Lynda Plante - The Talisman

Edward opened his results and flushed a deep red, looked at Allard, who was turning his pages over and over in a fury. ‘How did you do, old chap?’

Edward shrugged and pocketed the papers. Allard seemed relieved, said he had just scraped through, or rather crawled. ‘Old boy’ll have a fit, I’ll have to have a private chat with Ma, see if she can get me some extra tuition next term... What did you get?’

Sighing, Edward told him that he would more than likely have to do the same thing, and Allard patted his shoulder, asking him to keep mum about the results. He would find the right time to discuss it with his father.

Edward had got a first in everything — a remarkable achievement. There was even an added footnote of personal congratulations from Emmott himself. As he strode out to the stables, Edward whistled, did a small hop and skip, and patted the precious exam results in his pocket. The horses were being groomed, the stables mucked out, the tack being brought out to be cleaned and polished. Harriet was waiting impatiently, with the two horses already saddled. ‘You took your time — come on or Pa will make me stay to help out here, there’s a lot to be done... you look very chipper... No! Wrong foot, how many times do I have to tell you to mount the other way round, idiot!’

They trotted out of the stables into watery sunshine. It had rained heavily in the night, but now the clouds were high and far apart.

‘Right, let’s go. Follow me — we cut across the road and head through the fields, then it’s a free ride for about six miles with some good jumps... By the way, don’t you have a hacking jacket? You really should get one, you know — look like a dreadful townie in that thing you’ve got on.’

They galloped across the fields and Harriet took the jump with ease, but when Edward heeled his horse forward it pulled up short, and Edward was pitched over its neck to land in a muddy ditch. Harriet’s head appeared against the bright sky and yelled down at him that he was a stupid bugger, what had she told him? ‘If you don’t pace him, how in God’s name is he going to jump? Now go back and try again.’

Edward picked himself up and remounted, trotted back again for about twenty yards and took the jump. Harriet, waiting on the other side, gave him the thumbs up and cantered on. She was going at full gallop when her horse pulled up short and she rolled to one side, slipping off the saddle. Edward joined her and looked down at her as she lay on the ground with one foot in the stirrup. ‘Having problems, old thing?’

Harriet wrenched a thistle bush out of the ground and held it up as a warning. ‘Most horses hate thistles and will veer away from them, so be warned.’ She was up and giving chase to Edward, the straw bag bouncing on her back as she passed him. ‘See the gate ahead? When you’re on a hunt, if the pack veers off giving you a leading position, never take a gate, always open it, remember that even if the horses can jump it, the hounds might not and you’ll be given hell if they start ripping their bodies trying to get through hedges. Keep on a straight line now, head towards that thicket and then we go into the woods — be good exercise, see how you cope with trees and branches.’

Edward was enjoying the damp morning air and the sun. He was also elated, the prized results burning in his pocket. He overtook Harriet and looked back, laughing, and she came to his side as they pulled their mounts in and headed for the thicket. ‘You hardly ever laugh, you know that?’ Her red hair bobbing and shining in the sun, cheeks flushed, sweat dripping down the back of her shirt, Harriet swiped at the branches with her crop, looking back and urging Edward on. She shouted to him to make sure his mount had a clear path at all times, horses don’t like being whacked in the face by branches any more than their riders.

The bushes grew thicker and they slowed to a walk, finally emerging into a clearing. It seemed darker, and they looked up between the trees to the sky. Black clouds had gathered above them, and Harriet cried, ‘Oh pisspots, it’s going to rain.’ They mounted and trotted up a small bank towards a wood.

‘Keep on talking to him, tell him he’s doing well, he’s getting to know you now... we’ll head for the woods, I’m taking you to the special place I know where we can shelter.’

Edward patted the neck of his sweating horse and whispered ‘good boy’ and ‘good chap’. Harriet disappeared into the woods about eight yards ahead of him, and he thrashed at the branches with his crop.

The sky grew darker and a cold wind began to chill them. Fierce rain lashed down, and the ground quickly became slithery with mud as the horses picked their way over the uneven grass.

‘We’ll have to get off, walk the rest of the way, it’s too dangerous. The stream up ahead must have burst its banks. You okay? Just lead him on.’

Within a matter of minutes Edward was soaked to the skin. He pulled at the horse’s reins and followed Harriet, twice losing his footing, the mud oozing around his boots. ‘Harriet, Harriet, we should go back...’

She was way up ahead, dragging her horse beside her, and she pointed off to the left. ‘Just a few yards...’

The tiny chapel was dilapidated, the roof had partly fallen in and one wall was crumbling. In the old arched doorway two heavy oak doors hung off their hinges. Harriet tethered her horse to some branches and nuzzled him. ‘Get his saddle off and take it inside.’

Edward obeyed, wiping his face as the rain was blinding him, and pulled his horse towards the arch to give him some shelter. Heaving off the saddle, he carried it into the chapel.

Inside, it was a mass of fallen debris and overturned pews, and the font was cracked in two. The stained glass window was shattered, broken glass littered the small stone altar.

Harriet’s voice echoed as she pulled off her boots, rubbing her cold feet. She sat on a pew and turned to grin at him. ‘This is my secret place, you like it? Used to come here when I was little — course, it wasn’t all tumbled down then. I was christened here, it belongs to the family. Some of my father’s family are buried here. His father was a curate, not that he likes to broadcast that too much.’

Edward removed his soaking jacket, rubbed his wet hair and sat in a pew opposite Harriet. She shook her hair and unwound the ribbon that held it at the nape of her neck. She grinned at him. ‘You hungry? Open up the bag, I’m starved.’

She wandered around the chapel as Edward unloaded the picnic, telling him that her father had always kept his origins quiet. Being a judge he liked everyone to think he was somebody, but really he was just a vicar’s son. The family had bought the old manor house, they didn’t inherit it. ‘I think Pa married the old lady for her cash. I mean, have you seen some of the old photographs of her when she was young? Frightfully ugly, but he was quite good-looking.’

Throwing herself down beside him she searched the contents of the bag, opened a neat packet of sandwiches and munched hungrily, still shaking the water out of her hair.

‘I didn’t know you had such long hair.’

Harriet told him she had cut the fringe herself, and if she’d had long enough she would have cut the back as well, but the needlework teacher had taken the scissors away. ‘Shall we light a fire? I’m frozen, we could light one on the altar, it wouldn’t be sacrilegious, I mean nobody uses this place now.’

Edward shrugged his shoulders and began picking up dry sticks from the floor of the chapel.

Edna Simpson’s sister and her family, the Van der Burges, arrived to find no member of the family there to greet them. They sat in the warm spot in the house — the kitchen, Sylvia still wearing her mink coat. She surveyed the cards and invitations, assuring her husband they were going to have a pleasant festive season.