``Is he married to that rather lovely woman we saw at the Cafй de Paris?''
``Yes.'
``The one you said was in love with that young man?''
``Yes.''
``Funny of her ... What's this one's name again?''
``Tony Last. It's a pretty ghastly house, isn't it?''
``Is it? I never notice houses much.''
She was an easy guest to entertain. After dinner on Monday she produced four packs of cards and laid out for herself on the smoking room table a very elaborate patience, which kept her engrossed all the evening. ``Don't wait up for me,'' she said. ``I shall stay here until it comes out. It often takes several hours.''
They showed her where to put the lights out and left her to it.
Next day Jock said, ``Have you got any pigs at the farm?''
``Yes.''
``Would you mind if I went to see them?''
``Not the least--but why?''
``And is there a man who looks after them, who will be able to explain about them?''
``Yes.''
``Well, I think I'll spend the morning with him. I've got to make a speech about pigs, fairly soon.''
They did not see Mrs. Rattery until luncheon. Tony assumed she was asleep until she appeared in overalls from the morning room. ``I was down early,'' she explained, ``and found the men at work stripping the ceiling. I couldn't resist joining in. I hope you don't mind.''
In the afternoon they went to a neighbouring livery stables to look for hirelings. After tea Tony wrote to Brenda; he had taken to writing letters in the past few weeks.
How enjoyable the week-end was, he wrote. Thank you a thousand times for all your sweetness. I wish you were coming down next week-end, or that you had been able to stay on a little, but I quite understand.
The Shameless Blonde is not the least what we expected--very serene and distant. Not at all like Jock's usual taste.
The work in the morning room is going on well. The foreman told me today he thought he would begin on the chromium plating by the end of the week. You know what I think about that.
John can talk of nothing except his hunting tomorrow. I hope he doesn't break his neck. Jock and his S.B. are going out too.
Hetton lay near the boundary of three packs; the Pigstanton, who hunted it, had in the division of territory come off with the worst country and they cherished a permanent resentment about some woods near Bayton. They were a somewhat ill-tempered lot, contemptuous of each other's performance, hostile to strangers, torn by internal rancour; united only in their dislike of the Master. In the case of Colonel Inch this unpopularity, traditional to the hunt, was quite undeserved; he was a timid, inconspicuous man who provided the neighbourhood with sport of a kind at great personal expense. He himself was seldom in sight of hounds and could often be found in another part of the country morosely nibbling ginger nut biscuits in a lane or towards the end of the day cantering heavily across country, quite lost, a lonely scarlet figure against the ploughed land, staring about him in the deepening twilight and shouting at yokels for information. The only pleasure he gained from his position, but that a substantial one, was in referring to it casually at Board Meetings of the various companies he directed. .
The Pigstanton met twice a week. There was seldom a large field on Wednesdays, but the Hetton meet was popular; it lay in their best country and the prospect of stirrup cups had drawn many leathery old ladies from the neighbouring packs. There were also followers on foot and in every kind of vehicle, some hanging back diffidently, others, more or less known to Tony, crowding round the refreshment table. Mr. Tendril had a niece staying with him, who appeared on a motor bicycle.
John stood beside Thunderclap, solemn with excitement. Ben had secured a powerful, square-headed mare from a neighbouring farmer; he hoped to have a hunt after John had been taken home; at John's earnest entreaty nanny was confined indoors, among the housemaids whose heads obtruded at the upper windows; it was not her day. She had been out of temper while dressing him. ``If I'm in at the death I expect Colonel Inch will blood me.
``You won't see any death,'' said nanny.
Now she stood with her eyes at a narrow slit gazing rather resentfully at the animated scene below. ``It's all a lot of nonsense of Ben Hacket's,'' she thought. She deplored it all, hounds, Master, field, huntsman and whippers-in, Miss Tendril's niece in her mackintosh, jock in rat-catcher, Mrs. Rattery in tall hat and cutaway coat oblivious of the suspicious glances of the subscribers, Tony smiling and chatting to his guests, the crazy old man with the terriers, the Press photographer, pretty Miss Ripon in difficulties with a young horse, titapping sideways over the lawn, the grooms and second horses, the humble, unknown followers in the background--it was all a lot of nonsense of Ben Hacket's. ``It was after eleven before the child got to sleep last night,'' she reflected, ``he was that over-excited.''
Presently they moved off towards Bruton wood. The way lay down the South drive through Compton Last, along the main road for half a mile, and then through fields. ``He can ride with them as far as the covert,'' Tony had said.
``Yes, sir, and there'd be no harm in his staying a bit to see hounds working, would there?''
``No, I suppose not.''
``And if he breaks away towards home, there'd be no harm in our following a bit, if we keeps to the lanes and gates, would there, sir?''
``No, but he's not to stay out more than an hour.''
``You wouldn't have me take him home with hounds running, would you, sir?''
``Well he's got to be in before one.''
``I'll see to that, sir.'' ``Don't you worry, my beauty,'' he said to John, ``you'll get a hunt right enough.''
They waited until the end of the line of horses and then trotted soberly behind them. Close at their heels followed the motor-cars, at low gear, in a fog of exhaust gas. John was breathless and slightly dizzy. Thunderclap was tossing her head and worrying at her snaffle. Twice while the field was moving off, she had tried to get away and had taken John round in a little circle, so that Ben had said, ``Hold on to her, son'' and had come up close beside him so as to be able to catch the reins if she looked like bolting. Once boring forwards with her head she took John by surprise and pulled him forwards out of his balance; he caught hold of the front of the saddle to steady himself and looked guiltily at Ben. ``I'm afraid I'm riding very badly today. D'you think anyone has noticed?''
``That's all right, son. You can't keep riding-school manners when you're hunting.''
Jock and Mrs. Rattery trotted side by side. ``I rather like this absurd horse,'' she said; she rode astride and it was evident from the moment she mounted that she rode extremely well.
The members of the Pigstanton noted this with ill-concealed resentment for it disturbed their fixed opinion according to which, though all fellow members of the hunt were clowns and poltroons, strangers were without exception mannerless lunatics, and a serious menace to anyone within quarter of a mile of them.
Half way through the village Miss Ripon had difficulties in getting past a stationary baker's van. Her horse plunged and reared, trembling all over, turning about, and slipping frantically over the tarmac: They rode round her giving his heels the widest berth, scowling ominously and grumbling about her. They all knew that horse. Miss Ripon's father had been trying to sell him all the season, and had lately come down to eighty pounds. He was a good jumper on occasions but a beast of a horse to ride. Did Miss Ripon's father really imagine he was improving his chances of a sale by letting Miss Ripon make an exhibition of herself? It was like that skinflint Miss Ripon's father, to risk Miss Ripon's neck for eighty pounds. And anyway Miss Ripon had no business out on any horse ...