The only person to profit spiritually from the floods was Niall. Away on his month’s locum in Suffolk, he had been replaced by a lady vicar, a windbag called Susan Burrows, who was immediately nicknamed Mrs Locum.
Because it was the only warm and dry place, the church was packed to hear her first service on the Sunday after the floods. Alas, she not only forgot to thank God for saving the Village Horse and Mrs Bancroft, but her sermon was still in full flow after forty-five minutes, whereupon little Drummond Bancroft spoke for all when he loudly complained, ‘This has gone on far too long.’ He was firmly ticked off by his father, at which point an exasperated Ione bellowed, ‘Don’t reprove that sensible child. This has gone on too long. Over to you, Craig.’
So Craig Green had launched into ‘O Worship the King’, but as the congregation shuffled to their feet, Mrs Locum shouted from the pulpit that she hadn’t finished yet.
So the congregation sat down again, whereupon Ione bellowed, ‘For God’s sake get up or she’ll start again.’
So Craig launched back into ‘O Worship the King’ and Mrs Locum stormed out, refusing to hover in the porch and offer words of consolation to her flooded flock.
Having slagged off Niall for so long, Willowwood was now gagging for his return, particularly after he popped back in the middle of the month to commiserate with the villagers, many of whom were living in caravans, still with no water.
Finally, Amber was in despair. The doctors had pronounced her fit once more. Riding out on Mrs Wilkinson towards the end of July, she noticed meadow browns crowding an amethyst sweep of thistles, enduring the prickles in order to suck out the honeyed sweetness. Who would put up with her prickly crosspatch nature and love her, when she was so unlovable? Amber knew she’d been vile to Tommy and bitchy to Rafiq, of whom she was now so jealous. He had become so much less sulky and unforthcoming, even managing a win on Family Dog, that lots of owners were asking for him personally to ride their horses when the yard threw off the shackles of foot and mouth and became operative again.
Amber had also written a hundred letters to Rogue thanking him for the freesias and torn them all up.
111
It was a red-letter day for Throstledown when, on 9 August, the restrictions on animal movements were finally relaxed, which meant Marius could shift his horses and Chisolm was allowed home from her priest’s hole, to the ecstasy of Mrs Wilkinson. Chisolm’s little tail didn’t stop waggling as she rushed round the yard greeting her human, canine and equine friends, disappearing into the bushes with Horace the Shetland before rushing back to Mrs Wilkinson.
A mad scramble ensued to get the horses match-fit for the next season. Valent’s rescue of Mrs Wilkinson had attracted a huge amount of publicity for Mrs Wilkinson’s trainer, and three new owners had decided to send him a total of ten horses. One, a beautiful chestnut mare called Miller’s Daughter, arrived ahead of the others.
Miss Painswick had just sent out the invitations for an owners’ lunch and a parade of the horses in early September, when it was discovered Miller’s Daughter had a cough, a running nose and scoped dirty, indicating an illness.
Summoned, Charlie Radcliffe shook his head.
‘Sorry, Marius. You’ll be off for two months at least.’
Within a couple of days, every horse in the yard was coughing. The new owners had to be warned to keep their horses away, and because they wanted to run them, they took them to other trainers. Except for Miller’s Daughter, who had to remain at Throstledown until she was no longer infectious. Her owner, a comely blonde called Alex Winters, wasn’t nearly apologetic enough that she had grounded Marius’s yard. Judging by the speed with which she’d taken her other horses to Harvey-Holden, Marius wondered if Miller’s Daughter had been fed in deliberately.
He was on the verge of suicide. He couldn’t pay his staff and had little to feed his horses, except for the forage he’d got in early. That morning he’d had a foul letter from his bank manager, who was threatening to seize the yard. Marius couldn’t ask Valent for any more money. He was acutely aware that Amber and Rafiq were in despair at having no rides. At least Rogue was getting plenty from Rupert Campbell-Black.