Pegasi and Prefects (16 page)

“Thank you.” She hesitates a moment, her slim shoulders stiff with some tension, then slips her arm around my back and hugs me, hard and briefly. Then she slips from the room.

I follow her slowly to the school chapel, trying to avoid Cecily’s reproachful look at my lateness. All through morning prayers, I ignore what Miss Carroll is saying, and pray hard, on my own behalf and Rosalind’s and that of the little alicorn, that my faith in my big brother is justified. It has to be. It’s not like he’s ever let me down before. When I had my beloved doll, Mary Ann—even a girl like me can love a doll as if it was a human child—and Walter pulled one of her arms loose in a fit of peevishness, it was Harry who sewed her up with big unpracticed stitches. When I tried to ride Ember the first time and ended up with my posterior regions in the mud, it was Harry who picked me up and dusted me off and made me get straight back up. He won’t let me down now.

The morning of half term dawns crystal-bright and clear after nearly a week of rain and squalls, to the relief of a hundred and sixty school girls who were dreading that the promised outdoor picnic and games demonstrations for our parents would be traded for trestle tables in the gym. Rosalind and I are more relieved than most. Trying to convince our families that we have to go riding in a rainstorm would require dire and desperate efforts.

We make plans for our families to meet up and share lunch. Despite my feverish excitement over Sunflame, I find the time to be a little nervous over meeting Rosalind’s mother, who is coming alone.

“You needn’t worry about that,” Rosalind says, poking a wary spoon at her porridge, which is thick and unappealing, especially to someone who must be suffering something like pre-game nerves. “I’ve written to mother all about you, she’s very happy to meet you.”

Diana, overhearing, pouts. “Rosalind, why didn’t you talk to me before you made plans with
her?
” She says it as if my name isn’t worth saying aloud. “I particularly wanted our mothers to lunch together. I’m sure they will have so much in common.” She leaves unstated that the mother of someone like me could never really understand someone of Rosalind’s background.

Rosalind smiles. I’m not in the least worried by the smile. There’s absolutely no chance of denting her determination where Sunflame is concerned. “I’d very much like to meet your mother, Di. Perhaps you could introduce us while the games are on. But I have already promised to meet up with Charley’s family for lunch.”

Diana’s pout deepens, and she reaches for Rosalind’s shoulder. To my surprised approval, Rosalind turns sharply away, neatly deflecting any Charm aimed at her. Things really have changed, far more than I ever realised. Rosalind has no intention of being magicked out of her plans.

When my family arrives, they make a hit with the school. My two eldest brothers, out of school but not yet out of the home, my two little sisters and one of my younger brothers, all not yet old enough for boarding school, fly in with my parents. Rumours must have spread about what the Forest family arriving as an army is like, because is seems like half the school is at Briar Stables waiting on their arrival. My mother, for her part, is riding a dragonling, with little Bobby bundled up in front of her. Five pegasi and a dragonling are an unusual enough sight that their arrival is heralded by a chorus of gasps and admiring sighs.

Some of the girls in our form and the Fifth, it must be said, seem quite as interested in Harry and Walter, curly-haired and bowing and waving to the crowd like film stars, as in the steeds. We’re all growing up, I suppose. The thought depresses me, somehow. I repress it and run forward to disperse hugs and, to the little ones, kisses. Some soppiness is allowable on the first day of half term, even from a Sixth former.

“Wait a minute, Mums, I have someone for you to meet.” I take Rosalind’s hand, forgetful of precautions in my pleasure at seeing my family again, and urge her forward. Cecily and Esther are already deep in friendly conversation with my older brothers, old friends of theirs through many school holidays.

Rosalind comes forward slowly and reluctantly, pulling slightly back. She’s wearing a flowery frock and cashmere jumper instead of her school tunic, her heavy waves of pale greyish hair loose down her back, looking for once less schoolgirlish than dainty and blossom-like. A nice, feminine girl, I can almost see my mother thinking, as she greets her, an odd friend for tomboyish Charley, if not as odd as Esther. Her smile is approving.

My brothers seem to approve of her, too, or at least Harry and Walter do. There’s something in Harry’s smile that makes me oddly uncomfortable. He never smiles at Cecily that way, fond of her though he is. Nor Esther, even, although Esther is miles and away better looking than Rosalind, and impossibly grown up in a tailored scarlet dress.

I don’t meet Rosalind’s mother during the morning. There’s an exhibition match, and I’m playing for School House. I’m so proud of my girls, in all the teams and all the houses, that I could burst. They play their hearts out for the audience, especially the first and second formers. Anyone could see that they are well-trained and enthusiastic, girls of whom to be proud.

It strikes me that being a games mistress might not be the worst of all careers, although I’m not sure how one would go about it. Presumably there’s a college, or something, and you don’t just stay on at school after you finish and start teaching instead like a Victorian heroine. It’s something to ask Miss Carroll about, perhaps.

When I’ve washed and changed, we go to lunch. Esther’s family have already taken her and Cecily to a hotel in a nearby town, not wanting to expose her frail grandmother, brought back from China by Esther’s missionary grandfather long ago, to too many tiring, rambunctious schoolgirls. Despite this, we form quite a large group. Rosalind has obviously given in and brought Diana and her mother as well as her own mother, with Valerie, whose parents haven’t made it, tagging on her heels.

Diana’s mother is truly stunning, I have to grudgingly admit, with perfectly styled hair in the same auburn as her daughter, and a smile like a film actress. For the first time, I feel a flicker of sympathy for Diana. She must be a difficult mother for any girl live up to.

For her part, Lady Hastings is small and silvery-haired and pointed-eared like Rosalind, but with an elegant self-possession quite foreign to her daughter. Even I can tell she is beautifully dressed and made up and I can’t help feeling the gap between Rosalind’s family and my own rough-and-tumble lot. I’d guessed, of course, that Rosalind came from one of the older families, but somehow I’d never fully realised it; if Rosalind has a title more impressive than Miss, she’s never used it at school. Lady Hastings greets me, however, with what seems like real pleasure, and I relax a little.

My family greet the new arrivals cheerfully, and we settle down on the rugs spread out to eat and chat. Rosalind doesn’t say much, not surprising given her shyness and the crowd. She pulls little Bobby, who immediately took to her, onto her lap and feeds him little bits of sandwiches and cake, seemingly perfectly happy. If she’s scared about what will happen with Sunflame, she doesn’t show it.

My brothers, I can’t help notice, are awfully solicitous in attending all three girls, making sure they have lemonade and full plates. They’ve never shown quite such care of me. Of course, Valerie is undoubtedly pretty, and Diana is probably using Glamours for all she is worth, despite her mother’s presence, and Rosalind. . . I don’t quite like the way Harry smiles at Rosalind, and I know I have no right not to like it, and it makes me sulk a little. It’s an effort to make myself smile.

“I say, Rosalind, have you ever ridden a pegasus?” Harry asks, eventually.

“No, at least not by myself. Charley has taken me up on Ember a couple of times.”

Harry grins. “You must be terribly privileged, but it’s not the same, riding yourself. This is your chance, then. Do you have anything on this afternoon?”

“No.” She looks at him wonderingly, just as if she didn’t expect that Harry would try to get us some time alone together to plan and plot.

“Charley’s told us you’re smashing on a unicorn’s back, and it’s about time you learned how to fly. If you’ve got riding gear at school, it’s an excellent chance for a first lesson. Walter will lend you Steam, won’t you? He won’t be too big even for a mite like you. Mind you, he has to be all dinky and Wally-sized.”

Walter shrugs good-naturedly. He doesn’t quite have Harry’s height, and Steam is not what you’d call a huge pegasus. “Go ahead. Take Charley too, why don’t you? She can’t have flown for quite half a day, she’s getting restless.”

Harry chucks him affectionately under the chin, and I realise that they’ve planned this entire conversation together.

“Don’t be too long, girls,” Lady Hastings warns. “Just a little flight. We’ve all agreed to go together as one big party to a restaurant.” Her smile takes in my parents, Mrs Struthers and all the assorted children and youth alike.

Diana looks distinctly sour, but she won’t dare make a fuss in front on Rosalind’s mother or two good looking boys. I’m guessing she hasn’t been sure who in the assembled company is more important to Charm—watching her try to monopolise attention in three directions at once has been quite amusing. Poor Valerie doesn’t stand a chance against her. Still, Diana is opening her mouth as if to object to the plans, when Walter leans in and saves the day.

“We’ll be relying on you two lovely ladies to entertain us while sis has deserted us,” he says. “Some sibling devotion Charley has, when we came all this way.”

“I’ll be devoted when you’ve earned my devotion,” I snap in mock umbrage. Diana, mollified by Walter’s flattering attention, subsides, and Rosalind and I slip off to change, catching Walter’s wink as we go.

“All right. Now, it’s not so different to ordinary riding, except you have to be prepared that he’ll leave the ground front first, and land back first. You have to hang on like you would when a horse rears, and not slip off. You’ve stayed on a horse that’s tried to throw you before?”

Rosalind smiles at Harry. “Many times,” she says, confidently, and Harry laughs.

“I bet you have. And I bet you don’t cry if you’re thrown, too. A pegasus who trusts you won’t try to throw you from the air, though, so no need to worry about falling from the skies and breaking your neck. Tell that selfish baby sister of mine to share Ember more. It’s time you learn how to fly. After all, it sounds like you’ll need to know, soon enough.”

His faith is justified. She stays on beautifully, adjusting her weight as she needs to, moving with Steam. I can tell that she’s communicating easily with him, and I’m proud of her. I really should lend her Ember every now and then. I’m a little embarrassed that I need Harry to tell me so. Ember has always been mine and mine alone, but Rosalind is different.

The three of us wheel down toward the shack soon enough. Sunflame is nowhere to be seen. She usually turns up quickly enough when we seek her out, so I don’t worry. I’m more concerned about Rosalind getting herself down safely. She has a moment’s uncertainty with the landing, but she stays on well and pulls it off beautifully, all considered. Harry grins at her with oddly proprietorial pride, as if he was responsible for her riding.

“Now, let’s get that foundling of yours,” he says.

“What are you planning?” I ask.

“We lost a sickly newborn alicorn filly a year or two back. We still have the papers in our files, and our Walter is a dab hand at altering numbers. He’d be sent down from his college over a dubious cheque at some point, if it wasn’t for my ennobling moral influence,” he says cheerfully. “My plan is that I ask Rosalind’s lovely mother, as a favour, if she will ‘borrow’ this baby indefinitely for Rosalind, to advertise the stud. It’s all right, Charley, Dad does that kind of thing sometimes to get us in with the right people.

“Your friend seems to have all the right connections,” he adds, with more honesty than manners. “It might genuinely do us some good. I’ll come back with Wal later in the year once you’ve introduced me to Sunflame—we’ll fix up a time to meet you two to try and soothe her into going with us—and I’ll drop in on Rosalind’s family and spring it on them.”

I turn to Ember and play a little with his mane, to hide my frown. I don’t think it’s as all simple as Harry is making out. There are too many holes in the story and too much difficulty.

I fully realise what I’m asking of him, what would happen to his reputation and the family stables if it was known he’d stolen a wild or runaway mythical beast. And Walter. For all Harry’s affectionate slander, Wal’s straight as they come, and the worst forging he’s ever done was when still at school, forging notes from the masters as part of pranks. Forging papers is much more serious.

I’m asking so many people I love to take risks for me— my family, Miss Roberts— and all because I can’t bear to see Rosalind upset. I’m selfish, right enough.

In my guilty preoccupation, it takes me a moment to realise that something has already gone awry. Rosalind is standing stock-still, ashen-faced, and when I reach out I can feel Ember, Steam, Harry’s precious Gallyowen, and… Nothing.

The alicorn is gone.

We reach out our minds, desperately, over and over, but Sunflame can’t be found, not even when we take to the wing again and circle, hunting further and further afield. We touch other minds, small magical creatures and even something dim and dark that my mind shies away from, some old and nasty-minded gryphon or other monster. Nothing that feels like the warm brightness of an alicorn’s mind.

Rosalind is trembling when we finally return to the stables and dismount. There are tears on her cheeks, and she turns slightly away to scrub at them.

Harry has landed closer to her than me, so it is he who produces a handkerchief and takes her glasses while she turns away and Harry and I stand, in an agony of the awkwardness caused by pretending that someone isn’t crying, while she puts herself in order.