Meridon (Wideacre Trilogy 3) Read Free

voice.
    ‘It’s a pig,’ I said plainly. ‘I’ll be able to stay on it, but the little Miss Birthday Girl will likely break her neck the first time she tries to ride.’
    We chuckled spitefully.
    ‘Don’t quarrel with him tomorrow,’ Dandy urged me. ‘It only makes him worse. And you’ll never win.’
    ‘I know,’ I said dully. ‘I know I’ll never win. But I can’t keep quiet like you. I can’t even go away like you do. I’ve never been able to. But as soon as I can, I’m going. As soon as I can see somewhere to go, I’m going.’
    ‘And I’ll come too,’ Dandy said, repeating a long-ago promise. ‘But don’t make him angry tomorrow. He said he’d beat you if you do.’
    ‘I’ll try not,’ I said with little hope, and handed my empty plate to her. Then I turned my face away from her, from the shady caravan and the twilit doorway. I turned my face to the curved wall at the side of my bunk and gathered the smelly pillow under my face. I shut my eyes tight and wished myself far away. Far away from the aches in my body and from the dread and fear in my mind. From my disgust at my father and my hatred of Zima. From my helpless impotent love for Dandy and my misery at my own hopeless, dirty, poverty-stricken existence.
    I shut my eyes tight and thought of myself as the copper-headed daughter of the squire who owned Wide. I thought of the trees reflected in the waters of the trout river. I thought of the house and the roses growing so creamy and sweet in the gardens outside the house. As I drifted into sleep I willed myself to see the dining room with the fire flickering in the hearth and the pointy flames of the candles reflected in the great mahogany table, and the servants in livery bringing in dish after dish of food. My eternally hungry body ached at the thought of all those rich creamy dishes. But as I fell asleep, I was smiling.
    The next day he was not bad from the drink so he was quicker to the horse’s head, and held her tighter. I stayed on for longer, and for at least two falls I landed on my feet, sliding off her to first one side and then the other, and avoiding that horrid nerve-jolting slump on to hard ground.
    He nodded at me when we stopped for our dinner – the remains of the rabbit stew watered down as soup, and a hunk of old bread.
    ‘Will you be able to stay on her for long enough tomorrow?’
    ‘Yes,’ I said confidently. ‘Will we be moving off the next day?’
    ‘That same night!’ Da said carelessly. ‘I know that horse will never make a lady’s ride. She’s vicious.’
    I held my peace. I knew well enough that she had been a goodhorse when we first had her. If she had been carefully and lovingly trained Da would have made a good sale to a Quality home. But he was only ever chasing a quick profit. He had seen a man who wanted a quiet ride for his little girl’s birthday, and next thing he was breaking from scratch a two-year-old wild pony. It was coarse stupidity – and it was that doltish chasing after tiny profits which angered me the most.
    ‘She’s not trained to side-saddle,’ was all I said.
    ‘No,’ said Da. ‘But if you wash your face and get Zima to plait your hair you can go astride and still look like a novice girl. If he sees you on her – and you mind not to come off – he’ll buy her.’
    I nodded, and pulled a handful of grass to wipe out my bowl. I had sucked and spat out a scrap of gristle, and I tossed it to the scrawny lurcher tied under the wagon. He snapped at it and took it with him back into the shadow. The hot midday sun made red rings when I closed my eyelids and lay back on the mown grass to feel the heat.
    ‘Where d’we go next?’ I asked idly.
    ‘Salisbury,’ Da said without hesitation. ‘Lot of money to be made there. I’ll buy a couple of ponies on the way. There’s a fair in early September as well – that idle Zima and Dandy can do some work for once in their lives.’
    ‘No one poaches as well as Dandy,’ I said