The Little White Horse (30 page)

And then through the noise they were all making there penetrated the sound of trotting hoofs, not the hoofs of one horse but of many. It seemed that a great company of horsemen was approaching from somewhere. Maria and Robin let go of each other and ran to the door, with Marmaduke Scarlet and the animals crowding behind them. The formal garden was absolutely full of Men from the Dark Woods on black horses, some of them quite still and the rest trotting forward two by two, and the still ones were the yew-trees and the moving ones were Monsieur Cocq de Noir and all his retinue. There were black cocks, too, in the garden, though all were still except the one which flapped his wings and crowed upon his master’s shoulder.

‘They’ve all come!’ gasped Maria in dismay. ‘I invited Monsieur Cocq de Noir, but they’ve all come!’

‘Have no fear, young Mistress,’ came Marmaduke’s voice soothingly behind her. ‘There is enough. There is sufficient plum cake, saffron cake, cherry cake, iced fairy cakes, éclairs, gingerbread, meringues, syllabub, almond fingers, rock cakes, chocolate cakes, parkin, cream horns, Devonshire splits, Cornish pasty, jam sandwiches, lemon-curd
sandwiches, lettuce sandwiches, cinnamon toast and honey toast to feed twenty and more. Have no fear, young Mistress; when Marmaduke Scarlet is cook there is always enough.’

‘But the mulled claret!’ cried Maria.

‘Of that also,’ said Marmaduke, ‘there is an unlimited supply.’

So Maria and Robin stood at the top of the steps hand in hand, like a Prince and Princess, and cried out ‘Welcome!’ And the men, dismounting at the mounting-block and leaving their black horses to wander companionably among the yew-tree horses in the garden, trooped up two by two, bowed before Maria and Robin, and passed on through a guard of honour formed by the animals into the hall, to be welcomed by Sir Benjamin and Loveday Minette, who were now standing like a King and Queen in front of the great fireplace.

It was to the credit of Sir Benjamin and Loveday that, drawn from the parlour to the hall by the row going on there, they were able immediately to emerge from their private happiness and assume the roles of host and hostess to twenty men whom they had hitherto regarded as their enemies without any appearance of stupefaction . . .

‘In the future, Sir Benjamin,’ said Monsieur Cocq de Noir, bowing low, ‘you will find me all that a neighbour should be.’

‘I don’t doubt it, Sir,’ said Sir Benjamin. ‘We will let bygones be bygones and start afresh from today.’

After that the tea-party went with a swing, Marmaduke Scarlet was persuaded to sit down at the great table with Sir Benjamin and Loveday, Maria and Robin, and the twenty Men from the Dark Woods. Wiggins sat on Maria’s lap, Zachariah shared Marmaduke’s chair and the black cock sat on his master’s shoulder, and Periwinkle and Wrolf stood one on each side of Sir Benjamin’s chair at the head of the table. They ate and drank and laughed and sang songs, and when at last the men rode away singing into the sunset, there was not a crumb of
food or a drop of anything to drink left upon the table; nor a drop of hatred in any heart nor a crumb of bitterness in any mind. Everything was explained and forgiven, and the future stretched before them with a fair promise.

A fair promise that was fulfilled, because they all of them lived happy ever after.

It may have been noticed by the intelligent reader that Old Parson and Miss Heliotrope did not put in an appearance at the tea-party. That was because they forgot to.

After they had strolled up and down the paths of the kitchen garden for a little while, enjoying the sunshine and each other’s conversation, because from the moment when they had seen each other in church the first Sunday they had been extraordinarily attracted to each other, Old Parson remembered Maria’s commands and led Miss Heliotrope to the seat beneath the mulberry-tree, and opened the two little books to see which would be the nicest to read aloud to her.

And at that very moment a sunbeam striking through the green spring leaves above their heads lit upon them, and Miss Heliotrope saw the name of her one-time lover written upon the flyleaf of one book in her own handwriting, and Old Parson saw the name of the only woman he had ever cared about written upon the title page of the other in
his
handwriting. And at that very same moment another sunbeam lit up the locket she was wearing, and Old Parson recognized it as the locket he had given her years ago when they were young, with a lock of his hair in it.

And after that they had a great deal to say to each other, because however old you are you never forget the time when you were young, or the people you loved when you were young; indeed, the older you get the more clearly you remember the times and the more dearly you love the people . . . So it wasn’t to be wondered at if Miss
Heliotrope and Old Parson forgot to come in to tea.

Sir Benjamin and Loveday’s wedding took place a month later. Though it was very quiet, taking place very early in the morning, with only the people who really loved them attending it, because Sir Benjamin and Loveday felt shy about getting married at their age, it was nevertheless very lovely. Loveday finished embroidering the wedding waistcoat, and Sir Benjamin wore it; and Loveday wore her wedding dress, and they both looked splendid. Old Parson married them, and did it beautifully.

Old Parson’s and Miss Heliotrope’s wedding took place a month later still, and was even quieter, but lovely too; the only drawback to it being that Old Parson could not marry himself, and a fat little parson from beyond the hills had to come and do it. But he was a nice little parson, so it didn’t really matter. And Old Parson and Miss Heliotrope lived at the Parsonage together and were happier than they had either of them known they could be; and Miss Heliotrope did not have indigestion any more, because her indigestion had originally been the result of her grief at her separation from Louis de Fontenelle, and now that she was married to him there wasn’t any point in having indigestion.

Robin and Maria were not married until the following spring, because their elders thought they ought to have another year of learning to control their Merryweather tempers before they lived together for good. But in the following spring, on a glorious warm April morning, their wedding took place, and it was not at all quiet, it was the noisiest, happiest, as well as the loveliest wedding that had ever happened in the old church of Silverydew. Maria wore Loveday’s wedding dress, and she carried a big bunch of primroses tied with gold and silver ribbon, and wore a wreath of primroses on her hair. Robin wore a brand-new jerkin made of the brightest emerald green, with primroses in his button-hole, and he carried in his hand a green hat trimmed with a cockade of gold and
silver ribbon and a bunch of cock’s feathers that Monsieur Cocq de Noir had with his own hand pulled from the tail of his big black cock, as a sign that there was now undying friendship between the Men from the Dark Woods and the Merryweathers.

They rode from the manor-house to the church for their wedding, not in the carriage but upon the backs of Wrolf and Periwinkle, with Zachariah, Wiggins, and Serena following behind with bows of gold and silver ribbon tied round their necks, and they were met at the lych-gate by all the children of Silverydew dressed in their best, with their arms full of flowers, singing the Bell Song to the accompaniment of the bells pealing out overhead.

When Maria and Robin walked up the aisle to be married by Old Parson at the chancel steps, the devoted animals followed two by two behind them, and all the children followed behind the animals. Sir Benjamin and Loveday (who was now Lady Merryweather) and Miss Heliotrope (who was now Madame de Fontenelle) and Monsieur Cocq de Noir and Marmaduke Scarlet were sitting in the manor-house pew dressed all in their-best, and so happy that they felt they would burst, and behind them the church was packed to the doors with all the people of Silverydew, and all the Men from the Dark Woods, singing in a way that nearly lifted the roof off. The church was beautifully decorated with flowers, primroses and apple blossom and daffodils and violets and snowdrops and crocuses, which that particular year had decided to bloom all at the same moment, so that they could all be present together at Maria’s wedding. The tomb of Sir Wrolf Merryweather was an absolute bower of flowers, and when Maria and Robin had put the final touches to Sir Wrolf’s floral decorations the evening before, they had fancied that they had seen a flicker of a smile pass over the carved stone countenance of their disreputable ancestor.

‘Only he’s not disreputable any more now,’ Maria had said to Robin. ‘He won’t haunt Paradise Hill any
more, because he’s got into the real Paradise and he’s riding on a white horse through the fields of lilies beside the flashing stream.’

When the wedding was over, Maria and Robin mounted once more upon Wrolf and Periwinkle and rode back to the manor-house through the sunshine and the new spring green of the lovely park, with everyone who had been in the church following singing behind them, to the wedding breakfast that Marmaduke Scarlet had prepared.

It was such a superlatively wonderful feast that even Marmaduke himself was inclined to think it the crowning achievement of his distinguished culinary career. The white-iced wedding-cake was the size of a cartwheel at its base and was six feet tall, mounting up like a pyramid. It was decorated with sugar flowers and fruit and birds and stars and butterflies and bells, and at the very top there was a tiny sickle moon and a tiny sun enclosed within a silver horseshoe. There were lots of other kinds of cakes, of course, and every possible sort of sugar biscuit and iced bun, and all the different kinds of sandwiches that it is possible to think of, and dishes of candied cherries and crystallized ginger and sugared almonds and chocolates. And there were jellies and creams and syllabubs and ices, and hot coffee and iced coffee, and tea and lemonade and sherbet, and mulled claret and champagne.

Everybody had lots to eat and drink, and everyone enjoyed it, but nobody ate or drank too much, because they did not want to spoil this happy day by having aches in their insides later on; they wanted this day to be happy right through to the end.

And so it was. And all the days that followed were happy too, and the months and the years. Monsieur Cocq de Noir kept his promise, as Maria had known that he would, and he and his men sold their fish to the valley people and traded with them for the things that they wanted, and did not poach or steal any more. And they left off wearing black clothes and wore bright colours like the valley folk, and painted their fishing boats red and
green and blue, and gave them white wings like birds. And the children of Silverydew could go and play on the shore at Merryweather Bay, and the men did not mind; indeed, they played with them, and helped them collect sea-shells to take as gifts to the Lady on Paradise Hill.

The men were happy in their castle in the pine-woods, and in the gatehouse that Sir Benjamin gave to them for their own, to use when they felt in need of a little change.

And Sir Benjamin and Loveday, and Maria and Robin, and Digweed and Marmaduke Scarlet, and all the animals were happy in the manor-house; and Miss Heliotrope and Old Parson and all the people of Silverydew were happy in their houses in the village; and up on Paradise Hill the sheep were happy and the birds sang and the little shrine was a beloved place of pilgrimage for all the countryside. Happy were the days of sunlight, and happy the moonlit nights, too, and full of sweet dreams.

But in this world nothing stays still, and in the fullness of time Miss Heliotrope and Old Parson became very old indeed, and tired of life in this world, so they took off their bodies and laid them aside and went joyfully away into the next.

And after many long years Sir Benjamin and Loveday did the same, and then Maria, who was Sir Benjamin’s heiress, inherited Moonacre and ruled there with her husband Robin. He was the brave soul and she was the pure spirit of their family motto, and one in heart, merry and loving, they inherited the kingdom together.

And they never quarrelled, as other Merryweather lovers had done, so Wrolf did not have to leave them, but remained with them always. They had ten children, and the ten of them kneeling with their father and mother on the twelve hassocks in the Merryweather pew in the church were a goodly sight, and when Maria looked down the row she felt she had nothing left to wish for . . . at least, only one thing . . .

For sometimes in her dreams at night she stood beneath the branches of a mysterious wood, and looked down a moonlit glade, her eyes straining after something that she could not see. And when she woke up, there would be tears on her cheeks because her longing had been unsatisfied.

Yet she was not unhappy because of this dream. She knew that one day, when she was a very old woman, she would dream this dream for the last time, and in this last dream of all she would see the little white horse, and he would not go away from her. He would come towards her and she would run towards him, and he would carry her upon his back away and away, she did not quite know where, but to a good place, a place where she wanted to be.

Elizabeth Goudge
was born in 1900 in Somerset, England. She is the author of many best-selling books for children and adults, including
I Saw Three Ships
and
Green Dolphin Street
.

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