delivered. The buzz of conversation quieted while the young riders delved into the crusty, crisp pizza that was the specialty of the house. By the time everyone was reaching for a second slice, Thim stood up to speak.
“I have some good news for all of you,” she began. “On the second night of the three-day event—that means not tomorrow night, but the night after—we are all invited to a ball at the castle.”
“A ball! But I don’t have anything to wear!” Veronica practically exploded. It was so typically Veronica that The Saddle Club almost laughed out loud.
“You don’t need a ballgown for this,” Thim said. “It’s actually a costume ball. In honor of the Duke of Cummington, costume will be of the Civil War era. The Pony Clubbers from Skelton Green—that’s my team, in caseyou don’t know it—will be glad to help any of you put together your outfits. The dance itself isn’t very formal, but a Civil War ball is always a fun event and this should be no exception!”
“Civil War? Why, I can go as Scarlett O’Hara!” Veronica declared. Then, as if it were a cue to herself, she fell into character, selecting Enrico as her hero. “Oooh, Rhett,” she began in a phony Southern accent.
“Wrong Civil War,” Lisa corrected her. “This is the English Civil War. The Puritans in Parliament, known as the Roundheads, opposed the king’s men, the Cavaliers. Eventually they overthrew King Charles the First, and even beheaded him, leaving the country under the rule of Oliver Cromwell until Charles the Second returned to England to claim the throne after Cromwell’s death. That was three hundred fifty years ago, in the sixteen-forties. The Duke of Cummington was a Cavalier, but he never actually fought. He remained in his castle, guarding it against occasional Roundhead raiders.”
“How did you know all this?” Carole asked, impressed.
“I told you,” Lisa said. “We went to the library this morning.”
“You actually
meant
that?” Veronica blurted out.
“Of course,” said Lisa. “Where did you think we were?” Veronica ignored her question and countered with another one. “What else did you learn about this guy Cummington?”
“Not much,” said Lisa. “We were just getting to thatpart when we realized we had to get back to the hotel. I mean, we found out that he was pretty rich, but I guess we can tell that by the size of his house.”
The other riders laughed at that.
Enrico continued the explanation, telling the last of what they’d learned. “There was a—what did you call it, footnote?—yes, footnote. Something about how nobody ever knew exactly how much wealth he had because it was never found.”
“It probably got stolen,” Lisa said. “A lot of that happened.”
“Definitely,” Veronica assured them. Her certainty surprised The Saddle Club. “I mean, in a war, a lot of people steal a lot of things. I’m sure that must be what happened. It only makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Lisa thought it did make sense, but she also thought it rather odd that Veronica should be the one to have any common sense about a treasure. She shrugged it off. Veronica acting strange was nothing new. She had much more interesting things to think about, such as would her third slice of pizza be pepperoni or plain?
Enrico, however, was curious. He turned to one of the English riders, a young girl who’d been very quiet the whole time. Lisa remembered that her name was Ashley Hanna. “Do you know any more of the story of Lord Cummington?” Enrico asked.
Ashley seemed pleased to be asked. “Well, there
are
stories, of course, but one doesn’t know whether to believethem or not. There are a great many tales from that era, most of them apocryphal,” she said.
“A-poc-what?” asked Enrico.
“It means of doubtful authenticity,” said Veronica, smiling at Enrico.
Lisa didn’t care whether the tales were true or not. She thought it would be fun to hear some of the stories and was
“I have some good news for all of you,” she began. “On the second night of the three-day event—that means not tomorrow night, but the night after—we are all invited to a ball at the castle.”
“A ball! But I don’t have anything to wear!” Veronica practically exploded. It was so typically Veronica that The Saddle Club almost laughed out loud.
“You don’t need a ballgown for this,” Thim said. “It’s actually a costume ball. In honor of the Duke of Cummington, costume will be of the Civil War era. The Pony Clubbers from Skelton Green—that’s my team, in caseyou don’t know it—will be glad to help any of you put together your outfits. The dance itself isn’t very formal, but a Civil War ball is always a fun event and this should be no exception!”
“Civil War? Why, I can go as Scarlett O’Hara!” Veronica declared. Then, as if it were a cue to herself, she fell into character, selecting Enrico as her hero. “Oooh, Rhett,” she began in a phony Southern accent.
“Wrong Civil War,” Lisa corrected her. “This is the English Civil War. The Puritans in Parliament, known as the Roundheads, opposed the king’s men, the Cavaliers. Eventually they overthrew King Charles the First, and even beheaded him, leaving the country under the rule of Oliver Cromwell until Charles the Second returned to England to claim the throne after Cromwell’s death. That was three hundred fifty years ago, in the sixteen-forties. The Duke of Cummington was a Cavalier, but he never actually fought. He remained in his castle, guarding it against occasional Roundhead raiders.”
“How did you know all this?” Carole asked, impressed.
“I told you,” Lisa said. “We went to the library this morning.”
“You actually
meant
that?” Veronica blurted out.
“Of course,” said Lisa. “Where did you think we were?” Veronica ignored her question and countered with another one. “What else did you learn about this guy Cummington?”
“Not much,” said Lisa. “We were just getting to thatpart when we realized we had to get back to the hotel. I mean, we found out that he was pretty rich, but I guess we can tell that by the size of his house.”
The other riders laughed at that.
Enrico continued the explanation, telling the last of what they’d learned. “There was a—what did you call it, footnote?—yes, footnote. Something about how nobody ever knew exactly how much wealth he had because it was never found.”
“It probably got stolen,” Lisa said. “A lot of that happened.”
“Definitely,” Veronica assured them. Her certainty surprised The Saddle Club. “I mean, in a war, a lot of people steal a lot of things. I’m sure that must be what happened. It only makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Lisa thought it did make sense, but she also thought it rather odd that Veronica should be the one to have any common sense about a treasure. She shrugged it off. Veronica acting strange was nothing new. She had much more interesting things to think about, such as would her third slice of pizza be pepperoni or plain?
Enrico, however, was curious. He turned to one of the English riders, a young girl who’d been very quiet the whole time. Lisa remembered that her name was Ashley Hanna. “Do you know any more of the story of Lord Cummington?” Enrico asked.
Ashley seemed pleased to be asked. “Well, there
are
stories, of course, but one doesn’t know whether to believethem or not. There are a great many tales from that era, most of them apocryphal,” she said.
“A-poc-what?” asked Enrico.
“It means of doubtful authenticity,” said Veronica, smiling at Enrico.
Lisa didn’t care whether the tales were true or not. She thought it would be fun to hear some of the stories and was
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