The White Horse of Zennor (10 page)

‘You're right,' he said aloud, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and getting to his feet. ‘I have been a cuckoo, a right cuckoo, and there's only one way I know to put things right.'

After milking that evening Thomas washed out his
father's old white bowl which he had kept in the corner of the dairy, and dipped it into the swirling milk in the tank. He walked out over the field towards the great rock in the meadow and set the bowl down in the centre of it before turning away and going back into the dairy to fetch the sack of potatoes he had brought down from the house. As he opened the door he was half expecting the little old man to be there, and indeed he was, sitting on the silver tank, his little legs crossed as Thomas had first seen him all those months before. They looked at each other for a moment before Thomas spoke.

‘I need your help,' he said. ‘I've put your milk out on the rock, and I'll let you have these potatoes to be going on with. There'll be a row for you and yours next year, I promise, and every year after that.'

The little old man's smile widened and he chuckled with delight, holding out his hand to Thomas, who took it gratefully and helped him to the ground.

‘Thank you Thomas Barbery,' said the little old man. ‘I knew we would be friends one day. From now on we will see to it that your farm and your family prospers.
Come on now,' and he reached up and took Thomas's hand, ‘I've something to show you.'

He led Thomas by the hand out into the meadow and stood for a moment looking around him.

‘It is beautiful,' he said. ‘Is there any place more beautiful on all the earth?'

‘No,' said Thomas. ‘Come to think of it, I shouldn't think there is.'

‘Watch this, Thomas Barbery,' the little man said, and he clapped his hands loudly three times. From under every rock on the farm it seemed, from the daffodil cottage and from the ruined chapel beyond came an army of little men and little women, running and jumping and capering until they gathered in a circle around the rock where they joined hands and danced together. ‘You see,' said the little man. ‘There's a lot of us, and now we're back at work we'll soon have your farm working just as it used to. We'll have a word with your cows right away and they'll stop their nonsense – you can be sure of that. You'll never see us again Thomas, not if you love the land and are true to us, but you'll always know we're there. And after you're gone we
will look after your son, and his son after him when they take on the farm at Tremedda.'

In the months and the years that followed the farm thrived as it had never done before, and Thomas was a happy man again. Every evening since that terrible day when the leat below the Eagle's Nest unaccountably dried up, he put out the bowl of milk for the little people and he always grew a line of potatoes and left them in the land for his little friends.

When some time later his son asked him why he left out a bowl of milk every night on the great rock in the meadow below the milking parlour, he replied,

‘It's for the cat. It's milk for the cat.'

‘But we haven't got a cat, Father,' said the little boy.

‘I know,' said Thomas, ‘but for the moment let's pretend we have. When you're a bit older I'll tell you a story, a true story; and then you'll know why. But I'm not going to tell you just yet because you'd believe me, and if you believe it now you won't believe it later when it really matters.'

‘I don't understand, Father,' said the little boy.

‘You will, my lad,' said Thomas, and smiled to himself. ‘You will.'

THERE IS A LOST HOUSE HIGH UP ON THE moor above Zennor churchtown where no one comes and no one goes. No road leads up to it, and even the peat-black track passes by the front gate as if it might be afraid to go any closer. It looks as if no one lives there for no curtain ever shivers and no smoke breathes out of the chimney. But someone does live there.

Mad Miss Marney has lived on her own up there for as many long years as anyone can remember. In all that time the only people she has ever spoken to are the
shopkeepers in Penzance where she goes just a few times a year for provisions. On these rare appearances she is always a source of great interest and speculation for she goes dressed in a coat made from corn-sacks and tied around the waist with binder-cord. She talks to herself incessantly and cackles whenever she laughs. All this may well be why she is known as ‘Mad Miss Marney'. Most people try to avoid her for she is disturbingly strange to look at, but for those who do take the time to speak to her she always has a toothy smile and an infectious laugh that often breaks into a high-pitched cackle.

To the children she is of course a witch. Any bent old lady who lives on her own, carries a knobbly walking stick and cackles when she laughs has to be a witch. But Mad Miss Marney is a witch mostly because the children have all been told to stay away from her by parents who themselves believe that there must be more to Mad Miss Marney than meets the eye.

One of these children was Kate Trelochie who unlike most children had no fear of the dark or of witches or of anything much, but like most children she was insatiably
inquisitive. She lived at Wicca Farm under the shadow of the Eagle's Nest. She was an only child whose parents were so yoked to their farm and so consumed by the work of it that they had little time or energy to spare for their child. So she grew up a wild, independent soul wandering the fields and the cliffs with her friends, but always reserving the high moor by the Eagle's Nest for herself alone. The moor suited her for she was a creature of impulsive moods, at one moment unable to contain her exhilaration and at the next so full of despondency and gloom that she could scarcely speak to anyone. Ever since she could remember she had been drawn to the sighing mists and the whispering wilderness of the moor; everything from the collapsed three-legged Quoit, that last sad reminder of some ancient chieftain's earthly sway, to the great granite cheesewring rocks that overlooked Zennor itself – everything was her own private sanctuary, her kingdom.

She loved to be alone up there, to roam free over her kingdom with the wind tearing at her hair. She resented any intrusion – they had no right to be there, it was her place. Leaving the hoof-marked track behind her she
would hurdle through the rough heather and clamber over the rocks until her legs would carry her no further. Then she would lie down on the soft spongy grass under the lee of a great boulder and close her eyes and listen to the secret sounds of the moor that spoke only to her – the distant cry of the gulls at sea, the bark of a wandering vixen and the mewing of the pair of buzzards that circled above her.

There was a part of Kate Trelochie that was indeed romantic and dreamy, but the other part was fiercely practical. She came to the high moor by the Eagle's Nest for a specific purpose as well, to hunt and capture specimens for her collection. When she had first come home some years before with a slow-worm wrapped around her wrist, her mother had screamed hysterically and banished all ‘creepy-crawlies' from the house. But Kate wanted her slow-worm to be warm, and so she kept it secretly down at the bottom of her bed. Other creatures soon joined it in her bedroom: lizards, frogs, toads and even a grass snake. But when the grass snake escaped from his box and ate the frogs, she finally decided that her bedroom was not the place for her
collection. So she took over the disused greenhouse at the bottom of the garden and set up her ‘creepy-crawly' collection and opened it up to her friends – for a price. It was two pence a visit and an extra penny if you wanted to handle the grass snake. She made enough money from the proceeds to buy the nails and the wood and the glass she needed to repair the cages and the greenhouse itself. And she would keep her regular customers happy by bringing back new exhibits from her expeditions on the moor – anything from a mammoth stag beetle to a baby rabbit. The greenhouse came to be known to all the other children as Kate Trelochie's Zoo.

Her mother and father were quite happy about it for it kept her busy and out of mischief, or so they thought. Anyway they admired the entrepreneur in her, setting up on her own like that. They had only one repeated warning, that she was never to go near the lost house on the moor and she was never to talk to Mad Miss Marney.

‘She's a strange one,' Kate's mother always said. ‘Just like her mother was, from what they say. And of course you never know with people like that. It runs in the
family. You never know. Just keep away from her, that's all.'

Kate had always been intrigued by the lost house and she longed to catch just a glimpse of Mad Miss Marney. Every time she passed the house she would pause and look for signs of life, but the place always looked deserted and empty. She thought often enough about climbing over the fence and snooping around the back of the house, but she thought that that would be wrong – it was private after all. What she needed was an excuse to go and knock on the door; so when just such a chance presented itself, she took it eagerly.

She had spent a long summer's afternoon on the moor trying to catch lizards as they basked on the rocks, but with no success for they were always too quick for her. So she was down-hearted and cross with herself as she began the long walk home down across the moor. She was crossing the track just below the lost house when she noticed something shiny on the dry black soil of the track. As she looked it moved and flapped to life. She froze where she stood and then crept closer. Whether it was a rook or a crow or a raven she was not
sure; but it was lying on its side and trying desperately to move away from her using its wings as legs. But the effort of it was too much and the bird keeled over and lay still. It struggled only feebly as Kate picked it up and cradled it to her chest. Angry black eyes glared up at her as she stroked the glistening feathers on the top of its head. She stood for a moment wondering what she should do; and then she felt the blood sticky on her hand. Mad Miss Marney's house was close by and she had the perfect reason to knock on the door – she knew she had to find help if the bird was to live.

The door of the house opened before she had time to knock and standing in front of her was Mad Miss Marney, and at once Kate regretted her boldness for Miss Marney looked anything but pleased to see her.

‘What do you want?' she said in a rasping voice. ‘I've had children up here before coming knocking on my door and running away before I even get there. But I saw you coming up the path, so you haven't got time to run, have you? What d'you want?'

Taken aback, Kate held out the bird almost in self-defence.

‘I found this,' she said. ‘And I don't know what to do because it's bleeding. I think it's been shot or something. It can hardly move, but I thought you might be able to help. Sorry if I bothered you.'

She was a tiny bent old lady, hardly taller than Kate herself. She leant heavily on her stick and Kate noticed that her finger joints were all swollen and twisted. Her hair, a whispy silvery-white was pulled up in a bun on her head and the skin around her lips was puckered with age.

‘People are always shooting,' said Miss Marney. ‘The things people do for a bit of fun. Don't understand people. Never have done. Come on in child. Bring it in, bring it in. Don't just stand there. I'm not about to turn you into gingerbread. I would but I don't like it – can't take sweet things any more.'

Kate followed her into the house, looking around her as she went. There were books everywhere. The very walls seemed to be made of books. They stood now in the kitchen, and here too there were books instead of plates on the Welsh dresser.

‘Well, what did you expect child, cauldrons and black cats, pointed hats and broomsticks?'

‘No Miss Marney, honest,' Kate lied, and then she changed the subject quickly. ‘It's bigger than I thought it would be inside, the house I mean. And I've never seen so many books in all my life.'

Miss Marney put the bird down on its back on the kitchen table. She spread the wings open.

‘It's one of my ravens,' she said, almost in a whisper. There was a tremor in her voice. ‘Jasper I think it is. Yes it is Jasper, full of gunshot – poor old thing.'

‘Jasper?' Kate said.

‘I give them all names,' Miss Marney said, walking slowly past her to put the kettle on the stove. She rolled back her sleeves and washed her hands carefully. ‘Every bird, every creature on the moor. They are all my friends. I know every one of them – even the ones you take away.'

‘You've seen me?' Kate was angry at the thought of it. ‘You've been watching me?'

Miss Marney smiled for the first time – she had very few teeth.

‘An old lady can look out of her window, can't she?' she said. ‘Course I've been watching you, been watching
you for years. After all you come up here more than anyone else and you always have a good look at my house, don't you?'

‘But I don't hurt them,' Kate protested. ‘I don't hurt the animals, I just keep them at home and look after them. They're for my collection, for my zoo that I've got in my greenhouse. D'you mind, Miss Marney?'

‘No, not if you look after them,' Miss Marney said. ‘Is Jasper for your collection as well, or did you just want to get a look inside the house and see if the old witch is as mad as everyone says?'

Kate was not quick enough to deny it. Miss Marney always seemed to be one step ahead of her and Kate was not used to that.

‘I'll look after Jasper,' said Miss Marney. ‘He'll be fine with me. You can come back tomorrow to pick him up if he's well enough and then you can look after him until he gets better. Would you like to do that? It'll be a month or two before he's fit to fly again. But you must let him go when he's better. He won't want to be shut up in a cage for the rest of his life.'