were just a bunch of kids?
“I thought you three could draw up a lesson plan and a timetable this afternoon, then we’ve got time to iron out the kinks during the week before the riders arrive,” Hester continued.
“Lesson plan?” Stella squeaked. “Won’t you be doing that? I mean, we won’t actually be taking the lessons all by ourselves, will we?”
Hester shook her head. “I’m not expecting you to do everything by yourselves. But it’s good to have a game plan so you can cope without me. Aidan and I have a lot of work to do just keeping the farm running so it’s possible you’ll be left alone in charge at least some of the time.” Hester noticed the terrified looks on the three girls’ faces. “Something wrong?”
“Ummm…no…” Issie managed.
“Good!” Hester said brightly. “Well, I think that’s enough of a tour of the stables for today. You can meet the rest of the ponies later. Shall we get back up to the house and you can unpack your things? You’ve all got your usual rooms. I hope that’s OK?”
Issie’s bedroom was the first room off the landing at the top of the grand wooden staircase. She threw her bags down on the enormous four-poster bed and then threw herself down next to them. The huge room was papered with antique horsey wallpaper and hanging above the fireplace was an enormous oil painting of Avignon, Aunt Hester’s great grey Warmblood stallion. In the portrait Avignon was running free, his beautiful silver mane flowing in the wind. Issie lay on the bed and gazed up at the painting, taking in the beauty of the horse, the arch of his neck, the flare of his nostrils, the deep, dark eyes staring back at her.
“All settled in?” Aidan’s voice startled her. He was standing in the doorway holding a duffel bag. “I’m moving into the last room down the end of the hall.”
Issie was confused. “Why aren’t you in your cottage down by the stables?”
“It made sense to move out,” Aidan said matter-of-factly “We needed somewhere to put all the kids so we turned the cottage into a sort of
