Wheels of Peril

“Is that a cake tin I spy on your desk, Miss Pemberley?”

“Yes, Mrs Churchill,” replied her secretary proudly. “I decided to bake us one.”

“What a lovely idea. May I see it?”

Doris Pemberley prised open the lid and Annabel Churchill stepped over to peer inside. A rich, fruity odour wafted up into her nose.

“It smells interesting,” she commented, “and looks must unusual.” A flat, moist, brown cake hugged the bottom of the tin. “May I ask what flavour it is?”

“Prune.”

“Prune?”

“I’ll cut us a slice each,” said Pemberley excitedly as she got up to fetch a knife.

“Not too much for me,” replied Churchill. “I’ve only just had breakfast.”

Pemberley paused. “That doesn’t usually deter you from partaking in cake, Mrs Churchill.”

“I’m not deterred from it; I just had rather a lot of toast this morning.”

“I see.”

Pemberley appeared so downcast when she returned with the knife that Churchill decided to appease her.

“Oh, go on then. A normal-sized slice for me, please.”

A smile spread across her assistant’s face. “Right you are, Mrs Churchill!”

The cake was damp, heavy and so sweet Churchill had to make a concerted effort to stop her lips from puckering.

“What do you think?” asked Pemberley.

“Interesting.”

“You don’t like it?”

“I’m sure I shall grow accustomed to the taste. I’ve never eaten prune cake before. Is it cooked?”

“Of course it’s cooked!”

“Good, good. I didn’t intend to offend, Pembers. It just looks a little different from the usual sort of cake.”

The combination of toast and heavy prune cake began to sit uncomfortably in Churchill’s stomach.

“I think I need a little air,” she said.

“It’s the cake, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely nothing to do with the cake; it was the breakfast. I blame the toast, personally. I’ll be right as rain again once I’ve stepped outside for a little amble up and down the high street.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Pemberley.

As she went to wash the knife, Churchill dropped the rest of her cake onto the floor for Oswald the dog to devour. She wiped her fingers on her tweed skirt and retrieved her handbag from her desk as Pemberley re-entered the room.

“Right then!” said Churchill brightly. “Let’s get going.”

“Why is there cake all over the floor?” asked Pemberley, surveying the mess.

Churchill glanced down and was dismayed to see that Oswald hadn’t eaten a single bite.

“Oh, I accidentally dropped a little bit.”

“And didn’t pick it up?”

“I was planning to tidy it when we got back. I really do need that air, you see. Quite urgently.”

“You were hoping Oswald would eat it, weren’t you?”

“No! Not at all. I know he’s not supposed to have cake.”

“Even he’s not eating it,” said Pemberley sadly. “What’s wrong with my prune cake?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it, Pembers. Now, let’s get outside. Everything will feel much better after a breath or two of fresh air.”

“What a lovely morning,” enthused Churchill, attempting to lift her secretary’s subdued mood once they were outside. “I do like mornings on the high street, don’t you? Everyone setting up for the day, colourful shop signs and awnings, and fresh produce laid out just so. I enjoy the sense of anticipation as we all wonder what the day will bring… and then there’s the sunshine!” She gestured up at the blue sky above their heads. “Everything feels better in the sunshine, don’t you think? And talking of this lovely weather we’re having, I’m planning a long stroll in the countryside this weekend. I’d like to get to know the highways and byways of Compton Poppleford a little better. Perhaps you and Oswald would like to join me, Pembers.”

Pemberley gave a conciliatory nod. “That does sound rather nice.” Then she jumped. “Is that a horse charging toward us?”

Churchill peered ahead to see a large skewbald carthorse bounding in their direction, its hooves clattering over the cobblestones.

“Crikey! I do believe it is.”

The two ladies stopped as they watched people leap out of the animal’s path. The occasional brave soul stepped forward in an attempt to grab its harness, but a fearsome shake of its head was enough to put each of them off.

“It looks as though it’s broken free from somewhere,” said Pemberley.

“It’s certainly not going about its usual business, that’s for sure. And there’s no sign of its rider, either.”

“It wouldn’t have one; it’s a cart horse. It has no saddle and look at the size of its feet. I wouldn’t want to get trampled beneath those!”

“Neither would I. I haven’t had much to do with horses in recent years, but I was quite an accomplished rider when I had my little pony, Mindy.”

The horse managed to pull itself away from another person who had tried to catch it and was cantering ever nearer.

“Get out of the way, Mrs Churchill!” yelled Pemberley, grabbing hold of Oswald. “It’s about to trample us!”

Churchill stood her ground, however, feeling rather sorry for the frightened horse. “They tend not to trample people unless they’ve truly lost their mind,” she said. “I think I can catch it.”

“Oh, don’t! You saw the greengrocer try just then. It flung him off like a fly!”

The horse was only a few yards ahead of them now, its nostrils flared.

“There, there, horsey,” said Churchill, still standing her ground. “There, there. Auntie Churchy will look after you. Gosh, aren’t horses big, Pembers?”

The horse slowed to a walk, tossed its head and adopted a nervous zigzag.

“There, there,” said Churchill again, edging slightly closer. “It’s broken away from a carriage of some sort, hasn’t it? It’s got nice long reins to grab onto. Come on, then, little horsey. Let’s be catching you.”

Churchill approached the animal, reaching out a hand in an attempt to grasp the reins.

The horse stopped and stared at her with its large, unblinking brown eyes.

“Look, Pembers, it’s listening to me! Now all I have to do is reach forward and…”

The horse skipped to one side, then took off past Churchill and proceeded down the high street.

“Oh, I didn’t expect it to do that! Oh dear, poor thing. I hope someone catches it soon.”

The two ladies watched as a small man in a smart suit stepped into the path of the horse.

“Goodness, that’s exceptionally brave.”

The horse stopped and allowed the man to grab hold of its reins. Once it was still, a few other people walked cautiously over and held onto it.

“What a clever gentleman,” said Churchill. “I don’t recognise him. Do you know him, Pembers?”

“No, I’ve never seen him before.”

“Interesting. I thought it would be as simple as catching my little Mindy, but there was something particularly large about that horse, wasn’t there? I wonder whom it belongs to and why it proved so difficult to keep it tethered to its cart.”

“Well, you saw the size of it, Mrs Churchill. I don’t know much about horses but I suspect that if  that one decides it doesn’t want to be attached to its cart, there isn’t a great deal anyone can do about it.”