CHAPTER XIII
THE END OF A PERFECT DAY
"Are you ready, Norah?"
"Coming, Phil--half a minute!"
Hardress, in riding kit, looked into the kitchen, where Norah wascarrying on a feverish consultation with Miss de Lisle.
"You'll be late," he said warningly. "Your father and Geoffrey havegone on."
"Will I truly?" said Norah distractedly. "Yes, Miss de Lisle, I'llwrite to the Stores about it to-night. Now, what about the fish?"
"Leave the fish to me," said Miss de Lisle, laughing. "If I can'tmanage to worry out a fish course without you, I don't deserve to havehalf my diplomas. Run away: the house won't go to pieces in a singlehunting day."
"Bless you!" said Norah thankfully, dragging on her gloves and castinga wild glance about the kitchen for her hunting crop. "Oh, there itis. Good-bye. You won't forget that Major Arkwright is only allowedwhite meat?"
"Oh, run away--I won't forget anything."
"Well, he only came last night, so I thought you mightn't know," saidthe apologetic mistress of the house. "All right, Phil--I'm trulycoming. Good-bye, Miss de Lisle!" The words floated back as sheraced off to the front door, where the horses were frettingimpatiently, held by the groom.
They jogged down the avenue--Hardress on one of the brown cobs, Norahon Brunette, the black pony--her favourite mount. It was a perfecthunting morning: mild and still, with almost a hint of spring warmthin the air. The leafless trees bore faint signs of swellingleaf-buds. Here and there, in the grass beside the drive crocus bellspeeped out at them--purple, white and gold.
"We'll have daffodils soon, I do believe," Norah said. "Well, I loveAustralia, but there isn't anything in the world lovelier than yourEnglish spring!"
Ahead of them, as they turned into the road, they could see Mr.Linton, looking extraordinarily huge on Killaloe, beside Geoffrey'slittle figure on Brecon.
"This is a great day for Geoff," Hardress said.
"Yes--he has been just longing to go to a meet. Of course he hasdriven a good many times, but Mrs. Hunt has been a bit nervous abouthis riding. But he's perfectly safe--and it isn't as if Brecon evergot excited."
"No. Come along, Norah, there's a splendid stretch of grass here:let's canter!"
They had agreed upon a Christian-name footing some time before, whenit seemed that Hardress was likely to be a permanent member of thehousehold. She looked at him now, as they cantered along through thedew-wet grass at the side of the road. No one would have guessed atanything wrong with him: he was bronzed and clear-eyed, and sat aseasily in the saddle as though he had never been injured.
"Sometimes," said Norah suddenly, "I find myself wondering which ofyour legs is the shop one!" She flushed. "I suppose I oughtn't tomake personal remarks, but your leg does seem family property!"
"So it is," said Hardress, grinning. "Anyhow, you couldn't make anicer personal remark than that one. So I forgive you. But it's allthanks to you people."
"We couldn't have done anything if you hadn't been determined to geton," Norah answered. "As soon as you made up your mind to that--well,you got on."
"I don't know how you stood me so long," he muttered. Then theycaught up to the riders ahead, and were received by Geoffrey with ajoyful shout.
"You were nearly late, Norah," said Mr. Linton.
"I dragged her from the kitchen, sir," Hardress said. "She and Missde Lisle were poring over food--if we get no dinner to-night it willbe our fault."
"If _you_ had the responsibility of feeding fourteen hungry people youwouldn't make a joke of it," said Norah. "It's very solemn,especially when the fishmonger fails you hopelessly."
"There's always tinned salmon," suggested her father.
"Tinned salmon, indeed!" Norah's voice was scornful. "We haven'tcome yet to giving the Tired People dinner out of a tin. However,it's all right: Miss de Lisle will work some sort of a miracle. I'mnot going to think of housekeeping for a whole day!"
The meet was four miles away, near a marshy hollow thickly coveredwith osiers and willows. A wood fringed the marsh, and covered a hillwhich rose from a little stream beyond it. Here and there was aglimpse of the yellow flame of gorse. There were rolling fields allround, many of them ploughed: it had not yet been made compulsory forevery landowner to till a portion of his holding, but English farmerswere beginning to awake to the fact that while the German submarineflourished it would be both prudent and profitable to grow as muchfood as possible, and the plough had been busy. The gate into thefield overlooking the marsh stood open; a few riders were convergingtowards it from different points. The old days of crowded meets andbig fields of riders were gone. Only a few plucky people struggled tokeep the hounds going, and to find work for the hunters that hadescaped the first requisition of horses for France.
The hounds came into view as Mr. Linton's party arrived. The "Master"came first, on a big, workmanlike grey; a tall woman, with aweatherbeaten face surmounted by a bowler hat. The hounds trottedmeekly after her, one or another pausing now and then to drink at awayside puddle before being rebuked for bad manners by a watchfulwhip. Mrs. Ainslie liked the Lintons; she greeted them pleasantly.
"Nice morning," she said. "Congratulations: I hear the boy is aCaptain."
"We can't quite realize it," Norah said, laughing. "You see, wehardly knew he had grown up!"
"Well, he grew to a good size," said Mrs. Ainslie, with a smile."Hullo, Geoff. Are you going to follow to-day?"
"They won't let me," said Geoffrey dolefully. "I know Brecon and Icould, but Mother says we're too small."
"Too bad!" said Mrs. Ainslie. "Never mind; you'll be big prettysoon."
A tall old man in knickerbockers greeted her: Squire Brand, who owneda famous property a few miles away, and who had the reputation ofnever missing a meet, although he did not ride. He knew every inch ofthe country; it was said that he could boast, at the end of a season,that he had, on the whole, seen more of the runs than any one elseexcept the Master. He was a tireless runner, with an extraordinarilylong stride, which carried him over fields and ditches and gave himthe advantage of many a short cut impossible to most people. He knewevery hound by name; some said he knew every fox in the country; andhe certainly had an amazing knowledge of the direction a fox waslikely to take. Horses, on the other hand, bored him hopelessly; heconsented to drive them, in the days when motors were not, but merelyas a means of getting from place to place. A splendid car, with achauffeur much smarter than his master, had just dropped him: a grantfigure in weatherbeaten Harris tweeds, grasping a heavy stick.
"We should get a good run to-day," he said.
"Yes--with luck," Mrs. Ainslie answered.
"Any news from the Colonel?"
"Nothing in particular--plenty of hard fighting. But he never writesmuch of that. He's much more interested in a run he had with a queerscratch pack near their billets. I can't quite gather how it wasorganized, but it comprised two beagles and a greyhound and afox-terrier and a pug. He said they had a very sporting time!"
Squire Brand chuckled.
"I don't doubt it," he said. "Did he say what they hunted?"
"Anything they could get, apparently. They began with a hare, andthen got on to a rabbit, in some mysterious fashion. They finished upwith a brisk run in the outskirts of a village, and got a kill--itturned out this time to be a cat!" Mrs. Ainslie's rather grimfeatures relaxed into a smile. "If any one had told Val two years agothat he would be enthusiastic over a day like that!"
A few other riders had come up: two or three officers from aneighbouring town; a couple of old men, and a sprinkling of girls.Philip Hardress was the only young man in plain clothes, and strangerswho did not suspect anything amiss with his leg looked at himcuriously.
"Look at that dear old thing!" he whispered to Norah, indicating aprim maiden lady who had arrived on foot. "I know she's aching for achance to ask me why I'm not in khaki!" He grinned delightedly."She's rather like the ol
d lady who met me in the train the other day,and after looking at me sadly for a few minutes said, 'My dear youngman, do you not know that your King and Country want you?'"
"Phil! What did you say?"
"I said, 'Well, they've got one of my legs, and they don't seem tohave any use for the remnant!' I don't think she believed me, so Iinvited her to prod it!" He chuckled at his grim joke. Three monthsago he had shrunk from any mention of his injury as from the lash of awhip.
Mrs. Ainslie never wasted time. Two minutes' grace for anylaggards--which gave time for the arrival of a stout lady on aweight-carrying cob--and then she moved on, and in a moment the houndswere among the osiers, hidden except that now and then a waving sterncaught the eye. Occasionally there was a brief whimper, and once ayoung hound gave tongue too soon, and was, presumably, rebuked by hismother, and relapsed into hunting in shamed silence.
The osiers proved blank: they drew out, and went up the hill into thecovert, while the field moved along to be as close as possible, andthe followers on foot dodged about feverishly, hoping for luck thatwould make a fox break their way. Too often the weary lot of the footcontingent is to see nothing whatever after the hounds once entercovert, since the fox is apt to leave it as unobtrusively as possibleat the far side, and to take as short a line as he can across countryto another refuse. To follow the hounds on foot needs a stout heartand patience surpassing that of Job.
But those on horses know little of the blighting experiences of thefoot-plodders: and when Norah went a-hunting everything ceased toexist for her except the white-and-black-and-tan hounds and the greenfields, and Brunette under her, as eager as she for the firstlong-drawn-out note from the pack. They moved restlessly back andforth along the hillside, the black pony dancing with impatience atthe faintest whimper from an unseen hound. Near them Killaloe set anexample of steadiness--but with watchful eyes and pricked ears.
Squire Brand came up to them.
"I'd advise you to get up near the far end of the covert," he said."It's almost a certainty that he'll break away there and make abee-line across to Harley Wood. I hope he will, for there's lessplough there than in the other direction." He hurried off, and Norahpermitted Brunette to caper after him. A young officer on a big bayfollowed their example.
"Come along," he said to a companion. "It's a safe thing to followold Brand's lead if you want to get away well."
Where the covert ended the hill sloped gently to undulating fields,divided by fairly stiff hedges with deep ditches, and occasionally bypost-and-rail fences, more like the jumps that Norah knew inAustralia. The going was good and sound, and there was no wire--thatterror of the hunter. Norah had always hated wire, either plain orbarbed. She held that it found its true level in being used againstGermans.
Somewhere in a tangle of bracken an old hound spoke sharply. A littlethrill ran through her. She saw her father put his pipe in his pocketand pull his hat more firmly down on his forehead, while she held backBrunette, who was dancing wildly. Then came another note, andanother, and a long-drawn burst of music from the hounds; and suddenlyNorah saw a stealthy russet form, with brush sweeping the ground, thatstole from the covert and slid down the slope, and after him, aleaping wave of brown and white and black as hounds came bounding fromthe wood and flung themselves upon the scent, with Mrs. Ainslie closebehind. Some one shouted "Gone awa-a-y!" in a voice that went ringingin echoes round the hillside.
Brunette bucked airily over the low fence near the covert, andKillaloe took it almost in his stride. Then they were racing side byside down the long slope, with the green turf like wet velvetunderfoot; and the next hedge seemed rushing to meet them. Over,landing lightly in the next field; before them only the "Master" andwhip, and the racing hounds, with burning eyes for the little redspeck ahead, trailing his brush.
"By Jove, Norah!" said David Linton, "we're in for a run!"
Norah nodded. Speech was beyond her; only all her being was singingwith the utter joy of the ride. Beneath her Brunette was spurning theturf with dainty hooves; stretching out in her gallop, yet gatheringherself cleverly at her fences, with alert, pricked ears--judging herdistance, and landing with never a peck or stumble. The light weighton the pony's back was nothing to her; the delicate touch on her mouthwas all she needed to steady her at the jumps.
Near Harley Wood the fox decided regretfully that safety layelsewhere: the enemy, running silently and surely, were too hot on histrack. He crept through a hedge, and slipped like a shadow down aditch; and hounds, jumping out, were at fault for a moment. Theslight check gave the rest of the field time to get up.
"That's a great pony!" Norah heard the young officer say. She pattedBrunette's arching neck.
Then a quick cast of the hounds picked up the scent, and again theywere off, but no longer with the fences to themselves; so that it wasnecessary to be watchful for the cheerful enthusiast who jumps on topof you, and the prudent sportsman who wobbles all over the field inhis gallop, seeking for a gap. Killaloe drew away again: there was nohunter in the country side to touch him. After him went Brunette,with no notion of permitting her stable companion to lose her in a runlike this.
A tall hedge faced them, with an awkward take-off from the bank of aditch. Killaloe crashed through; Brunette came like a bird in histracks, Norah's arm across her face to ward off the loose branches.She got through with a tear in her coat, landing on stiff ploughthrough which Mrs. Ainslie's grey was struggling painfully.Brunette's light burden was all in her favour here--Norah was first tothe gate on the far side, opening it just in time for the "Master,"and thrilling with joy at that magnate's brief "Thank you!" as shepassed through and galloped away. The plough had given the hounds along lead. But ahead were only green fields, dotted by clumps oftrees: racing ground, firm and springy. The air sang in their ears.The fences seemed as nothing; the good horses took them in racingstyle, landing with no shock, and galloping on, needing no touch ofwhip or spur.
The old dog-fox was tiring, as well he might, and yet, ahead, he knew,lay sanctuary, in an old quarry where the piled rocks hid a hole wherehe had lain before, with angry hounds snuffing helplessly around him.He braced his weary limbs for a last effort. The cruel eyes andlolling tongues were very close behind him; but his muscles weresteel, and he knew how to save every short cut that gave him so muchas a yard. He saw the quarry, just ahead, and snarled his triumph inhis untamed heart.
Brunette's gallop was faltering a little, and Norah's heart sank. Shehad never had such a run: it was hard if she could not see it out,when they had led the field the whole way--and while yet Killaloe wasgoing like a galloping-machine in front. Then she heard a shout fromher father and saw him point ahead. "Water!" came to her. She sawthe gleam of water, fringed by reeds: saw Killaloe rise like a deer atit, taking off well on the near side, and landing with many feet tospare.
"Oh--we can do that," Norah thought. "Brunette likes water."
She touched the pony with her heel for the first time, and spoke toher. Brunette responded instantly, gathering herself for the jump.Again Norah heard a shout, and was conscious of the feeling of vagueirritation that we all know when some one is trying to tell ussomething we cannot possibly hear. She took the pony at the jumpabout twenty yards from the place where Killaloe had flown it. Nearerand nearer. The water gleamed before her, very close: she felt thepony steady herself for the leap. Then the bank gave way under herheels: there was a moment's struggle and a stupendous splash.
Norah's first thought was that the water was extremely cold; then,that the weight on her left leg was quite uncomfortable. Brunettehalf-crouched, half-lay, in the stream, too bewildered to move; thenshe sank a little more to one side and Norah had to grip her mane tokeep herself from going under the surface. It seemed an unpleasantlylong time before she saw her father's face.
"Norah--are you hurt?"
"No, I'm not hurt," she said. "But I can't get my leg out--andBrunette seems to think she wants to stay here. I suppose she fin
dsthe mud nice and soft." She tried to smile at his anxious face, butfound it not altogether easy.
"We'll get you out," said David Linton. He tugged at the pony'sbridle; and Mrs. Ainslie, arriving presently, came to his assistance,while some of the other riders, coming up behind, encouraged Brunettewith shouts and hunting-crops. Thus urged, Brunette decided that somefurther effort was necessary, and made one, with a mighty flounder,while Norah rolled off into the water. Half a dozen hands helped herat the bank.
"You're sure you're not hurt?" her father asked anxiously. "I washorribly afraid she'd roll on your leg when she moved."
"I'm quite all right--only disgustingly wet," said Norah. "Oh, and Imissed the finish--did you ever know such bad luck?"
"Well, you only missed the last fifty yards," said Mrs. Ainslie,pointing to the quarry, from which the whips were dislodging theaggrieved hounds. "We finished there; and that old fox is good foranother day yet. I'd give you the brush, if he hadn't decided to keepit himself."
"Oh!" said Norah, blushing, while her teeth chattered. "Wasn't it abeautiful run!"
"It was--but something has got to be done with you," said Mrs. Ainsliefirmly. "There's a farmhouse over there, Mr. Linton: I know thepeople, and they'll do anything they can for you. Hurry her over andget her wet things off--Mrs. Hardy will lend her some clothes." AndNorah made a draggled and inglorious exit.
Mrs. Hardy received her with horrified exclamations and offers of allthat she had in the house: so that presently Norah found herselfdrinking cup after cup of very hot tea and eating buttered toast withher father--attired in a plaid blouse of green and red in largechecks, and a black velvet skirt that had seen better days; withcarpet slippers lending a neat finish to a somewhat strikingappearance. Without, farm hands rubbed down Killaloe and Brunette inthe stable. Mrs. Hardy fluttered in and out, bringing more and yetmore toast, until her guests protested vehemently that exhaustednature forbade them to eat another crumb.
"And wot is toast?" grumbled Mrs. Hardy, "and you ridin' all day inthe cold!" She had been grievously disappointed at her visitors'refusing bacon and eggs. "The young lady'll catch 'er death, sure'sfate! Just another cup, miss. Lor, who's that comin' in at thegate!"
"That" proved to be Squire Brand, who had appeared at the scene ofNorah's disaster just after her retreat--being accused by Mrs. Ainslieof employing an aeroplane.
"I came to see if I could be of any use," he said. His eye fell onNorah in Mrs. Hardy's clothes, and he said, "Dear me!" suddenly, andfor a moment lost the thread of his remarks. "You can't let her ridehome, Linton--my car is here, and if your daughter will let me driveher home I'm sure Mr. Hardy will house her pony until to-morrow--youcan send a groom over for it. I've a spare coat in the car. Yes,thank you, Mrs. Hardy, I should like a cup of tea very much."
Now that the excitement of the day was over, Norah was beginning tofeel tired enough to be glad to escape the long ride home on a jadedhorse. So, with Mrs. Hardy's raiment hidden beneath a gorgeous furcoat, she was presently in the Squire's car, slipping through the duskof the lonely country lanes. The Squire liked Jim, and askedquestions about him: and to talk of Jim was always the nearest way toNorah's heart. She had exhausted his present, and was as far back inhis past as his triumphs in inter-State cricket, when they turned inat the Homewood avenue.
"I'm afraid I've talked an awful lot," she said, blushing. "You see,Jim and I are tremendous chums. I often think how lucky I was to havea brother like him, as I had only one!"
"Possibly Jim thinks the same about his sister," said the old man. Helooked at her kindly; there was something very child-like in the smallface, half-lost in the great fur collar of his coat.
"At all events, Jim has a good champion," he said.
"Oh, Jim doesn't need a champion," Norah answered. "Every one likeshim, I think. And of course we think there's no one like him."
The motor stopped, and the Squire helped her out. It was too late tocome in, he said; he bade her good night, and went back to the car.
Norah looked in the glass in the hall, and decided that her appearancewas too striking to be kept to herself. A very battered feltriding-hat surmounted Mrs. Hardy's finery; it bore numerousmud-splashes, some of which had extended to her face. No one was inthe hall; it was late, and presumably the Tired People were dressingfor dinner. She headed for the kitchen, meeting, on the way, Allenby,who uttered a choking sound and dived into his pantry. Norahchuckled, and passed on.
Miss de Lisle sat near the range, knitting her ever-present muffler.She looked up, and caught her breath at the apparition that dancedin--Norah, more like a well-dressed scarecrow than anything else, withher grey eyes bright among the mud-splashes. She held up Mrs. Hardy'svelvet skirt in each hand, and danced solemnly up the long kitchen,pointing each foot daintily, in the gaudy carpet slippers.
"Oh my goodness!" ejaculated Miss de Lisle--and broke into helplesslaughter.
Norah sat down by the fender and told the story of her day--with acheerful interlude when Katty came in hurriedly, failed to see heruntil close upon her, and then collapsed. Miss de Lisle listened,twinkling.
"Well, you must go and dress," she said at length. "It would be onlykind to every one if you came down to dinner like that, but I supposeit wouldn't do."
"It wouldn't be dignified," said Norah, looking, at the moment, asthough dignity were the last thing she cared about. "Well, I supposeI must go." She gathered up her skirts and danced out again, pausingat the door to execute a high kick. Then she curtsied demurely to thelaughing cook-lady, and fled to her room by a back staircase.
She came down a while later, tubbed and refreshed, in a dainty bluefrock, with a black ribbon in her shining curls. The laughter had notyet died out of her eyes; she was humming one of Jim's school songs asshe crossed the hall. Allenby was just turning from the door.
"A telegram, Miss Norah."
"Thanks, Allenby." She took it, still smiling. "I hope it isn't tosay any one is coming to-night," she said, as she carried it to thelight. "Wouldn't it be lovely if it was to tell us they had leave!"There was no need to specify whom "they" meant. "But I'm afraidthat's too much to hope, just yet." She tore open the envelope.
There was a long silence as she stood there with the paper in herhand: a silence that grew gradually more terrible, while her faceturned white. Over and over she read the scrawled words, as if in thevain hope that the thing they told might yet prove only a hideousdream from which, presently, she might wake. Then, as if very faraway, she heard the butler's shaking voice.
"Miss Norah! Is it bad news?"
"You can send the boy away," she heard herself say, as though it weresome other person speaking. "There isn't any answer. He has beenkilled."
"Not Mr. Jim?" Allenby's voice was a wail.
"Yes."
She turned from him and walked into the morning-room, shutting thedoor. In the grate a fire was burning; the leaping light fell onJim's photograph, standing on a table near. She stared at it, stillholding the telegram. Surely it was a dream--she had so often had itbefore. Surely she would soon wake, and laugh at herself.
The door was flung open, and her father came in, ruddy and splashed.She remembered afterwards the shape of a mud-splash on his sleeve. Itseemed to be curiously important.
"Norah!--what is wrong?"
She put out her hands to him then, shaking. Jim had said it was herjob to look after him, but she could not help him now. And no wordswould come.
"Is it Jim?" At the agony of his voice she gave a little choking cry,catching at him blindly. The telegram fluttered to the floor, andDavid Linton picked it up and read it. He laid the paper on the tableand turned to her, holding out his hands silently, and she came to himand put her face on his breast, trembling. His arm tightened roundher. So they stood, while the time dragged on.
He put her into a chair at last, and they looked at each other: theyhad said no word since that first moment.
"Well,"
said David Linton slowly, "we knew it might come. And we knowthat he died like a man, and that he never shirked. Thank God we hadhim, Norah. And thank God my son died a soldier, not a slacker."