Free The Wild Boy and Queen Moon by K M Peyton Page A

spending her every penny on her eventer, Charlie’s Flying. So was Sneerwell, apart from his fast car. Daddy Sneerwell kept him on a tight rein, so that he wouldn’t do anything silly. But if he got King of the Fireworks round a team-chase he was going to come into money. Stealing Gertie ’s savings would be much quicker. And Duncan, Duncan of the Penknife, gave all his money to his grasping mother . . .
    Sandy’s mind flew round like a Catherine wheel, shooting sparks and getting nowhere. She was frightened by how suddenly a threat had come into their dozy domestic life.
    ‘It’s bound to be somebody we don’t know, a tramp or something. Anyone could come down the lane.’
    ‘Or up the river from a boat!’
    ‘It’s Ian,’ Leo said mischievously. ‘That’s why he wouldn’t go in.’
    ‘Oh, great!’ said Ian. ‘I reckon it’s Dad. He’s going bankrupt fast.’
    ‘Shut up!’ snapped Sandy, because she knew it was true.
    Julia got off the bus. She always went home for her tea and came down later on her bike. It was too dark to ride after school now, and Faithful was turned out by day, as were most of the horses.
    ‘It’s her,’ Leo said. ‘She was telling me she had no idea how she was going to pay her livery soon as she’s nearly used up all her savings.’
    ‘It’s your dad,’ Ian said to her. ‘He’s a psychopath.’
    ‘He’s pretty weird,’ Leo agreed equably.
    ‘Mummy Marsden has said she’ll have Faithful home after all. She’s got over her paddy. But Julia doesn’t want to go.’ Sandy had heard this from Julia herself and nurtured the thought with some pride: that her stable could be more attractive to Julia than her own home. ‘She likes us.’
    ‘I always thought she was unbalanced,’ Ian said.
    ‘Why is he so horrible?’ Leo asked as Ian moved seats to talk to someone else.
    ‘Mum says it’s his age.’
    ‘It’s taking a long time, his age. I think it’s permanent,’ Leo said.
    ‘Some people are naturally horrid, I suppose.’ Sandy then mentioned what had been in her head for some time: ‘The wild boy came up the lane late last night. The police will have to know that. We might find out about him.’
    ‘What if he stole the money?’
    ‘Yes, I wondered. Oh, I hope not!’
    ‘When you think of it, there are dozens of possibilities! It’s like an Agatha Christie.’ As Sandy stood up to get off the bus, Leo added, ‘I’ll say it wasn’t you. I was with you all the time.’
    When Sandy and Ian walked home down their lane in the dusk, they found Gertie’s cottage surrounded by markers of red-and-white tape. Two police cars were parked outside and the lights were all on. They walked by. Sandy found herself feeling shaky again and a bit sick.
    ‘She might’ve died by now,’ Ian said.
    But when they got home their mother said Gertie was all right. Conscious. She wasn’t sure what had happened to her. She thought she had heard someone upstairs and remembered going up.
    ‘It were that slippery mat done for me.’
    ‘The police are coming down about six, when most of the livery people will be here, to ask if anyone remembers seeing anything useful. And they want the name of the boy on the grey horse. You said you knew who he was, Ian. They want you to tell them.’
    Sandy put her hand in her pocket and her fingers closed round the red penknife. When they asked her if she had found anything, would she say?
    ‘You’d better get your tea early,’ their mother said.
    Sandy ate her tea and went out to the yard. Duncan was there, unloading straw from the tractor trailer. Sandy went over to help, out of habit, and found herself tongue-tied. She wanted to mention the penknife, but found the words wouldn’t come. She had always liked Duncan; he was more like a brother than Ian, and much nicer. He had worked on the farm ever since she could remember, coming down as a boy to help in his spare time before he had been employed. He loved the farm and the cattle and the