Shaker pushed through the crowd toward Crawford. He had the presence of mind to say to the hounds,“Steady, steady.”
“Don’t, Mr. Crown, don’t,” she said quite calmly, but with true command.
The sight of this slip of a girl, ravishingly beautiful, in front of a man he couldn’t abide, made him realize Crawford wasn’t worth hitting. He snatched the horn from Crawford’s vest.
Hounds gobbled leftovers, gleefully pulling plates off tables or getting on the tables.
Valentina looked over the astonished crowd and saw Knute, knife in hand, pursuing Bill. Both men crashed through the double doors.
“Sister! Sister! It’s Knute and he’s got a knife, chasing Bill.”
Sister walked up to Crawford and slapped him hard across the face.“I will see you rot in Hell.”
This stunned the onlookers more than the hounds filling the Great Hall.
Shaker put the horn to his lips, blowing three long notes.
Cora, Diana, Ardent, the Ds, the Ts, all came, although they hated to leave the feast.
That fast, Sister, holding up her own long skirts, hurried out of the building.“Come on, huntsman, come on.”
There was not a moment to load the hounds, much as Sister wanted to put them up. In fact, there wasn’t a moment to lose.
Shaker, Gray, Charlotte, Sam, Walter, Valentina, Tootie, Pamela, Felicity, and Howard followed.
Rarely had Shaker seen that urgency in his master. He trusted her completely and followed her with the pack.
Betty yelled over to Sybil,“Whip in, Sybil. You take the right. I’ll take the left.”
Holding up their skirts, they plunged outside into the deep cold, caught up with the hounds, and, shivering, running along, ensured order.
In the distance they could see Knute, a fitter, faster man, gaining on Bill Wheatley, who was heading for the theater department. He made it, slamming the door in Knute’s face, but Knute got it open before Bill could lock it.
The hounds and humans ran faster, Gray up front with Shaker.“Hurry, man, hurry!”
By now, the rest of the celebrants spilled out onto the quad to watch in fascination and wonder at the sight.
Gray hurled open the door, hounds moving ahead of him.
“Get ’em up,” Shaker called, as he was beginning to get the picture.
Naturally, they looked for foxes, and there were some tatty old furs in the costume storage room. The hounds heard the human feet ahead, running, as Bill bolted into the costume room, hoping he could somehow hide from Knute.
Knute was quickly in the room, brushing costumes aside, tearing them off hangers in a silent, efficient rage.
Bill tiptoed through the rows of costumes until he came to the back of the room where the fake guns, battle-axes, and swords were stored. He flipped open a cabinet and pulled out Zorro’s sword, sharp enough to cut rope and ribbon, which the play demanded. He waited.
Gray and Shaker opened the door. They could hear the costumes being pulled off hangers. The hounds were silent. As the men moved forward so did the hounds.
Sister, Charlotte, and the girls were right behind the hounds, as were Betty and Sybil. Howard had moved up with the men. He was young, strong, and confident.
“I know you’re here.” Knute was oblivious to the hounds and humans moving through the costumes.
Bill waited, listening intently for Knute’s footfall. He was coming from the right.
Knute pulled aside the last row of costumes and saw Bill, who hid the sword behind his back.
“Knute, fancy meeting you here.” He smiled genially.
“You son of a bitch!” Knute flung himself forward, knife in the air.
That fast, Bill Wheatley ran him through.
The hounds reached the twitching figure first, blood oozing from Knute’s mouth.
“It’s a kill!” Dasher declared.
“Leave it,” Cora ordered.
The hounds surrounded Knute and Bill, who said, as the humans reached him,“Mad as a hatter.”
C H A P T E R 3 3
“Did we do something wrong?” Little Diddy asked Ardent as they were being loaded on the party wagon.
“No,” Ardent stated authoritatively.
“Crawford did wrong.” Asa’s gravelly voice carried in the bitterly cold night air.“That’s why Sister slapped him.”
Sister, a floor-length mink over her white Balenciaga, was loading hounds with Gray, Sam, and Shaker.
Shaken as they were by what had happened, they had to take care of the hounds, their first responsibility.
Charlotte, Carter, Walter, and the other men of the club remained with Bill Wheatley as Ben Sidel’s squad car siren screamed in the distance.
The revelers, by twos, walked to their cars. This surely had been an unforgettable hunt ball.
Sorrel, frantically, made sure those who won their bids took their items, as she didn’t want anything of value left in the Great Hall. Marty couldn’t help since she was ministering to her husband. Marty loved him but knew he was wrong and feared Sister’s wrath. She guided him out of the hall to the parking lot. He was shouting and cursing but she managed to get him in the car.
The decorations needed to come down, but at that moment they couldn’t think about it. No one in the hall knew of Knute’s murder for twenty minutes until Felicity and Howard, sent back by Charlotte, informed them they should go home. When asked why, the two young people told the truth.
Tootie and Valentina, Betty and Sybil, stayed with Sister, helping to load hounds.
Lorraine, aghast at the turn of events, silently watched as Shaker calmly praised the hounds, loading them into the trailer.
“Good food!” Dragon enthused.
“Roast beef,” Trudy dreamily said, her belly full of it.
When the door was closed and latched, Shaker headed for the driver’s door.
“Shaker, I wouldn’t complain if you killed him,” Betty said.
“This isn’t over. You go. I’ll stay.” Sister half-closed her eyes for a minute.
“I’ll stay, too. You’re in danger.” He put his arms around his boss’s broad shoulders.
“No, honey, go. Hounds first. Gray and Walter are here.” She then opened the passenger door, opened the glove compartment, and removed the .38. She took out the box of shells, clicked open the chamber, filling the six holes with bullets. She put the box of shells in her left pocket, the .38 in her right. Usually Shaker or Walter rode with a .38 under his coat. If a deer had not been finished off by a hunter one of the men completed the unenviable but humane task.
Shaker looked at her.“Boss, for God’s sake, be careful.”
A broad smile crossed her face; she was energized by the danger. She said,“I’m a tough old bird. Go on.”
Tootie, shivering—her coat wasn’t heavy enough—said, “We should go to the cases.”
“Yes. Can you collect the girls who worked with Professor Kennedy to meet me at the Main Hall? Get Mrs. Norton, too.”
Shaker, Lorraine in the truck cab with him, fired up the motor and slowly pulled out, worried sick about Sister.
Gray put his hand on Sister’s shoulder. She turned to him; they started the long walk to Old Main Hall.
“I will kill Crawford myself. The point is a pack of hounds, any kind of hounds, has been bred, trained, developed, and loved for one purpose and one purpose only: to chase the quarry. I don’t believe in demonstrations before crowds. I don’t believe in marching hounds in parades on hot pavement. I don’t believe in taking hounds to county fairs so children can pet them. If we want to promote foxhunting in a positive light then the first thing we do is honor our hounds. Make videos if you must, but do not use your hounds for any frivolous purpose. I know I’m conservative on this but that’s what I believe and as long as I am master of Jefferson Hunt, these hounds will not be trifled with, and I know once Crawford’s rage passes he will find a way to make himself right and Shaker and myself wrong.” Her heel slipped on a bit of icy sidewalk. He grabbed her elbow. “Sorry, Gray, I didn’t mean to pontificate.” She took a deep breath, the frigid air hitting her lungs. “And I’m worried. We’ve got to find what’s in those cases. We aren’t going to like it.”