I could vault on Jess our carthorse by yelling, ‘Hike!’ to her and taking her at a run. But she was smaller than this giant, and I did not feel fit to shout an order to him and rush at him.
I turned to Robert Gower. ‘I don’t know how,’ I said.
‘Tell him to bow,’ he said, not moving forwards. He was standing as far back as if he was in the audience. And he was looking at me as if he were seeing something else.
‘Bow,’ I said uncertainly to the horse. ‘Bow.’
The ears flickered forwards in reply but he did not move.
‘He’s called Snow,’ Robert Gower said. ‘And he’s a horse like any other. Make him do as he’s told. Don’t be shy with him.’
‘Snow,’ I said a little more strongly. ‘Bow!’
A black eye rolled towards me, and I knew, without being able to say why, that he was being naughty like any ordinary horse. Whether he could count better than me or no, he was just being plain awkward. Without thinking twice I slapped him on the shoulder with the tail end of the halter and said, in a voice which left no doubt in his mind:
‘You heard me! Bow, Snow!’
At once he put one forefoot behind the other and lowered right down. I still had to give a little spring to get up on his back, and then I called, ‘Up!’ and he was up on four feet again.
Robert Gower sat on the grass. ‘Take him around the ring,’ he said.
One touch of my heels did it, and the great animal moved forwards in such a smooth walk that it was as if we were gliding. I sat a little firmer and he took it as an order to trot. The great wide back was a steady seat and I jogged a little but hardly slid. I glanced at Robert Gower. He was tending to his pipe. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Canter.’
I sat firmer and squeezed – the lightest of touches and the jarring pace of the trot melted into a canter which blew the hair off my shoulders and brought a delighted smile to my face. Jack came out from behind the screen and smiled at me as I thundered past him. Snow jinked a little at the movement but I stayed on his back as solid as a rock.
‘Pull him up!’ Robert Gower suddenly yelled, and I hauled on the rope, anxious that I had done something wrong. ‘Hold tight!’ he shouted. ‘Up Snow!’
The neck came up and nearly hit me in the face as Snow reared. I could feel myself sliding back and I clung on to the handfuls of mane for dear life as he pawed the air, and then dropped down again.
‘Down you come,’ Robert Gower ordered and I slid down from the horse’s back instantly.
‘Give her the whip,’ he said to Jack, and Jack stepped forward, a smock thrown over his showtime glory, with a long whip in his hand.
‘Stand in front of the horse, as close as you can, nice loud crack on the ground. Shout him “Up!” and then a crack in the air. Like the painting on my wagon,’ Robert ordered.
I flicked the whip lightly on the ground to get the feel. Then I looked at Snow and cracked it as loud as I could. ‘Up!’ I yelled. He was as tall as a tower above me. Up and up he went and his great black hooves were way above my head. I cracked the whip above my head, and even that long thong seemed to come nowhere near him.
‘Down!’ Robert shouted and the horse dropped down in front of me. I stroked his nose. The black came off on my hand and I saw that my hands and face and my skirt were filthy.
‘I should have given you a smock,’ Robert Gower said by way of apology. ‘Never mind.’ He took a great silver watch from his pocket and flicked it open. ‘We’re getting behind time,’ he said. ‘Would you give Jack a hand to get the horses ready for the second show?’
‘Oh yes,’ I said at once.
Robert Gower glanced at Dandy. ‘D’you like horses?’ he asked. ‘D’you like to work with them?’
Dandy smiled at him. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I do other work. Horses is too dirty.’
He nodded at that, and flicked her a penny from his pocket. ‘You’re a deal too pretty to get dirty,’ he said. ‘That’s your pay for waiting for your sister. You can go and wait by the gate and watch that no one sneaks in before I’m there to take the money.’
Dandy caught the penny one-handed with practised skill. ‘All right,’ she said agreeably.
So Dandy sat on the gate while I helped Jack wash Snow and brush and tack-up the little ponies in their bells and their plumes, and water and feed them with a little oats. Jack worked steadily but shot a glance now and then at Dandy as she sat on the gate with the evening sun all yellow and gold behind her, singing and plaiting her black hair.
We did not cross the muddy lane to the fairground until late that night after we had seen the whole show through again, and I had stayed behind to clean the horses and feed them for the night. I knew Dandy would not mind waiting, she sat placidly on the gate and watched Jack and me work.
‘I have tuppence to spend,’ I said exultantly as I came towards her, wiping my dirty hands on my equally dirty skirt.
She smiled sweetly at that. ‘I have three shillings,’ she said. ‘I’ll give you one.’
‘Dandy!’ I exclaimed. ‘Whose pocket?’
‘The fat old gentleman,’ she said. ‘He gave me a halfpenny to fetch him a drink after he had missed the drink-seller. When I brought it back to him I was close enough to get my hand in his breeches pocket.’
‘Would he know you again?’ I asked worried.
‘Oh yes,’ she said. Dandy had known she was beautiful from childhood. ‘But I daresay he won’t think it was me. Anyway, let’s spend the money!’
We stayed out until it was all gone and our pockets were crammed with fairings. Dandy would have picked another pocket or two in the crush but there were gangs of thieves working the fair and they would have spotted her, even if no one else had. She might talk her way out of trouble with an ageing gentleman, but if one of the leaders of the gangs of thieves caught her we would both have to turn out our pockets and give them everything we had – and get a beating into the bargain, too.
It was dark when we crossed the lane back to the field and our caravan and there were no lights showing at Gower’s wagon. I checked on our horses before I went in. The old hunter was lying down to sleep, I could only hope he would be able to get up in the morning. If he did not, Da would go wild. He was counting on a sale to pay for a horse he wanted to buy from one of the fairground showmen. And a dead horse is little profit, even when the butchers call it beef.
We were all asleep when the caravan lurched and he fell in the doorway. Zima did not stir. She was lying on her back, snoring like a trooper, all tumbled into bed in her finery. I had seen a new gilt necklace around her neck and guessed that she had not been wasting her time while Da was out drinking. The caravan rocked like a ship in a storm at sea when Da blundered in and then bounced like a jogging horse when he tried to mount Zima, drunk as he was. I heard Dandy snigger under her blanket as we heard him curse and blame the ale, but I could not laugh. I turned my face to the familiar stained wall and thought of a sandstone-yellow house amid a tall well-timbered park and a stallion as white as sea spray trotting down the drive towards me as I stood on the terrace in a riding habit as green as grass with a clean linen petticoat.
Da paid for his drinking in the morning, but Zima paid for it worst. He saw the gilt necklace and wanted the money she had been paid. She swore she had only had one man, and only been paid a shilling but he did not believe her and set to beating her with