The Little White Horse (17 page)

When Maria and Miss Heliotrope had seated themselves in the pony carriage, and Digweed had spread a plaid rug over their knees, Wiggins jumped in and sat himself at their feet, and then indicated to Serena that she might sit beside him with a graciousness that made Wrolf smile into his whiskers. Wrolf, of course, was coming with them, though on foot, there being no room for his bulk inside the carriage. Zachariah watched them go from the front door, purring benevolently, his tail arranged in three neat coils over his back. He did not offer to accompany them, for unless his presence was actually necessary he liked best to stay at home. Sir Benjamin and Digweed did not offer to accompany them either, for the little pony carriage was altogether too feminine a turnout for their masculine dignity. But they gave Maria clear instructions as to how to handle the reins and which way to take when they got to the village, and they waved them away with much enthusiasm.

‘The sheep you will see on Paradise Hill are mine, Maria, and therefore yours too,’ said Sir Benjamin. ‘And perhaps you will see my shepherd boy up there. The best shepherd boy in the countryside.’

‘I’ll look out for them, Sir,’ Maria called back as they drove off.

She found that driving did not compare with riding, it was not nearly so exciting. Yet Periwinkle went at a good pace, and the funny little carriage bumped along very merrily. It had turned rather sultry and hot, and they were glad of the breeze of their movement blowing in their faces.

‘You’re sure you can manage, dear?’ twittered Miss Heliotrope. ‘You won’t upset us, will you?’

‘I don’t think I could if I tried,’ said Maria. ‘It is such a very round solid little carriage, and it’s so near the ground.’

‘Yes, that’s true,’ said Miss Heliotrope, peering out from beneath the hood. ‘If we
did
fall, we shouldn’t fall far. You don’t think it’s going to thunder, dear, do you?’

‘It isn’t usual to have a thunderstorm so early in the year,’ said Maria.

‘I do hope we shan’t meet any gipsies or poachers, or anything unpleasant of that kind,’ said Miss Heliotrope. ‘There must be some about, because of that trap being set.’

With her whip Maria indicated the great tawny figure of Wrolf leaping along beside them.

‘Ah yes,’ said Miss Heliotrope. ‘He’s certainly a great protection. Though sometimes, you know, Maria, one’s protector can be almost as alarming as what he protects one from.’

‘Wrolf would die for those I love,’ said Maria with conviction.

But Miss Heliotrope remained in a slightly uneasy mood.

‘You’re sure you understand which way to take?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ said Maria. ‘And even if I didn’t, Periwinkle knows.’

And Periwinkle knew. Without any guidance from Maria she took them through the broken gate into the village, down the village street, and past the church. Trotting past the church, they got a good view of the Parsonage, and Miss Heliotrope exclaimed in delight at the sight of it. ‘That’s the little house of my dreams,’ she said. ‘That’s the house where I would like to live.’

‘But you can’t,’ said Maria. ‘That’s where Old Parson lives.’

‘I meant, dear,’ said Miss Heliotrope with dignity, ‘that that is where I would like to live
if
Old Parson were not already in occupation.’

Periwinkle swung round to the left, and they were in a narrow rutted lane, winding uphill between deep banks, where ferns and periwinkles and primroses were growing thickly, banks so high that they could not see what was above them. A tinkling little stream ran down one side of it, the same stream that ran along the village street.

‘This must be a very old lane,’ said Miss Heliotrope.
‘I remember my father telling me once that roads sink deeper and deeper into the earth with the passing of the years and the passage of more and more feet over them.’

‘The monks would have passed backwards and forwards this way,’ said Maria. ‘Their shepherds would have driven their sheep down this lane. And Sir Wrolf and his friends would have ridden up here to his hunting lodge. And the Moon Princess on her little white horse would have ridden this way. And all the country people coming through the centuries to pray at the holy well, and to have three wishes beneath the fairy thorn-tree where Sir Wrolf found the little white horse from the sea, will have come this way. They come this way now. No wonder the lane is sunk so deep.’

‘What
are
you talking about, child?’ demanded Miss Heliotrope.

‘Old Parson has been telling me fairy-tales,’ said Maria.

‘I beg that you will not permit your head to be turned by them,’ said Miss Heliotrope.

‘No,’ said Maria.

The lane was not a long one, but it was so steep that Periwinkle could only go at a foot’s pace, and Wiggins and Serena hopped out of the carriage and joined Wrolf. Wiggins picked his way very daintily over the ruts, Serena advanced with long three-legged leaps, and Wrolf strolled amiably upwards, looking immensely strong and purposeful. But it ended at last, and they were out upon Paradise Hill, and Periwinkle stopped of her own accord, so that Miss Heliotrope and Maria might look about them.

Paradise Hill was well named, for it really seemed too lovely to belong to this world.

‘“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills,”’ quoted Miss Heliotrope, ‘“from whence cometh my help.”’

Maria said nothing, but she jumped out of the pony carriage, went a little way over the sweet turf, and stood
by herself to look about her. They were so high up that she could look right down upon the valley of Moonacre lying below her. There were the village and the church and the Parsonage, looking at this distance like wooden toys set among the budding trees and the colourful gardens. And there to the right was the spur of rocky hillside running out from Paradise Hill into Moonacre Park, within which was hidden the tunnel and Loveday Minette’s house. And there was the lovely expanse of the park and the manor-house in the distance. And on her left was the great sombre mass of the pine-woods, clothing the northern hills.

The hills stood all round the valley like a great wall. They were broken only in one place far away to the east, where they fell away like parting curtains to show a shining slab of mother-of-pearl that looked like the doorstep to heaven. What was it? Oh, what was it?

It was the sea! For the first time in her life Maria was looking at the sea. Her heart beat fast and the colour flamed into her cheeks. She was glad, now, that she had not seen the sea that day when she had found Serena. It was best to see it first of all like this, at a far distance. All the best things are seen first of all at a far distance.

When she had gazed her fill at the valley and at that shining doorstep of the sea, she turned and looked at Paradise Hill itself. The grass was bright green, and sprinkled with pale purple dog-violets and the white stars of strawberry flowers. Above her, sheep were feeding on the lovely slopes, and small lambs like bits of fluffy white cloud were gambolling about over the grass and flowers. The group of trees on the summit of the hill seemed quite near now and Maria could see that they were beeches, and beneath them she could see the fallen grey stones that were the ruins of the monastery. The stream came out of the earth somewhere at the top of the hill and wound its way down the hillside between moss-covered stones and clumps of fragrant bog-myrtle. At one point a grey old thorn-tree bent above it, and when she saw the thorn-tree Maria ran towards it.

It was a blackthorn-tree and it was in bloom already, the blossom white as the little horse that Sir Wrolf had found here entangled in the grey branches; captured by them, as he came to the stream to drink, thirsty after galloping up from the sea. Rooted sturdily among the stones, it stretched protectingly right over the stream, so that the petals fell into the bright clear water. At this very moment, Maria guessed, white petals were floating on the stream beneath the little bridges before each garden gate, perhaps carrying with them the fulfilment of the wishes that the village folk wished here upon high days and holidays.

‘I’ll wish too,’ said Maria to herself, and standing with her hand on the old gnarled trunk she wished three things.

That she might rid the valley of the wickedness of the Men from the Dark Woods.

That she might meet that poor shepherd boy and love him.

That she might be the first Moon Princess to live for always in her home.

When she had had her wishes she found that her heart was beating fast. They would be granted, she felt sure, and she was committed to all the adventures that the fulfilment of exciting wishes is bound to bring with it.

‘Maria!’ called Miss Heliotrope. ‘Don’t go too far, dear. Don’t go where I can’t see you.’

Maria ran back to Miss Heliotrope and the animals. ‘But I
must
go to the top of the hill,’ she pleaded. ‘I
must
look at those beech-trees, and the old grey stones.’

‘The hill is too steep for the pony carriage,’ objected Miss Heliotrope. ‘And it is too steep for me to climb. You must stay here, dear, for I can’t permit you to go alone.’

‘Sir Benjamin doesn’t mind where I go so long as Wrolf is with me,’ said Maria. ‘You stay here in the pony carriage, with Periwinkle and Wiggins to look after you, and I’ll go to the top of the hill with Wrolf and Serena to look
after me. That will be quite all right, Miss Heliotrope.’

The day was turning stuffy and hot, too hot to argue, and Miss Heliotrope gave in. She permitted herself to be settled comfortably in the pony carriage with her book of essays, Wiggins in attendance, and Periwinkle peacefully cropping the sweet turf.

‘Look after Miss Heliotrope, Periwinkle,’ commanded Maria. ‘Whatever happens, look after Miss Heliotrope.’

Periwinkle stopped munching for a moment, lifted her head and gave her mistress a steady glance. Then she dropped her head and munched again. Reassured, Maria, Wrolf, and Serena started off together for the top of the hill. It was a steep hot climb, and took much longer than Maria had expected. Town-bred girl that she was, she panted a little and got hot, and envied Serena advancing with her long leaps and Wrolf with his tireless strength. And Wrolf did not make things easier by perpetually pushing himself against her, and fixing her with a tawny eye full of annoyance. ‘What
is
it, Wrolf?’ she demanded. ‘What am I doing wrong?’

Wrolf, with a subdued roar at her stupidity, turned himself right across her path so that she came to a standstill, looking down upon his broad back. Then she saw what he wanted and mounted thankfully, as though he had been Periwinkle.

After that everything was easy. Wrolf’s beautiful thick fur was soft to sit upon, and with her fingers entwined in his ruff she was able to hold herself steady. She could look about her now, and as they mounted higher see the beautiful countryside unrolling about them like a map, and the line of the sea creeping round the horizon like a silver ribbon. But the sky was very dark and lowering, almost purple in colour, and she thought she heard a mutter of thunder in the distance . . . And she had told Miss Heliotrope it was too early in the year for thunder . . . Well, she would be all right, for Periwinkle would look after her.

They were nearly at the top of the hill now, and looking
up she could see the old storm-twisted beech-trees, their new leaves burning like tongues of green fire against the violet sky, with the old grey fallen stones beneath them. She was among the sheep now. The mothers lifted their heads to look at her, and baaed in welcome, and the little lambs came gambolling all about her. It was strange to her that they did not seem in the least afraid of Wrolf. One or two came butting into him, and he sent them flying with a playful blow of a great paw that did not hurt them at all but just sent them tumbling head over heels in delight. As for Serena, she lolloped in and out among the sheep and seemed to be telling them something, for they all looked at Maria and were very pleased, and baaed again.

What was that music? Somewhere up there beneath the beech-trees someone was playing a shepherd’s pipe, and the happy little tune came floating down to Maria like a voice calling her. She remembered the wish that she had had, standing beneath the thorn-tree. It was the shepherd boy!

They got to the top of the hill at last, and Wrolf stopped and she slipped off his back.

‘Stay there,’ she said to him and to Serena, and then ran eagerly forward beneath the beech-trees, climbing over the old grey stones. ‘Are you there?’ she cried. ‘Shepherd boy, are you there?’

But there was no answer, and the music now was still. There was nothing to be heard except the trickle of hidden water. She stood still, and looked this way and that, and listened, but there was nothing. ‘I must have imagined it,’ she said to herself. ‘It must just have been the water.’ And for a moment she could have cried with disappointment.

But only for a moment, for Maria had too much sense to let her spirits be damped by minor disappointments, and there was so much to look at that she soon forgot about that fancied tune. The beech-trees, with their smooth grey trunks and branches stretched this way and that, were more like people than trees; like old grey monks with
arms held wide in blessing. And deep within the circle of the beech-trees part of the walls of the monastery was still standing, overgrown with ivy and brambles.

Maria found herself standing before a beautiful carved doorway in the broken wall, half hidden by a falling curtain of ivy. She pushed the curtain aside and stepped in, and found herself in what must once have been a small paved court. The paving-stones were still there, littered with fallen stones, covered with weeds and brambles. In the centre of the court was a beautiful clump of ferns, and from deep within it came that tinkle of water. ‘Inside there,’ she said to herself, ‘is the holy well.’

She pulled aside the ferns and found not a well such as they had in the stable-yard at home but a beautiful clear stream bubbling up out of the ground, forcing its way through a choking mass of fallen dead beech leaves, and then along a channel through the paving-stones, and out beneath a low arch in the wall opposite, and so to the hillside beyond. Maria guessed that out upon the hillside it would curve itself around until it became the stream that ran beneath the fairy thorn-tree and then down the hill to the village. Upon one side of the low arch grew a rowan-tree bright with scarlet berries, and upon the other side a holly-tree with glossy shining leaves, and over it was an empty niche in the wall.