Hunting, Shooting & Fishing

Part V. Country Life

33

Hunting, Shooting & Fishing

    “So—so you have done a lot of shooting?” said Hildy in a numbed voice.

    “Aye, I has become quite the country squire, me dear,” returned Gaetana in the accents of the country.

    Hildy gulped, but looked at her dubiously.

    “¡Querida, whatever I shoot we use in pies and—and ragoûts and so forth, you know! Berthe has made some delicious potted meats and jugged hare, tu sais, et—et des saucisses, and all sorts of things! And Paul and Jake had me shooting at targets until my arm ached before they would let me go out with the guns. For one’s aim is a clean kill, you know!”

    “Yes,” said Hildy faintly. “I know. Personally I had rather gather berries, and so forth.”

    Gaetana laughed. “Well, I have done a little of that, too! Even though Luís says it is not the thing! And the hazels are falling, now, Hildy, and Berthe says they may be used instead of almonds in many receets, though they give a different flavour, of course, and she has some very old Spanish receets of Madre’s besides, that are most curious, for the nuts are ground and used to thicken the sauce, as we might with flour or cream.”

    “Help, have you become domestic?” said Hildy in horror.

    “Not to the extent of knowing how to thicken a sauce myself, no!” replied Gaetana with a gurgle. “And strangely, Berthe will not permit me to use her kitchen to make a halwa, as I did at dear Mrs Urqhart’s!”

    Hildy smiled. “I am not surprized; I have never seen so much burnt sugar.”

    “Well, will you come?” said her cousin.

    Hildy shut her eyes. “Not to see you kill things, Gaetana, I could not. Though I know I am a dreadful hypocrite about it.”

    “No, no, querida, I did not mean that! To help me gather the hazelnuts!” she cried.

    “Oh,” said Hildy, opening her eyes. “What about the squirrels?”

    “Well, I think we will not take precisely all of them!” she said with a giggle. “Not two of us, even if we do take two baskets each. And we had best go today, there is some dreadful tradition hereabouts that the villagers pick the Manor’s hazel woods after a certain date, and Jake warns us it is fast upon us!”

    “I am surprized he has noticed, he is in such a state,” she said drily.

    “Is it not exciting? I am so looking forward to his wedding! Only, I wish Harry and Marinela could be here for it. But if the maddening fellow will not write us—!”

    “No. But it is strange your mamma has not written either, Gaetana…”

    “Sí... Though I suppose a letter may have gone astray in the post. –Oh, Hildy, I forgot to tell you! Berthe had a most tremendous fight with the keeper of the little tavern in Dittersford, over the barrel of cider he sent up! She declared it was—well, something very rude, and sent it back with a bottle of her own brew! The man was furious, he came steaming up to the house with the barrel on a cart, and demanded to see Paul in person and be told what was wrong with it! And so Paul took him into his study and calmed him down, you know how well he handles that sort of thing, but then he made the mistake of sending for Berthe. And no sooner had she laid eyes on the poor man than she started screaming at him in Flemish! And it turned out, that his was cider made in the English fashion as they do hereabouts, which she cannot abide, and hers was the cider that they make all over the Lowlands and northern France, which is different! Though what the difference is, I did not grasp.”

    “Help,” said Hildy in awe. “What happened?”

    “Well, Paul explained it all, and got her smoothed down, and said that of course we would not use the village cider for the household: we must use hers and not waste it. But the local stuff was good enough for the lower servants and the outside staff!”

    “Horrors, in front of the innkeeper?” she gasped.

    “Yes, but of course he was speaking Flemish to Berthe! And incidentally, the man looked at him as if he were the Devil incarnate when he began to do so! If he had been a Catholic, Paul said, he swears he would have crossed himself!”

    “Gracious: what a to-do!” said Hildy, grinning.

    “¡Sí, you could hear them all over the house, and Cousin Sophia was convinced that blows would be struck! But the upshot of it was that they shook hands, and believe it or not, Berthe then took the fellow off to the kitchen and regaled him with rabbit pie! And they have become fast friends, and he is forever making excuses to call, and Paul swears he is courting her!” she choked.

    Hildy goggled at her.

    “Well, he is a widower, querida, it is quite proper.”

    “But how old is she?” she gasped.

    “I am not precisely sure, she is coy about her age, but she has been with Harry and Marinela for many years. I think she must be well over fifty. The tavern keeper,” said Gaetana, eyes twinkling, “is a good ten years or more her junior, but if he does not regard that, why should we?”—Hildy gulped.—“And Hildy, the cream of it is, he is as fat as she!” gasped Gaetana, losing control completely and going into a gale of laughter.

    Hildy promptly joined her. “Oh, dear!” she said at last, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand: “But if Berthe should marry, Gaetana, whatever will Paul do without her?”

    “He has sounded her out very tactfully on that point,” said Gaetana, blowing her nose heartily: “and although most unfortunately he refused to let me be present at the interview, I gather that she said she would not leave the family for anything, but that of course a cook did not have to live in!”

    “Heavens!” gasped Hildy.

    “Sí,” said Gaetana, stowing her handkerchief away. “Well, the man is reckoned to be a great catch in the village, it would appear.”

    “Well done, dear Berthe!” cried Hildy loudly.

    “Exactly!” said Gaetana with a laugh. “Come along, querida, those hazels will not leap into our baskets unassisted!”

    “You could follow along, you know,” said Luís kindly, some two days later. “No need to actually shoot.”

    “No, I don’t wish to watch,” replied Hildy faintly.

    Gaetana put an arm round her waist. “No. –Leave her alone, Luís: why should she not be squeamish? And I recall the first time you saw Berthe draw a rabbit, you—”

    “That is a lie!” he cried, very red.

    “Ho, ho, ho,” she noted. “Well, querida, I hope you will not be bored while we are out with the guns. But you could join us later, for a picknick, you know.”

    “No, I would really rather not, Gaetana.”

    Gaetana kissed her cheek. “No, very well; we shall not pester you further.”

    They were in the front hall: a big fire was burning in its fireplace, as fortunately the wind was not in the east, which made many of the Manor fireplaces smoke. Luís had wandered over to one of the front windows and was peering out. “I tell you what it is: the fellow hath slept in!” he said crossly.

    “That is not very like Mr Charleson,” responded Gaetana placidly.

    Paul was descending the stairs. “No, he is usually first upon the scene, when it comes to a day’s shooting. –Hildy, querida, are you up already?” he said in some surprize.

    “I thought I would take breakfast with you all, but you have beaten me to it,” she said with a smile.

    “Here’s Jake,” reported Luis pleasedly. He opened the window, stuck his head out and called: “¡Hola! Jake!”

    “Shut the window, imbecile, Hildy will catch her death!” said Paul crossly.

    “No, no, even though I am not in my shooting-jacket and gaiters,” said Hildy with a laugh, “I am very warm. How splendidly the fire is burning today!”

    “Aye, it is because the wind is not in the east,” said Luís, going to the front door and opening it for Jake.

    The burly man came in, grinning, his shot-gun over his arm. “Brr-rr! It’s nippy out this morning!”

    “Good hunting weather, though,” noted Luís.

    “Aye, well: Mr Purdue,” said their agent with heavy emphasis on the “Mr”, “will not be out this week, but Sir Clinton Gerrity is taking his pack out this next Saturday: we could go on over if you has a mind to, Master Luís.”

    “First rate! We shall do so!” he said, rubbing his hands. “Eric says that old Gerrity always gives you a damn’ good run! –And what is this ‘Master Luís’ nonsense, may I ask?”

    “Gettin’ in practice for when quality comes to stay,” explained Jake solemnly, but with a twinkle in his eye. “By the by, the two shepherds as come over from Mr Fanshawe were telling me of two comely young maidens they met on the hills over near our hazel wood, as did kindly share their bite to eat with them!”

    Hildy and Gaetana giggled frantically.

    “Aye, I thought ’twas you,” he said, grinning. “The old man said they were both as like to old Sir Vyvyan as peas in a pod.”

    Luís choked.

    “Well, that is perfectly true!” said Paul with a laugh. “Mi querida,” he said to his sister, “I think you must stick close by Jake today. Charleson’s efforts to assist you last time we went out with him were not a noticeable success, were they?”

    “It ain’t that he’s a bad shot,” offered Jake.

    “Fellow could not teach his own grandmother to suck eggs,” Luís explained kindly to the puzzled Hildy.

    Jake then asked her what she had in mind to do today and at least one person present reflected that their distant cousin had more sense in his little finger, not to say more tact, than the majority of the rest of the family here present had in their whole bodies.

    Hildy explained, smiling, that she was going to go along the hedgerows gathering hips. For, though Jake might not think it, Berthe had said—

    “Aye: rosehip jelly!” he said, rubbing his hands. “Well, just be sure you wraps up warm, young maiden!”

    Immediately Hildy, nodding hard, collapsed in a further fit of giggles.

    Luís had returned to the window, and now reported that the party from the Place was approaching.

    “What?” gasped Gaetana.

    “I thought I had mentioned they were coming?” said Paul smoothly.

    She gave him an evil look.

    The company had all come inside, and Lady Dezzie and the gentlemen were taking a warming glass of negus, while a pot of tea had been hurriedly ordered up for Miss Hobbs and Miss Girardon, when Luís, again at the window, reported: “Here the fellow is at last! –Oh, I say, he has Miss Charleson with him,” he added in tones of unalloyed dismay.

    When the two from Willow Court came in, it was plain to be seen that there had been some sort of a domestic crisis in that direction, for Miss Charleson had suspiciously red and swollen eyelids. It was not long at all—though most of those present would have been hard put to say how he did it—before Paul had the whole story out of her. Lady Charleson had received a polite note from Sir Edward Jubb apologizing for his dilatoriness in not writing earlier, but he had been much occupied with business lately, and explaining that he had made previous arrangements for Johanna’s come-out, though he thanked her most sincerely for the kind offer. And adding that he hoped to see her and her daughter in London next year.

    “And she has declared the Ditterminster milliners are all a parcel of provincial dowds, and I may not order a bonnet from them after all!” Muzzie finished tearfully.

    “Aye, well,” said Eric ruefully, “the note was polite as nothing, y’know, but he made it pretty clear he would not be showing his nose in these parts for the foreseeable future.”

    “Never mind, we are very glad to see you, Muzzie,” put in Hildy quickly. “Would you like to follow the guns with Carolyn and Anna or would you prefer to come picking rosehips with me?”

    “Picking rosehips?” she said in wonder.

    “Yes, for Berthe to make into a delicious jelly!” said Hildy cheerfully. “And if we get that far, we may also gather a few chestnuts. Berthe has promised us marrons glacés, but first we must get her the marrons!”

    “Well—well, I do not like the noise the guns make. Where do you mean to go, Hildy?” she said faintly.

    “Oh, just along the lanes!” said Hildy cheerfully.

    Muzzie gulped.

    “You go, Muzzie: Mamma will never get to hear of it, and if she do,” said Eric firmly—he was very out of charity with his mother just at present—“I shall tell her that I said you might, and that if Miss Hildy may do it can certainly not be thought ineligible for you!”

    “Sí, sí,” agreed Gaetana kindly. “And Melia Adams will go with you and help to carry the baskets, you know!”

    “Are we to walk, then?” she said faintly.

    Gaetana looked critically at her footwear. “You had best come with me: I will get you a more serviceable pair of shoes.”

    Once she had got used to the idea, and stopped looking nervously over her shoulder for possible disapproving mammas or—horror!—Mrs Purdues, Muzzie began to enjoy herself as much as Hildy or little Melia. And competed eagerly as to who could find the biggest, most coloured and most perfect hips. And when they returned with their full baskets at midday, declared it to be one of the happiest mornings she had ever spent! And was not even put out when Melia Adams unfeignedly agreed with her, adding that if she had guessed it would be such fun a-working for Madam Bert up at the big house, she wouldn’t never have a-bawled so, when Ma and Pa said it were a chanct not to be missed and she must take it. Hildy promptly invited the little kitchenmaid to come chestnut gathering with them, and Muzzie, having by now forgotten entirely that she was a lady and that Mamma would be horrified at the mere suggestion, eagerly seconded the invitation.

    Meanwhile, the shooting party had reconvened for their picknick. The Marquis came over to Gaetana immediately and unaffectedly examined her bag. “Not bad,” he conceded.

    “Not bad! Why, I have two brace of pheasants and you have but that one mangy bird!” she cried.

    “Yes, but I have three rabbits,” he said, straight-faced.

    “Rabbits! Pooh, Bungo can hit a rabbit! Especially when it is sitting still!”

    “Here, that’ll do, you show some respect to his Lordship, young maiden,” reproved Jake with a laugh in his voice.

    Gaetana bit her lip, and glared.

    “What is this ‘young maiden’ stuff, Pringle?” enquired his Lordship genially.

    Shaking with chuckles and ignoring his young mistress’s glare, Jake reported the girls’ encounter during their expedition to gather hazels with the two shepherds who had innocently assumed them to be country lasses.

    Rockingham laughed until he had to blow his nose hard. “Well,” he conceded with a twinkle, “she looks a bit more the lady today.”

    “Aye, but then she ain’t a-wearing of the nutting hat,” noted Jake drily.

    “No! I wish I had seen it!” he gasped. “But my dear Miss Ainsley,” he said, having recourse to the handkerchief again, “why for the Lord’s sake were you gathering hazels? Do you not have servants enough to do that, at the Manor?”

    “Yes, but Hildy and I ENJOY the country life!” she shouted, marching furiously away from him.

    At a little distance Paul and Luís had spread out a rug and were opening a hamper. “Oops,” muttered Paul.

    “Aye, but have you noticed, dear old boy,” said Luís cautiously, “that when she ain’t thinking about who it is she’s talking to, you would swear they were an old married couple?”

    “Yes, indeed; and I think it is obvious to all but themselves,” he added with a little smile: “that the pair of sillies are ideally suited.”

    Mrs Knowles smoothed her heavy black silk gown over her knee. “Of course, one has heard all sorts of rumours!” she said with a titter.

    Gaetana and Hildy had intended spending that morning assisting Luís to wash his dogs, and were therefore clad, the one in an ancient print gown over a heavy scarlet wool petticoat, the whole topped off with a much-darned woollen spencer in that felted, yellowy state that pale grey wool will attain after much washing by even the most careful hand—one of Marybelle’s that had been given to Berthe for rags; the other in an ancient woollen gown quite six inches too short for her and which had done duty on their nutting expedition—again given to Berthe for rags—ornamented with an old grey shawl crossed tightly over the chest and tied behind her. At first glance the stunned lady caller had thought that they were both wearing grey woollen spencers, indeed.

    Mrs Knowles, by contrast, was clad in an elegant pelisse of heavy black wool over her black gown, a black bonnet much ornamented with white and purple ribbon, and a brown fur which was probably not sable. Which she had for the moment cast aside, as the small sitting-room was very warm.

    “Er—what sort of rumours, Mrs Knowles?” replied Hildy weakly, seeing that her cousin was momentarily bereft of speech by the visitor’s conversational gambit.

    “Why, that the owner of Beaubois House is a man of considerable substance, who means to set it all in order, and has besides a grown-up family!” she said, astounded that the rumours should not already have reached the Manor.

    “Oh,” said Hildy limply.

    “I had not precisely heard that,” offered Gaetana feebly.

    “No, well, there you are, Miss Ainsley! For my dearest Samuel”—this was Prim, and the girls barely repressed a wince—“thought it best to call, you know, for cross-country it is not very far from our own little place, though of course by the road it is very much further—and he said that the occupant was a youngish man, who could not possibly have a grown family. And, indeed,” she added with another titter, “at first he did not think he was the owner at all, for he was dressed in rough workman’s garb, and actually, my dears, in his shirtsleeves! But as soon as he spoke, dearest Samuel of course recognized that he was a gentleman. And he is but camping—yes, positively camping, in that dreadful old house! I know not how he— But then, of course, he revealed to Samuel that he had been a soldier, and was used to the roughest conditions in that dreadful Peninsula!”

    “Yes,” said Hildy hoarsely. She could not turn scarlet, she had done that some time earlier.

    “Why, then, you know him, dear Miss Hildegarde?” cried Mrs Knowles, in positive ecstasy that her bow at a venture had been on target and that Mrs Purdue, who had scoffed at the notion of the girls at Ainsley Manor knowing a thing about it, when her brother the Bishop and her brother-in-law the Dean knew virtually nothing, had been quite wrong.

    “Yes. Very slightly,” said Hildy hoarsely.

    “He is a cousin of our friend Mrs O’Flynn, whom I believe you met when she was staying here,” explained Gaetana, seeing that Hildy was incapable of it. “The house belongs to his uncle. He is his heir,” she ended baldly.

    “I see! Er—I was informed,” said Mrs Knowles cautiously, meaning that Mrs Purdue, looking down her nose at her as she did so, had told her, “that the owner is also a military gentleman?”

    “Yes. He is a general. Mrs O’Flynn’s uncle,” said Gaetana shortly.

    “Why, how delightful it will be, to have connexions in the neighbourhood!” she cried.

    “Er—sí,” replied Gaetana limply. “It is not so very near, Mrs Knowles: my brothers say that even cross-country it is quite a ride from here.”

    “And it is much longer by road,” said Hildy hoarsely,

    “Er—yes, but still, my dears, it must be agreeable!” She beamed upon them. The girls did not respond.

    After some further hints Mrs Knowles finally got her point over and was able to ascertain from Hildy that the owner had no sons but there were two unmarried daughters. Very shortly thereafter she took her leave, saying with a titter that she would not keep them any longer: the dear doggies must not be neglected!—and hastened away, Purdue-wards.

    “That is it!” concluded Gaetana disgustedly. “It was a fishing expedition, to find out whether there would be any candidates at Beaubois House for the hands of Prim, Prissy and Prue!”

    “Mm.”

    Gaetana looked at her uncertainly. After a minute Hildy said in a low, trembling voice: “The nights are become so cold, now the days are drawing in.”

    “Yes, but do not fear for him, dearest: Lady Dezzie has assured me there is no-one like an old soldier for making himself warm under the most trying conditions!”

    “Yes,” said Hildy in a tiny voice. After a moment she said: “I was not thinking— I mean, of course I do not fear for him.”

    “No, of course. And I dare say the stories about the roof are much exaggerated, you know how country people multiply rumour upon rumour!” she said, jumping up. “Come along, or Luís will have finished!”

    Hildy followed her silently.

    Gaetana did not say any more: she was quite as satisfied, for the nonce, with the results of Mrs Knowles’s fishing expedition as that lady herself.

    Indeed, more so: for ten minutes after Mrs Knowles’s arrival at the misnamed Dittersford House, its chatelaine had brought her to the realization that she had not discovered Beaubois House’s owner’s surname and had not even ascertained which side of Mrs O’Flynn’s family he came from! For whilst she dared say the mother’s side might be quite respectable, the father, as Mrs Knowles was surely aware, had been naught but a tradesman! –How Mrs Purdue had ferreted out this last item of knowledge was a mystery. But Mrs Knowles was not surprized that she had.

    It had been agreed that Hildy should be given a fishing lesson by Mr Charleson—no-one being quite sure why Eric had offered himself, though it was true that he was immensely proud of his prowess at all country pursuits. Had he developed a tendre in that direction? On the day, however, he was plainly relieved to see Luís with his pupil. And, indeed, it became clear in the course of the morning that it was another lady entirely whom he admired: for once the correct spot in the stream had been located, an argument had been settled, and Luís had gone downstream a little to what looked like a far better spot, and after they had all thrashed the stream for some time and the instructor had caught a very small perch, and a watery sun had got quite high in the wintry sky, Mr Charleson began to question Hildy as to what she knew of the movements of the family over at the Place.

    Hildy knew that the Marquis had gone up to London to take his seat in the House, that Lady Dezzie had refused point-blank to accompany him, and that Carolyn had gone into hysterics on being informed by her half-brother that she might not go alone with him to the metropolis. Though she phrased this last rather more tactfully for Mr Charleson’s ears. The ladies, therefore, were still in residence.

    “Oh, so Miss Girardon is still there, then?” he said, face lighting up.

    Charity began at home, but it was bad enough having Mop-Head Muzzle inflicted on them for several days a week without inviting Mr Charleson’s inamorata as well, so Hildy did not offer. But she did say: “Yes, of course. Was she not out with the Upper Daynesfold hunt last time you rode out with them?”

    “Good gracious!” said Gaetana when she reported back later in the day.

    “Mr Charleson is a very pleasant young man, my dear,” murmured Mrs Goodbody.

    “But surely... Well, would it be suitable?” said Gaetana, flushing.

    “Miss Girardon is but the Marquis’s half-sister, my dear: she is not a Hammond,” said the little elderly lady placidly.

    Gaetana went a fiery red.

    “Lady Charleson may not be a very pleasant woman, but her birth is unexceptionable,” added Paul neutrally.

    “Aye, and the husband, forget his name, was received at the Place, was he not?” said Luís. “Well, so Lady—”

    “—Lady Dezzie was telling me!’“ chorused Hildy and Paul, grinning,

    “Hah, hah: very witty,” he noted. “Well, ain’t I right, though?”

    “Of course,” said Paul mildly. “It would be quite a good match for little Miss Girardon, for Eric will have the property—”

    “What is left of it,” noted Hildy drily.

    “Sí,” he agreed, straight-faced; “and M. Girardon, though I believe a most amiable gentleman, is not, as Cousin Sophia so correctly points out, a Hammond.”

    Suddenly Gaetana got up and walked out.

    “Oops,” noted Luís.

    Paul shrugged. “If she is to maintain her ridiculously intransigent attitude, she may expect to be made to look a trifle ridiculous, may she not?”

    “That ith a bit hard, old boy!” he gasped.

    “Possibly. But she is being very hard on poor Giles.”

    “Paul,” said Hildy in a stifled voice: “she is doing it out of—of pure principle, you know.”

    “Sí. But then I have never thought very much, querida,” he said in a gentler tone, “of those sorts of principles which result only in suffering for oneself and others.”

    “Um—no,” she said, biting her lip.

    “When you come right down to it,” noted Luís glumly, “she is as stubborn as Harry.”

    “It is so unfortunate!” lamented Cousin Sophia.

    “Sí,” said Paul, getting up and kissing her faded cheek. “But I would not repine just yet, dear Cousin, for I suspect Lord Rockingham may yet have a trick or two up his sleeve!”

    “Pooh! What?” cried Hildy crossly.

    “I do not know: if I did, it would be more than suspicion, would it not?”

    His relatives looked at him indignantly.

    “That last time we got out with old Gerrity, he was looking positively smug,” Paul added reflectively.

    “Always does,” said Luís. “Says ‘merry’ every time he opens his mouth, too.”

    “Not—Sir Clinton—you imbecile! Giles!” he gasped.

    “Oh,” he said, looking foolish.

    “Possibly that was merely because he was in expectation of slaughtering a fox,” offered Hildy coldly.

    “No, it was a dashed bad run,” said Luís. “They did not find for two hours, y’know, and then he turned back upon his tracks and went to earth before we were hardly—”

    “Stop it, dear boy!” gasped Paul. “Er—no, Giles informed us he would be in town for a while, partly to take his seat and partly to make arrangements for the Christmas period. Looking positively smug. –Luís did not remark it,” he added quickly as his brother opened his mouth. Luís glared.

    “Oh,” said Hildy blankly. “Were not the arrangements for Christmas finalized some time since? I understood from Lady Lavinia that Mrs Girardon and her husband are to come, as well as the Dewesburys.”

    “Exactly: that is partly why my suspicions were aroused. And partly the smug expression. Which Luís did not remark.”

    Luís attacked him with a cushion, and the subject lapsed. But Hildy and, as the little lady later confessed to her, also Mrs Goodbody, could not help feeling slightly more hopeful about Gaetana’s prospects.

    October had passed imperceptibly into November, more hazels and chestnuts had been gathered until even Berthe’s appetite for making hazelnut sauces, marrons glacés, purée de marrons and chestnut stuffing had been glutted, Cousin Sophia had had the signal triumph of persuading the girls to pay one—just one—courtesy call on Mrs Knowles, and the villagers had burnt Mr Fawkes with a pair of branches attached to his hat that did not look like anything that Hildy, at least, had imagined a 17th-century revolutionary to have worn. Now the nuptials of Francisco on the one hand and Jake on the other were fast approaching, and Berthe had begun to plan how many fat geese would need to be slaughtered for the Christmas celebrations. And still the Manor had heard nothing from Sir Harry! Paul, indeed, had given up hoping for this. But also, alas, they had heard nothing from Beaubois House.

    “Well, did we expect to?” said Gaetana glumly, huddling in a shawl on the foot of Paul’s bed.

    Francisco, who had not precisely been invited to be present at this conclave, here broke into an excited speech in Spanish.

    After some time Paul managed to shout him down and assure him that yes, he had heard the roofers were in at Beaubois House. And no, he had not heard there was a man there with a wooden leg, but if Francisco said so, of course they all believed him. And—getting very loud—never MIND if Berthe would not believe him!

    Then there was a short silence.

    “I suppose we did not precisely expect...” admitted Paul.

    Luís had now had the full story. “Aye, but would it not be merely manners for the fellow to call?”

    “It would mean the best part of a day’s work lost, of course,” said Paul dubiously.

    “What? Four hours at most!” he protested.

    Francisco corrected this firmly. Señor Paul was right: at least half a day to get here and back from Beaubois House, and then, with the days shortening so…

    “Sí, sí,” agreed Paul.

    “Not if you come cross-country, dear old boy!” objected Luís.

    “Not if you come at a rattling pace on a brute like your Muy Negro with two good arms to control him!” said Gaetana crossly, and very loudly.

    “Oh,” he said, reddening.

    “Sí. And don’t shout, mi querida, we may disturb her,” said Paul. “Um—well, on the whole I am inclined to agree with you, dear boy: it would be manners to call.”

    Luís smirked.

    “Very well, then, why has he not?” said Gaetana sulkily.

    “Don’t fancy her? Don’t wish to encourage false hopes?” ventured Luís.

    They had all been thinking along those lines, and all glared.

    “Well,” said Paul at last with a sigh, “it may well be so. Has Hildy said anything further to you, Gaetana?”

    “No. That is what,” said Gaetana, blinking hard, “makes me think that—that it is not like all the other times. And that she cares really seriously for him.”

    There was a short pause.

    “Mentioned Naseby again?” asked Luís delicately.

    “Well, yes, but only to say that she has written to his mamma thanking her for her kind offer, but that on consideration she does not think her voice would be suited to Lady Naseby’s group.”

    Luís whistled.

    Paul hesitated. Then he said: “It is a great pity that Major Kernohan has not made any sort of a move. But I think we might ride over and—er—”

    “Fishing expedition!” said Luís happily. “Yes. Good!”

    “Yes: shall we go tomorrow, Paul?” asked Gaetana eagerly.

    “Er—well, I cannot manage tomorrow. And I am sorry, mi querida, but I think it would look too particular if you were to come.”

    Gaetana began indignantly: “But—”

    “Dashed long ride for a lady,” said Luís firmly. Francisco agreed forcibly with this. But then, he was the man who had been horse-sick in the Pyrenees.

    Gaetana glared.

    “I’m not saying you’re a lady, imbecile, I’m saying the fellow would suspect! Smell a rat!” Luís explained.

    “Oh,” she said, mollified.

   Paul here inexplicably went into a helpless spluttering fit. “Er—sorry,” he said, emerging from it to find they were all three glaring at him.

    Francisco pointed out that Señor Paul was not taking it seriously: had not Sir ’Arry ever said it was his greatest fault?

   “Er—sí,” he said, blowing his nose. “I am taking it seriously. We shall go the day after tomorrow, if that suits, Luís?”

    Luis agreed eagerly.

    “Ugh,” Gaetana realised glumly, “that is the French day:”

    “Well, I have an idea,” said Paul kindly: “make it a driving-out and French day. You may teach Muzzie the words for things you see along the way and—and converse about them in French!”

    “‘Voilà un mouton,’” she said sourly. “‘Regardez le mouton.’”

    “Aye, and that gives me an idea!” said Luís eagerly. “We shall tell this Kernohan fellow that we have rid over to see old Fanshawe about the sheep!”

    “Yes, very well, querido, that is a very good idea. Only,” said Paul with a twinkle in his eye, “first we shall have to think up some questions for Fanshawe, to lend verisimilitude to our tale, do you not think?”

    Luís attacked him with a pillow immediately.

    Two days later he said in a lowered voice to his brother: “None of these here looks like a gentleman, old fellow.”

    “Mayhap he is inside,” said Paul placidly, scanning the busy scene that was the main façade of Beaubois House. It was a delightful little manor, smaller than Ainsley Manor and dating from perhaps a century later, made of brick and stone. Brick which needed repointing. With a slate roof. Which needed, they had seen coming over a low rise and descending towards the house, replacing. Several lumpish and ugly excrescences at the rear and to one side of the house had evidently needed removing, for that was what was happening to them at the moment.

    “Aye, he must be inside,” decided Luis. “Shall we ask one of these fellows?”

    Paul smiled a little: he had now spotted that one of the fellows, though in a rough woollen shirt and workman’s leather waistcoat, was wearing stained buckskins and an excellent, if elderly, pair of Hessian boots. “I think there will be no need, that must be he,” he murmured.

    “Where? Oh,” said Luís, as the figure in the buckskins made to steady another man’s load with his left hand and a third fellow hurried to help. “Sí, sí. It must be. Poor fellow,” he added in an undertone.

    “Not so poor as his helper, there,” replied Paul drily.

    Luís then registered that the third man in the group had a wooden leg and said weakly: “No, by Jove. Francisco was right, then.”

    “Sí. Come along,” said Paul, urging his horse forward.

    Muy Negro was jibbing: he did not like the look of the workmen with their hods or the sounds of rubble crashing down that came continually from the rear of the house.

    “Come up, you brute!” gasped Luís breathlessly in Spanish, as the horse danced skittishly along the drive.

    The man with the wooden leg looked round at this and gasped: “Lordy, Major! Spaniards!”

    Major Kernohan had also thought he had heard Spanish: he smiled, and saying lightly: “We are not in the Peninsula now, Dollery, you know!” turned his head. And was turned to stone at the sight of the two darkly handsome Hispanic faces smiling down at him.

    Paul removed his hat. “Major Kernohan, I think?”

    The Major’s high cheekbones had flushed a little, but he also looked rather as if he were trying not to laugh. “Yes, I am Major Kernohan. I think you must be Mr Ainsley?”

    “Yes, we are the Spaniards from Ainsley Manor!” said Paul with a laugh. “I am Paul Ainsley, sir, and this is my brother Luís.”

    “See? That’s a Spanish name, or I’ll be damned,” growled the man Dollery, looking suspicious.

    “How do you do?” said Major Kernohan a trifle limply. “Forgive my man: he was my batman, you see, and was all through the Peninsula with me, and—er—”

    “Not at all; I quite understand. We also have just such a faithful old servant,” replied Paul, smiling his pleasant smile and reaching down his hand to the Major.

    Luís, meanwhile, regarded this action in horror.

    The Major reached up his left. “Forgive my left hand. I’m very glad to know you, Mr Ainsley.”

    “Aye—how do you do,” said Luís, in a relief even more transparent, if that were possible, than his former horror, also reaching down his hand. The Major duly shook it with his left. “I say, you has your work cut out here, Major!”

    “Well, yes,” Major Kernohan allowed with a rueful smile. “Would you care to dismount? You may trust Dollery utterly with your horses.”

    The brothers did so, Luís remarking by the by: “Muy Negro don’t like the noise.”

    “Ho! He would never do for us, then!” returned the erstwhile batman scornfully. “Though he’s a fine-looking prad, I’ll say that for him. –I’ll take ’em over here, sirs,” he added, leading the horses towards a rough shelter which had been erected under a tree on the lawn, composed of a sheet of canvas cunningly stretched out.

    “We have had to knock the stables down, they were in a dangerous condition,” explained the Major tranquilly. “But I am quite glad of the opportunity to put in a decent modern block, to tell you the truth!” he added with a smile.

    Paul agreed with this sentiment, passing some remarks on the Manor’s old-fashioned stabling, and they began to stroll slowly towards the house.

    “I see you have started the repointing, Major Kernohan?” he said.

    The Major sighed. “Yes. I had hoped to see a little more of it done by this time. The local people tell me it has been an unusually cold and damp summer. But fortunately the basic structure is sound, and the interior walls are solid. And the re-roofing is going very well.”

    “Good. How are the chimneys?” asked Luís abruptly, throwing back his head to look up at them.

    “Ainsley Manor also has many tall chimneys,” explained Paul. “In one of which we had a fire, not long since.”

    “I see. Well, the chimneys are very solid indeed. I have gone over them carefully myself, and they do not need repointing. I rather think that if they had done,” he said with a rueful look, “I might have advised my uncle to knock the whole house down and build from scratch.”

    The brothers agreed sympathetically, and they proceeded to an inspection of the interior of the house.

    Luís was horrified to find there was no furniture or carpets at all. The Major explained that what furniture there had been in the house that had not suffered from the damp was in storage while the walls and floors were being seen to. And that the carpets had had to be burned. Luís immediately responded with the story of the Manor’s attics and carpets.

    After a while, seeing that Paul, at least, was genuinely interested in his renovations, Major Kernohan produced the plans of the house and they began to get technical. Luís wandered off. He rejoined them, however, when they emerged with the intention of taking a look at the embryo new stable block, and announced simply that that was not a bad drop of the local ale they had over there, and Paul ought to try it.

    “Yes: your throat must be full of dust, Mr Ainsley!” said the Major with a smile. He led the way to the shelter under the tree, where one of the amenities, Paul now discerned, was a large barrel.

    “Dollery tells me you are camping here, Major,” said Luís, as Dollery filled tankards for them.

    “Oh, certainly: we have had much worse billets in the Peninsula. –Oh: no!” he said with a laugh as the young man looked in horror at the shelter of canvas and the straw within it. “No: we use this little shelter for the horses, at night. We ourselves bivouack in the house. The whole of the kitchen area is quite sound. It needs replastering, of course, but we are leaving that until last.”

    “Aye, then the Major and me will move into a room as is a room,” noted Dollery pointedly.

    “Jeb, old fellow, at least we do not wake in the night to find rats as big as cats stealing our meat!” he said with a laugh.

    “Aye, that were a piggery, Major, were it not?” agreed the man grimly.

    “Almost literally, I fear!” agreed the Major with a laugh.

    “And cockroaches! You never seen such h’animiles!” he said impressively to Paul and Luis.

    “Have I not, though, by Jove?” said Luís with feeling. “Why, when we were crossing the Pyrenees—”

    This was one of his favourite stories, and Paul let him tell it. Dollery, it was clear, was about to counter with one of his own Spanish horror tales, but the Major dismissed him, quietly but firmly, asking him to tell the men they could take their meal break now. Dollery stumped off to do so. Not neglecting to remind his master that he also should eat.

    “He seems a prime fellow,” said Luís enthusiastically. “He was telling me he was with you throughout the Peninsula campaign, Major, until he lost his leg.”

    “Yes; I owe him a lot,” said the Major, looking thoughtfully after his retreating figure.

    “So he has always been with you?” said Paul.

    “Why, no: to my shame, I regret to say he has not!” he replied with a grimace. “By the time we realized we should have settled Boney’s hash once and for all, he had long since been back in England, and I had lost touch with him. After I was invalided out after Waterloo, he turned up on my Papa’s doorstep in Bath, asking for me. He volunteered to accompany me down here to the depths of the countryside. He is a townsman himself, and finds the country people rather difficult to cope with. The more so as they persist in referring to us both as foreigners: he has had I know not how many fights in the local tavern over the point!”

    “They only mean you ain’t local,” said Luís.

    “Well, exactly, but poor Dollery takes it personally. No, well,” he said, cradling his bad elbow in an unconscious gesture, “though he despises the countryfolk, it is fortunate that he seems determined to stick with me, for he has made himself invaluable: a sort of—of combined foreman, head groom and nurse, I suppose!” He gave a little laugh.

    Luís went very red and got out: “But you appear to manage extraordinary well, sir!”

    “Mm? Oh,” he said, looking down at his arm, and releasing his elbow. “Yes: I was extremely lucky. It is only stiff, you know. But Dollery has been massaging the thing, and has me exercising the hand— Well, in short, he has given me better treatment than I ever had from any damned sawbones!” he said cheerfully. “He was himself in hospital for many months, poor fellow, and I think must have been a godsend to his fellow inmates. His is the sort of character that can never be down—an example to us all!”

    “Well, that is true,” agreed Paul calmly. “But I have always felt that it is wrong to feel that such natures are necessarily more praiseworthy than less optimistic ones. For it is a case, after all, of the temperament a man is born with.”

    “Oh, quite. But optimism,” said the Major on a wry note, “is generally seen as being more naturally deserving of praise than pessimism, is it not?”

    Paul perceived that Major Kernohan was at least as intelligent as he was himself, and looked at him with considerable interest. The man was certainly a great improvement upon Naseby! Even if, very clearly, Sir Julian’s more equable, not to say optimistic temperament, would be a much easier one to live with than Major Kernohan’s.

    “Certainly. And Christian teaching would maintain that we can all improve ourselves,” he said smoothly.

    The Major became aware that Mr Ainsley’s brother was looking at him very warily indeed. “True,” he replied cautiously.

    “Which,” continued Paul thoughtfully, “always seems to me to conflict oddly with the other Christian proposition, that we are all equal in God’s eyes. For if we are all equal, why should we strive to improve? And how, indeed, is there room for improvement?”

    Luís swallowed loudly.

    “Ah,” said Aurry. “But is not the notion of self-improvement an accretion of the Augustine school to a tenet which in itself is sometimes seen as merely a Pauline accretion in any case, to the more fundamental doctrine of the gospels?”

    Luís choked: “He has got you there, querido!” and went into a paroxysm.

    “Yes,” said Paul immediately. “I know nothing whatsoever of Christian theology, Major Kernohan, and in fact confess, if I may use the word, to having a father who told me he’d disown me if he caught me darkening a church door!”

    “Aye! Good thing—Harry ain’t—round our way—on Sundays!” gasped Luís painfully.

    Grinning, the Major returned: “I know very little about theology either, Mr Ainsley. Though my grandmother has a sufficiently extensive library on the topic. I was praying—if I may use the word—that you would not catch me out, and that in fact I did mean ‘Augustine’ and not something else entirely.”

    At this Paul broke down and laughed helplessly.

    The Major watched him with some pleasure. When he seemed to be over it he said: “So you do go to divine worship on Sundays?”

    “Well,” said Paul apologetically: “the local vicar is such a very decent fellow, you see.”

    It was Major Kernohan’s turn to break down and laugh helplessly.

    After that the three gentlemen adjourned very amicably indeed to the nearest tavern, there to consume quantities of bread, cheese, cold meat and pickled onions, washed down with more of the local ale. Luís attempted to draw the Major out over his Peninsula experiences, in especial with reference to the fighting on Tio Pedro’s lands in which, Dollery had earlier revealed to him, the regiment had been involved; but the Major would not be drawn, and instead turned the conversation to masons, brickwork, and the design of his new stables.

    Afterwards Paul invited Major Kernohan warmly to dine with them. Aurry hesitated, then gave his frank laugh and said: “I should like it of all things, Mr Ainsley, but I have not my dress clothes with me, in my bivouack.”

    “Oh, we ain’t dressing while my aunt is away!” said Luís eagerly.

    “No, indeed,” Paul agreed gravely, though his eyes twinkled.

    Major Kernohan smiled, accepted the invitation, and allowed Paul to fix a date. Luís then invited him warmly to a day’s shooting but he said he thought he should stick with the work, for the weather could break any day. Luís was about to attempt to persuade him, but caught his brother’s eye and desisted. Though he did say cautiously: “Er—s’pose you do not actually object to—uh—slaughtering a few birdth and so forth, Major?”

    “Er—no,” replied the Major in patent bewilderment, looking from Luís’s anxious face to Paul’s perfectly straight one. “Indeed, Dollery and I are largely living off the land at the moment. The preserves have been completely let go, but there is plenty of game to be had.”

    “Aye: old Gerrity says he can remember when Beaubois had the best pheasant shooting in the county, but the place is nothing but a jungle, now,” said Luis,  nodding wisely. “He would not care to take the pack through it.”

    “Do I gather that this Gerrity is the local M.F.H.?”

    “Of course! Upper Daynesfold pack!” replied Luís in amaze.

    “Yes,” said Major Kernohan in a very weak voice. “How many months did you say you had been in the country, Mr Luís?”

    Smiling sunnily, the innocent Luís told him. Paul had much ado not to collapse in a fit of hysterical laughter on the spot. But did not, for he could see the question had been intended to have precisely that effect!

    … “I say, he is not half a decent fellow,” said Luís as, having bidden the Major goodbye at the broken-down gates of his residence, they rode off towards Mr Fanshawe’s property in order to sustain the fiction which, Paul for one now felt strongly, there was no point in sustaining for Major Aurelius Kernohan’s benefit, at all.

    “He is a terrifyingly sharp fellow,” he agreed drily.

    “Paul, you did like him, did you not?” he gasped.

    “Very much,” said Paul, smiling.

    “Oh, good! –His man was telling me he has a deal of pain with that arm. Only fancy, he has been massaging it regular for him, ever since he joined up with him, and only t’other week, out pops a great black splinter, long as your little fingernail! And Kernohan only says Aye, the damned sawbones had said there might be something left in there! But Dollery says the arm has been much easier, since.”

    “Splendid. I hope there was no infection?”

    Luís reported that Dollery had not said there was, and Paul agreed tranquilly that had there been, he was sure to have mentioned it.

    They rode on in silence for a little.

    “I say, old boy, it is odd, though, that he is overseeing the work himself and—well, living in that way, y’know! Do you suppose,” said Luís with a little cough, “that possibly the family ain’t too flush?”

    Paul eyed him in some amusement, but also with considerable affection. “I do not think that can be the case, querido, for he has hired roofers, masons, and builders to put up the stables all at the one and the same time. No: I think rather that with Othello’s occupation being gone,” he said thoughtfully, “he has turned to the next one that was offered him, and thrown himself into it heart and soul.”

    “I see. Well, help him to forget, eh?” he said kindly.

    Paul did not inquire whether he meant forget his lost career, forget the horrors of war, or forget his own injury, for he could see that any or all of these was likely to be correct. “Sí, exactly. And he strikes me in any case as the type of man who likes to keep busy.”

    “Aye. –S’pose he will come to dinner?”

    “He has said he will,” returned Paul placidly.

    “Aye…”

    Paul looked at him sideways but did not speak.

    Finally Luís said: “Well, if he has accepted our dinner invitation, why the Devil did he not call, earlier?”

    Paul hesitated a little. “Dear old fellow, do not take it too much to heart, but— Well,” he said, biting his lip, “I think perhaps, after all he has been through, Major Kernohan may not be ready to think about—about making a change in his circumstances.”

    “But he ith making a change in his circumstanceth!”

    The failure to manage the English final “Z” was, of course, an indication that Luís was most upset about the Major’s neglect of Hildy. Paul did not remark on this but said as gently as he could: “Sí. A very big one. But whether he is ready to take the further big step of looking about him for a wife seems to me very doubtful, Luís.”

    Luís swallowed. “I suppose I do see,” he admitted glumly.

    “Yes. I think we must not try to be anything more than good neighbours, in the most casual way, you know, and—and not expect that he will call formally, or any such.”

    “No. Well,” he said with a sigh, “in any case the house is in such dashed bad heart, he could not possibly take a dear little thing like Hildy to it for many months to come.”

    “No,” agreed Paul mildly. Firmly not allowing himself to speculate on the pleasantness of in the future having Hildy married to an intelligent man and living at Beaubois House within a reasonable distance of not only Ainsley Manor but also Daynesford Place. For more than one proposal would have to be made—and accepted—before that pleasant scenario could come about!

    But take it for all in all, he was not at all displeased with their fishing expedition to Beaubois House, and reported favourably to Gaetana, though urging her, as he had urged Luís, not to hope for too much from Major Kernohan just yet.

    “I think I understand,” she said thoughtfully. “Losing his career and having to start all over again on a new life must be very like it was for us, leaving Harry and Marinela and having to come to England—and—and live a different sort of life.”

    Paul’s lips trembled a little but he just squeezed her hand and said softly: “Sí, little kitten. Very like that, I think.”