Mistress of Brown Furrows (18 page)

Carol declined to partake of any more breakfast than a cup of coffee, although Timothy tried hard to persuade her. But when he saw that she simply had no appetite he gave up, and instead he placed a hand lightly over one of hers as it rested on the table.

“Not nervous, are you?” he asked, watching her with a half quizzical, half curiously tender look in his eyes.

“No, of course not,'' she answered instantly, aware that Meg's eyebrows were lifting.

“What on earth has she got to be nervous about?” the older woman demanded. “Don't be so absurd, Timothy! ”

“Of course I'm not in the least nervous,” Carol repeated, affected as she always was by that faint air of impatience, and suggestion of the mildest form of contempt, which her sister-in-law sometimes found it difficult to conceal. “I'm a bit tired, that's all, because we went to bed so late, and as you know I simply can't keep late hours. It's one of my weaknesses,” she added, smiling apologetically.

“You’ll have to outgrow that sort of thing,” Meg remarked rather cryptically, helping herself to marmalade. “I'm never tired, and I sleep less than most people. But I believe in plenty of exercise.”

“Meg always was almost painfully energetic,” Timothy declared, rising and placing his hand on Carol's shoulder. “Well, come along, young woman! To horse, my brave girl, and away! ”

The meet took place outside the delightful old grey-walled manor-house belonging to Colonel Dennison, and half the local countryside had assembled to watch it get clear away to a really first-class start. Hounds scented almost immediately, and the field enjoyed a splendid run across some perfect hunting country for a distance of several miles, until brought up short by the first false scent. Meg, who was in the lead, was completely in her element, and the only other woman who could come anywhere near to rivalling her as a magnificent horsewoman was Viola Featherstone, who sat astride a grey as fine-drawn and perfect as

herself.

Compared with Carol, whose looks had the gentleness and the vague charm of a picture viewed through a sheet of gauze, Viola was something more than beautiful. She outshone her in the same way as a diamond will always outshine the softer beauty of a pearl, and in addition she was so completely sure of herself, so much aware of her own attractions, that she accepted admiration as her due, and was never anything but at her ease. Her coat was absolutely faultless and it fitted her to perfection, and her oval face beneath the trimmest of bowlers looked as serene and as completely ‘right’ as it would have looked beneath the choicest of choice tiaras. And combined with her ability to sit a horse as if she had been born upon its back—a thing which Meg also was able to do, without the same devastating effect upon those who observed her—her battery of charms was such that it shook Carol a little, when she looked at her.

Especially when she noticed Timothy gazing at her with a most frank expression of admiration on his face, for Viola had not been slow in seeking them out while they were still waiting for that first warning ‘Tally-ho’ to break upon the wind. And pursuing her policy of the night before she had been all charm and sweetness to Carol, admiring Beauty’ s satin coat, and letting the girl herself feel that she considered she made a most attractive picture.

“Timothy is always lucky! ” she added, looking at Timothy with her large and melting eyes in which some other expression struggled to remain subdued, although he at least did not miss it. “How fortunate you are, Timothy! ”

And how fortunate you are, thought Carol! Poise, sophistication, money, position, looks—looks spelled in largest capitals! —and the admiration of all who came in contact with her! All these things she had, and yet she gave the impression of wanting something more—something very much more!

Was it, Carol wondered, with a dreadful sinking of her heart, Timothy... ?

And was Timothy the least bit interested...?

But fortunately they were away before she could form the rest of that thought, and the pace which was set allowed her no time to dwell upon it, even forced her to forget it altogether for the early part of the day, although the last that they saw of Meg was when she took a flying jump over a blackthorn hedge and landed in a field of turnips, after which she was away in pursuit of the M.F.H. And the rest of the field was by that time thinning out, and the distant halloos were growing fainter and fainter, they decided to walk their horses and take—for the time being at any rate—no further part in the chase.

That was the part—and the only part—of the day Carol could honestly say that she enjoyed. With the sun breaking through and the grey clouds dispersing sufficiently to reveal little patches of wintry blue above their heads, and the niggling cold wind dying away—except when they were up on the exposed heights—it was pleasant to move forward neck and neck with Timothy, and to exchange odd little scraps of unimportant conversation while they soaked themselves in the new and welcome warmth. Timothy let his hand rest on Beauty’s neck, and even the sleek little mare seemed to appreciate his touch. His own mount was more restless, and kept pricking up its ears every time the view halloo sounded, and was plainly anxious to take a more active part in the hunt.

About lunch time—or a quarter to one by Timothy’ s watch— they came up with Nat and some others on the bank of a stream which was still partly frozen over, and protected by a thin screen of alders from the open country beyond. Everyone produced sandwiches which contained sliced ham and chicken and succulent portions of turkey. They remained in the saddle to consume these dainties, which were afterwards washed down with the contents of sundry flasks—Nat, in particular, declaring that a little nip was essential if he was to keep his blood circulating freely—and offering his flask to anyone whose need was the same.

After that the day closed in rapidly and the sun retired determinedly behind a bleak wall of cloud. The earth, which had partly thawed, started to freeze again; a cotton-wool-like vapor rose above the low-lying woods and valleys, and on the heights the wind arose with a chill like an arctic breath. But still the hunt went on, for they had changed foxes once or twice, and a good many false scents had scattered the main body in as many directions as a revolving signpost would indicate.

Timothy and Carol had been caught up by a party of enthusiasts who had charged upon them suddenly from the shelter of a wood, and as Viola Featherstone was amongst them it was not long before Timothy found himself inveigled to ride beside her. Carol felt Beauty slither rather badly as they went down a particularly steep descent, and she held her in to discover whether any serious damage had been done. While she did so the rest went by her like a flash and became swallowed up in some deeper woods at the bottom of the hill.

She reined Beauty in altogether, dismounted and knelt down to examine the mare's white foreleg, but there was nothing to cause alarm, and she patted the arched and quivering neck and then climbed back into the saddle.

But she had already lost her sense of direction, and the noises of the hunt were so faint now that they seemed to have died away altogether. One muted sound of a horn fell on her ears, but it seemed to her to be miles away, and she could not be entirely certain that it was not a figment of her imagination. She was wondering whether to go forward or to return by the way she had come when a loud thunder of hooves sounded on the other side of the hill on which she was hesitating, and down over the brow swept a sweating, mud-caked, thoroughbred chestnut whose rider was maintaining a magnificent sidesaddle seat, and whom Carol instantly recognized as her sister-in-law.

Meg called something out to her as she flew by, and it sounded like “In at the death! ” to Carol. In any case Carol decided that she must follow, and Beauty was not slow to respond to her light touch on the reins. The little mare, indeed, began to spurt forward as if the day had but just begun, or her brief rest had so refreshed her that the shining example of the chestnut ahead had inspired her with the vainglorious wish to emulate such effortless speed and if possible outdistance it Carol felt the wind sing past her ears, and excitement stirred in her breast as the drumming of hooves filled the air around her, and still Meg's lead refused to lessen by so much as half of a horse's head.

For the first time that day Carol felt the thrill of the chase in her veins, and Beauty was undoubtedly exerting herself to the utmost, and obviously thoroughly enjoying it. Meg had only one idea in her mind, and that was to lessen the distance between herself and the sound of the master's horn as quickly as possible, and all her magnificent horsemanship was called into play in her effort.

She leaped streams and low hedges and crossed fields and open stretches of moorland where the dusk was already gathering, without even pausing to weigh up obstacles, and Carol found herself doing the same, and doing it with ridiculous ease. Why, she wondered, had she ever felt nervous about taking such a thing as a simple fence, when all she had to do was to have confidence in Beauty and be sure of landing on the other side.

Up till now she had completely under-estimated Beauty’s powers, but the little mare was a jewel, and if she had suddenly sprouted wings she could not have carried her rider forward with

a greater amount of triumphant ease.

Ahead of them Meg and the chestnut crashed through the coppice of larch and juniper, came out on a bleak strip of hillside where the wind tore at their faces and screeched in their ears, and then descended in a headlong fashion to where a road wound snake-like on the other side of a high and straggling hedge. But before the hedge was reached there was a sudden chasm in the hillside, neither particularly wide nor particularly deep, and filled after much rain by a bubbling torrent of water which found its outlet in the wide pond of a near-by farm. Just now the water at the bottom of this jagged cleft was low and beginning to be completely frozen over with the coming down of the bitterly cold night, and in any case Meg knew about it and her mount cleared it with ease, afterwards sailing over the hedge with a beautiful smoothness and precision.

Carol realized that the hedge was going to test Beauty’ s powers to the utmost, but she had no doubt at all that the mare would get across. What she did not take into account was that sudden break in the hillside, and it was not to be expected that Beauty, in possession of some additional sense, would become aware of it before she did. Beauty was conserving all her energies for the hedge, and her neck was stretched forward and her ears laid back against her head with the fixity of purpose which was animating her whole flying form.

Carol’s hands tightened automatically on the reins, and for the first time her knees gripped rather hard at the little mare’s sides. Her heart was pounding so quickly that it seemed to be keeping pace with the drumming of the hooves, and there was so much pressure on her ear-drums that she felt as if they might burst at any moment. Her lips were parted with excitement, her eyes were strained now and anxious, but they were also eager—and hopeful.

The distance was shortening rapidly. Another hundred yards or so ...

She was flung clean over the top of Beauty’s head, and the little mare herself went slithering and sliding down into the chasm, where she finally rolled over, and a shower of loosened clods of earth and stones came hurtling on top of her.

Carol was flung clear, but she lay very still, several yards away from the tall hedge. Her bowler hat had rolled off and down into the chasm, but her white stock gleamed no whiter than her face which was upturned to the grey evening sky, and the deepening dusk stole down upon her like a mantle and wrapped her cold form about.

VIOLA displayed a leech-like tendency to keep Timothy at her side, and although there were others amongst the ring of younger men around her who would have welcomed such a distinction, and were undoubtedly envious of the favors bestowed upon Timothy—a married man, as they regarded him—it was not until late afternoon that, as a result of a sudden change of mood, she transferred her attentions to one of the others, and Timothy was thus temporarily discarded.

Viola and the younger man, who was one of the members of her house-party, decided that they had had enough of the hunt for one day, and made up their minds to go home, where greater comforts awaited them.

Timothy also was not particularly keen on being in at the death of a fox—if there was to be a kill. And from the sounds of excitement, and the baying of the hounds and the repeated blasts on the M.F.H.’ s horn, which had reached his ears within the last ten minutes, coming from a quarter which would take him still farther away from Brown Furrows, he gathered that a large amount of interest was still being taken in the proceedings by quite a fair proportion of the field. But he was rather anxious about Carol, whom he had last glimpsed having difficulty with her horse on an open hillside, and who might very well feel that he had left her in something not unlike the lurch while he had allowed himself to be carried impetuously forward with Viola Featherstone and her following admirers.

Not that he could very well have done anything else, for their headlong passage downhill had made it more or less impossible for him to pull up and halt suddenly and return to Carol, especially hemmed in as he was by such a gang of determined rough-riders.

Even so, he had thought about her continually, and the lonely figure she made standing beside her sleek little mare with the snowy-white forelegs, and he was most anxious to establish what had happened to her. She might very likely have gone home, but on the other hand the noise of what sounded like a kill might have decided her to get back to the main body of the hunt. In any case he felt it would be the right thing to find out, and he turned his tired horse’s head in the direction from which the hubbub of sounds—arriving at what sounded like a crisis—reached him.