Scarlet Fever

CHAPTER 12

March 9, 2019 Saturday

“Let me drive,” Shaker demanded.

“No,” Yvonne said with conviction.

“You’re going too slow,” he complained.

“Behave yourself.” Aunt Daniella turned around in the front seat to stare at him.

“Damn, woman. Let me drive.”

“I will do no such thing.” Yvonne wasn’t having any of it. “You are lucky to be in this car with this damned woman.”

“Two damned women,” Aunt Daniella echoed.

“The pack will hit a fox right about now. They’re crossing the back of Tattenhall Station. If they do I predict he’ll turn right, go across the road.”

“Well, Shaker, they haven’t hit yet, and if they do I’ll be behind them but out of the way of the field.” Yvonne was learning the foxhunting terminology.

He flopped back in his seat with a groan.

Dragon, nose to the ground, hoped to find a fox right where Shaker predicted scent would be. Turned out, no scent. So the tricolor, vain hound pushed on, forward. He liked to be first, which infuriated the other hounds because he’d rush over if anyone else found scent, to take credit for it.

Aero, in the middle, a young entry and surprisingly steady, kept on. She paused, stern waving, then moved on.

“False alarm?” her littermate Audrey wondered.

“I don’t know. This isn’t fox scent but it’s something, something moving.” Aero put her nose down again.

Audrey checked. “I don’t know. Kinda heavy.”

“It’s not deer.” Aero puzzled over this.

“If we opened on deer, we’d be in trouble.” Audrey rolled her lovely brown eyes.

Dragon, stopping a moment to look behind him, saw the two youngsters noses down, trying to work scent out. He rushed to them.

“Got ’em!” His deep voice rang out and the pack ran to him, for Dragon was usually right.

Sister on Matador, a flea-bitten gray, sat a bit taller. Now the whole pack opened, tearing off, but Sister noticed Diana, near the front, lacked her usual brio. Something was up, yet the hounds roared. Matador shook his head, so off they ran.

Behind followed a large Saturday field. The season was drawing to a close, and given that it had been bedeviled with weather so bad it had been lavish misery, lots of people came out on horses not as fit as they might be. Neither were the people.

Yvonne stopped the car when the pack blasted into the woods, heading south. The large pasture at Tattenhall Station offered a lovely gallop. The woods, not so much. The trails, wide enough, forced Sister to improvise, for given the winds of the last few weeks, trees crisscrossed the paths. One could jump a trunk and Sister did, but if the crown fell across the path the branches presented obstacles. She found a way around but had to forge into the woods, fight her way through low-hanging branches from standing trees, then get back onto the path.

Infuriating.

Up ahead, Weevil encountered the same difficulties so he was now far behind his pack. Fortunately, the hound’s music boomed through the woods. Betty, on the edge of the right, almost on the road where Yvonne was creeping, was the only staff member with hounds. Tootie, on the left, battled through even more difficult territory than her master or huntsman. Giving Iota a rest today she rode Kasmir Barbhiya’s bombproof horse, Nighthawk.

Kasmir and Alida rode a pair of matched bays, looking for all the world like a hunt team poised to win at the Warrenton Horse Show. Neck and neck they rode, exhilarated by the pace and each other.

Behind these two, Freddie Thomas kept her eyes open. In a situation like this a clever fox often doubled back since the ground was in his favor. One need not hurry quite so much.

Drew Taylor rode behind Freddie, with Walter behind him. Usually Walter rode tail but today that task went to Sam Lorillard. Walter had asked him, for he rarely got to ride up near hounds, and Sam readily agreed. Gray rode with his brother. Both marveled at the roar. Behind them came Bobby Franklin, who knew the territory as well as his own kitchen. He had to, as with Second Flight he had to go around obstacles then make up the time.

On and on they rode. They blew past Beveridge Hundred and Yvonne’s perfect dependency on the estate, which she had bought and given to the Van Dorns’ life estate. Millie, their dog, watched from the window but said nothing. Millie also had life estate. Little Ribbon in the dependency was ferocious.

“Get out of my territory. Mine. Mine. Mine,” the Norfolk terrier bellowed.

No one heard her but it made her feel better.

On and on, finally shooting out of the woods across another meadow, this one wild, and back into more woods. If they kept on at this pace they’d be past Whiskey Ridge, barreling into Skidby, the southernmost fixture in the Chapel Cross area.

Then nothing. Hounds threw up. Weevil finally reached them.

“Good hounds.” He praised them.

Betty appeared on his right but still no Tootie, fighting her way through a ravine, a small creek running through it.

Weevil waited, as did the field, some breathing heavily. Finally Tootie appeared. He waved her to him, as he did for Betty.

Weevil folded his hands together, dropping the reins onto Hojo, Shaker’s horse, a true huntsman’s horse; Hojo stood there waiting for the next move. “Ladies, coyote is legitimate game but I can’t say as I really want to chase them.”

“You want us to whip the hounds off?” Betty tried not to sound incredulous.

“No, of course not, but if you see a coyote wave your crop in a circle around your head. I like to know my quarry. Naturally, I’d like to settle them on a fox.”

“Coyote scent is heavier.” Betty knew her stuff.

“Yes, it is.” He sighed then looked back at the field, smiling. “A few of our people are the worse for wear.”

Betty tilted her head over at Yvonne’s parked car about one hundred yards away on the road. “So’s Shaker, I could hear a few harrumphs when they came alongside me, because Aunt Dan lowered the window and made the V sign. She’s incorrigible.”

“What now?” Tootie asked.

“We’re pretty far from Tattenhall Station. Let’s cross the road and hunt back until we reach Old Paradise’s corner, then we can cross and get back on Tattenhall Station.”

“Was a helluva run.” Betty smiled.

“Was.” Weevil smiled back, a dazzling smile in a divinely handsome face.

Aunt Daniella, noticing from afar, murmured, “Oh, to be twenty again. Actually, I’d settle for fifty.”

Yvonne shook her head. “My money is on you regardless of the decade.”

“You sweet thing,” Aunt Daniella said, beaming, “but is he not one of the most beautiful men you have ever seen?”

From the backseat, “Men aren’t beautiful unless they’re light in the loafers.”

“Shaker, don’t be hateful.” Yvonne looked in her rearview mirror at the dispirited man, for he so wanted to ride.

“Well.”

“Shaker, my son was gay. Be careful.” Aunt Daniella again turned around.

“Mercer never acted gay and—”

“All right, let’s agree to disagree.” Yvonne now also turned around. “Or how about this? A man can be beautiful to a woman but not to a man. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough.” A lightbulb clicked on in Shaker’s head. “But here I am in a car with two beautiful women, maybe the most beautiful women of your generations. I mean, how can a guy be with a beautiful woman and not get an erection? I don’t understand.”

“Please don’t tell me you have an erection.” Aunt Daniella exploded with laughter.

“You know what I mean.” He did have the good humor to laugh at himself.

“Turning back,” Shaker noted. “If he has sense he’ll cross the road and hunt back on the west side.”

“He’s doing exactly that.” Aunt Daniella watched.

Yvonne stayed put as riders crossed in front of her, most of them nodding or touching their crops to their caps.

Diana, walking next to Trooper, said, “Coyote.”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever smelled one,” the younger hound replied.

Cora, another older, wise hound, now walked with these two. “Used to be only foxes, reds and grays. But the coyote are moving in and I have never smelled so much black bear. Things are changing.”

“Why?” Trooper asked.

“I don’t know,” the solid hound replied. “Sometimes when the humans are talking and we’re in the feed room I like to listen. I remember once Sister and Shaker talking about what it must have been like when the Blue Ridge was full of wolves and elk, huge elk. Before our time and theirs.”

“Lift your heads,” Diana instructed.

“A faint whiff.” Cora now put her nose down. “If we can reach the shade, might pick it up on the ground.”

“But it’s a cold day. Why has scent lifted?” Trooper sensibly asked.

“Trooper, if I had the answer to that I’d be a genius.” Diana moved a little faster, and sure enough, the line now stuck.

The run lasted fifteen minutes, which doesn’t seem like a long time but fifteen minutes when you’ve run hard for a good forty minutes began to separate some riders from their horses. People were tired and didn’t know it, and those who didn’t know their mounts were tired were in worse shape.

Staff horses were not, as staff kept their horses fit, riding them to do so in sleet, in snow, in bitter cold, and worse, in cold rain.

Sister pulled away from her field, looked around, then slowed down a bit.

Hounds made it to Old Paradise, where their fox disappeared. Weevil crossed the road, took the coop in the fence line, and they rode back to Tattenhall Station, some walking their horses. People straggled in for the next half hour.

Drew rode with Freddie as they replayed the day’s hunt. His top hat gleamed. Being a gentleman, he helped her untack then did so for his own horse. Some women would refuse the help but Freddie, born and raised in the South, believed a woman should allow a man to assist and thank him for it.

Southern men needed to do for women. It’s the way their mommas raised them, and you don’t cross Momma.

Drew walked over to Freddie to chat her up as they approached the station.

“Sometime I must tell you about my trip to Patagonia. Freddie, it’s incredible, unspoiled.”

“I’d love to see it but it’s so far. An expensive trip.”

“Worth it.”

“You’ve been traveling a lot these last few years,” she noticed.

He smiled, looking down at her, revealing perfect teeth thanks to a good dentist. “Turned sixty a few years back and decided it’s now or never.”

He held the door for her as she asked, “Next trip?”

“St. Petersburg. I want to see all those treasures.”

“Thank you, Drew. If I had some extra money I’d go to Wyoming for the summer. Different kinds of treasures.” She smiled and walked forward.

A moment’s pause, then Drew walked up to a visiting guest, introduced himself, and got her a drink. Drew never missed a pretty girl nor did they miss him in his scarlet.

As usual Kasmir and Alida opened the station for the breakfast, wonderful odors from the kitchen enticing everyone to move faster.

Kasmir had remodeled the station for events and dances and the place was perfect. All the old Victorian bric-a-brac filled the outside and inside. A big potbellied stove kept the place warm. Of course, there was electric heating, too, but that old stove threw out the heat. The bar was mobbed. Gray brought Sister her usual tonic water with lime.

The mood was high. Being able to go out put everyone in a good mood and the runs lifted spirits.

Betty, Weevil, Aunt Daniella, and Yvonne chatted, while Skiff Kane, Shaker’s lady friend, had slipped away from work to see him for a moment.

Sister, who only ate an English muffin before hunting, usually returned famished. She sat down at the long table, set with winter berries, creative arrangements all done by Alida. Gray put a full plate in front of Sister then sat next to her with his own.

“Thanks, honey. I was too tired to get my own food today.”

“It’s the cold. A raw day. Beats you up.” He clinked glasses with her as others also sat down, plates loaded.

Betty and Drew sat across from each other as Yvonne, Aunt Daniella, and Sam sat next to Betty. Soon the two set tables were full and the kitchen staff buzzed in and out, seeing to the guests. An attractive female guest sat at the end of the table. She and Drew exchanged glances.

Yvonne watched this with a knowing eye. Kasmir, very rich, fulfilled the responsibility of someone with means; he entertained. While this was also part of noblesse oblige, it brought people together. Entertaining fulfilled a communal as well as political function. More good things came out of dinners, cocktail parties, foxhunting, golf, sitting under an umbrella at the beach with friends, than ever came out of a legislative or business meeting. Smart people knew the real business was always done elsewhere and Kasmir was phenomenally smart as well as well educated. Oxford.

Cecil and Violet Van Dorn, the former owners of Beveridge Hundred and former foxhunters, who still lived at Beveridge Hundred on life estate, were there, along with the Bancrofts, both couples in their eighties. While the Bancrofts still rode, the Van Dorns did not, but neither wanted to ride in bad weather anymore. The place was filled with hunters and what Betty Franklin called muffin hounds, the people who showed up for the breakfasts and were always welcome.

Betty asked Drew, “Did things settle down?”

“Oh, finally. Got Morris home. He has moments where he realizes his memory is gone. What surprised me was Bainbridge taking him to the hunt. He really is trying to make amends with his father.”

“Is he going to rehab?” Betty bluntly asked.

Drew shook his head. “No.”

Aunt Daniella, sensitive, said, “Bainbridge might do better on his own. Some people aren’t made for the talking cures. Clearly not your problem, Betty.” She laughed.

Betty laughed at herself. “Oh, I know. Me and my big mouth. Which reminds me. I was talking with Marion at Horse Country and Sister can vouch for this because she had been talking to Marion as well. We were wondering how Harry died. Was it a fall or did something trip him up?”

“Oh, Betty, don’t start,” Aunt Daniella chided her. “No murder theories.”

“I’m not saying that. I’m only saying it’s unusual.”

“If it was murder I would like to congratulate whoever did it,” Drew ungallantly said.

A moment of silence followed this, then Sister quietly replied, “Drew, that’s beneath you.”

His face flamed crimson. “I—I’m sorry.”

Aunt Daniella piped up. “There isn’t a person at this table who hasn’t been angry enough at someone to kill them. Human nature. Fortunately, we didn’t do it.”

Yvonne, holding up her glass, said, “There’s still time.”

They all laughed, then Yvonne surprised everyone by tapping her fork on her glass.

All eyes shifted to the shimmering beauty, who stood up.

Lifting her glass she proposed a toast. “To the hounds.”

The room reverberated, “To the hounds!”