Czytaj książkę: «The Prize»

Dedication

For Isadora, who was just a baby when I wrote my first book and is now old enough to apply for Blainford Academy. I hope your future is full of ponies and happiness.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

About the Author

The Pony Club Rivals series

Copyright

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Dominic Blackwell was a phenomenon. Blessed with aristocratic good looks and a talent for magically coaxing a clear round out of the most temperamental and difficult horses, he was the rock star of the showjumping circuit. His fans utterly adored him. Girls had posters of him on their bedroom walls and in his hometown of Kentucky, he often got a standing ovation when he entered the arena.

“They wouldn’t be so mad about the big jerk if they actually knew him,” his head girl, Louise, muttered under her breath. She was waiting anxiously in the wings of the Kentucky Horse Park stadium, holding the reins of Dominic Blackwell’s big grey stallion, Maximillion, looking out at the crowd of more than ten thousand in the grandstand. Any moment now Dominic was due to ride his crucial final speed round on Maxi. The only problem was, he was nowhere to be seen.

A sudden roar rose up from the crowd in the stadium and the voice of announcer Jilly Jones came over the loudspeaker.

“An unfortunate four faults for Penny Simpson on Delphine! And now our last rider in this final speed round; Dominic Blackwell on Revel’s Maximillion.”

They were calling him into the ring! Louise’s eyes scanned the warm-up area, her heart racing. Where was Dominic? She’d sent Frannie the junior groom off to find him and now Frannie had disappeared too! Now Louise was stuck here, holding on to the enormous grey Holsteiner. Any minute now they would be disqualifying her boss for failing to turn up and…

“Louise!”

It was Dominic at last. He was striding towards her over the soft sawdust of the warm-up arena, a dark scowl on his face, with Frannie scurrying along in his wake looking flushed with anxiety.

“Why aren’t you onboard Maxi warming him up?” he snarled.

“What?” Louise was horrified. Dominic had given her specific orders that on no account was she allowed to ride Maxi, however, she knew that contradicting her boss wasn’t an option.

“I’m sorry, Dominic,” she said and swallowed her pride.

“Use your common sense,” Dominic Blackwell snarled at his head groom. “I’m going to have to take him into the ring cold now.”

He snatched the reins out of her hand and glared at Frannie who was standing by nervously. “Well, come on, girl! Leg me up!”

Frannie gave a grunt as she lifted the man who was almost twice her size into the saddle and he jabbed her in the face with his knee. Without an apology or backwards glance, Dominic Blackwell wheeled the grey stallion about and headed into the ring.

The two grooms watched as their boss entered the arena to thunderous applause. A moment ago Dominic had a face like thunder, but as soon as he was in front of the crowds he was the smiling, cheerful Dominic Blackwell that fans knew and adored. He gave a friendly wave to the grandstand as he did a lap around the perimeter.

“And here he is,” Jilly Jones trilled, “Local Kentucky boy and a former pupil of Blainford Academy, Dominic Blackwell. You may have noticed his red jacket; that denotes his status as a member of the United States international showjumping team. Dominic is only twenty-eight years of age but he has already won gold at the last Olympics and the horse he is riding today looks set to compete at the next games in Rome. Many are calling this horse the best in his stable, the ten-year-old stallion Revel’s Maximillion!”

In the wings of the stadium, Louise felt sick as she watched her boss ride towards the first fence. The fences in this Grand Prix arena were the full height of a metre sixty and even a horse with the class and grace of Maxi required a warm-up to get over jumps of that height.

Maxi made a plucky attempt at the first fence but he took down the top rail with his hind legs. The crowd let out an audible cry of dismay. Louise kept her eyes glued on Dominic’s expression. His smile had slipped a bit but he still had his game face on. He came into the second fence and rode it perfectly, but yet again Maxi dragged a hind leg and another rail went down. Dominic’s smile was replaced by a grimace. He turned the grey towards the next fence – a very wide red and green striped oxer – and rode at it for all he was worth. Maxi cleared this one with a grunt of effort and before they had even landed Dominic was looking to the next fence. In three quick strides they were at the blue and white upright. It was also set at the maximum height of a metre sixty but Maxi flew it with air to spare. The big grey was in the groove now and he took the wide, wide spread of the water jump with ease, popped the double with no trouble, put in a brilliant leap over the Swedish oxer and came in on a perfect stride to the triple. The last two fences gave him no problems either and he was home through the flags on a time of one minute and twenty-three seconds.

“It’s a good time,” Jilly Jones told the crowds, “but with those early eight faults it doesn’t matter. Dominic Blackwell and Revel’s Maximillion slip all the way down the leaderboard to ninth place and out of contention for the considerable prize money and the trophy here at Kentucky.”

Waiting in the wings, Louise steeled herself for the worst. In the three months that she had been working as head girl for Dominic Blackwell she had never seen her boss lose. The expression on his face was fearful as he rode out of the arena, his eyes black with fury.

Frannie reached out a hand to take Maxi’s reins, expecting Dominic to slow down, but he trotted straight at her and she had to leap aside to let Maxi past! Both girls cast a glance at each other and then began to run after the big Holsteiner.

When they had reached the sanctuary of the stable block, Dominic performed a flying dismount and threw the reins at a puffed, exhausted Frannie.

He was still bristling with uncontrollable, violent anger, but he managed to resist taking it out on his horse. Instead, he stormed off in a huff and, out of sight of the other riders or crowds, he began to thrash at the ground with his riding crop. In a blind rage he rained down blow after blow until the whip broke in his hand, then Dominic dropped to his knees, a spent force exhausted by his own fury.

His two grooms knew better than to try and comfort him. “Let’s get out of here…” Louise told Frannie.

Taking Maxi’s reins, she turned the grey stallion to head for the stables when Dominic rose up off his knees and turned to her.

“Head girl!” he barked, “Come here!”

Louise handed Frannie back the reins and took a reluctant step towards her employer. “Yes, Dominic?”

“Why didn’t you warm the horse up like I told you to?” Dominic asked through gritted teeth.

Louise didn’t know what to say. Dominic had specifically ordered her not to warm up Maxi. But her boss seemed to have conveniently forgotten this fact. “You told me to wait for you,” she said nervously.

“No I didn’t.” Dominic corrected her.

“But Dominic…” Louise began to argue but her employer shot her down with a cold stare.

“Since you have so much trouble understanding my instructions, I want you to listen very carefully,” Dominic said, “because I am going to tell you exactly what I want you to do.”

Louise nodded, “Yes, sir.”

“I want you to go back to the horse truck, pack your bags and leave.”

Louise looked puzzled. “What? You’re joking, right?”

“Blackwell doesn’t joke!” Dominic replied. “Get your stuff together and go! As of this moment, you no longer work for me. I don’t need some half-witted incompetent as my head girl.”

Louise was horrified.

“Now get out of my sight!” Dominic roared. “You’re fired.”

He turned to his junior groom. “Oh and Frannie? You can go too.”

Frannie stood there for a moment in disbelief. “Me? But why?”

“Because,” Dominic said through gritted teeth, “I was in the middle of a very important conversation with one of my owners when you interrupted me!”

“But you would have missed your ride if I hadn’t come to get you!” Frannie blurted out.

“Talking back counts as insubordination in my stables!” Dominic snapped. “You are double-fired!”

As the realisation dawned that her boss was serious, Frannie promptly burst into tears and followed Louise who was already stomping off to the horse truck.

Dominic Blackwell watched their departure with a smug sense of satisfaction. After a disappointing performance in the arena it had at least cheered him up to rage at his staff. It was of slight concern that he’d fired both girls at once. Normally Dominic liked to keep at least one groom in his good books but his temper had been taking its toll lately. He’d fired six grooms in the past six months and these two raised the total to eight.

Dominic Blackwell frowned. He should have held his temper until Frannie had finished her work and then fired her. Now he would be forced to untack Maxi himself. Some riders enjoyed being around their horses; schooling and training – but Dominic Blackwell was not one of them. He lived purely for the thrill of the show ring and the roar of the adoring crowd. The behind-the-scenes stuff was what grooms were for. Or, he thought, that was what they had been for before he got rid of them all.

The problem was, Dominic had developed a bit of a reputation on the circuit and good staff were becoming harder and harder for him to find.

Well, big deal. Dominic huffed as he unsaddled Maxi and loaded his own kit into the truck. Grooms were a dime a dozen. There was bound to be a good, keen stablehand out there who’d be thrilled to work for the famous Dominic Blackwell – a professional head girl who could meet his exacting and high standards without falling apart. The perfect groom was out there. He just had to find her.

Georgie Parker stood up her stirrups and looked directly between the pair of ears in front of her, fixing her gaze on the hedge.

It was hardly a big fence, not by Blainford Academy standards, and Georgie didn’t even bother to slow Belladonna down as she came at it. She let the mare gallop, only taking a last-minute check on the reins when she was close enough to see a stride and then sitting deep in the saddle and driving the mare on with her legs. The mare’s dark bay ears pricked forward at the hedge and then Georgie felt the horse lift up beneath her. There was that brilliant moment of suspension when they were sailing in mid-air, and then they were landing again on the other side and galloping for home.

The grounds of the school were in sight and ahead of them was the start of the bridle path that led to the school grounds. This was the route the students usually took to the stables, but instead Georgie veered sharply to the right, urging Belle to stay in a gallop as she rode the mare in a straight line towards the stable block over the open grazing fields of the Academy.

“It’s OK,” she told the mare as she leaned down low over her neck, “we’re going off-road. This is a shortcut.”

Belle’s gallop stretched out, her strides devouring the green pasture. Georgie perched up in her stirrups, her weight in her heels to keep balance, her eyes still trained directly between the mare’s ears. Ahead of her she could see the fence that ran around the perimeter of the stables. Like most of the fences in Lexington Kentucky it was an elegant post and plank fence, with a five-bar wooden gate at the entrance near the stables. It would be easy enough for Georgie to pull Belle up and get off and open the gate – but where was the fun in that?

As they neared the gate, Belle snorted and hung back. She knew the difference between a jump and a school gate and she wasn’t sure about hurdling the obstacle in front of her. But Georgie put her legs on firmly and urged the mare with her voice and Belle surged forward, putting in one-two-three neat strides before soaring the five-bar gate as if it were no more than a cavaletti.

They arced over the gate, landing neatly on the grass on the other side, and by the time they had reached the verge of the concrete forecourt Georgie had pulled the mare up to a walk and was dismounting.

“Good girl!” Georgie gave the mare a slappy pat on the neck. She had run her stirrups up and was leading the mare towards the stalls when she caught sight of the boy in prefect uniform rounding the corner of the stable block.

“Uh-oh,” Georgie groaned as she recognised the arrogant lope and russet hair of Burghley’s head prefect, Conrad Miller.

Georgie could tell by the smirk on Conrad’s face that he’d seen her take the shortcut over the gate.

“Hey, Parker!” His voice had the officious tone of a parking warden. “Students aren’t allowed to jump school fences; it’s against Blainford rules.”

Georgie felt a sudden sting of anger. Ever since she’d arrived at the Academy Conrad had taken a perverse joy in picking on her. Last term things had come to a head when Georgie’s boyfriend Riley had held a mallet to Conrad’s throat at the school polo tournament, publicly telling him to back off and leave Georgie alone. For the rest of the term Conrad had heeded Riley’s warning, but clearly he had now decided that the truce was about to come to an end.

“You’ve got Fatigues, Parker!” Conrad said.

Georgie gave the prefect a withering look. “You’re a real numnah, Conrad.”

“Watch your attitude, Parker – or you’ll be on Double Fatigues.” Conrad shot back.

Georgie groaned. There was no point in arguing with Conrad. Besides, it would take more than Fatigues to dent her spirits. Tomorrow was the first day of the new term at Blainford and Georgie was back with a vengeance.

Last term she had been dropped from Tara Kelly’s cross-country class and had to play polo instead. But now her dreams of eventing glory were back on track – she had regained her coveted place in the class for the last term of the year. And while she still had numnahs like Conrad to deal with – and even worse, his spoilt princess of a girlfriend, Kennedy Kirkwood, trying to take her down – she didn’t care.

The past few months riding polo ponies had made Georgie fearless. Her riding had improved and her bond with Belle was stronger than ever. She trusted the mare completely – and more importantly, Belle trusted Georgie. They would be unstoppable on the cross-country course. Which was just as well because apparently this term Tara Kelly had a real test in store for them.

Georgie had heard the murmurings around the school ever since she had returned from her holidays. The final term exam would wind up eliminating more than one member of the cross-country class. By the time the year was over, only a handful of the Academy’s elite young riders from around the world would remain – and Georgie was determined that she would be one of them.

Chapter Two

Georgie Parker was one of the lucky ones – unlike some girls who have to beg and plead their parents for a pony, she was born into a horsey family, destined to ride.

When Georgie joined her local pony club there were whispers that she had an unfair advantage, having a famous, world-class eventing rider for a mother. In reality, Georgie’s mum, Ginny Parker, was extremely busy with her string of eventers so her daughter had to look after her own pony. And as for spoiling her with pricey show ponies, Mrs Parker insisted that good looks and glamour were the last things that mattered in a horse. Georgie’s first two ponies, Smokey and Millie, wouldn’t have won any beauty contests, but they were bombproof and sweet-natured.

Georgie was ten years old when her mum bought her Tyro. The black Connemara was barely broken-in when they brought him home to their farm in Little Brampton.

“You’ll school him yourself,” Ginny Parker told her daughter firmly. “It won’t be easy, but it will make you a better rider. And one day he’ll be a brilliant pony and you’ll be able to say that you taught him everything he knows.”

Bringing on a green pony like Tyro wasn’t easy, but Georgie worked hard over the winter months so that when spring came she was ready to take him out to his first competition.

Unfortunately, the Little Brampton gymkhana dates clashed with the Blenheim three-star horse trials. Georgie usually accompanied her mum to all the big events as her junior groom, but she was so desperate to give Tyro his first outing she decided to go to the gymkhana instead. Her mum’s best friend, Lucinda Milwood, who ran the local riding school, would accompany her.

Georgie would always look back on her decision that day with regret. But how could she have known that while she was having the time of her life at the local gymkhana, events at Blenheim were about to change her life forever.

Georgie still remembered the devastation on her father’s face when she had walked in with her armful of red ribbons. “Where’s Mum? Isn’t she back yet?”

Then her father’s words, chilling and ominous. “Georgie… There’s been an accident, your mother fell on the cross-country course…”

Her mother’s death devastated Georgie, but there was a second blow to come. Grieving for his wife, Georgie’s dad, Dr Parker, could no longer face being surrounded by her horses. So he sold off Ginny’s eventers, and would have got rid of Tyro too if Lucinda Milwood hadn’t offered to keep the pony at her riding school.

In exchange for Tyro’s livery, Georgie helped Lucinda around the stables. The yard became like a second home to her over the next three years. Despite her mother’s tragic accident, Georgie was determined to follow in her footsteps and become an international eventer, and with Lucinda’s support she finally convinced her father to let her audition for Blainford Academy.

Blainford, the exclusive equestrian boarding school in Kentucky, USA, had a track record for producing world champions in every field of horse sports. Georgie’s mum and Lucinda had both been pupils there, and it was Georgie’s dream to take her pony and go there too.

But when Georgie aced the auditions Dr Parker broke the news that he couldn’t afford to send Tyro with her. The fees for the Academy were exorbitant for Georgie alone, and the cost of shipping her beloved Connemara all the way from the UK to the USA – plus the boarding fees for the pony – would simply be too much.

Desperate to go Blainford, Georgie was forced to make one of the toughest decisions of her young life. She agreed to sell Tyro and ride one of the Blainford school horses instead.

That horse turned out to be Belladonna. Beautiful, talented, and oh-so-difficult, the bay mare with the white heart on her forehead had something special about her. It wasn’t until halfway through the first term that Georgie found out that she had been paired her up with the foal of Ginny Parker’s favourite mare, Boudicca.

Belle was a complicated ride and Georgie had spent the first three terms at Blainford coming to grips with this difficult new horse.

Then, just when she was finally connecting with Belle, came the worst blow of all. Georgie was dropped from cross-country class.

Faced with finding a new riding subject, Georgie had taken up polo. Belle coped surprisingly well with the fast-paced, rough action on the polo field, despite being sixteen hands high when most polo ponies were fifteen-two. But Georgie knew that the mare’s special abilities were wasted on chasing a little white ball. Belladonna was bred to jump – plus she had the speed and stamina required to make a great eventing horse. Their comeback in Tara’s class this term wasn’t just about Georgie – it was a chance for Belle to prove herself too.

The boarders had been trickling back into Blainford all that weekend, returning in time for the start of the new term on Monday. Georgie’s room mate, Alice Dupree, came with the news that she was no longer riding her beloved William. She had brought back a new horse on the truck from Maryland and the Badminton House girls couldn’t wait to get down to the stables to meet him.

“Don’t get too excited,” Alice told them as they walked along the driveway to the stable block. “He’s another hand-me-down – like all of my horses.”

Alice inherited horses the way most girls got their big sisters’ outgrown clothes. She was the third Dupree sister to attend Blainford. Her eldest sister, Cherry, was now a professional rider on the national showjumping circuit, and Alice’s new horse, Caspian, had belonged to her.

“He was supposed to be Cherry’s next Grand Prix superstar,” Alice told the others, “but Cherry’s been crazy-busy with work, riding other people’s horses. Mum said since Caspian wasn’t getting ridden, Cherry should give him to me for the term.”

Until now, Alice had been riding William the Conqueror, a well-bred chestnut warmblood. But over the holidays she had noticed that Will was scratchy on his left foreleg. By the last week of the holiday that scratchiness had developed into a hoof abscess and Will was lame. When the vet was called out to the Dupree ranch to cut out the abscess he did some x-rays and found that the gelding also had degenerative arthritis in his hocks. The abscess would cure – but the hocks were a disaster. It was the end of William’s jumping career.

The Badminton House girls knew how much Alice had adored Will. But she seemed pretty thrilled with having Caspian as his replacement – and when they arrived at the stables they could see why.

Caspian was a stunner. A long-limbed Oldenburg, pale grey with dapples on his shoulders and rump, and a steel-grey mane and tail, he stood in his loose box and nibbled blithely on his hay net while the girls admired his beauty.

“He’s gorgeous!” Emily was wide-eyed.

“I know!” Alice looked at him possessively. “He’s so handsome I just keep staring at him!”

“Is he any good at cross-country?” Daisy asked.

“He’s never done it,” Alice conceded. “He’s brilliant over coloured poles, but that’s all he’s ever jumped with Cherry. I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”

Monday afternoon would be when the eventers had their lesson with Tara Kelly.

“Tara might take it easy on us,” Emily Tait said hopefully. “It’s only our first day back.”

Daisy gave a hollow laugh. “I doubt it!”

Emily turned to Georgie. “Can she eliminate you a second time? Or do you have immunity now?”

Alice frowned. “It’s not an episode of Survivor, Emily. No one gets ‘immunity’!” She did air quotes as she said the last bit.

Georgie agreed. “Just because Tara let me back into the class doesn’t mean she won’t get rid of me again.”

“Someone’s going to have to go,” Daisy said bluntly. “We won’t all make it through to the second year.”

“Can we not talk about this?” Emily said, getting upset. “I don’t want to lose any of my friends.”

“Geez, Emily, it’s only getting kicked out of cross-country class,” Daisy told her. “It’s not like life and death!”

“Isn’t it?” Alice questioned.

All the girls knew that at Blainford, where the cliques ruled the school, being Tara Kelly’s eventers was like a badge that you wore with pride. While the polo boys were rich and arrogant, the showjumperettes were glamorous and stuck-up, the westerns were laidback and the dressage geeks intense and uptight, the eventers stood out as fearless and loyal.

Apart from Kennedy and Arden, who had transferred from showjumping and had always made it quite clear that they wanted nothing to do with their classmates, Tara Kelly’s first-years were a tight-knit bunch.

The danger that they faced on the cross-country course gave them a sense of camaraderie. But there was also a fierce rivalry amongst them for class rankings. Tara Kelly went through her ruthless elimination cull of her pupils in the first year to make sure that only the very best were allowed to continue up the grades. The way Tara saw it, elimination wasn’t about ruining young lives, it was about saving them.

Eventing was a demanding subject – and a deadly one for any rider who wasn’t skilled enough to meet the challenge. Travelling at a fast gallop over solid fences meant huge risks for both horse and rider. Even the rodeo class had a grudging respect for the broken bone count in the eventing department. Incredibly, so far the first-year eventing class had avoided any major injuries.

Or at least they had done until now. As they left the stables and walked up the school driveway the girls spied Nicholas Laurent ahead of them. The French rider was one of their cross-country gang and he was on crutches and sporting a bright blue plaster cast on his leg that went all the way to the knee.

By the time the girls reached the dining hall, Nicholas was already in the queue, trying to hold his dinner tray whilst balancing on a single crutch. The other eventing boys – Cameron Fraser, Alex Chang and Matt Garrett – were all with him but none of them were offering to help. Instead, they were greedily dishing burgers and fries on to their own plates.

“Don’t you guys ever think about anyone else?” Alice said casting a dark look at Cameron and the others as she stepped forward to relieve the grateful Nicholas of his tray. “Nicholas, you go and sit down. I’ll get your food and bring it over for you.”

“Merci, Alice,” Nicholas said. “Get me extra frites, OK?” He hobbled off to take a seat at the eventers’ usual table while Alice piled his plate and her own. As soon as Laurent’s back was turned the girls began whispered speculations on the cause of the broken leg.

“Do you think he did it practising cross-country?” Emily asked.

Georgie shook her head. “I bet he did it on the hunt field in Bordeaux.”

“I hope the horse was OK,” Alice said looking back over her shoulder at him as she dished up the fries. “It looks like it must have been a bad fall.”

When the girls finally joined Nicholas and the other boys at the table, however, he refused to tell them anything about the accident.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Nicholas was adamant.

“Why not?” Matt Garrett frowned.

“Because…” Nicholas paused. “Because… it is no big deal. There is nothing to say.”

“Nicholas,” Alice was insistent, “you’re in a cast. You have crutches. It looks like a big deal to us.”

Nicholas shrugged.

“Come on,” Cameron persisted. “Tell us how you did it.”

Nicholas cast a sideways glance, checking the room to see if anyone else was near the eventers’ table.

“OK,” he said, leaning in over the table, his voice hushed in a conspiratorial tone. “I will tell you what happened.”

The riders all leaned in and waited in silence for him to speak. Nicholas looked serious. And then, in a quiet voice he said, “I was playing tennis.”

There was a choking sound as Matt Garrett almost snorted his orange juice out through his nose. “Tennis? Seriously? You did it playing tennis?”

Nicholas looked around the room nervously. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he said. “I’ve already had three girls ask to sign my cast. They think I did it falling off on a three-star course in Saumur. If they knew that I tripped making a backhand shot it wouldn’t be good for my reputation.”

The whole eventing table were laughing.

“It’s not funny,” Nicholas said indignantly. “It’s a hairline fracture at the ankle. I’ll be in this cast for seven weeks.”

“You’ve got to see the irony, Nicholas,” Alice said. “You’ve survived three terms in Tara’s class and then you go home for two weeks and manage to break a leg playing tennis!”

“Shhh!” Nicholas hushed her. “Someone will hear you.”

“Bad luck, mate,” Matt Garrett drawled in his heavy Australian accent. “I suppose this means you’re eliminated since you can’t ride?”

Nicholas glared at him. “No, actually. Tara’s offered me a place in the second year already based on my class ranking.”

“Is that so?” Matt looked less than impressed with this news. “Smart move, man – instant upgrade without any final exam pressure. Maybe I should have broken my leg too.”

“There’s plenty of time for that,” Nicholas shot back.

“I don’t think so, Nico,” Matt replied, turning back to his burger. “I don’t fall off.”

“If you were handing out a prize for arrogance how could you choose between Nicholas and Matt?” Alice said as they walked to class the next morning.

“I feel sorry for Nicholas,” Emily said. “It must be awful not being able to ride.”

“Totally,” Georgie agreed. “Tough as Tara’s classes are, it’s even worse when you’re not in them.”

Today, at last, Georgie was returning to cross-country class. But first she had regular morning school lessons to get through.

Blainford Academy split the school day into two halves. The morning classes were held in the main grounds of the college in the red brick Georgian buildings that surrounded the green square of grass in the middle of the school known as the quad.

Mornings were taken up with science and maths, French and German, geography and English – during which the Blainford girls dressed like students at any other exclusive private school, in blue pleated pinafore dresses and navy blazers with the school crest in pale blue and silver on the breast pocket.

But after lunch the pupils headed back to their boarding houses and changed into their ‘number twos’ – their riding uniform of navy jods and a pale blue shirt – in preparation for their afternoon lessons with their horses.