Copyright

First published in Great Britain by

HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2007 HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd, 77-85 Fulham Palace Road, Hammersmith, London, W6 8JB. www.harpercollinschildrensbooks.co.uk

Text copyright © Stacy Gregg 2007

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Design © Harper Collins Publishers 2014. Photos: Shutterstock

Ebook Edition © 2009 ISBN: 9780007340675

Version: 2014-11-19

For Michael

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

The Pony Club Secrets series

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

The lights had gone out. In the gloom of the circus tent Issie looked around frantically for Stella and Kate. She edged forward in the blackness, feeling her way. “Ow! Watch where you’re going!” a man snapped.

“Excuse me!” Issie winced—she had just stood on his foot.

What a nightmare! Trying to find your seat while keeping three ice-cream cones balanced in one hand was hard enough, and now it was too dark to see.

“Issie! Over here! Hurry up, the show is about to start!”

Issie looked ahead of her. Thank goodness! There they were. She could just make out Stella’s bright red curly hair. Stella and Kate were both waving excitedly at her. Issie waved back with her free hand then wriggled past another row, trying not to stand on any more toes.

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” She threw herself down into the empty seat next to Stella, Kate and her mum. Her friends quickly made a grab for their ice-cream cones before they fell out of Issie’s hands.

“Oh, this is going to be great!” Stella whispered loudly. “Thanks for bringing us, Mrs Brown.” She took a big lick of her ice cream and peered into the darkness, trying to see if anything was happening in the arena down below them.

“Mmmm, yup, thanks, Mrs Brown,” said Kate, who was concentrating on eating and not getting her ice cream stuck in her long blonde hair.

“Yeah, Mum! This is the best birthday ever!” Issie beamed.

“Good grief! I’ve never seen you girls so worked up.” Mrs Brown laughed. “I knew this would be a good surprise.”

It was Issie’s thirteenth birthday tomorrow. So she wasn’t at all suspicious when her mum suggested that they celebrate a day early by taking her best friends Stella and Kate to the movies. Then, in the car, Mrs Brown had produced tickets to El Caballo Danza Magnifico—the Magnificent Dancing Horses. The girls had screamed so loud that Mrs Brown threatened to pull the car over to the side of the road so that she could cover her ears. They hadn’t calmed down since.

“Look!” Kate squeaked out. “I can see something happening down there. Here they come!”

Suddenly, there was a blinding glare as spotlights cast perfect circles on the sawdust floor of the arena below. Then the silence was broken by the clack-clack-clack of castanets, and the strumming of flamenco guitars over the loudspeakers. The twelve spotlights were circling now like searchlights. The guitars were getting louder.

The spotlights froze on the entrance to the arena and out came two rows of perfect white horses. Their manes, which were so long they hung down well below their necks, flowed like silk. Their tails trailed behind them like a bride’s wedding train, snowy white and almost touching the ground. The twelve horses moved gracefully in pairs down the centre of the ring, trotting in perfect time to the clack-clacking of the castanets. Then they fanned out and moved to the side of the arena, each of them drawing to a halt, illuminated by their own spotlight.

In the full beam of the lights the horses were so white that they glowed like marble statues. Issie admired the high arch of their necks, and the classical shape of their head. These horses were Lipizzaners—the famed white horses used in the Spanish Riding School in Vienna, bred from the ancient bloodlines of six great sires.

The horses held themselves so proudly, they reminded Issie of those paintings of horses on the sides of Roman urns. Their riders, were dressed in classical military uniforms. On their heads the men wore curved black and gold hats with a bright red feather plume which stuck out the top.

The first rider took off his plumed hat now and bent his head to bow. As he did so, his horse dropped to one knee beneath him and bowed too. The girls clapped with glee as, all the way along both sides of the arena, each horse and rider bowed in turn until all twelve horses were down on one knee. Then, with a flourish of their hats, the riders pulled their horses up to a perfect square halt, wheeled them about on their hocks, and began to canter in formation around the ring.

“Oh! I like that one!” Stella whispered to Issie, pointing to the horses.

“Which one?” Mrs Brown laughed. “Stella, how can you even tell them apart? They all look the same to me.”

“No, they don’t!” Stella insisted. “The one on the end over there has a pretty face and the best mane.”

“Are they girls or boys?” Mrs Brown asked.

“Mum, they’re stallions. It says so in the programme,” Issie groaned. Her mum knew nothing about horses.

Issie read aloud from the El Caballo Danza Magnifico programme on her lap. “The dancing stallions have all been trained in the classical art of haute école dressage. Haute école is an ancient form of horsemanship that was once used to train horses for battle. The horses of El Caballo Danza Magnifico have spent many years perfecting the Airs above Ground—movements that were used in warfare. They include the Courbette, the Levade and the Capriole…”

The horses in the ring fanned out once again and came to a halt in two precise rows down either side of the arena. The spotlights dimmed and then a single light was trained on the centre of the ring, where a horse now emerged riderless, accompanied by a trainer on the ground with a long whip.

Unlike the other horses, which were pure icy white, this stallion was a dapple-grey, with a long, thick grey mane, dark points on his legs, and dark smudgy circles around his eyes and his nose.

He looks a bit like Mystic, Issie thought to herself, and her smile suddenly faltered.

Mystic had been Issie’s first pony and she had loved him more than anything in the world. She felt a special bond with the little grey gelding, more powerful than anything she had ever experienced before.

And then suddenly, tragically, Mystic had been killed. It was an accident. She knew that. They were trying to save three other horses—and they had saved them too—when Mystic had been hit by the truck that took his life. She also knew that if it weren’t for Mystic’s courage, she might easily have been killed.

Losing Mystic had been unbearable. Issie had missed him so desperately. Since then, though, strange and exciting things had happened. Mystic had come back to her—not like a ghost, but like a real horse. He returned to help her save Blaze’s life. And Issie knew that Mystic was still there, somehow. He was watching over Issie and her chestnut mare. Waiting, in case they needed him again.

Issie’s mother looked across at her now and, seeing the look on her daughter’s face, she reached over and took Issie’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, as if to say, “Is something wrong?”

Issie smiled back and shook her head, banishing her gloomy thoughts. Now was not the time. This was her birthday. She was determined to have fun.

Down below them in the arena, the trainer positioned the grey horse in the centre of the ring and prepared him. He stood behind the horse’s hindquarters, restraining him with a pair of long black leather reins which he held in his white gloved hands.

The music changed now from the brisk clacking of Spanish castanets to the dramatic strains of a classical orchestra. The horses on either side of the arena who had been standing perfectly still all this time suddenly wheeled on their hindquarters and cantered out of the arena leaving just the grey stallion and his handler standing there alone.

“This stallion you see before you is the purebred Lipizzaner Marius, with his trainer Wolfgang Herzog,” the announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. Wolfgang bowed low to the audience, and Marius let out a long, low snort as if he knew the announcer was talking about him.

“Marius and Wolfgang will now attempt the Courbette, the most difficult of all the High School Airs above Ground,” the announcer continued. “The Courbette was used in warfare to protect the rider as the horse moved through enemy infantry. The horse must stand up and hop on his hind legs to protect his rider.”

With that, Wolfgang spoke a single word to his horse and gripped the reins firmly as the stallion began to trot on the spot. The trainer spoke again now: short, sharp words in a foreign language that Issie didn’t understand. But his horse clearly understood him. He snorted and gathered himself, moving forward across the ring in a series of elegant bunny hops, before rising up on his hind legs. Still rearing, he leapt forward now on his hind legs, springing across the arena like a bunny rabbit, his long grey tail thrashing the ground behind him as he leapt.

Issie, Stella and Kate clapped and cheered. The trainer took a low bow and then turned his horse once more to face the crowd.

“And now—the Capriole!” the announcer’s voice had a dramatic boom. “This movement takes many years to perfect. Once again it was used in battle. The horse must leap in the air and kick out its hind legs to attack any enemies who might be approaching from behind.”

Wolfgang steadied the stallion and spoke once more to him. Then he urged the grey horse forward on the long reins, halting him again suddenly and touching his hindquarters at the same time with the long whip. Marius jumped into the air like a ballerina and flung his hind legs out behind him. Issie gasped. It was as if the stallion was flying! He was suspended in mid air for a moment and Issie held her breath. Then the stallion landed down with a snort and turned to face the audience once more as Wolfgang took a long, low bow.

Issie, Stella and Kate whooped with delight.

“That was amazing!” Stella said as Marius and Wolfgang left the arena.

Issie opened her programme again. “The Dance of the Seven Veils is next,” she told the others. “It says here that the riders perform the dance on Anglo-Arab mares…”

Snake charmer music started up and six spotlights shone on the arena as the dancing horses entered down the centre of the ring, following each other nose to tail and then pivoting on their hind legs and facing the audience. The riders were women this time, all dressed like belly dancers in Arabian Nights costumes made out of flowing chiffon. The girls wore harem pants instead of jodhpurs and veils covered their faces. Each of them wore a different colour and their throats and wrists sparkled with jewels that matched the colours of their outfits—emeralds, rubies, sapphires, aquamarines, gold and silver.

While the riders all looked different, their six horses matched so exactly you could have sworn they were clones of each other. They were all the same height, around fourteen-two, with deep liver chestnut coats, white socks and flaxen manes and tails. Their legs were as finely turned as ballet dancers, and their delicate Arab blood showed through in their arched necks and dished noses.

“Ohmygod!” Issie gasped. She stared at the horses, too shocked to speak. Then she turned to Stella. “Is it just me or do you see it too?”

Stella nodded, “Totally!”

“Issie,” Kate said, “those horses…they all look just like Blaze!”

It was almost midnight by the time the audience had finally filed out of the pavilion after the show.

“Where is she?” Stella whined. She was standing by the doorway of the main tent with Kate and Mrs Brown. They were waiting for Issie, who, supposedly, had just popped off to the toilet, but was taking ages.

“Sorry I took so long!” Issie yelled out to them. She came running now, not from the direction of the toilets after all, but from the other side of the arena. A dark-haired woman in fawn jodhpurs and a pink cashmere jersey, her hair tied back in a smart chignon, was striding across the sawdust behind her.

“Mum, Kate, Stella, this is Francoise D’arth.” Isadora introduced the woman with the dark hair.

“Bonjour” Francoise said in a syrupy French accent. She smiled coolly as she shook hands with each of them. “I hope you did enjoy the show?”

“Francoise was one of the riders with the Arabian mares,” Issie explained to the others. “She trained at the Cadre Noir de Saumur in France.”

“Oui” Francoise smiled. “But that was a long time ago, Isadora. I have been now with El Caballo Danza Magnifico for many, many years. I train all the horses at their riding school back in Spain, and when the school goes on tour I come along too and I ride in the shows.”

She smiled at Mrs Brown. “Your daughter, Isadora…such a pretty name. She tells me that her horse, Blaze, is very much like my own dancing horses? Is this so?”

“I expect it is,” Mrs Brown nodded, “but I’m hardly the one to ask. I can hardly tell one end of a horse from the other. It’s the girls that you should be talking to.”

“Blaze is exactly the same as them!” Stella blurted out uncontrollably. “She is the same size and the same colour and she’s totally beautiful just like them. Honestly! You should see her!”

“Perhaps I will,” mused Francoise. “Why not? We are in town for several weeks putting on the show It is not far from the city here to Chevalier Point, is it? I will be able to come one day to see you, no?”

“No—I mean yes!” Issie laughed. “Yes please, Francoise. I would love it if you came to the pony club to meet Blaze.”

“Then it is a date.” Francoise smiled. “À bientôt! I must go now and help my girls to groom the mares and put them to bed. It can be very tiring when you are doing two shows a day! See you soon.”

Francoise waved goodbye and headed back towards the stables.

“Come on, girls, we need to get you home. Look at the time!” Mrs Brown said, holding out her watch. It was five minutes past twelve.

“Hey, Issie! It’s after midnight. That means it’s your birthday!” Stella laughed.

“So it is!” Mrs Brown smiled. “OK, let’s go home, birthday girl.”

Issie paused and stood there for a moment, watching the dark-haired Frenchwoman as she disappeared through the vast stable doors on the other side of the arena. Then she turned and ran to catch up to her mother and her friends. She couldn’t believe she was actually thirteen. It felt different somehow. Something told her this was going to be a very big year.

Chapter 2

The first rally of the new pony-club season had finally arrived and Stella was fizzing with excitement. “It’s so great to be back!” she grinned as she tied Coco up next to Blaze underneath the big plane tree at the far end of the Chevalier Point grounds.

“Coco is totally psyched to be here, aren’t you, girl?” Stella giggled and gave her chocolate mare a slappy pat on the neck.

Coco, who never got excited about anything ever, looked at Stella with a sleepy expression and immediately shut her eyes and began to doze away in the shade, her tail lazily flicking away the odd fly that happened to buzz by.

“Yeah, Stella, she’s thrilled,” Issie laughed.

Even if Coco wasn’t excited by the prospect of the new pony-club season, the girls certainly were. This summer the club schedule was jam-packed and the most important event on the competition calendar was the Interclub Gold Shield.

The Interclub was a huge event involving all the clubs in the Chevalier district, from Chevalier Point in the north to Garnet Ridge in the south. Teams trained for the competition throughout the season and then the six district clubs competed in the grand event to see who would take away the trophy.

“St Johns, Mornington, Marsh Fields, Westhaven and Garnet Ridge!” Stella rattled the names of their rivals off by heart.

“Have you seen the Gold Shield? I’ve seen it. Whoever wins gets all their names engraved on it!” Stella was raving to Issie. “It’s not actually a big gold shield at all—well, it is big, but it’s made of wood and then it has all these little gold shields all over it and each shield has the names of that year’s winners engraved on it. It’s like, centuries old. OK, maybe not centuries, but really, really old. Even Avery has his name on it! He was in the team way back in, like, the seventies or something—”

“It was 1985 actually, Stella, thanks for making me feel even older than I usually do,” Tom Avery said stiffly.

“Oh no,” Stella groaned. She hadn’t noticed their riding instructor standing right behind her.

“Hi, Tom!” Issie grinned. Most of the riders at Chevalier Point were scared of Avery. He had a brisk, authoritative manner. But Issie knew that a lot of his strict attitude was just an act he put on for show.

Avery loved horses with a real passion. He worked part-time for the ILPH—the International League for the Protection of Horses. It was Tom who had brought Blaze to Issie so that she could be her guardian. She still remembered that day when he turned up at the River Paddock with the sickly, half-starved chestnut mare that he had rescued. Even though Issie was still hurting after losing Mystic she knew immediately that it was her job to nurse this mare back to health. And she had done just that. Blaze was now a beautiful, incredible horse.

Today, as usual, Avery carried a tan leather riding crop, which he now struck vigorously against his right boot with a loud thwack to get the girls’ attention. “Right. Got yourselves sorted for the first event this morning, I hope? We’ll be fielding a team of six riders at the Interclub, which I will be choosing today…”

Avery paused for a moment as he noticed Coco dozing next to him. He shook his head, tut-tutted and made an adjustment on the throat lash on the mare’s bridle, tightening it by three holes. “Two fingers,” he told Stella, placing his own two fingers in the gap between the throat lash and the horse’s windpipe to illustrate his point. “Leave no more than a two finger gap on the throat lash…” he trailed off again.

“Anyway, yes, as I was saying—at the last two Interclubs we have been pipped at the post each time by our archrivals at Marsh Fields. But not this time. This time I mean to choose a team that will win us back that shield and do us proud.”

He looked Stella in the eyes. “Selection day is serious. I am not in the mood for hijinks today. Are you in the mood for hijinks, Stella?”

For once the bubbly, freckly redhead seemed to have nothing to say for herself. “Ummm, no?” Stella offered eventually.

“Excellent, excellent!” Avery smiled at her. “Off we go then. Mount up and round up the rest of your mob. Your groups are all listed up on the walls of the clubhouse so head over there to see who you’re teamed up with. Right? Excellent.” Avery gave the side of his boot one more thwack with the whip for emphasis and then spun about and set off.

He was only just out of earshot when Stella whacked her leg with her crop just as Avery had done, imitating his gruff voice and barking at Issie, “Are you in the mood for hijinks, Isadora?”

Issie fell about laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Kate asked as she trotted Toby over, pulling up to a halt next to Blaze and Coco.

“Avery,” said Issie. “He’s not in the mood for ‘hijinks’. He’s determined to win the Interclub Shield back again.”

“Well, I can’t say I blame him,” Kate said. “Marsh Fields have really rubbed it in ever since they won it for the second time in a row.”

“So Avery is choosing six of us out of the whole pony club?” Issie asked. She felt a sudden tingle of excitement as she realised how much this mattered to her.

“Eight, actually,” Kate told her. “Six riders plus two team reserves.”

“Dan and Ben are both bound to get in,” Stella groaned, “so that’s two places gone already!”

Dan and Ben were the girls’ closest friends at the club—and they were both really good riders. Dan had blond curly hair, startling blue eyes and rode a leggy, flea-bitten grey called Kismit. Ben was dark-haired, always teasing the girls, and had a sullen bay Welsh pony called Max.

Stella turned to her little chocolate mare. “You’d better wake up, Coco! We’re going to have to do our best to make the team.”

Coco reluctantly raised her head to see what all the fuss was about, and looked up at the girls now with her big brown eyes, then shut them again and dozed some more.

Kate and Issie were laughing, but Stella frowned as she reached for her hard hat and began to tighten her girth. “Sometimes, Coco, I think you aren’t taking this seriously enough.”

“How many events do we have to do for the selection?” Issie leaned over Kate’s shoulder to look at the schedule that she had written down.

“Five,” said Kate. “Rider on the flat, rider over hurdles and a showjumping course against the clock, and then there’s the team events—the flag-race relay and the bending relay.

“I hope Toby and I do well in the jumping,” Kate sighed. “We’ll never get picked for the team when it comes to the games. Toby is useless at bending. He’s far too big and his stride is too long to wind through the poles.”

Kate was only thirteen and in the same year at Chevalier Point High School as Issie and Stella. But she was tall for her age with lean, long legs, and her parents, who didn’t want to buy a pony only to have Kate outgrow it, had thought it sensible to progress her straight on to a horse. Kate’s horse Toby was a rangy bay Thoroughbred, standing a massive sixteen-two hands, which came in useful for Kate in the showjumping ring. But he was not so good at games like bending and flag racing where the poles were set up at the right distance for the short strides of little ponies, not the huge, ground-swallowing strides of an ex-racehorse.

The bending poles had already been set up for the games. The poles were about two metres high, stuck upright in the ground and evenly spaced with about three horse lengths between each pole. To win the race, riders needed to serpentine their way as fast as they could down through the poles, turning tightly around the last pole at the end, and slaloming back through again as fast as they could to cross the finish line.

For flag races, the same poles were used, but this time a flag was secured with a rubber band near the top of each pole. The riders had to race their horses to each pole in turn, pluck off the flag, then race back and drop the flag precisely into a small wooden box on top of an oil drum. If they missed the box, they had to dismount, pick up the flag, put it in the box and mount up again before they could continue the race.

“At least Toby is a star when it comes to jumping against the clock. You’re bound to win selection points in the jumping,” Issie consoled Kate. “Come on. Let’s finish tacking up and go.”

Issie ran her stirrups down the leathers, gave Blaze’s girth a final check and popped her foot in the stirrup iron, bouncing herself up lightly on to Blaze’s back.

“Here we go again, eh, girl?” Issie said, leaning in low by Blaze’s neck to whisper in her ear. The mare danced and fidgeted anxiously beneath her as they waited for Kate and Stella to get ready Then the three girls set off at a trot towards the bending poles and their first event of the day.

At the clubroom, five other riders were already waiting on their mounts. All of them were wearing the navy jersey and red tie which were the Chevalier Point Pony Club colours.

One of the girls, a blonde with two perfectly straight plaits, starchy white jodhpurs and a sour expression, sat astride a glossy, golden palomino. She saw Issie, Stella and Kate heading towards her and gave them a haughty smirk.

“Oh no, not Stuck-up Tucker!” Stella muttered under her breath. “Why does she have to be in our group? I wish I was doing jumping first like Dan and Ben.”

“Be nice,” Issie warned Stella. Issie knew that being nice to Natasha Tucker wasn’t easy, in fact she was gritting her teeth too in anticipation. The last time Issie had crossed paths with her had been in the jump-off at the one-day event, when Natasha had been eliminated for hitting Goldrush with her whip and Issie had gone on to win.

Needless to say, Natasha wasn’t pleased to see Issie again. “We’ve been waiting for you lot for absolutely ages! I hope you’re not planning to make us late all day,” Natasha said as the girls trotted up to join them. This clearly wasn’t true as the clock on the wall of the clubroom said nine exactly, which was when the rally was due to start.

“Hi, Natasha,” Issie said, deciding it was best to simply ignore her sniffy comment.

“Hi, Issie. Don’t worry about it, we only just got here too,” said a cheerful girl on a dinky twelve-two grey pony. The girl was Pip Miller and her horse was called Mitzy Next to Pip was her little sister Catherine who rode an even smaller twelve-hand grey called Nemo. The girl beside them was Annabel Willets, who was in the year above Issie at school. Annabel’s horse, Eddie, was a pretty palomino gelding with a wall eye.

The fifth rider, who was hanging back on the edge of the group, was a girl that Issie had never seen before. She had long dark hair just like Issie, but her skin was pale to the point of being ghostly. Her club jersey and tie were clearly brand new. She had a navy gilet over the top of her jersey and a shiny white helmet. Her pony who was jet black, was pretty and dainty and about the same height as Blaze.

“Who is she?” Kate wondered out loud.

“Hmmphh?” Natasha Tucker overheard her. “Oh her? That’s Morgan. She’s just started going to my school.”

Natasha didn’t go to Chevalier Point High with Issie and the others. She went to Kingswood, a private school on the other side of town.

“Her mummy used to be frightfully famous in horse circles, apparently—she was a really good rider back in the day. Now what’s their name again?” Natasha paused. “Oh yes, Chatswood-Smith. Morgan Chatswood-Smith. Her mum’s name is—”

“Araminta Chatswood-Smith!” Issie squeaked. “I know her! She was a totally amazing showjumper. I have all of her books.”

“Ah, all here then?” Avery said as he emerged out of the clubroom and bounded down the stairs. “Have you all introduced yourself to our new girl Morgan?” He walked over to the girl on the jet black pony and gave the pony a firm pat on his glossy neck.

“Morgan’s mother and I used to be great rivals when we were riding.” He smiled at her. “Welcome to Chevalier Point Pony Club, Morgan. I’m sure talent runs in the family.”

Morgan sat looking at Avery blankly. Eventually she managed to give him a weak smile in return.

“Good, good,” Avery said, turning to the rest of the riders. “Let’s get on with it then, shall we?”

Avery had set up four rows of poles for the bending so the riders were divided into two heats. After all the riders had been given a quick practice run through the poles, Stella, Kate, Pip and Catherine were the first ones to line up at the start line. “On your marks…get set…go!!” Avery shouted.

The horses leapt forward on Avery’s word and began to weave in a slalom through the four rows of bending poles. Stella was bent low over Coco’s neck as the chocolate mare zipped through her poles at a swift canter. She turned the last pole well ahead of the rest of the riders and breezed home easily in the lead across the finish line.

Kate was not so lucky with Toby who reached the last pole and, instead of turning, kept right on cantering. “Toby!” Kate hauled on his left rein to try and get him to circle. By the time she had got the big bay’s attention and manoeuvred him around, even Catherine on little Nemo had beaten her and was trotting gaily through the last pole and over the finish line.

“Next riders up!” Avery called. Issie, Morgan, Annabel and Natasha lined up at their poles.

“On your marks…” Avery began his countdown. But Issie was still trying to calm Blaze down. The mare was so excited, she couldn’t stay still. She snorted and fretted and Issie was forced to keep turning her in tight circles to stop her bolting over the line and being disqualified.

“Get set…” Avery continued.

“Wait!” Issie squawked. She wasn’t “set” at all—her reins were in a tangle and her arms hurt from holding Blaze back.

She needed to turn the chestnut mare back in time to face the starting line but Avery hadn’t noticed that she was struggling. “Go!” he shouted.

Blaze leapt forward—in completely the wrong direction!

By the time Issie had turned Blaze around, the other riders were halfway down the row of bending poles. Issie tried to steer her through the poles but Blaze kept yanking the reins out of Issie’s fingers; she was far too excited to pay attention. Blaze had missed two poles before Issie had the chance to haul her up and go back again. By the time Issie finally got her under control the others had already crossed the finish line. She was dead last.

The only thing that cheered Issie up was the fact that Natasha hadn’t won either—Annabel had taken out the heat on Eddie.

Of course that didn’t stop Natasha being a know-it-all. “Hey Isadora, I think you’re going in the wrong direction. The bending poles are that way!” she needled Issie as she rode Goldrush past.

Issie watched as Natasha pulled up next to Morgan. Natasha leant over and whispered something to Morgan and then began to giggle.

“Oh no. I think the new girl is friends with Natasha!” Issie groaned to Stella.

“It’s not her fault. She’s new. Wait until she gets to know her!” Stella rolled her eyes and giggled.

The flag races went a little better than the bending. Stella won her heat again, this time narrowly beating Morgan, who rode like a daredevil but still couldn’t catch up with Coco, who was brilliant at stopping dead at each pole and then breaking into a gallop to deliver the flags back to the box.

Issie and Blaze managed their heat well too—no starting hiccups this time. And when Natasha dropped a flag, Issie raced into the lead and this time she beat her across the line.

“Lunch break!” Avery boomed at them all. “Go and tie your horses up—you’ve got an hour off and then you’re doing rider on the flat and jumping this afternoon!”

Issie’s Mum and Dan’s mother, Mrs Halliday, were arranging the lunch on tartan picnic rugs as the riders pulled up their mounts.

“I am totally starving!” Stella said, casting her eyes over the spread. She could see asparagus rolls, little miniature meat pies, club sandwiches, jam roll, chocolate cake and strawberry tarts, all lined up in Tupperware containers on the rug, with a big thermos of tea for the parents and apple juice for the riders.

“You boys! Put that down and wait until the girls have tied their horses up too,” Mrs Halliday said firmly to Dan and Ben, who had already thrown themselves down on the picnic rug and had their hands on the meat pies.

Dan gave his Mum a big grin and bit into the pie. “Too late!” he said with his mouth full. “Better tell them to hurry up!” The food was gone in no time flat.

“Can we get ice creams, Mum? It’s so hot today,” Issie begged.

“Yes! Ice creams!” the others agreed, leaping up off the rug and heading for the clubroom.

“I wonder if they’ll have this morning’s results posted up yet?” Dan said. He and Ben were both feeling confident that their skill in the showjumping ring would earn them both a place in the Chevalier Point team.

“Kismit is jumping brilliantly at the moment.” Dan grinned.

Ben nodded in agreement. “We’ve both been having extra lessons lately with Iggy Dalrymple. He’s really helped my technique.”

They stepped up to the door of the clubrooms now, and heard a woman’s voice inside. She sounded upset. “What went wrong?” she was saying. “These results are dreadful!”

“I don’t know, Mum. I had a bad start in the bending and then Jack was nappy in the flag race, I guess…” a girl’s voice responded.

“Well, now you’ll have to make up lost ground this afternoon,” the woman said briskly. “Come on, saddle up. We’ll pop Black Jack over some practice fences and I’ll look at your position before they get back underway.”

The woman and the girl headed for the door of the clubroom and Issie, Stella, Kate, Ben and Dan all scattered to the sides of the steps to let them through.

Morgan came out first. She looked much slighter than she did on her horse. She was sparrow-like, with skinny arms and legs and that long, dark hair and pale skin. She gave Issie a wan smile as she walked past.

Behind her, a woman stepped from the dark of the clubhouse to the bright light outside. She too had jet black hair and pale skin. She was tall and very glamorous in violet Hunter wellingtons, sky blue jodhpurs and a dark navy shirt, with a violet Hermes scarf tied around her hair and big, black sunglasses.

Like Avery, she carried a riding crop in her hand which she tapped lightly against her boot as she looked down now at the five riders on the clubroom steps below her.

Issie held her breath. She knew this woman. She recognised her at once because she had a picture of her on her bedroom wall. It was Araminta Chatswood-Smith.

Chapter 3

Most thirteen-year-old girls have pictures of pop bands and Jake Gyllenhaal on their walls. But Isadora Brown was a horsy girl. In her bedroom, horses—bays, chestnuts, greys, Appaloosas, paints and palominos—covered every square inch of wallpaper.

Issie had cut pictures out of magazines of her favourite horses and riders. There was Pippa Funnell at Burghley on her big bay Supreme Rock. Next to that was a big poster of Zara Philips taking a water jump on Toytown. And on the back of her bedroom door there was Araminta Chatswood-Smith, jumping an enormous brick wall on her horse Wilful Lad in the showjumping at the World Equestrian Games.

Issie had spent a long time staring at that picture of Araminta and “Willy” on her door. Now, she was staring at the real rider herself.

Araminta cast a brief look down at Issie and her friends, gave them a stiff smile, and slid her dark glasses down from her scarf where they were perched so that they shielded her eyes.

“Minty!” Avery’s voice boomed across the paddock as he came striding towards them. Araminta’s smile grew wide as she saw him approaching.

“Tom! How glorious!” she said, trotting down the stairs with her arms outstretched. She gave him a firm embrace and pushed her sunglasses back up again, looking at Tom with warm, hazel brown eyes.

“It’s been years!” Araminta said. “Are you still competing?”

“No.” Avery shook his head. “After that bad fall at Badminton they told me I shouldn’t really ride again. So now I teach here and, of course, I’m still working for the ILPH.”

“That’s where I got Blaze from!” Issie blurted out.

Araminta and Tom turned around to see Isadora, Stella, Kate, Dan and Ben all standing there on the clubroom steps, clearly making no bones about snooping in on their conversation.

“Araminta, have you met my star riders?” Avery grinned at them. And he did introductions, naming each of them in turn and telling Araminta a little about the young riders and their ponies.

“…and finally, this is Isadora,” Tom said. “Issie’s a terrific rider. She’s been looking after Blaze, an Anglo-Arab mare that the horse protection league found. Totally nursed her back to health and then won the Chevalier Point ODE on her last season.”

“So you own the mare now?” Araminta asked Issie.

“Umm, no,” Issie said, “I’m just her guardian. Blaze still belongs to the ILPH.”

“Well, it sounds like you’re quite the horsewoman. I respect your dedication,” Araminta said. She checked her watch. “I’m sorry, Tom, we’ll catch up another time. I have to go and help Morgan get some last-minute practice in for this afternoon.”

“If she’s anything like you were in your day, Minty, she won’t need any practice,” Tom said.

Araminta sighed and shook her head. “Tom, I was only good because I used to practise so hard. Morgan needs to realise that she could be great too if she worked at winning. I need to push her all the time. She’s got to be committed to be a star. That’s what I keep telling her—” She stopped suddenly and gave Avery a smile again. “Anyway I need to go and help her warm up now. It was lovely to see you, Tom. And to meet you.” She smiled at Issie and her gang. “See you soon.”

Araminta strode off to the practice jumps on the far side of the paddock where Morgan was warming up her black gelding.

“Come on,” Dan said, charging up the clubroom stairs now that Araminta was gone, “are we getting ice creams or not?”

The Chevalier Point clubroom looked like an old shearing shed, which was exactly what it had once been. It was raised up on poles allowing storage space under the floor at one end for hay bales during the winter months. Underneath the other end was a locked-up space for equipment like bending poles, hard feed for the horses, saddle horses and racks for tack which the riders stored here when they were grazing their ponies at the club grounds.

Upstairs, the clubroom itself was warm and dry, with a musty smell of hay and the sweet warm hint of pony sweat.

At the far end of this big barn-like space was the area that everyone called the “Riders Lounge”. The lounge was made up of five old worn-out armchairs, all of them with the stuffing coming out of the arms and fabric worn threadbare so that the springs showed. A large, very worn Persian rug covered the floor and there was a long, low coffee table with old copies of PONY Magazine stacked on it.

At the front end, near the clubroom door, was the kitchenette, with a freezer and an honesty box for ice creams and a cold drinks machine. Coffee mugs hung on a wooden tree next to the sink and there was a big handwritten notice that said, PLEASE DO YOUR OWN DISHES—THE PONIES CAN’T CLEAN UP BY THEMSELVES!

Opposite the kitchenette on the main wall was the noticeboard and it was here that Avery had posted up the results.

“Yikes!” Stella squealed. She had been examining the pieces of paper on the corkboard and adding up who had the most points. “Look at this! I’m winning!

I’ve got the highest score so far!” It was true. Stella was the only one who had won her heats in both the bending and the flag races that morning.

Issie searched frantically for her name on the corkboard. Her eyes scanned the column. There she was—Isadora Brown. She had three points so far for winning her heat of the flag race. Stella had six points and so did Dan and Ben. Issie knew she would have to ride really well this afternoon if she wanted to win enough points to make the team. She suddenly felt her tummy churn with nerves, almost putting her off her ice cream. “Come on,” she said to Stella, “let’s go get saddled up.”

That afternoon seemed to fly by as the days always do at pony club. By the time they reached the last event of the day, Issie and Kate had both ridden well in the rider on the flat and over hurdles and both girls had added to their points tally. Each of them had six points now just like Stella. There was only the showjumping against the clock to come.

“There are ten fences in the course. You’ll be jumping this same height at the Interclub on Shield Day when the fences will all be between eighty centimetres and one metre,” Avery explained. “It’s the same system today as the Interclub. You will receive four faults for every rail you knock down. The rider who completes a clear round with the best time on the clock will win.”

As Stella and Kate rode off to warm up over the practice jumps, Issie sat by the ring to watch the first rider and see how they handled the course.

As she was watching the horse take the first fence she looked across and saw Morgan. The girl was sitting all by herself on her black gelding, looking extremely bored.

It must be awful, Issie thought, being the new girl and not knowing anyone—even if you are the daughter of a famous rider like Araminta Chatswood-Smith.

“What do you think, Blaze? Shall we make friends?” Issie murmured to her horse.

She picked up the reins and trotted Blaze over to the shade of the large plane tree where Morgan and her pony were standing alone.

“Hi,” Issie smiled brightly at Morgan, “I’m Issie, well, Isadora really, but everyone calls me Issie.” Issie patted her liver chestnut mare, who gave her head a shake and jangled her bit as if to suggest that the introductions weren’t quite finished yet.

“And this is Blaze!” Issie laughed. “I think she wants to meet your horse. What’s his name?” she asked, gesturing towards the black gelding.

“Black Jack,” Morgan replied in a quiet voice, “but I just call him Jack. We were—”

“There you are, Morgan!” The sharp voice of Natasha Tucker trilled out, interrupting them. Natasha pulled her horse up between Black Jack and Blaze and cast a snooty look at Isadora. “It’s so nice to have you here, Morgan,” Natasha purred. “So nice to have a proper rider at this club with me finally. And with a proper horse too,” Natasha added, looking at Black Jack. “I can tell that he’s a purebred. Goldrush is too, you know. Bloodlines are so important, don’t you think? It’s a shame they let all sorts of mongrel ponies join the club these days. I think you’ll find that some people at this pony club have horses that are simply out-classed by horses like ours. They can’t afford well-bred mounts like we can,” she said. She gave Morgan a sly smirk. “You’re new here, but you’ll learn. I’m sure I can fill you in on who’s worth bothering with.”

“What-ever, Natasha,” Morgan replied dryly. “I think I can figure out good breeding all by myself. And I know exactly who is worth bothering with—and who is not!”

And with that she leaned over in front of Natasha and smiled broadly at Issie. “Your horse is beautiful. I love chestnuts with blonde manes.” She looked admiringly at Blaze’s flaxen mane, which was pale honey blonde, long and silky. “Is she an Arab?”

“I think so.” Issie smiled back. “Avery says Anglo-Arab, but I got her from the ILPH so I don’t really know for sure.”

As the two girls nattered happily away, Natasha’s face darkened. She gave a haughty sniff, pretended she had somewhere better to be and rode off in a sulk.

“I’m so glad she’s gone!” Morgan pulled a face as she watched Natasha ride off.

“I thought you were friends?” Issie was confused.

“No way!” Morgan was shocked. “She is horrible to me at school. Natasha and her friends are all in the popular’ group and they won’t even speak to me. Now suddenly she turns up at pony club and discovers who my mum is and wants to be my best friend!”

Issie nodded. “That sounds like Natasha all right.”

Morgan sighed. “It happened at my last pony club too. All these girls who just wanted to hang out with me because of my mum…”

“It must be amazing.” Issie grinned. “I mean, having a mother who is a really great rider. My Mum can’t stand horses.”

“Yeah, it’s OK,” Morgan said without much enthusiasm. She looked at Issie. “It’s just that everyone expects me to be this fantastic rider just because Mum is. And everyone is always asking me about her.”

Issie felt herself blush. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…I just thought it would be so great to grow up in a horsy family. How old were you when you first learned to ride?”

“I was three. Mum took me out hunting before I had even turned six.” Morgan rolled her eyes dramatically. “Mum thinks I should be the youngest ever rider to win Badminton. She says she expects me to do it by the time I am eighteen years and 246 days old—since Richard Walker was eighteen years and 247 days old when he won it on Pasha in 1969!”

Issie sighed. “Oh, I wish Araminta Chatswood-Smith was my mother! My mum thinks Badminton is a game you play with a shuttlecock and a racket.”

Morgan laughed at this.

“Do you want to come and meet Kate and Stella?” Issie offered.

Morgan nodded and the two girls were about to leave when another voice called Morgan’s name. “There you are! What are you doing? Why aren’t you warming up?” Araminta Chatswood-Smith demanded as she strode purposefully towards them.

“There are only three more riders before it’s your turn,” Araminta said. “You should be at the practice fence giving Black Jack a bit of last-minute schooling.”

“Sorry, Mum,” Morgan sighed.

“Well, let’s go then,” Araminta said, turning on her heels and marching off towards the jumps. She looked back over her shoulder. “I mean now, Morgan!”

Morgan shrugged, waved goodbye to Issie and gave her a smile as she trotted off after her mother.

Issie watched as Araminta schooled her daughter over the two low practice fences, back and forth again and again. She looked very serious as she called Morgan to her, making gestures and gripping Morgan’s hands in her own to adjust their position on Black Jack’s reins. Issie could hear her saying, “Half-halt…then leg on…try to keep your head in the game this time, Morgan!”

By the time it was Morgan’s turn to ride the showjumping course she looked tense in the saddle. Her face looked even paler than usual as she entered the ring.

At the first jump, Morgan rode hard at the fence. “Get up!” she shouted in a frightened voice at Jack as they approached for the final stride. But the little black gelding stopped dead in his tracks, and Morgan flew forward out of the saddle and on to his neck. She scrabbled back down and got her seat back, turning Black Jack and riding at the first fence again. This time she shouted more firmly, and he leapt with a snort and cleared it easily. She finished the round with four jumping faults and a very slow time.

It was enough to put her well out of the running. By the time the riders had all been through the course, there would be eleven clear rounds in total that day. With so many clear rounds, only the riders with the best times on the clock stood a chance of receiving points.

“Well, that rules me out!” Kate said grumpily. She was still grouchy with Toby, who had got a bee in his bonnet about something at the third fence and refused twice.

It was no surprise to anyone when Dan, Ben and Stella managed to come out on top as the three fastest riders on the day.

“I told you we’d been having extra practice.” Ben grinned as he and Max scooped up two more points.

“It’s all right for you,” Stella groaned at him, “you came second. Now you’re bound to have made the team.”

“Oh, Stella! You’ll get in. You got third and you did brilliantly at the games,” Kate tried to reassure her.

But Stella shook her head. “Don’t! I don’t want to jinx it. Avery said he would be posting the final team lineup at the end of the day. Let’s not talk about it until then!”

“Stellas right. There’s nothing we can do now so let’s go and have afternoon tea,” Issie suggested. “Meet you back at the picnic blanket?”

The girls all agreed that this was a good idea and they decided to ask Morgan too—after Issie told them the story of what happened with Natasha.

But when Issie rode over to ask Morgan to come and join them, Araminta couldn’t have been less enthusiastic. “I hope you don’t mind, Isadora, but I’d prefer to give Morgan a bit of extra schooling after Black Jack’s performance in the ring today,” she replied coolly.

“Oh, Mum, we’re all done for the day! Can’t I just go and unsaddle and get a drink and hang out with Issie and her friends?” Morgan pleaded.

Araminta fixed her with a steely glare. “I think you need to work on your position, Morgan. There was no excuse for that refusal.” She turned to look at Issie and her frown unfurrowed a little. “I’m sorry, Isadora,” she said, “Morgan is busy for the rest of the day. That is final.”

“Wow. It sounds like Araminta is pretty tough on Morgan,” Stella said as Issie told her what had happened. They were lying on the tartan rug and munching the bacon and egg pie and some more sponge cake that clever Mrs Brown had kept back from lunch.

“Araminta is super-competitive. I guess she really wants Morgan to win.” Issie shrugged.

Still, Issie knew what Stella meant. Poor Morgan had looked so desperate to go and hang out with Issie and her friends instead of training for a change.

While Issie and Stella had been lying on the picnic blanket finishing off the bacon and egg pie, Kate had been in the clubroom. She emerged, running towards them with a piece of paper gripped tightly in her right hand.

“Ohmygod!” she said. “You are not going to believe it.” Her face was stiff and miserable.

“What?” Issie and Stella cried out together.

“I’ve got the team list results,” Kate said. She looked deadly serious now. “And, well…they’re terrible. None of us have made the team.”

Chapter 4

Stella’s horror at being left out of the team quickly turned to anger. “What? I can’t believe it!” she squawked. “I have ridden better today than I ever did in my life! I won all the games! I have loads of points!” Her cheeks flushed hot pink against her red curls. “Issie? I can’t believe it! Issie?”

She looked at Issie, who had a smirk on her face, and then back at Kate, who, incredibly, was also smiling.

“I can’t believe you fell for it!” Kate laughed. “Of course you made the team, Stella! We all made it!”

Stella gaped open-mouthed like a goldfish at her friends and her eyes grew wide with disbelief as it dawned on her that the whole thing had been a trick.

Then she sputtered and gasped and finally broke out into a huge grin too, and the girls all hugged and squealed, falling down finally on to the picnic blanket with a case of hysterical giggles. Kate opened up the team list and they all sat there and looked at it for ages just to make sure that it was really true. There it was in black and white. They had made the team.

There were eight names on the list. It read in alphabetical order, which meant, Issie noted proudly, that her name came first.

Chevalier Point Interclub Gold Shield Team:

Isadora Brown

Dan Halliday

Kate Knight

Ben MacIntosh

Stella Tarrant

Annabel Willets

Reserves:

Morgan Chatswood-Smith

Natasha Tucker

“Do Dan and Ben know that they’ve made the team too?” Stella said.

She heard a loud whoop behind her and saw the two boys running across the paddock towards them. “I think that’s a yes!” Kate laughed.

That afternoon, Avery gathered his new team together in the clubroom. “Well done, all of you!” he said. “But I hope you realise that making the team means hard work. I’m going to be scheduling in extra training sessions each week from now until the Interclub.”

He turned to Morgan and Natasha. “I expect to see both of the team reserves at training too. If, for any reason, one of our team can’t compete, then I’ll be calling on you to ride in their place. You need to be ready.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and leaned over to whisper dramatically to Morgan, “I don’t see why we should turn up if we don’t actually get to ride at the competition.”

Issie overheard her say, “Especially when some people only make the team because they are Avery’s special pet!” Then she turned to Issie and gave her a smirk. “Isn’t that right, Isadora?”

“Don’t worry about Stuck-up Tucker,” Stella said to Issie afterwards. “She’s just got it in for you because she didn’t make the team.”

Kate agreed, “Natasha spent a fortune on her pony. It’s, like, just because she’s rich she thinks she should automatically be chosen.”

“But why is it always me she picks on?” Issie sighed.

“Are you kidding?” Stella grinned. “It’s so obvious that she is jealous of you, Issie. She’s never recovered from the time you beat her at the one-day event.”

Even Natasha’s cattiness couldn’t crush Issie’s good mood. She had made the team. That night, as a celebration, Mrs Brown made Issie’s favourite dinner—cottage pie with minted peas and chocolate ice cream for dessert.

Afterwards, Issie lay on her bed, still in her jodhpurs, feeling too tired and stiff to take them off and change into her pyjamas. She was just thinking that this was possibly one of the best days she had ever had when the phone rang.

“Mum! Can you get it? I can’t stand up because my legs have fallen off!” Issie yelled out.

She heard her mother yell something back, but then she heard her get up from the kitchen table and walk towards the phone. Her legs-falling-off excuse must have worked. She could hear her mum talking in her proper phone voice that she reserved for people she didn’t know very well, and then she called out, “Isadora, it’s for you.”

“Who is it?” Issie asked as she took the receiver. Her mother just smiled and handed her the phone.

The voice on the other end of the line was syrupy and warm, with a strong French accent. “Bonjour, Isadora,” said Francoise D’arth. “Ça va? How are you? I am calling as you suggested to ask if you are free tomorrow? I would love to come and meet your pony.”

As she cycled towards the pony club the next morning Issie felt sick with nerves. She had never dreamt that the glamorous Francoise D’arth would really be interested in Blaze. To Issie, Blaze was the most beautiful horse in the world—but what would an expert horsewoman like Francoise think? Francoise would probably be disappointed when she came all the way to the pony club to meet her and saw that Blaze was just an ordinary pony not anything special at all.

It was eight a.m. and the morning air still had a slight spring chill in it, despite the fact that summer was almost here. Issie wished she’d worn her jacket. By the time she reached the pony-club gates, though, the bike ride had warmed her up and her cheeks were flushed from the fresh air. Next to the gates was a black car, and out of it stepped Francoise, who had been waiting for her.

“Bonjour, Isadora,” she said. “Thank you very much for meeting with me. Now, where is this pony of yours that looks so much like my dancing horses?”

Issie grabbed Blaze’s halter out of the tack room, and she and Francoise set out together across the paddocks.

“I usually graze her at the River Paddock,” Issie explained, “but we had a pony-club rally yesterday and I kept her here. Avery says we can graze them at the pony club for as long as we like now that we’re in the team.”

The pony club was divided into three fields. You came off the main road down a long gravel driveway lined with giant magnolia trees. The first gate opened into the paddock where the cars and horse floats usually parked on rally days. There were large plane trees running like a leafy spine through the paddocks, providing extra shade for the horses and riders on hot days, and the clubroom which straddled the fence line between paddocks one and two. Paddock three was the furthest away. The jumping arena had been erected there, and the perimeter of this paddock was bordered by a thick privet hedge. Issie looked out to the far paddock where she could see the outline of three horses grazing—Blaze, Coco and Toby.

“There she is,” Issie pointed. “She’s the one standing by the stack of cavaletti.”

Issie and Francoise climbed over the turnstile in the fence and began to walk through the lush, spring grass towards the far paddock.

As they got closer, Issie made a clucking noise with her tongue and Blaze raised her head from the rich, green spring grass to look up at her. She gave a soft nicker.

“She usually comes if I call her,” Issie said proudly. She made the clucking noise again and Blaze gave another little whinny now and broke into a high-stepping trot. When she reached the fence line that separated her from Issie she looked for a moment as if she were considering jumping the fence, but instead she came reluctantly to a stop. Snorting and shaking out her mane with frustration, Blaze trotted up and down along the fence line impatiently.

Issie watched her horse in motion, her flaxen mane and tail flowing freely and her dark liver chestnut coat glinting in the morning sun. Blaze’s paces were so light she seemed to be floating above the ground. Her neck was arched and her ears were pricked forward. Issie smiled at how beautiful her horse was when she moved—surely Francoise would be impressed by how gorgeous the chestnut mare looked.

She turned expectantly to look at the dark-haired Frenchwoman next to her. But Francoise was not smiling. Far from it. She was standing perfectly still, and the look on her face was one of shock. It was almost as if she had seen a ghost.

Issie noticed that her hands were trembling. Francoise seemed to realise this too because she now entwined her hands together to steady herself, clasping them under her chin as if she were praying.

Francoise stood perfectly still in this way for a long time. Issie heard her muttering something under her breath in French. Then Francoise raised her hands to her face, cupping them around her mouth. She pouted her lips and blew a shrill high whistle.

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