CHAPTER IV
IN FULL CRY
Riding to hounds is one of the few forms of sport which appeal to me,and I should like it better still if no fox or other creaturewere tortured.
On that point Dulcie and I had long been agreed; it was one of manyquestions upon which we saw eye to eye, for on some subjects ourviews differed.
"It seems to me grotesque," I remember her saying to me once, "that weEnglish should hold up our hands in horror at the thought ofbull-fights, while so many of us take pleasure in the hateful businessof the kill in fox-hunting."
In reply I had explained to her that the art of diplomacy lies in seeingthe beam in the other man's eye and drawing attention to it, whileblinding oneself to the mote in one's own, and if possible convincingthe other man that the mote does not exist. Dulcie, however, had herfull share of intelligence, with the result that, in modern slang, she"wasn't taking any."
"In that case," she had retorted, "you should feel thankful that you arenot a diplomat, Mike. You have your points, but tact and logic are notamong them, you know!"
Sir Roland always mounted me when I stayed at Holt Manor in the huntingseason, and already I had enjoyed two capital days' sport. Pressed todo so--and it had not needed great persuasion--instead of returning totown on the second Saturday after Christmas, I had stayed over theSunday, for on the Monday hounds were to meet at the Manor House. Allthe other guests, with the exception of two cousins of Sir Roland's, hadleft on the Saturday, so that we were a family party to all intents; insecret I was determined that before the dawn of spring I should be amember of the family in reality.
Mounted on a well-shaped chestnut three parts thoroughbred, Dulcie hadnever, I thought, looked so wholly captivating as she did on that Mondaymorning; I overtook her, I remember, while the chattering cavalcadetrotted from the meet at Holt Manor to the first cover to be drawn.
The first cover proved to be tenantless. So did a small, thicklyunderwooded copse. So did a stretch of bracken. So did a large pine woodsome miles from Holt Manor, which was usually a sure find.
"You may say what you like," Dulcie exclaimed as the notes of thehuntsman's horn warned us that the pack was once more being blown out ofcover, "I maintain still that a drag hunt has advantages over a foxhunt--your red herring or your sack of aniseed rags never disappointyou, and you are bound to get a run."
As we turned out of the lane into a broad meadow, then broke into a handcanter across the soft, springy turf, to take up our position at a pointwhere we could easily slip forward if hounds should find, I told Dulciejokingly that if her father preserved foxes as carefully as he alwayssaid he did, these covers on his estate would not have been drawn blank.
She turned her head sharply.
"Father always says," she exclaimed, "that--"
But what he always said I never heard, for at that instant a piercing"Tally-ho!" rent the air, and, looking up, we saw a long, yellow,lean-bodied fox which apparently had jumped up within a hundred yards ofthe pack, lolloping unconcernedly towards a hedge near by. He reachedthe fence, paused, cast a single glance behind him at the fifteen or socouple of relentless four-footed pursuers, then popped calmly through agap in the fence, and disappeared.
A few moments later hounds had settled to the line, and were streamingout across the broad, undulating pasture which spread away before us inthe distance, cut here and there by thorn fences, a winding streammarked by pollards, and several post-and-rails. From all directions camethe field, galloping at top speed for the only gate in the thick hedge,fifty yards ahead of us, crowding and jostling one another in theiranxiety to get through. Six or eight horsemen had cleared the fence atthe few places where it was jumpable. Others were preparing to followthem. The music of the flying pack grew less distinct.
"Come along, Mike!" Dulcie called to me, turning her horse abruptly inthe direction of the hedge, "we shall get left if we hang about here."
She was thirty yards from the hedge now--twenty--ten. Timing his stroketo a nicety her horse rose. An instant later he had cleared the fence,with a foot or more to spare. I followed, and almost as my mare landed Isaw Dulcie lower her head and cast a backward glance.
Now we were sailing side by side over the broad, undulating pastureswhich form a feature of that part of Berkshire. A hundred yards ahead ofus the pack tore ever onward, their sterns and noses mostly to theground, their music rising at intervals--a confused medley of sound invarious cadences, above which a single, deep, bell-like note seemed everprominent, insistent.
"That's Merry Boy," Dulcie exclaimed as she began to steady her mount--astiff post-and-rails was fifty yards in front of us. "I know his voicewell. Dan always declares that Merry Boy couldn't blunder if hetried"--I knew Dan to be the huntsman.
On and on the pack swept, now heading apparently for a cover of darkpines visible upon a hill to the left of us, away against the skyline.In front of us and to right and left horses were clearing fences, whichhere were very numerous, some jumping well and freely, some blundering,some pecking on landing, a few falling. Yet, considering the size of thefield, there was very little grief.
"Who is the girl in the brown habit?" I asked Dulcie, soon after we hadnegotiated a rather high-banked brook. I had noticed this girl in thebrown habit almost from the beginning of the run--tall, graceful, afinished horsewoman, mounted on a black thoroughbred, and apparentlyunaccompanied, even by a groom.
"That?" Dulcie exclaimed, bringing her horse a little nearer, so thatshe need not speak too loud. "Oh, she is something of a mystery. She isa widow, though she can't be more than twenty-four or five. She lives atthe Rook Hotel, in Newbury, and has three horses stabled there. She musthave been there a couple of months, now. A few people have called uponher, including my father and Aunt Hannah, but nobody seems to knowanything about her, who she is or was, or where she comes from. Doesn'tshe ride well? I like her, though as yet I hardly know her. She's sopretty, too, and has such a nice voice. I'll introduce you, if you like,if I get a chance later."
I remembered that this widow in the brown habit had been one of thefirst to arrive at the meet, but she had not dismounted. Dulcie alsotold me that she had dined at Holt once, and evinced great interest inthe house. She had brought with her an old volume containing pictures ofthe place as it was in some early century, a book Sir Roland had neverseen before, and that he had read with avidity, for everything to dowith the past history of his house appealed to him. Mrs. Stapleton hadended by making him a present of the book, and before she had left, thatnight Sir Roland had shown her over the whole house, pointing out thepriests' hiding-hole--a curious chamber which fifty years before hadcome to light while repairs were being made in the great hallchimney--also a secret door which led apparently nowhere.
"I think my father was greatly attracted by her," Dulcie said, "and I amnot surprised. I think she is quite lovely, though in such a curious,irregular way; but besides that there is something awfully 'taking'about her. She doesn't, however, seem to 'go down' very well with thepeople about here; but then you know what county society is. She seemsto have hardly any friends, and to live an almost solitary life."
Though I had spared her as much as I could, and though I ride barely tenstone seven, my mare was beginning to sob. Unbuttoning my coat andpulling out my watch as we still galloped along, I found that hounds hadbeen running close on forty minutes without a moment's check.
"Dulcie," I said, coming up alongside her again, "my mare is nearlybeat. Have you a second horse out?"
She told me she had not--that my mount would have been her second horsehad she been out alone.
"Look," she exclaimed suddenly, "they have turned sharp to the right.Oh, I hope they won't kill! I feel miserable when they kill, especiallywhen the fox has shown us such good sport."
I answered something about hounds deserving blood: about the waythe farmers grumbled when foxes were not killed, and so on; but,woman-like, she stuck to her point and would listen to no argument.
"I hope they'll los
e him in that cover just ahead," she exclaimed."Hounds may deserve blood, but such a good fox as this deserves to getaway, while as for the farmers--well, let them grumble!"
Half a minute later the pack disappeared into the dense pine wood. Thensuddenly there was silence, all but the sound of horses galloping still;of horses blowing, panting, sobbing. From all directions they seemedto come.
"Whoo-whoop!"
The scream, issuing from the depths of the wood, rent the air. Aninstant later it came again:
"Whoo-whoo-_whoop_!"
There was a sound of cracking twigs, of a heavy body forcing its waythrough undergrowth, and the first whip crashed out of the cover, hishorse stumbling as he landed, but recovering himself cleverly.
"Have they killed?" several voices called.
"No, worse luck--gone to ground," the hunt servant answered, and Dulcie,close beside me, exclaimed in a tone of exultation:
"Oh, good!"
I had dismounted, loosened my mare's girths, and turned her nose to thelight breeze. Sweat was pouring off her, and she was still blowing hard.
"Shall I unmount you, Dulcie?" I asked.
She nodded, and presently she stood beside me while I attended to herhorse.
"Ah, Mrs. Stapleton!" I heard her exclaim suddenly.
I had loosened the girths of Dulcie's horse, and now I looked up.
Seated upon a black thoroughbred, an exceedingly beautiful young womangazed down with flushed face and shining eyes.
It was a rather strange face, all things considered. The features wereirregular, yet small and refined. The eyes were bright and brown--atleast not exactly brown; rather they were the colour of a brilliantred-brown wallflower, and large and full of expression. Her skin, thoughextremely clear, was slightly freckled.
Dulcie had exchanged a few remarks with her. Now she turned to me.
"Mike," she said, "I want to introduce you to Mrs. Stapleton. Mrs.Stapleton, do you know Mr. Berrington?"
The beautiful young widow, gazing down at me as I looked up at her andraised my hat, presently made some complimentary remark about my mountand the way she jumped, then added:
"I noticed her all through the run--she's just the stamp of animal Ihave been looking for. Is she for sale, by any chance, Mr. Berrington?"
I replied that the mare was not mine, that she must ask Miss Challoneror Sir Roland. For the instant it struck me as odd that, huntingregularly with this pack, she should not have recognized the animal,for I knew that Dulcie rode it frequently. Then I remembered that somepeople can no more recognize horses than they can recognize their casualfriends when they meet them in the street, and the thought faded.
There was talk of digging out the fox--an operation which Dulcie and Iequally detested--and that, added to the knowledge that we were manymiles from Holt, also that our horses had had enough, made us decide toset out for home.
Looking back, for some reason, as we walked our horses away from thecover-side towards the nearest lane, I noticed the young widow seatederect upon her black horse, staring after us. I turned to shut the gate,after we had passed into the lane; she was still sitting there, outlinedagainst the wood and apparently still staring in our direction.
Why, I don't know, but as I trotted quietly along the lane, to overtakeDulcie, whose horse was an exceptionally fast walker, I felt uneasy.
Presently my thoughts drifted into quite a different channel. Allrecollection of the day's sport, of the pretty widow I had just talkedto, and of the impression she had left upon my mind, faded completely. Iwas thinking of someone else, someone close beside me, almost touchingme, and yet--
Neither of us spoke. It was nearly four o'clock. The afternoon wasquickly closing in. Away beyond the woods which sloped upward in thewestern distance until they touched the sky, the sun's blood-red beampierced the slowly-rising mist rolling down into the valley where thepollards marked the winding course of the narrow, sluggish stream. Overbrown woods and furrowed fields it cast a curious glow.
Now the light of the winter's sun, sinking still, fell full on mycompanion's face, I caught the outline of her profile, and my pulsesseemed to quicken. Her hair was burnished gold. Her eyes shonestrangely. Her expression, to my eyes, seemed to be entirelytransformed. How young she looked at that instant, how absolutely, howindescribably attractive! Would she, I wondered, ever come to understandhow deeply she had stolen into my heart? Until this instant I myselfseemed not fully to have realized it.
Presently she turned her head. Her gaze rested on mine. Gravely,steadily, her wonderful brown eyes read--I firmly believe--what was inmy soul: how madly I had come to love her. Without meaning to, Istarted. A sensation of thrilling expectancy took possession of me. Iwas approaching, I felt, the crisis of my life, the outcome of whichmust mean everything to both of us.
"You are very silent, Mike," she said in a low, and, as I thought,rather strained voice. "Is anything the matter?"
I swallowed before answering.
"Yes--something is the matter," I said limply.
"What?"
I caught my breath. How could she look into my eyes like that, ask thatquestion--such a foolish question it seemed--as though I were naught toher but a stranger, or, at most, some merely casual acquaintance? Was itpossible she realized nothing, suspected nothing, had no faint idea ofthe feeling I entertained for her?
"What is the matter?" she asked again, as I had not answered.
"Oh, it's something--well, something I can't well explain to you underthe circumstances," I replied awkwardly, an anxious, hot feelingcoming over me.
"Under what circumstances?"
"What circumstances!"
"Yes."
"This is our gap," I exclaimed hurriedly, as we came to a broken bank bythe lane-side--I was glad of the excuse for not answering. I turned mymare's nose towards the bank, touched her with the spur, and at once shescrambled over.
Dulcie followed.
Around us a forest of pines, dark, motionless, forbidding, towered intothe sky. To right and left moss-grown rides wound their way into theundulating cover, becoming tunnels in the distance as they vanished intoblackness, for the day was almost spent.
Slowly we turned into the broader of the two rides. We still rode sideby side. Still neither of us spoke. Now the moss beneath our horses'hoofs grew so thick and soft that their very footfalls became muffled.
Ten minutes must have passed. In the heart of the dense wood all wasstill as death, save for a pheasant's evening crow, and the sudden rushof a rabbit signalling danger to its companions.
"What circumstances, Mike?" Dulcie repeated. She spoke in a strangetone. Her voice was very low, as though she feared to break the silencewhich surrounded us.
Taken aback, I hesitated. We were very close together now--my legtouched her horse. Already, overhead in a moonless sky, the stars shonebrightly. In the growing gloom her face was visible, thoughpartly blurred.
"Why not stop here a moment?" I said, hardly knowing that I spoke, orwhy I spoke. My mouth had grown suddenly dry. The _timbre_ of my voicesomehow founded different. Without answering she shortened her reins,and her horse was still.
Why had we stopped? Why had I suggested our stopping? I saw her, in thedarkness, turn her face to mine, but she said nothing.
"Dulcie!" I exclaimed suddenly, no longer able to control myself.Without knowing it I leant forward in my saddle. I could see her eyes,now. Her gaze was set on mine. Her lips were slightly parted. Her breastrose and fell.
Some strange, irresistible force seemed all at once to master me,deadening my will, my brain, my power of self-restraint. My arm wasabout her; I was drawing her towards me. I felt surprise that she shouldoffer no resistance. My lips were pressed on hers....
* * * * *
She was kissing me feverishly, passionately. Her whole soul seemed tohave become suddenly transformed. Her arms were about my neck--I couldnot draw away.
"Oh, Mike! Mike!" she gasped, "tell me you really mean
it--that you arenot just playing with me--flirting with me--tell me you ... oh, I loveyou so, dearest. Ah, yes. I love you so, I love you so!"
It was very dark by the time we had made our way through the extensivewood--a short cut to Holt Manor--and were once more in the lanes, Ifelt strangely happy, and yet a curious feeling which I could neitherexplain nor account for obsessed me.
Our joy was so great--would it last? That was the purport of mysensation, if I may express it so. I longed at that moment to be able tolook into the future. What had the Fates in store for me--for us both?
Perhaps it was as well I didn't know.
We had entered the park gates, and were half-way up the long avenue oftall elms and stately oaks, when I saw a light approaching through thedarkness. It came nearer, and we guessed it must be a man on foot,carrying a lantern.
Now he was quite close.
"Is that Miss Dulcie? a voice inquired out of the blackness, as thelight became stationary.
"Yes. That you, Churchill?" Dulcie called back.
Churchill was the head gardener. Born and bred on the estate, there werefew things he loved better than to recall to mind, and relate to anybodysufficiently patient to listen to him, stories and anecdotes of thefamily. Of "Miss Dulcie" he would talk for an hour if you let him,telling you how he remembered her when she was "not so high," and of thethings she had done and said as a child.
"What do you want, Churchill?" she called to him, as he remained silent.
Still for some moments he did not speak. At last he apparently pluckedup courage.
"There's been sad doings at the house," he said, and his voice wasstrained.
"Sad doings!" Dulcie exclaimed in alarm. "Why, what do you mean?"
"There's been a shocking robbery, Miss Dulcie--shocking. You'll hearall about it when you go in. I thought it best to warn you about it. AndMaster Dick--"
He stopped abruptly.
"Good heavens, Churchill!" she cried out in great alarm, "quick, tell mewhat has happened, tell me everything. What about Master Dick?"
"He's been served shocking, Miss. Oh, it's a terrible affair. The wholehouse looted during the hunt breakfast this, morning, and Master Dick--"
"Yes! Yes!"
"Treated something crool."
"Dick! They haven't hurt Dick. Oh, don't say they have done him someinjury!"
The tone of agony in her voice was piteous.
"He's come round now, Miss Dulcie, but he's been unconscious for hours.They put chloroform or something on him--Sir Roland himself found him inone of the upstairs rooms, lying on the floor just like dead."
"Oh, heavens, how awful! How is he now?"
"The two doctors are with him still, Miss, and as I come away, not tenminutes ago, they telled me he was goin' on as well as could beexpected. It was at lunch time Sir Roland found him, and then therobbery was discovered. Every bit of jewellery's been stolen, 'tis said,and a whole chest-full of plate--the plate chests were open all themorning as some of the old silver had been used at the breakfast. Therobbery must have took place during the meet, when the hall and roomsdownstairs was full of people and all the servants as busy as could be.There was lots of cars there as you know, Miss, and the police think thethieves must have come in a car and gone into the house as if they werehunting-folk. But nobody don't seem to have seen any stranger goingupstairs--the police say there must have been several thieves on thejob. Master Dick may be able to tell something when he's hisself again,pore young gentleman."
We didn't wait to hear more, but set our horses into a smart trot up theavenue to the house.