Let Sleeping Dogs Lie

CHAPTER 30

Smoke curled upward, then flattened out from the two chimneys at the Lorillard Farm. Given Saturday off by Crawford so he could help his aunt, Sam fed the wood-burning stove. The fireplace in the living room also roared. The mantelpiece had the flourish of a Grecian scroll. The fire screen, almost as old as the house, had a hunt scene in metalwork across the center. Made at Pattypan Forge along with the fireplace utensils, it bore witness to the artistic urges of those long-dead workers.

Aunt Daniella, wrapped in a rich cashmere shawl, watched him feed more large heavy oak logs to the living room fire, then replace the screen. “You could have ridden today. Mercer would have liked that.”

“Mercer would have liked it but Crawford wouldn’t. He hunts on Saturdays, too.”

She pursed her lips, a thin line of dark lipstick spread on them. “Foolish”—she took a breath—“but entertaining. Mercer never could get him interested in racing. You’d think someone with that big an ego would have jumped right in.”

“A big ego but also a big brain. Very few people make money racing. Crawford believes in profit.”

“Foxhunting is hardly profitable,” she fired back.

“No, but he feels he gets a lot of bang for his buck. His words.”

“Common. Such a common expression.” She sniffed. She shifted in the comfortable chair placed before the fire. “While I enjoy your company, Sam, I don’t see why I must be here. I’m perfectly fine at home.”

“Of course you are, Auntie D, but the sheriff thought you might be tempted to go back into Mercer’s house before they do.”

“He gave us permission to select his funeral attire and Ben allowed Phil to take the current billing file since we have copies and”—she paused—“is there anything else?”

“No.” He lied, nor was he about to tell her about Gray taking the miscellaneous file, which he had already replaced. Gray had gone early to Mercer’s house, before the hunt. “Auntie D, did Mercer ever talk to you about horses’ bloodlines?”

“All the time.” She smiled.

“Did it ever interest you?”

She tugged at the corner of the cashmere shawl. “Not so much, although last week he was completely transfixed—transfixed, I tell you—with DNA stuff. Related to bloodlines, but he started off about a horse bone that is seven hundred thousand years old. He was so caught up—truly caught up and excited—I let him rattle on. That was the only way with Mercer. Even as a child. Remember when he decided to become the marbles champion of central Virginia? I told him there was no marbles champion.” She waved her hand. “So he trooped down to the county courthouse and wrote out a plan for a marbles tournament, handing it to the county commissioners.” She laughed.

“I remember he beat me all the time.” Sam stood up, thinking this would be a good day for hunting as opposed to marbles. “But he didn’t call your attention to anything peculiar last week?”

“Not in so many words, but he was troubled. Penny Hinson’s murder deeply upset him.” She sighed. “He was too sensitive. And overly curious about other people’s lives.” She spoke a bit louder. “Oh, I told Chantal to stay in Atlanta. No need to return. We’ll take care of my boy. I think she was offended but she can be claustrophobic. Well, she makes me feel claustrophobic, although I know she means well.” She gave Sam a sharp look. “Is there no making peace with her?”

“You can answer that better than I. I’m polite.”

“Mmm.” She pursed her lips together, one of her signature expressions.

As the two talked, Sam didn’t let on that Ben didn’t want Aunt Daniella left alone until the department had a bit more clarity, which he hoped might occur today.

Meanwhile, Uncle Yancy had returned to the Lorillards’ mudroom. Knowing two people sat in the house, he was circumspect. That quickly evaporated as Aunt Netty popped up through the hole he’d dug in the floorboards, casting away the rag pile.

“How cozy.” She beamed.

“Netty, what are you doing here?” Burled up in old saddle pads, he lifted his head.

“I wanted to see your place. You have two dens over here, plus this room. My, aren’t you living high? Anyway, I miss you.”

He knew that was a major fib. “What do you want, my beloved?”

“A little warmth. My den at Pattypan is cold.” She was half telling the truth.

“How can it be cold? You’ve got the den lined with straw and grass, every rag you could find and the old roof and sides still stand. That cuts the wind.”

“It’s the chill, Yancy. I feel such a chill.”

He stated flatly, “Life gets colder.”

They shut up and listened intently as Sam had walked into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door, then closed it.

“Does he ever throw out anything good?”

Yancy whispered, “Juicy bones, coffee grounds which are too bitter, but he’s been eating a lot of soybeans and he throws out the shells. I’ve gotten fond of them.”

“Enough for two?”

“Netty, you are not living with me. You’ll try to throw me out again and I’m not leaving.” He paused. “And I’m not leaving Sam. He’s a sweet fellow but sad, so very sad. Every now and then I’ll show myself and he stands still as a statue. I make him happy.”

She frowned. “It doesn’t do to care too much about humans.”

“I know, but I like some of them, and look at Inky. She lives in the old orchard and knows the silver-haired Master well. She gets treats all the time.”

Aunt Netty considered this. “That’s a Master and a Master takes care of foxes. By and large it’s best to be wary of humans, if for no other reason than that they are sublimely stupid. Name another animal that breeds past the food supply or uses up all the water. Remember the new people who ran their well dry, then dammed up the creek? See? No brains.”

“I don’t remember that.” He stopped, cocked his head. “The horn. They’re at the covered bridge.”

With her fabulous ears she, too, heard the hunting horn. The sound carried this morning. Using the farm roads, After All lay a mile and a half from the Lorillard place.

“They might pick up my line if they head east,” Aunt Netty said. “Doesn’t matter, we’re safe.”

The “we’re” alerted him. “You can’t stay.”

“I need the warmth.”

“Then take some rags and be gone. He’s got piles of them, the dirty ones and the neatly folded ones.”

“Throwing me out when hounds are running? You can’t be serious!” She fumed.

“After the hunt then.” He listened as Shaker blew for hounds to move off. “Let’s hide on the top shelf. In case Sam opens the mudroom door. He likes to hunt, but today he’s got old Auntie D with him.”

“She’s two years older than God.” Aunt Netty giggled as she leapt from shelf to shelf.

Yancy wanted to say, “So are you!” Then realized he was, too. He kept that to himself.

Seventy-one people rode out this Saturday as Sister had sent an e-mail asking members to come to honor Mercer with this joint meet with Woodford hounds. She also requested that The Jefferson Hunt members wear black armbands. Most everyone had to make one, but that was easy enough. Mercer would have been touched.

There were low clouds and decent footing—at least it wasn’t icy. A starting temperature of 42°F promised a good day, perhaps even a great one. Sister asked O.J. to ride up with her as always. Other First Flight Woodford people could also ride forward. The Bancrofts, Phil, Ronnie, Gray, Xavier, Kasmir, Alida, Freddie, and Felicity all rode up behind them. Lila Repton was trying First Flight again and After All Farm was a good place for a novice First Flight rider; the jumps were so well set, most creek crossings were solid. Second Flight found Bobby Franklin leading, and Ben Sidell rode with him. If necessary, Ben would move up.

The sheriff had men placed at strategic points in After All, Roughneck Farm, and the Lorillard place, as all abutted one another. He did not put any officers on the other side of Soldier Road, figuring the hunt would stay on the south side.

The clatter of seventy-one sets of hooves reverberated through the red-painted covered bridge. Hounds, sterns held high, couldn’t wait to be cast, but all their training ensured they didn’t scoot off.

On the right, Betty crossed the creek, as did Sybil on the left, neither one riding through the bridge. The steep crossings didn’t faze the whippers-in.

Shaker was on Kilowatt, a Thoroughbred of great power. He had planned to ride to the front fields of After All, then turn inward, avoiding the woods and riding toward Roughneck Farm. Then he would ultimately turn eastward again after drawing the Roughneck fields, jump back into After All and draw through the woods. Given the promising conditions, he thought this would allow people to see the hound work—at least in the beginning.

And they did, but not as Shaker planned.

Once cast, Diana loped into the middle of the field, streaks of snow still in the deeper folds. She stopped, stern upright. She blew out of her nostrils, then sucked air in. Pickens desperately wanted to be a forward hound, so he immediately ran over to the reliable, driven Diana.

Putting his nose down, he whimpered for a moment, “Umm.”

Diana sharply told him, “Open or shut up.”

She continued on, nose down, and he shut up but by now the whole pack spread out around her. Everyone knew she had something, but would it heat up or grow cold?

Aztec jigged a little. He wanted to go and so did Sister.

To Diana’s right, Thimble opened, followed by Diana who ran on the line up to where a bouquet of fox scent just burst into her nose. Everyone spoke at once, tore off at first in a line, then bunched up, running a bit like a rugby scrum.

The field witnessed this beautiful sight; it sends chills down a foxhunter’s spine and often does the same to someone seeing for the first time hounds work as a team.

The fast pace right off the mark thrilled Sister. Much as she loved hunting, there were times when she was eager to find a line, or disappointed on a poor day. Impatience, a fault with her, had to be curbed. A lovely jump—twenty-four feet long, three fence panels long—sat square in the fence line. Edward Bancroft had built this stone jump thirty-five years ago and it held up. He actually bought the stone because he wanted to practice stone fences. Sister and O.J., grinning and laughing—they couldn’t help it—took that fence as a pairs team, as did many of the riders behind them. If two or three people can clear an obstacle together, so much the better. That got everyone high; hearts beat faster. Poor Bobby had to hustle to a gate but many of the Second Flight people managed to catch up, observing the wonderful jumping in pairs and determining then and there they would be doing that next year.

Flying through the second large field, hounds hooked sharply left; they took the hog’s-back jump first, followed by Shaker, then Sister, then O.J.—as this jump was maybe twelve feet long. Although three feet by six and using thick railroad ties, it was not a solid jump; one could see through the ties. Not that it was terribly airy, but a horse not encountering a hog’s-back before might well put on the brakes. Not one did today because the pace was too good and The Jefferson Hunt horses had flown over this jump many a time. The Woodford horses were Thoroughbreds and that had to count for something.

Those seventy-one people thundered over the field, jumped a coop into the wildflower field between Sister’s and the Bancrofts’, roared up to the ruins, and stopped. Hounds crawled over the ruins.

Inside his den, Comet remained silent. He’d retreated to the deepest part of his lair. Happy for a rousing start, Shaker dismounted, blew “Gone to Ground,” and praised everyone. He took Kilowatt’s reins from Kasmir, who had ridden up at Sister’s direction to hold Shaker’s horse.

Stepping on the wall ruins, Shaker threw his leg over.

“Thanks, Kasmir.”

“My pleasure.” Kasmir slightly inclined his head, then rode back to Alida Dalzell. He was resplendent in a weazlebelly and top hat, riding his flaming chestnut mare, Lucille Ball. That mare had such a fluid stride the sight of her moving could bring tears to the eyes of any true horseman.

Sister smiled at O.J. As Masters, both knew to be asked to perform any service in the field was a singular honor. The harder, dirtier, or more dangerous the chore, the greater the honor. And while this was an easy chore, it did mean all eyes fell on Kasmir. He was marked by Shaker as a trusted man.

Sometimes, riding back to the trailers after a hard hunt, Sister would muse that this was one of the last sports where the warrior ethic prevailed. The point of foxhunting was not to make the sport easy but to make it superb sport enhanced by elegance. She could hear her mother’s words, “Jane, face danger with elegance!”

Not that the blazing run had been particularly dangerous. The footing was pretty good, no steep incline or decline troubled them. Nor had there been any difficult crossings, but people had to put on the afterburners and jump some decent jumps, interesting jumps.

Shaker pointed the stag end of his crop toward Betty, then swept it forward. She moved forward on the right and Sybil shadowed her on the left. They knew he was heading back over the field at the base of Hangman’s Ridge, toward the tiger trap into the woods of After All. A hog’s-back jump was also placed in this fence line about three football fields farther down, should anyone have difficulty with the tiger trap, which looks like a big coop with logs vertically next to one another. Again, an easy enough jump, but it helps if a horse has seen one before.

Somehow no matter how many gates one puts into a fence line they never seem to be in the right place when hounds are running. Bobby, as Second Flight Master, dealt with this frustration constantly.

Hounds left Comet as they walked along the bottom of Hangman’s Ridge.

“Ooo,” Pookah exclaimed, “bear tracks.”

Feeling especially good today, Dreamboat said, “Pookah, don’t fret over a bear. We’ll get plenty of fox today. It’s a perfect day. Low clouds, the right temperature, moisture in the earth and best of all, no wind. Perfect, perfect, perfect.”

As they rode along the foot of the eerie ridge, some trees grew out horizontally from the earth. There were also odd, dark rock formations.

Sister thought it was a perfect day, a day Mercer would have loved. She prayed he could see all this and appreciate the tribute. He was truly loved.

Not one given to expressing deep emotions, she felt them. Irrational as it was, Sister often sensed her son or husband near and she thought other people who had lost someone dearly loved could feel their spirits as well. Somehow she believed Mercer was with them today and if they saw their quarry, she would know it for certain.

Shaker popped over the tiger trap, Kilowatt floating over, followed shortly by Aztec, a smaller horse than Kilowatt, but such a handy fellow. One by one, the field jumped into the woods while Bobby, once through the gate, shepherded the Second Flight toward them by a different trail.

Hounds cleared. Fifteen minutes elapsed, then Dreamboat shifted into third gear, shouted, “Follow me!” and once again, all on! The hounds’ music swirled around the trees, intensified as they crossed Broad Creek, then moved up along the fast rushing waters only to cross again. Within ten minutes, the pack was at Pattypan, always so difficult.

Athena, the great horned owl, had been lazily dozing inside the forge. Mice were everywhere. It was a bit like taking a nap in the supermarket. She cursed when the hounds lurched through the long high windows. “Damn you all!”

No hound bothered to reply because they hurried to Aunt Netty’s den—tidy, as always.

“She’s not here!” Cora surmised.

“Maybe she’ll come back,” Pansy said hopefully.

“Oh, we’ll give the old girl a run for her money,” Ardent promised, for Aunt Netty had teased him many times.

Hounds jumped out the other side of the forge.

Anticipating the direction once Dreamboat headed again into the woods, Sybil loped onto the narrow deer trail to head toward the Lorillard farm. She had to gallop, as this was a longer route, but there was no way through the thick undergrowth, the reason Pattypan was such a good place for a den. There was one way in and pretty much one way out. At least that old farm road ran in both directions.

Sister pushed Aztec onto the road but hounds circled the woods before they shot toward the Lorillard farm. She had a lot of territory to make up. Right behind her, O.J. twisted so many times in the saddle to avoid low-hanging branches, she knew she wouldn’t be needing Pilates today. Behind her, Ginny Howard had the same thought, with Walter moving up behind as other people fell back.

Back on the good road between After All and the Lorillard place, hounds could be heard screaming toward the old home place. By the time the entire field reached the white clapboard home, hounds scratched at the back door.

Sam stood outside in front with Aunt Daniella, who used her cane. Hearing the hounds, she wanted to see the show. Sam didn’t want to leave her, even though hounds blazed for his mudroom door.

Inside, Uncle Yancy cursed a blue streak. Aunt Netty had led the entire hunt right to his best place! She pretended she hadn’t done a thing but she did flatten herself on the top shelf, along with Uncle Yancy.

As the field waited, Shaker dismounted, walked to his hounds.

“Good hounds, good hounds. Come along now.”

“Two foxes!” Pickens screamed, totally beside himself. “Two.”

“Open the door,” Taz begged. “Please open the door. Let me at ’em!”

Tempted as Shaker was because he knew his hounds had to be right, he led them away. If he had opened the door to the Lorillard’s mudroom, they would have ripped it up, and it’s never a good idea to desecrate a landowner’s property.

Waiting, Sister looked back at Ben. Tapping the brim of her hunt cap with her crop, she rode to Phil as Ben came forward.

“Great run,” Phil enthused as Gray came alongside him.

“Phil”—Sister leaned forward on Aztec’s gleaming neck—“we know that Navigator was actually Benny Glitters. Why don’t you tell us about how the horses were switched? That’s why Harlan was killed, wasn’t it? He knew.”

Wedged in, Phil couldn’t take off, but he threw his leg over his horse, dropping to one side, and ran like hell toward Aunt Daniella.

Sam stepped in front of her as Sister, also wedged in, tried to stay clear of Phil’s horse. Ben, too, but Phil had a head start and they were at this moment encumbered by being mounted. Ben reached inside his coat and took out a .38 from his chest holster, well hidden by his heavy winter frock coat.

A tall man, Phil threw Sam to the ground but the slight man gamely rose to try to fight the bigger, heavier man. Phil reached for Aunt Daniella.

Without flickering an eye, she brought up her ebony cane between his legs with great force.

He bent over and that fast, Sam, using both hands, smashed him with an uppercut that sent teeth flying. Phil hit the ground. Ben dismounted, holding his gun to Phil’s temple.

With Kasmir holding Kilowatt, Shaker ran over just as Sam hit Phil again. Shaker put Phil’s arm up behind his back, lifted him up and held him tight.

Sam got control of himself.

“You have the right to remain silent …” Ben began reading Phil his rights, as Phil would be charged with murder.

It had happened so fast. Not one of those now seventy people said a word. Even the hounds stood still, waiting for a command from the huntsman.

Sam took Aunt Daniella by the elbow, for the exertion had cost her. He supported her while Gray, also dismounted, gently took his aunt’s other arm. He handed her her ebony cane, which she had dropped after whacking Phil.

She looked stunned, then looked at all the people wearing black armbands. Her mouth opened. Nothing came out. She put her head on Gray’s shoulder and the tears flooded out.

“He would be so proud,” she gasped, oblivious of Phil or anything else.

“Yes, he would. And he would be proud of you.” Gray kissed her cheek as he and Sam gently walked her to the front door.

Uncle Yancy couldn’t help it. All this commotion. He snuck out, creeping around the back of the mudroom to look. Sister saw him and tears came to her eyes. Mercer had indeed sent a sign.