Ten Lords A-Leaping (11 page)

And there were, of course, for those in the know, short cuts through dense copses inaccessible to horses. Still, as Amiss saw in the distance the pink coats thundering across the fields and clearing some hedgerows, he felt an onrush of romantic regret that he would never be an equestrian hero. To have negotiated a slippery stile in wellies without falling over did not compare with how it must feel to persuade a horse to jump a five-barred gate successfully. But, as Phlegmatic Man had promised, there was still plenty of action, and as they neared Wreckett’s Brook, slightly to his shame, Amiss found himself screaming various sounds of the ‘Yoiks!’ variety when the fox, hounds and riders suddenly appeared on their right and tore along in front of them. It was then, as they cleared a brook, that they met the promised ambush. As the fox and hounds disappeared across the countryside, the riders were surrounded by a melee of shouting, banner-waving, balaclavaed demonstrators.

‘Come on,’ said Phlegmatic Man, no longer phlegmatic. ‘Let’s go after them.’

Obediently, if unenthusiastically, Amiss kept close as father and son ran to the brook, but by then a van had arrived from which leaped two dozen police. Within moments the horsemen were off again and those demonstrators that weren’t being strong-armed into the van were on the run. It was Amiss’s bad luck that as he gingerly followed across the stepping stones in the deep part of the brook, a youth fleeing from a truncheon-waving policeman came hurtling through a gap in the hedge, swerved to avoid Phlegmatic Man and crashed straight into Amiss, who fell flat on his back into the icy-cold water; neither demonstrator nor policeman seemed to halt in their tracks. As Amiss, bruised and shaken, miserably began to try to stand up, Phlegmatic Man returned and with the help of his stout stick pulled him to his feet.

‘Be off home with you, now,’ he said, waving aside Amiss’s thanks.

‘I thought I should go on.’

‘Don’t be daft. There’ll be another hunt along next week. If you catch your death of cold this week, you won’t be there to see it.’

‘How do I get back to the Hall? I’ve lost my bearings.’

‘Diagonally across those two fields and then left through Cold Bottom Wood and over that hill. You can’t miss it.’

As Amiss stammered his gratitude. Phlegmatic Man touched his cap and took off again with surprising speed. Pausing only to empty water from his wellies and to take a long draught of whisky, Amiss set off for the most uncomfortable walk of his life, spurred on his way by shouts from the pursuers and pursued.

When he got to the top of the hill, he paused for another swig and gazed back at the scene behind. To the far west he could see the mounted huntsmen disappearing over the horizon. Grimly marching behind one field away were Amiss’s erstwhile companions, and out of the field where the fracas had occurred was driving a procession of three black vans. Teeth chattering, wet through, walking towards the Hall as fast as he could in his clammy footgear, Amiss wondered what he was going to have to do to get a hot bath.

As his hand went out to the antiquated bell pull, he heard the sound of a car racing up the drive. He turned round to see a small red sports car screeching to a halt. Out of it jumped a young woman who hailed him cheerily as she pulled a holdall out of the back.

‘Who is this wet person, Hooper?’ she demanded as the butler opened the door. ‘And what has been done to him?’

‘Now, Lady Jennifer,’ said Hooper in an indulgent tone. ‘That’s not very polite. This gentleman is Mr Robert Amiss who is a guest of his lordship. This is Lady Jennifer Bovington-Petty, sir. Now let me take your bag, my lady.’

She tossed the bag to him, shook hands with Amiss and raised an eyebrow enquiringly.

‘Aggro at the brook. I got run into by a sab.’

‘Well, we’d better look after you or you’ll be staying longer than you expected. Hooper, get someone to run a bath for Mr Amiss, take some hot whisky to his room and… have you something to change into?’

He nodded.

‘OK. That’s it, then. We’ll have some lunch in the library, Hooper. Say around one-fifteen.’

‘Lady Jennifer, you know you shouldn’t…’

‘Now don’t give me that, Hooper. The library’s the most comfortable. We only want wine and sandwiches. That OK with you? Or would you prefer beer?’

‘Wine would be perfect.’ Amiss was overwhelmed with a wave ôf gratitude for this ministering angel. ‘But please, Mr Hooper, could someone show me to my room? I still can’t find the way.’

Hooper summoned a hovering footman and gave him orders.

‘And Palgrave,’ called Jennifer. ‘If there’s no hot water in his bathroom, put him in mine.’

‘Really, Lady Jennifer!’

‘Stop being suburban, Hooper. Now, let’s see if there’s a nice big fire in the library.’

Chapter 12

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Warm, dry and soothed by a powerful hot whisky, Amiss joined Jennifer shortly after one. She was sitting in an armchair by the fire, intently reading a large leatherbound book.

He wandered over to look. ‘What is it?’

She laughed. ‘That’s almost a first in this house. Mostly they say, “You’re not still reading, are you? Get out in the fresh air. Don’t you know it’s bad for your eyes?” And of course, they may be right. I’m the only one in the family that wears glasses.’

‘I infer you’re the family intellectual.’

‘That’s it. I used to think I’d been adopted but then I found I was one in quite a long line of black sheep like this one – hence the various roomfuls of mementoes of exotic foreign countries. Great-great-uncle Horace, for instance, wasn’t thick. He wrote this.’ She passed him over her book, which the title page revealed to be
Reflections on some Little-Known Tribes of North Borneo by an Observer recently in Her Majesty’s Colonial Service
.

He flicked through it. ‘Looks positively interesting.’

‘I’m not surprised you seem taken aback. Spent a lot of time with Dad and Jamesie?’

Amiss grinned and handed her back the book. ‘And with Vanessa.’

‘God help you. So what are you doing here?’

‘I’ll tell you over lunch.’ At that moment. Hooper appeared carrying a decanter of wine, followed by Palgrave bearing on a tray a vast plate of sandwiches, a large pie and various accoutrements.

‘Mrs Hooper was anxious for you to have some of her game pie, Lady Jennifer.’

‘Don’t tell me. She thinks I want fattening up. Thank her very much, and thank you both. Just leave the tray. We can do the rest.’

‘Let me at least cut the pie for you, Lady Jennifer.’

‘No, Hooper. It’s kind of you, but I assure you that between us, Mr Amiss and I can manage to do the necessary.’

She gently shooed butler and footman out of the room. ‘I hate being hovered around. They think I’m potty, of course. In every regard. They can’t wait for me to come to my senses and accept my responsibilities.’

‘Husband?’

‘Right kind of husband, children, photographs in
Country Life
and, of course, hunting.’

‘You don’t hunt? A Poulteney that doesn’t hunt?’

‘Oh I have, but I don’t any more. I get my kicks elsewhere.’

‘Doing what?’

‘I’m an anthropologist. Just like Great-great-uncle Horace. Except I do it for a living. Now, tell me about you.’

It was 3.30 by the time Jennifer had finished giving Amiss what she called her anthropological tour of the house and had taken him to stroll in the gardens.

‘I think in your position I’d have turned into an animal activist,’ he said. ‘How can you grow up amongst deer skulls and fox brushes and elephants’ feet and stuffed reindeer heads and not be violently either pro or anti?’

‘I took the route of detachment. Besides, even if my parents were on the dull side, they were nice to me and I loved them. So why should I want to abolish the only fun they got out of life?’

‘Killing animals?’

‘Oh, don’t be so banal, Robert. You know it’s not as simple as that. All the anti-hunting people I’ve met know sod-all about animals, while all the pros I grew up with are devoted to them.’

‘Yes. I’m beginning to understand something of that. This morning, if not enjoyable, was instructive. And even though I find the decor of your house pretty grisly, I suppose I see a certain nobility in such a passionately held tradition. I wouldn’t quite die to defend the right of your family to kill and be killed in the name of sport…’ He stopped, closed his eyes in embarrassment, gritted his teeth and said, ‘I’m sorry, Jennifer. I forgot.’

‘About Mummy? It’s OK. Absolutely validates your point. Incidentally, did you meet her putative successor?’

‘Lady Flexingham? Yes, just about. She’s certainly a dish.’

‘Yes, she is, isn’t she? I’m all for it.’

‘Vanessa isn’t.’

‘Of course not. What she really wants is for Daddy to retire to the Dower House and let Jamesie take over now. If it wasn’t for Miranda he might, and I think that would be a good idea. You must have noticed how much Shapely Bottom Hall needs a chatelaine.’

‘Well, it’s certainly bloody uncomfortable, if you’ll forgive my saying so.’

‘You don’t often stay with old wealth, do you?’

‘No.’

‘Well, they don’t throw money around much on creature comforts. I mean, my God, to put central heating into a place like this would mean touching capital. Us rich don’t do things like that. Still, in Mummy’s day the geyser would have worked and you’d have had a fire in your bedroom.’

‘But Vanessa’s a greedy bitch, isn’t she? Wouldn’t she help herself to the loot?’

‘Good God, no. Vanessa’s a Sloane Ranger. Half the reason she’s unhappy is that she’s not got somewhere like this to look after. That’s what she was bred for; that’s what she would be good at. She’s not good at pretending to be an interior decorator in South Kensington. And Jamesie’s much too weak to keep her happy. Put her in a place like this and she’d enjoy doing her duty. That makes Miranda a real nightmare for her. And worse, Miranda might produce children who’d have to get a share of the family financial goodies. That would really upset Vanessa’s applecart.’

‘Which is?’

‘To pass the estate on to James in due course in better shape than when she and Jamesie took it over, so he can do the same for his children and they can do the same for theirs. And that means having money for upkeep.’ She stopped and pointed. ‘Look.’ Ahead of them in the distance Amiss could see a large area of meadow with several dozen saplings. ‘What does that say to you?’

‘Somebody’s thinking about the future.’

‘That’s right. Vanessa. Daddy’s rather stopped bothering since Mummy was killed. But what you have to understand is that those trees won’t really be in their prime until probably the third next Lord Poulteney. That’s the main justification for the landed gentry. Because they know their estates will be inherited by their children and their children’s children, it gives them a long-term stake in the country and all that sort of thing. Now, let’s go in and demand some crumpets to toast and I’ll motivate you further to write nice things for Daddy to say in his speech next week.’

‘Do you know I’ve never done this before.’

‘You didn’t have a nursery at home?’

‘ ’Fraid not. Whoever built number four, Acacia Gardens unaccountably limited it to two bedrooms.’

‘But what about at Oxford?’ She sounded shocked.

‘I fear they stuck me in one of those nasty modern buildings. I gained central heating, a bathroom on my floor but lost the open fireplace. Here.’ He removed a crumpet from the end of his toasting fork and passed it to her.

‘Perfect.’ She nodded approvingly as she lathered it with butter. ‘Mmm. I
am
enjoying myself. More, I admit, than I usually do here.’

‘So am I.’ He spoke with great feeling. ‘The pleasure of all this is heightened by my delight in not being out there getting tired and cold. I fear I wasn’t bred for the outdoor life. In Acacia Gardens we liked to stay snug.’

He looked at his watch. ‘They have been out an awfully long time, haven’t they? Surely hunts don’t go on for seven hours?’

‘I expect they’ve gone on to someone’s place for tea. I thought I heard the hounds coming back an hour or so ago.’

As she spoke the door flew open.

‘Jenny, darling.’ Bovington-Petty rushed over to her and gave her a hug. ‘Gosh, I am pleased to see you. You’ve missed all the drama. Poor old Daddy took the most terrible toss.’

‘Is he all right?’ There was a note of terror in her voice.

‘He’s fine. The casualty juju said just to tuck him up in bed in case of any delayed shock and he’ll be as right as rain tomorrow.’

‘But his heart!’

‘No ill effects. These bally pacemakers are wonderful, aren’t they? Oh, I say, can I have one of these?’

‘Of course.’ Amiss returned to his toasting duties and Jennifer poured some more tea into her cup and handed it to her brother.

She stood up. ‘I’ll just go up and see Daddy.’

‘Give him a few minutes to get settled. And I want a word with you first. There’s something I’m worried about.’

There was a silence.

‘Come on, Jamesie. Spit it out.’

‘Well, it’s sort of private, don’t you know.’

‘Too late for that. Robert knows too many of our secrets already.’

Ever obedient when spoken to firmly by a woman, Bovington-Petty blurted out, ‘I don’t think this was an accident. Hawkins just told me that the girth gave way and that it seems that someone had been at it with a knife.’

‘Who could do that? Who would do that?’

‘Don’t ask me. Daddy doesn’t have enemies, unless you count the frightful sabs, though of course some of those are capable of anything. We’d better call the police.’

‘I don’t know if Daddy would stand for it. He’d think we were making a fuss about nothing.’

‘Attempted murder is hardly nothing,’ said Amiss. ‘If someone’s tried once, they might try again.’

‘He’s right,’ said Bovington-Petty. ‘I’ll ring the station. You go and square it with Daddy.’

‘Get your new tottie to drive you over here for Sunday lunch.’