thinks it likely that Mr Forrester, who admitted in his suicide note to being in financial straits, secretly sold some of the young horses to passing travellers for cash. One of these, he believes, could have been Usurper.’
‘“A traveller came by,”’ murmured Alan, ‘“Silently, invisibly/He took her with a sigh.”’
Marti Gluckstein looked at the pointers Rupert had given him.
‘I put it to you, sir, that travellers wouldn’t abandon a horse if it were untrainable, they’d flog it for meat money. Someone wanted to destroy this mare without trace.’
Despite his cool linen suit, Harvey-Holden was dripping with sweat. Impossible to have a face so still, thought Etta with a shiver, like a ferret not moving a whisker that might alert his prey.
Cecil was clearly not going to expose H-H’s lack of charm and his squeaky little ex-jockey’s voice by allowing him to give evidence.
Marti Gluckstein continued to peg away to find the truth.
When one of Harvey-Holden’s stable lads, a middle-aged Pakistani called Vakil who looked even shiftier than H-H, was called to give evidence, he said he remembered his boss fussing over Usurper but couldn’t recall when she left Ravenscroft.
‘Surely any decent yard,’ asked Marti, ‘keeps daily records of what a horse eats, what medication she’s on and whether she’s been ridden out or schooled. On what date did these details about Usurper cease?’
‘I cannot say,’ replied Vakil. ‘All records were destroyed in the fire.’
‘How very convenient,’ observed Marti.
Judy Tobias also gave evidence.
‘H-H adored Usurper and all his horses. After the fire, he was a broken man.’
‘Probably because you sat on him,’ muttered Dora and as Etta’s supporters rocked with laughter she was told to shut up by the judge.
Cecil Stroud gave her a filthy look and dropped his voice like a cello. ‘My client was extremely fond of Usurper. He was devastated to learn what suffering she had endured. After the heartbreak of the fire that destroyed his yard, he longs to salvage something from the ashes.’
‘Hear, hear!’ murmured Judy Tobias.
‘In addition, Mrs Wilkinson won her first point-to-point so convincingly, she obviously has a glittering future. As a pensioner, Mrs Bancroft could hardly put her into training.’
The bright blue curtains were then drawn and a video was shown of the race, including the fall and Mrs Wilkinson nudging Amber to remount. It had the entire court cheering and laughing, particularly when Mrs Wilkinson shook hooves with the stewards afterwards.
‘A horse of great charm and character,’ observed Cecil Stroud.
After this they adjourned for lunch. Etta couldn’t eat a thing because it was her turn to give evidence next. Her pretty new blue suit was miles too hot. If only she could have taken off her jacket like the men, who were lifting their spirits with stiff drinks.
‘What is your interest in horses, Mrs Bancroft?’ was the judge’s first question once they were back in court.
‘I had a pony when I was a child and I’ve always loved them.’
Then she described how mutilated and terrified Mrs Wilkinson had been, and how it seemed, from the scraped snow, as if someone had been trying to bury her alive. She told how Joey and Woody had risked their jobs moving her into Valent Edwards’s house, which was warm and dry, because they were so upset by her plight.
‘Why didn’t you call the police or the RSPCA?’ asked Cecil Stroud sternly.
‘Because she was learning to trust me, and was so poorly we daren’t move her. I felt she’d suffered enough,’ said Etta in a voice so low, everyone strained to hear her. ‘And truthfully because I’d fallen in love with her and didn’t want anyone to take her away.’
‘Oh Etta,’ sighed Alan, shaking his head.
Cecil Stroud’s mocking eyebrows nearly dislodged his toupee.
‘So you stole her,’ he snapped.
‘I rescued her,’ said Etta firmly.
‘Thank you, Mrs Bancroft,’ said Judge Wilkes, ‘you explained yourself very clearly.’
Charlie Radcliffe then gave evidence, saying Etta would have been stealing a skeleton. The filly had no body fat or muscle. Her anus was severely sunken. The whole of her pelvis could be seen, as well as her spine and ribs.
‘How long would it have taken a horse to reach this state?’
‘Months.’
‘No more questions.’
Woody, looking impossibly beautiful, told the court that he’d never seen a horse so terrified, but she was too weak to struggle. Jase, saying he’d worked with horses all his life and had never seen such a bad case of cruelty, then produced the photographs Joey’d taken when they first rescued Mrs Wilkinson. These were so hideously heartrending, even the