Secret of the Stallion Read Free Page A

statues of us to put in here someday. We wouldn’t take up much space, would we?” she asked.
    “I don’t think they’re interested in American riders here,” said Tessa. “They mostly want the famous, the infamous, and the gory—”
    “Preferably all three,” Stevie said, passing by a gruesome dungeon scene.
    “This stuff turns my stomach,” said Lisa.
    “My
empty
stomach,” said Stevie.
    “You know, until you mentioned it, I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” said Carole. “The last real meal we had was that soggy pizza they served us for dinner.” She glared at Veronica so she wouldn’t say anything about the steak she’d had on the plane.
    “Well, then, how about some
good
pizza?” Tessa asked. “There’s this wonderful little place …”
    She didn’t have to say it twice. The American girlsfollowed her gladly to the limousine. Hamilton drove them to Tessa’s favorite pizza restaurant.
    They gathered at the table, placed their orders, and talked about plans for the rest of their visit to London.
    “Tomorrow you’re all going to come to our home and ride with me, aren’t you?”
    “Yes!” came three enthusiastic responses.
    “I’m afraid I can’t,” came the fourth. The girls looked at Veronica. “It’s these friends of Daddy’s,” she explained. “I called them as soon as I checked into my room and they’ve invited me to tea at their home. They live in Mayfair …”
    She let the word “Mayfair” hang in the air. It suggested so much. It suggested wealth and glamour, country estates, and very blue blood. It was just a word, but Veronica had managed to pack a whole world into that one word.
    “How nice for you,” said Tessa. She sounded as if she meant it, too.
    “Yes,” said Stevie. “How nice.” She didn’t sound as if she meant it.
    Veronica smiled and took a bite of pizza. A gob of gooey, greasy cheese slid off the top of the pizza and landed on her lap. Everyone handed her a napkin. Nobody helped her clean the mess.

A FTER A VERY good night’s sleep, the three American girls had been picked up by Hamilton and driven to Tessa’s country home. It wasn’t far from London. The trip was only about forty-five minutes, but they had a good look at the lovely green countryside that surrounded the city.
    They’d followed signs to a town named Harcourt-St. Claire’s-in-the-Wold, which Hamilton referred to as Hart-Sinclair. That struck Stevie as a neat way to get rid of a lot of extraneous syllables.
    As they drove they chatted nervously about their hostess, Tessa’s mother.
    “I’ve never been to a lady’s home before,” said Stevie. “I’m going to do something awful and be an embarrassmentto every American. I don’t even know how to hold a teacup.”
    “Just don’t crook your little finger,” said Carole.
    “How do you know?” asked Lisa.
    “Veronica told me,” said Carole.
    “I guess we can count on that, then,” said Stevie. She practiced holding a teacup without crooking her little finger. Instead she stuck it straight out in the air.
    “No, not like that, either. Just hold it normally,” said Carole.
    “You mean like regular people? But Tessa’s mother is a lady!”
    “So’s Tessa,” Lisa reminded her. “And she’s normal, isn’t she?”
    Stevie thought about that while the sleek, black limousine turned into a long drive and then to a circle in front of a big old stone house that Tessa had called Dickens.
    Tessa came running out of the house to greet the girls. Her mother followed, with a welcoming smile that immediately put the girls at ease.
    “Come on in, then, and change your clothes for your ride,” said the woman. “You’re to go have yourselves a good ride and then come back here for lunch. I’ve made a special treat for our American visitors.”
    Everybody was introduced, and within a half hour the four girls were in the saddle.
    “I can’t believe it!” said Stevie. “I’m actually riding onan English horse, with an