The Unicorn Princess

  .

  Bloomsbury Publishing, London, Berlin and New York

  First published in Great Britain in May 2010 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  36 Soho Square, London, W1D 3QY

  This electronic edition published in May 2010 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  Text and illustrations copyright © Babette Cole 2010

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 978 1 4088 1160 3

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  To Sam and her magical hands

  Prologue

  What if your perfect pony dream came true?

  Just imagine what it would be like to go to an exclusive boarding school specialising in everything equestrian – with not too much ordinary school work. Do such schools exist? Well, yes, they do, but not many people know about them and the fees are very high.

  Fetlocks Hall is one of them but it is not an ordinary pony school at all!

  CHAPTER ONE

  Pony School

  Penny Simms helped out at the local equestrian centre, The Bevan Academy of Riding and Horse Management. Her parents could not afford riding lessons for their pony-mad daughter. Miss Bunty Bevan, the centre’s proprietor, was happy for Penny to assist with the ponies after school, at weekends and during the holidays in return for teaching her to ride for only one hour once a week.

  Penny loved every minute. She lived and dreamed ponies and had a great understanding of them. Miss Bevan, who had become very fond of Penny, had taught her dressage, showjumping, cross-country riding and all aspects of horse and pony management. She had high hopes of her becoming a real star in the equestrian world one day. She often told Penny’s parents how lucky they were to have such a gifted daughter. They had become very good friends thanks to the ponies.

  Penny saved her pocket money every week to buy a copy of Pony magazine. She always picked it up from the local newsagent on Friday. One day she was walking home with her nose stuck in it, when she noticed an advertisement on the back page. It seemed to glow and jump out at her. It was an advertisement for Fetlocks Hall Pony School, describing how it was seeking children with special abilities with ponies to apply for interview as potential pupils.

  She cut it out and showed it to Miss Bevan.

  ‘Oh, that place,’ she said, colouring a little. ‘Yes, it’s run by an old pony club friend of mine, Potty Smythe . . . sorry, Portia Manning-Smythe. It’s not the usual kind of pony school, you know, Penny. It’s . . . well, how I can explain . . . other-worldly?’

  Penny was curious to know what she meant by that.

  ‘Some of what goes on there is highly secret,’ said Bunty Bevan. ‘If you are lucky enough to pass the entrance exam and perhaps later be selected for the Fetlocks A test, you will learn things you would not learn about horses and ponies anywhere else.’

  Penny was intrigued. She made up her mind then and there to find out more about Fetlocks Hall.

  Penny sent off for the school brochure. A week later it arrived in a golden envelope with a coat of arms on it consisting of a winged unicorn either side of a silver horseshoe.

  Her eyes lit up as she read through the contents and looked at the glossy photographs of happy children with smart ponies. Fetlocks Hall itself looked splendid, standing majestically in its own parkland. The stable yard was Penny’s ideal of how one should look. It all seemed perfect until she read how much the school fees were. Her heart fell with a thud. They were thirty thousand pounds a year!

  Her parents ran a bookshop in Milton Keynes. There was enough money coming in to feed Penny and her three sisters, Charlotte, Bella and Sarah, and her little brother Oliver, but not enough for school fees like that.

  Penny did not even show the brochure to her parents. She hid it under her pillow and looked longingly at it every night.

  Mrs Simms found it one morning when she was making the beds, and discussed it with her husband.

  ‘If I won the lottery, the first thing I would do is send Penny there,’ he sighed, ‘but there’s little chance of that.’

  Mrs Simms gave him a hug.

  However, Penny did show the brochure to Bunty Bevan, who thought for a moment and then came up with a brilliant idea.

  ‘If you have your heart set on it and your parents agree,’ she smiled, ‘I can give Miss Manning-Smythe a ring and ask about scholarships to Fetlocks. I believe one is awarded each year for an exceptional student.’

  ‘Oh, would you, Miss Bevan?’ said Penny, her mind already racing around green paddocks at a full gallop.

  A few days later Bunty Bevan called in to see the Simmses to talk about Penny trying for a scholarship to Fetlocks Hall.

  Mr and Mrs Simms were worried.

  ‘But it won’t cost anything if I get the scholarship,’ said Penny.

  ‘It’s not just that,’ said Mum. ‘This school is down in Dorset – that’s a long way away, and we would miss you so much. Penny, you are only ten years old!’

  Penny had to admit she would miss her family terribly but there would be a new family of ponies waiting at Fetlocks Hall.

  ‘They take girls of my age,’ said Penny, ‘and just think how wonderful it will be when we are all together again in the holidays.’

  ‘It’s very hard to settle in to a boarding school like that, Penny,’ said Dad. ‘I remember being sent to one because my father was in the army and my parents had to go abroad. I was terribly homesick and lonely at times. The other children teased me about it and gave me a bad time. I had to stand up for myself. You’ll have to be prepared for that.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Dad,’ said Charlotte, Penny’s oldest sister. ‘Gran and Grandad were miles away in Jakarta when you were at school in Oxford. Dorset’s not that far away and it’s not the 1970s. We have mobile phones and email now, you know!’

  ‘Anyway, the other kids will have to be prepared for MEEE!’ Penny chipped in, cantering around the living room with her plaits flying. ‘I’m going to be a superstar rider and win an Olympic gold medal one day!’

  ‘The term times seem to be very different from usual schools,’ said Mr Simms.

  Bunty explained that the school did a great deal of competing and these equestrian events were usually held in the summer. Winter holidays were generally longer than summer ones at Fetlocks for this very reason.

  Miss Bevan reassured Mr and Mrs Simms that Penny had excellent prospects of passing the entrance exam to Fetlocks Hall but they were somewhat concerned about the small amount of time given to actual school work.

  ‘Ah,’ said Bunty Bevan, ‘that’s why only children who are quick learners are accepted at Fetlocks for scholarships. Penny does well in nearly every subject so she won’t have a problem with that side of things. She’s not only a very gifted little horsewoman, she may even become a top A student at Fetlocks.’

  (She was thinking to herself what a talented child like Penny would get up to if she ever acquired the secret equestrian skills of an A student at Fetlocks. She thought it best to keep quiet about that.)

  Mr and Mrs Simms looked at each other and shrugged. They knew they would not get a moment’s peace unless they agreed to let Penny at least try for a scholarship.

  ‘Well, I’m not promising anything,’ said Dad, ‘but there’s no reason why you shouldn’t have a try.’

  ‘Yippee!’ yelled Penny, jumping over Heffalump, their ancient spaniel, as he dozed in his basket.

  They thanked Bunty for her help and asked if she could make enquiries.

  Bunty Bevan rang her old chum Portia Manning-Smythe that very afternoon.

  ‘Well,’ said Miss Manning-Smythe, ‘if this girl is as good as you say and her school can send a decent report, let’s take a look at her. There is a scholarship available for the right child.’

  ‘Topping!’ said Bunty, crossing her fingers.

  Everything was arranged.

  As ever, Penny was full of confidence but Bunty Bevan knew that nothing is ever entirely certain with horses. She gave her extra coaching after school for the next few days as she knew Penny wanted to go to Fetlocks Hall more than anything else in the world. After all, it would be such a crushing blow if she failed the entrance exam.

  Penny waited all week for a letter to come. It arrived on Saturday in the same golden envelope bearing the unicorn coat of arms. br />
  ‘Letter come for Penny,’ Oliver said, handing it to her.

  Penny noticed he had sucked the corner. It made it quite difficult to tear open without damaging it.

  ‘I’ve got the interview!’ she gasped.

  Charlotte was just dashing out to join her boyfriend on his new motorbike.

  ‘Well done, Ponypen,’ she smiled as she swished past, cramming a helmet over her thick curls.

  ‘You won’t want to know us if you get into a posh school like that,’ said Sarah.

  Bella agreed with her twin sister. They gave her a hug and wished her ‘good luck’.

  ‘Oliver come too?’ slobbered Ollie.

  Miss Bevan was delighted with the news.

  ‘There are four rules for applying for the scholarship,’ she explained to Penny, ‘and I had to bend one of them. First, scholarship children have to be good at school work – you won’t get much time to study at Fetlocks because ponies always come first. You do have to sit the usual school exams but I know you work hard at school and learn quickly. Secondly, you’ve got to help out on the yard with the school ponies and the pupils’ ponies as well. Thirdly, you must be able to ride jolly well, so that’s not a problem. Fourthly, and this is the rule I bent, your application can only be accepted if you are recommended by a former A student from Fetlocks. Now, I am not one but I’ve known Potty – sorry, Miss Manning-Smythe – for years and she’ll take my word that you are a good bet. I’ve arranged everything with your present school and discussed it with your parents.

  ‘So, madam, I’m driving you and your parents to Dorset on Tuesday. I’m sure your folks won’t mind the Land Rover and my terriers!’

  Penny went into a spin of delight! But then almost immediately she looked downcast.

  ‘What’s the matter, Pen?’ asked Miss Bevan.

  ‘It’s my riding kit,’ blushed Penny. ‘Will I have to have a proper hacking jacket and jodhpurs? I’ve only got a hat, jodhpur boots and jeans.’

  ‘I’ve explained to Miss Manning-Smythe about that,’ said Bunty Bevan. ‘She knows the circumstances. So don’t worry.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Instant In

  Bunty’s trusty old car, a rusty red Land Rover with Bunty Bevan at the controls, co-piloted by Penny and packed with terriers and parents, spluttered through the rather shabby tall iron gates and up the sweeping gravel drive of Fetlocks Hall.

  The main house, a majestic but slightly peeling Georgian mansion, stood on a hill in its own parkland. On each side of the drive were neat post-and-rail-fenced paddocks, in which grazed the most important inhabitants of Fetlocks Hall, the ponies.

  Penny’s nose, pressed up against the window, was bruised as the Land Rover swerved to miss two galloping deerhounds, followed by four Jack Russell terriers. The dogs fell in behind the car, the terriers yapping excitedly. The Land Rover parked in front of the steps leading up to two great doors. Two stone winged unicorns gazed at them from their plinths on either side.

  Penny bit her lip and glanced back at Mum, who took her hand and gave it a little squeeze.

  It all looked very grand.

  ‘Bunty Bevan, you old trout!’ gushed a rather portly middle-aged lady in a tweed jacket and skirt, hurrying down the steps to greet them. She gave Miss Bevan a hearty slap on the back.

  Bunty Bevan returned the gesture. ‘Wonderful to see you again, Potty.’

  ‘And this will be Penny and Mr and Mrs Simms,’ said Potty Smythe. ‘Simply spiffing of you, Bunty, to drive them down like this.’

  ‘Penny, Mr and Mrs Simms, this is Miss Portia Manning-Smythe who owns and runs everything here,’ said Miss Bevan.

  ‘Hello. Do come in and have some tea and crumpets,’ said Potty Smythe, leading them all up the steps.

  Penny stopped and gazed at the stone unicorns. No, she didn’t imagine it. One of them actually winked at her! Penny’s mouth fell open. She pointed at it and turned towards Miss Manning-Smythe.

  ‘It . . .’ she began.

  Miss Manning-Smythe, who didn’t miss much, smiled at Penny with a twinkle in her eye and quickly grabbed her hand.

  ‘Come along in now, dear,’ she smiled. ‘Don’t mind the hounds! Then we’ll have a tour of the estate. Got your hat and boots, Penny?’

  Fetlocks Hall may have been a picture of crumbling elegance with its peeling paintwork and rattling windows, but the stable yard with its archway, clock tower and neat square of stone stables was a wonderful example of tidiness.

  Each green stable door had a basket hanging over it, brimming with brightly coloured flowers and long trailing ivies. On each door was a polished nameplate and looking out over every door, except one, was a beautiful pony’s head.

  ‘We’ll show you your quarters later,’ smiled Potty Smythe.

  ‘Oh no,’ said Penny. ‘I’m sleeping right here!’

  Potty shot a knowing glance at Bunty Bevan.

  ‘We’ll kick on then,’ said Potty, handing Penny a leather head collar and rope. ‘Now go and catch that skewbald pony there in the home paddock. His name is Patchwork.’

  Any nerves Penny might have had disappeared when she met Patch. Penny took the head collar and fished in her pocket for a mint. She climbed between the fence rails and walked up to him, holding the head collar and rope behind her back. With the mint in her outstretched hand, she called to the fat little brown and white pony, who lifted his head and snorted. He glanced behind him at the other ponies in the field and then turned his attention towards Penny.

  ‘Come on, Patch,’ she said. ‘The others will get it first!’

  Patch took another look at his friends and then charged up to Penny, who stood stock-still. She fed him the mint and neatly slipped the head collar over his nose, buckling up the headpiece on the near side.

  ‘Good boy,’ she said, giving him a pat. ‘Let’s go now.’

  Walking by his shoulder on the same side and holding the slack of the rope in her left hand, she brought Patch up to the gate. Just then the other ponies got scent of the mint and came galloping up behind in a flurry.

  ‘Hurry up, Patch, or we’ll get squashed,’ said Penny, calling, ‘Gates, please,’ to the little crowd of grown-ups. Potty Smythe opened the field gate and Penny walked Patch smartly through just before the other ponies caught up.

  ‘Very neatly done,’ said Potty as she closed the gate. ‘He can be a bit awkward to catch but he came in like a lamb for you.’

  Penny puffed out her chest as she led the pony into the empty stable bearing his name. She tied him up with the correct halter knot.

  Impressed, Potty Smythe handed her a grooming kit with a dandy brush for removing the mud, a body brush and curry-comb for polishing the coat, a stable rubber for the final touches, a hoof pick for cleaning out the feet and a tin of hoof oil for conditioning them.

  Penny, no stranger to any of this equipment, gave Patch a good going-over and took the tangles out of his tail with her fingers.

  ‘You’ve done a good job there, Bunty,’ whispered Potty, watching closely, to her old friend. ‘This kid is a gem!’ She turned to Penny. ‘Now, dear, go over to the tack room and fetch Patch’s saddle and bridle. You will see they are on the peg and rack with his name on it.’

  Penny opened the tack room door. It smelt gloriously of saddle soap, metal polish, boot polish and lavender. She selected the right tack for Patch and carried it out to the stable.

  ‘OK. Let’s see if you can tack him up,’ said Miss Manning-Smythe.

  Penny did just as Miss Bevan had instructed her.

  ‘Excellent!’ said Potty. ‘Now let’s see you ride him.’

  Penny nodded, adjusted the chinstrap on her hat and hopped up into the saddle.

  ‘Come on, follow me,’ said Potty, opening the gate to an empty field containing a few showjumps and cross-country fences. ‘There you go, Penny. Give me your best show in walk, trot and canter with a simple three-stride change of leg across the centre somewhere. Then select a few jumps you think you can do.’

  Penny rode out into the field and walked, trotted and cantered a figure of eight. Patch was a very well-schooled pony and knew exactly what to do.