Read Online The Dark Horse by Rumer Godden - Free Book Online Page B

the leather pad to smooth and gentle the place and Dark Invader grunted with pleasure again but, ‘Might be,’ said Ted as he watched and, as he saw it repeated, ‘Might be – might do the trick.’ He thought he had said it under his breath, but John’s sharp ears had heard.
    Â 
    Next day a big sandy-haired, soft-voiced man in breeches and Newmarket boots appeared with a sheaf of papers. This time John did introduce Ted: ‘Ted Mullins, Captain Mack, our Turf Club Official Vet. He has come, as you have probably guessed, to identify Dark Invader as the horse of that name and breeding entered in the Stud Book.’
    â€˜Pleased to meet you,’ Ted said primly, but he watched anxiously as Captain Mack examined Dark Invader, checked his colouring and markings, looked at his teeth. Then he completed his notes and closed his book with a snap.
    â€˜What did he make of him, sir?’ Ted asked John when the Captain had gone.
    â€˜Mack doesn’t say much unless he’s making a diagnosis. He said Dark Invader looked very like a horse.’
    Ted was visibly disappointed. ‘Was that all, sir?’
    â€˜Yes, Mullins.’
    That forbade any more questions but it was not all Captain Mack said. The same night he called round at Scattergold Hall for a drink and, when the bandar-log had got tired of their exuberant welcome and gone to their own occupations and Dahlia was singing the current baby to sleep, the two men sat comfortably drinking their whisky. Dahlia’s slow lullaby punctuated their talk, the ayah’s song that had lulled generations of foreign babies to sleep:
    Â 
    Nini, baba, nini,
    Roti, mackan cheeni.
    Â 
    Sleep, baby, sleep,
    Bread, butter and sugar.
    â€˜How I remember that,’ said Captain Mack. ‘I was out here as a child, you know,’ and his big body relaxed into peace.
    Â 
    Roti, mackan, cheeni
…
    â€˜Don’t go to sleep too,’ said John and called to the ‘boy’, as Dahlia persistently called him, but who was, in fact, John’s Ooryah bearer, Danyal, to fill their glasses. It was not until after the fourth of the long pale whiskies, though, that Captain Mack said, ‘Leventine’s new importation – that’s one hell of a horse, John.’
    â€˜So he may be, but he also has one hell of a record.’ John held out a paper. ‘Read this chit Mullins gave me from Michael Traherne.’
    Â 
    Dear John,
    I send you in the care of his lad, Ted Mullins, one of the nicest horses I have come across, which is saying a good deal.
    From the viewpoint of our profession he is a problem. As you will see from his record, a win first time out in good company, nothing since; in fact the highlight of his three year old season was fifth in a field of washouts at Folkestone.
    What the record does not show though is his form on the home gallops; at a mile and a half or upwards he is pretty nearly unbeatable – but
not
in public.
    I had hoped to find the solution, but his owner has lost patience, so… Now he’s all yours and good luck to you.
    â€˜What do you make of that?’ asked John.
    Captain Mack pondered, then: ‘I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit,’ he said. ‘It can’t be a physical thing; if it were, it would be there all the time, home gallops or race. If we could find it we could probably cure it, but… ’
    â€˜You mean,’ said John, ‘a sound horse that won’t try under pressure is usually one that has been whipped at the finish of a race and has learnt his lesson that if he takes the lead he will be punished.’
    â€˜Exactly. “The shadow of remembered pain.”’ Sandy Mack was given to quotation. ‘It’s in the mind, John. Besides, it’s the leadership instinct; you don’t need me to tell you, even in thoroughbreds, it’s a rare and frail thing – crush it and it has gone for ever. No, John. I