“That’s up to Sister.” Walter turned to the master.
“If we ever run short of foxes, I suppose we could, but right now the supply is good, and they’re healthy. I don’t remember seeing such shiny coats.”
“Walter, would you like me to send over Fannie and Kristal next Saturday?” She named her cook and head maid. Marty lived well.
“Thank you, Marty, that is so kind of you, but I hired Chef Ted once I knew I was having the big breakfast.”
“Oh, that’s right. The photographer Jim Meads is flying over from Wales. Guess we have to braid.” Crawford sounded as though it would be his fingers that cramped up, not Fairy’s joints. “You’ll be glad to see your old friend, I know.”
“Up to you,” Sister replied. “And I can’t wait to see Jim. He’ll be in the lap of luxury, staying at Beasley Hall.” She wanted Jim to herself, but she knew Marty and Crawford would knock themselves out to entertain him plus buy numerous photographs. She’d host him some other time.
“His photographs are shown all over the world. I mean, even the Prince of Wales sees them. He’s been in some of them, wearing, I can’t remember which hunt’s colors, whether it was the Quorn or the Duke of Beaufort.” Crawford couldn’t wait to be snapped by Mr. Meads.
Edward and Tedi remained silent. Of course they would braid. Why ask?
“My field always looks proper and rises to any occasion,” said Sister. “Jim Meads will be impressed as always when he sees the Jefferson Hunt.”
“And Mill Ruins is a romantic fixture,” Tedi said.
“As is Beveridge Hundred.” Sister smiled at Xavier.
Xavier laughed.“Beveridge Hundred would be a lot more photogenic if I’d paint the outbuildings. Even though it doesn’t last.”
“Nothing lasts anymore since they took the lead out of the damned paint,” Crawford grumbled.
Showoff that he was, every fence on his property was four board—not three board but four board—white. Men toiled, painting throughout each summer. With a half million dollars worth of fencing at Beasley Hall, Crawford aspired to perfection.
Most everyone else used Fence Coat Black, a special mixture from a paint supply in Lexington, Kentucky. Sister shipped it in fifty-five-gallon barrels. The stuff lasted almost eight years if one put on two coats.
However one looked at it, fencing was a necessary expense.
“Where’s Clay today? Or Ron?” Tedi inquired.
“Some kind of Heart Fund do,” Sister said. Both sat on the board for the County Heart Fund.
They rode up on the Hilltoppers.
Bobby Franklin, face ruddy from the cold, said,“Filthy, filthy footing.”
“You’ve still got the horse between your legs,” Sister told him.
“And everything else, too, I hope,” Walter teased.
“Bunch of perverts.” Bobby shook his head.
Ben Sidell, on Nonni, chimed in,“You just figured that out? That’s why I moved here from Ohio. I thought being sheriff in a county full of perverts would be, well, a challenge.”
“And are we disappointing you?” Tedi sweetly inquired.
He laughed.“Mostly there’s good people, but there’s just enough of the other kind to keep me busy.”
“Nonni’s a packer, isn’t she?” Bobby admired the tough mare; being a packer meant she could take care of a green rider.
Nonni knew more than the human atop her, which made her special.
“Thank God,” Ben agreed. “Oh, Sister, you were right, by the way. Sam Lorillard did know Mitch Banachek. The other men down at the railroad station were either too drunk or too afraid to tell us. Whenever they see a squad car, if they can, they walk.”
Crawford, on hearing his trainer’s name, spoke a little too rapidly. “Not in trouble, is he?”
“Not at all, Mr. Howard.” Ben swiveled to look behind him. “Sam was very helpful in locating next of kin to the two men who died down at the train station.”
“Good, good.” Crawford cleared his throat.
No one said anything because Gray Lorillard rode behind them. He’d been at the back of the First Flight, and Crawford hadn’t realized that when he asked Ben about Sam. Of course, he might have asked it anyway, while other riders, had it been their question, would have waited.
Sister slowed for other riders.“Go on—” She then smiled. “—you can ride in front of the master.”
She waited for Gray to come alongside.“Gray, would you mind terribly coming back to my farm for lunch? The girls are with me today, Jennifer and Sari. They can clean your horse and tack. They’ll put your horse in a stall, and, when you’re ready, you can load him right back up again. If we each go home, see to our horses, clean up, we won’t get to the club until three or four. Let’s just eat a relaxed lunch in my kitchen. You can take me to the club on a non-hunting day.”
His teeth shone bright white when he smiled, his military mustache drawing attention to his teeth.“What a good idea. Are you sure the girls won’t mind?”
“No. They are two wonderful kids.”
She checked the hounds at the party wagon, thanked her whippers-in, and quietly told Betty she’d be having a t?te?-t?te with Gray. She then handed her horse over to Jennifer. As she walked by Ben, he motioned her to come over.
“Sister, the results came back on Mitch. Hemlock. Same as Tony.”
She grimaced, imagining their last moments.“Hope it’s some kind of fluke. My throat constricts just thinking about them drinking that poison.”
“You can claim Anthony tomorrow if that suits.” He lowered his voice.
“I’ll have Carl Haslip,” she named one of the local funeral homes run by one of Ronnie’s relatives, “go to the morgue tomorrow. If nothing else, Anthony will have a Christian burial.”
She gingerly walked back to her truck, thinking about the total loss of self-respect those men at the station exhibited. She had noticed how oddly some walked, their legs wide apart in a strange kind of lurching shuffle. She’d realized they had peed themselves so many times that the skin on their legs was burned. Their pants, encrusted, rubbed them raw. When a human sank that low, maybe he wouldn’t even notice hemlock, or maybe he had tired of the slow suicide of alcoholism and had elected a swifter route. Thenshe also recalled their raucous laughter at times when she’d seen them at the downtown mall. Suicide didn’t ring true. Nor could she imagine Anthony Tolliver wanting to kill himself. He’d hang on for one last drink.
CHAPTER 10
“Thou unravished bride of quietness,” Gray quoted Keats. “However, once she was ravished, she babbled incessantly and usually it was a litany of my shortcomings.”
Sister laughed as she poured the Mumm de Cramant. They sat in front of the huge kitchen fireplace.
The coffeepot gurgled. She put the bottle of Cramant back in the ice bucket shaped like a sitting fox, a beautiful Christmas gift from Walter. Back at the counter Sister poured her favorite coffee, Shenandoah Eye Opener.“Cream? Sugar? Honey? I have crumbly brown sugar.”
“Barefoot.”
She brought him a steaming cup of black coffee, putting cream and honey in hers.“Gray, I’d forgotten how funny you can be.”
The deep creases around his eyes lengthened as he smiled.“Well, I might as well laugh at my own expense. Doesn’t cost a cent.”
“I imagine the divorce did, though.”
“Women extract their revenge for love lost, but here I am talking to one. You know, Sister, everyone has his or her story, and everyone can make excuses. It seems to me you can make a life or you can make excuses, but you can’t do both.”
She clicked her champagne glass to his.“Exactly.”
“Actually, I learned a lot. Theresa and I grew apart. Living with another person is like visiting another country; you have to learn a new language, and so does she. It’s obvious, but it wasn’t at the time.” He paused. “You and Raymond managed.”
“We practically killed each other, but we never did stop talking. And Gray, it’s no secret that he had his affairs, and, well, it’s more of a secret, I suppose, because women are better at glossing over these things, but I had mine.”