Amiss was cold, drenched, tired, and wishing passionately that he had never dared Jack to demonstrate her prowess on the hunting field. As he trudged with Jennifer Bovington-Petty through the heavy mud he muttered, ‘I’m sorry for dragging you into this. It’s a lesson to me to keep my mouth shut when I’ve been celebrating too well. I couldn’t get her to cancel the dare the day after.’
‘What do you mean? I wouldn’t have missed this for the world. Quite apart from anything else, I had an absolutely wonderful time helping her to dress this morning. It was hilarious to see her normal impatience at war with her notions of the importance of elegance on the hunting field. Getting the apron skirt on over the jodhpurs was difficult enough, but we had a fiendish time getting her hair right for the topper.’
‘I admit she looked good.’ Amiss stomped on for a moment. ‘But to tell you the truth, I’m worried. She hasn’t hunted for fifteen years, and that horse Jamesie provided is an enormous brute.’
‘Roddy’s reliable enough. No bigger than what she’s used to, apparently. And remember, side-saddle is pretty safe. That’s why the Queen didn’t fall off when someone fired a starting pistol during Trooping the Colour. Anyway, she certainly took off confidently enough.’
‘Confidently! The last I saw of her she looked close to overrunning the hounds. Are we nearly there?’
‘Poor Robert. You’re not really cut out for country pursuits, are you? Cheer up. That’s Rayner’s Wood over there, and if the hunt doesn’t turn up there within say half an hour, honour will be satisfied and we can go back home to the library fire.’
***
‘Only five minutes more.’ Jennifer cocked her head. ‘I hear something. Come on.’
Amiss reluctantly left the tree against which he had been comfortably propped and squelched after her to the outskirts of the wood.
‘Here they come.’
Across the field tore a fox with baying hounds in hot pursuit and Jack Troutbeck careering immediately after them, with three hunters about a hundred yards behind. ‘Isn’t it a breach of etiquette to be ahead of the Master of Foxhounds?’
‘I wouldn’t worry. Jamesie knows he’s no great shakes.’
As the baroness drew nearer, they could see that she had lost her topper, she was red with exertion and drenched through from the torrential rain, but her whole countenance radiated exhilaration. Amiss flattened himself against a tree as the fox and then the hounds hurtled past. Moments later, the fox reappeared heading for the covert that lay to the left; it crashed into Roddy’s legs. As the hounds came after him, Amiss shut his eyes and the baroness let out a lusty roar of ‘Hold!’ Thrown into momentary confusion, the hounds hesitated for just long enough for the fox to reach safety.
‘You can look now,’ said Jennifer. ‘She’s saved it.’
Amiss opened his eyes and looked at the baroness. ‘Did you do that for me or for the fox?’
The three hunters drew up behind her and over the horizon the rest came into view. She looked defiant. ‘Impulse. Anyway, as Trollope said, “No man goes out fox-hunting in order that he may receive pleasure from pain inflicted.” And if they do, they shouldn’t. We’d had the ride. Didn’t need the fox.’
A hubbub of protest broke out behind her. ‘Stymied the hounds.’
‘Let him get away.’
Jennifer grimaced. ‘I’m afraid they’re going to be a bit upset that there hasn’t been a kill.’
‘Bugger them,’ said the baroness, and turned to face her critics.