A SHOOT
On the morning after the Hunt Ball the Clinton twins rose, as usual
with them in the winter, about half-past eight o'clock. In the summer
they were up and out of doors at all sorts of unorthodox hours, but in
the cold long nights they slept like young hibernating animals,
snuggling amongst their warm coverings, and occasionally having to be
extricated by all the powers of persuasion, moral and physical,
possessed by Miss Bird. Miss Bird had now departed and the new
governess had not yet arrived, so they were their own mistresses within
limits, and responsible for their own tidy and punctual appearance at
the breakfast-table.
Hannah, the schoolroom maid, brought in their tea and bread and butter
at eight o'clock, drew up their blinds, set out their bath (for there
were no bathrooms at Kencote), and then applied herself to the task of
arousing them. "Now, Miss Joan and Miss Nancy," she said in a loud,
confident voice, as if she had only to tell them to get up and they
would get up immediately. "I've brought your 'ot water. Miss Joan!
Miss Nancy! Eight o'clock! Time to get up! Miss Joan! Miss Nancy!"
Joan stirred, opened her eyes, closed them again, turned over and
buried herself in the bedclothes again. "Now, Miss Joan," said Hannah,
quick to pursue her advantage, "don't go dropping off to sleep again.
'Ere's yer tea all ready and yer 'ot water gitting cold. Miss Nancy!
Time to get up!"
"Go away," said Joan in a sleepy voice. "I'm awake."
"Yes, and you'll be asleep again in a minute if you don't set up and
drink yer tea. Now, Miss Joan, you don't want me to stand 'ere all the
morning wasting me time with the whole 'ouse full and me wanted to
'elp."
"Then go and 'elp, and don't bother," replied Joan sleepily.
"Miss Nancy!" cried Hannah. "I know you ain't asleep. Set up and
drink yer tea. Miss Nancy! Lor'! the trouble I 'ave now Miss Bird's
gone, and only me to see that everything's right up 'ere and you ain't
late downstairs, which you know I should be blamed and not you if you
wasn't down in time."
This roused Joan, who opened her eyes again and said, "It's nothing to
do with you whether we're late or not. You're always full of your own
importance. I'm quite awake now and you can clear out," and she sat up
in bed, and took her cup from the table between the two beds.
"Not till Miss Nancy sets up I won't," said Hannah. "I know she's
awake and it's only contrariness as makes her pretend not to be."
"Nancy, do sit up and let her go," entreated Joan, "or she'll go on
jabbering like a monkey for hours. My nerves won't stand it at this
time of the morning."
Nancy sat up suddenly and reached for her cup. "Depart, minion!" she
commanded.
"Now you won't go to sleep again after you've 'ad yer tea," said
Hannah. "I shall come back in 'alf an hour to do yer 'airs, and if you
ain't up and ready for me, I shall acquaint Mrs. Clinton, for reelly
the trouble I 'ave in this very room every morning as sure as the sun
rises, no young ladies as calls theirselves young ladies wouldn't
be'ave so."
"Parse that sentence," said Nancy, and Hannah, with a toss of the head,
left the room.
"Hannah's getting above herself," said Joan. "She seems to think now
Starling's gone she's been promoted to her place."
"We'll let her go a little further," said Nancy, "and then we'll pull
her off her perch. What's the weather like? Not raining, is it? I
say, we ought to have some fun to-day, Joan. Who shall you stand with?"
The Kencote coverts were to be shot over that day, and the twins were
allowed to accompany the guns on such occasions as these.
"I don't know; Uncle Herbert, I think. He's the most amusing."
"Joan, you know quite well I bagged Uncle Herbert in the schoolroom
yesterday," said Nancy.
"Did you? I'd forgotten. You can have him in the morning and I'll go
with him in the afternoon. I think I shall go with Bobby Trench, and
see if he's as clever as he thinks he is."
"You can't, my dear; you're too old. It would be considered forward.
Besides, he's an awful little ass."
"That's what I wanted to convey to him. But I think I'll go with
Humphrey. He hasn't tipped us for ages, and _one_ of us must attend to
business."
"You can't do that either. He'll want that simpering Lady Susan.
Joan, I believe there's more in that than meets the eye."
"Penny, please," said Joan, holding out her hand. "You said you would
if I caught you saying that again."
"All right, when I get up. I forgot. Why don't you go with George
Senhouse?"
"He's too serious, and this is a holiday. Besides, he doesn't hit
them. I hate bloodshed, but I like to see _something_ done. I wish
dear old Dick were here. He'd bowl them over all right."
"I wonder," said Nancy, "when all that bother is going to stop. Dear
papa will have to give way in the end, you know. He might just as well
do it now and save time."
"If I were Dick I should just marry her and let him make the best of
it. I wish he'd do something. Father has really been too tiresome for
words for the last month. If you and I behaved like he does we should
be sent to bed, and serve us right. I wonder what happened last night.
I expect she was at the ball."
"He wouldn't take any notice of her if she was. I wish we could set
eyes on her. I should like to see what she's really like."
"Cicely says she's very pretty."
"Well, I suppose she'd have to be that if Dick wants to marry her.
Aren't men funny about women, Joan? Now I suppose you'd call that
silly little Bobby Trench good-looking, but I should no more want to
marry him than the ugliest man in the world."
"That isn't much of a discovery. You needn't have lived very long to
find out that women are much more sensible than men."
With this aphorism Joan rose and proceeded to her toilette, and Nancy,
after indulging in another short nap, followed her example.
The Squire, refreshed by his night's slumber, rose determined to do his
duty by his guests and put from him for the day all thoughts of Lady
George Dubec and, what was more difficult, of his son Dick. Mrs.
Clinton, when she had returned from the ball, very late, had found him
in a deep sleep in the great canopied bed which she had shared with him
for so many years. He had not awakened during her long muffled process
of undressing, nor when she slipped, careful to make no noise and as
little movement as possible, into bed by his side. But before she
slept he had turned over and, half asleep still, murmured, "Good-night,
Nina. God bless you." It had been his nightly farewell of her for
nearly forty years, uttered often with no special meaning, sometimes
even without interval at the end of some unreasonable expression of
annoyance. But last night the words had come softly and
affectionately, as if, returning for a moment from the pleasant land of
oblivion, where he had been wandering and to which he was immediately
returning, he had been glad to find her waiting for him, his close
companion, valued above others. She had put her hand softly on to his,
and lain for a long time, in the deep silence of the night, in that
light contact.
The common life of the household at Kencote began with family prayers
at a quarter-past nine, at which, on this Saturday morning, Lady
Aldeburgh and her daughter, Sir Herbert Birkett, Bobby Trench, and
Humphrey failed to put in an appearance. The Judge had been up at
seven, reading in his bedroom, and appeared with the breakfast dishes,
but Humphrey did not arrive until five minutes later, and the presence
of guests did not avert from him the invariable rebuke of
unpunctuality. "I wish you'd manage to get up in decent time when
you're here," said the Squire. "Where's young Trench?"
"In his bedroom, I suppose," replied Humphrey coolly, inspecting the
dishes on the side-table.
The Squire said nothing further, but when he, with most of the party,
was leaving the room half an hour later, and met Bobby Trench, to whom
the morning light had apparently brought a renewal of self-content,
entering it, he greeted him with an earnest enquiry after his health.
"Oh, I'm as bobbish as possible, thank you," replied Bobby Trench
brightly.
"I'm glad of that," said the Squire, passing on. "I thought as you
didn't come down at the proper time you must have been feeling poorly."
Bobby Trench stared at his broad retreating back in amazement. "Lor'!
What a house!" was his inward exclamation, as he went on into the
dining-room.
Humphrey, who was deliberate in his meals, was still at the table, and
Joan was leaning on the back of his chair. She was making some
suggestion as to pecuniary profit to herself and Nancy from the day's
sport, which yet should not amount to a bet.
"Hullo, old man!" said Humphrey. "Joan, ring the bell. Everything
must be cold by this time."
Joan hesitated. Such a proceeding was unheard of at Kencote, where, if
people came down late for breakfast, they must expect it to be cold.
But Bobby Trench politely anticipated her. "Don't you trouble, Miss
Joan," he said, going to the bell himself. "I say, are you going to
stand with me to-day and see me shoot?"
If Nancy had been there to support her she would have asked innocently,
"Can you shoot?" for although she liked being addressed as "Miss Joan,"
she did not like Bobby Trench's free and easy air. But maiden modesty
replied for her, "I think I'm going with Humphrey."
"She wants me to give her a shilling for every bird I miss, and she'll
give me sixpence for every one I knock over. How does that strike you
for a soft thing?"
A footman came in at that moment, and looked surprised at the order
that was given him.
"Do you want heverythink cooked, sir, or only some fresh tea?" he
asked, with a glance at the table where the lamps were still sizzling
under the hot dishes.
"We live a life of rigid punctuality in this house," Humphrey
apologised, when he had retired with his order. "They don't understand
renewing the supplies."
"Sorry to give so much trouble," replied Bobby Trench, "but I'm pretty
peckish, to tell you the truth. Dancing always gives me a twist. Look
here, Miss Joan, I'll bet you half a dozen pair of gloves I kill more
birds than Humphrey."
"Take him, Joan; it's a certainty," said Humphrey.
Joan was secretly enchanted at being treated as of a glovable age, but
she answered primly, "Thank you, Mr. Trench, I'm not allowed to bet."
"Oh, ho!" jeered Humphrey. "What about that shilling you and Nancy got
from me?"
"Dick said we ought not to have done it, and we weren't to do it any
more," said Joan.
Humphrey was silent. Bobby Trench, who was good-natured enough to take
pleasure in the innocent conversation of extreme feminine youth,
especially when it was allied to beauty, as in the case of the twins,
said, "Well, of course, you must always do what you're told, mustn't
you? But I'll tell you what, we won't call it a bet, but if I don't
kill more birds than Humphrey I'll give you six pairs of gloves--see?
Only you'll have to stand by me half the time and him half the time, to
count."
"Oh, she doesn't want gloves," said Humphrey, with some approach to his
father's manner. "Cut along upstairs, Joan, or you'll have Miss Bird
after you."
"Miss Bird has departed," said Joan, but she went out of the room,
somewhat relieved at the conclusion of what might have developed into
an embarrassing episode.
At half-past ten the big shooting-brake appeared at the door, and the
whole party, men and women, got into it, with the exception of Mrs.
Clinton, and Lady Aldeburgh and her daughter, who had not yet made an
appearance. The Squire had been extremely annoyed at this. "She's as
strong as a horse," he had said of his kinsman's wife, "and when she
stays in other people's houses she ought to keep their hours. And as
for the girl, if she can't get up to breakfast after a ball, she
oughtn't to go to balls. I'll tell you what, Nina, I'm hanged if I'm
going to keep the whole party waiting for them. We start at half-past
ten sharp, and if you can't rout 'em out by then, you must wait and
bring 'em on afterwards in the carriage."
Mrs. Clinton had not felt equal to the task of routing out her guests,
and the brake had driven off, within three minutes of the half-hour,
without them.
It was a deliciously mild morning. The sun, shining palely in a sky of
misty blue, gave it an illusive air of spring; blackbirds whistled in
the copses; the maze of tree-twigs in distant woods showed purple
against the wet green of the meadows; the air was virginally fresh, and
had the fragrance of rich moist earth and a hint of wood smoke. Brown
beech leaves still clung to the hedges on either side of the deep muddy
country lanes, and blackberries, saturated with dew, on the brambles.
Servants and dogs and guns had been sent on a quarter of an hour
before. The Squire, on these important occasions, when he took the
cream of his preserves and began at an outlying wood, to finish up just
before dark with the home coverts, liked to drive up to the place
appointed and find everything ready for an immediate start. Beaters
must be in place ready for the whistle on the instant. Guns must be
posted for the first drive with no delay whatever. There was a lot to
get through before dusk, and no time must be wasted. If those who were
asked to shoot at Kencote on the big days did their parts, he--and
Dick--and the keepers would do theirs and show them as pretty a
succession of drives, with an occasional walk over stubble or a field
of roots to vary the proceedings, as they would get anywhere in
England. Only there must be no dawdling, and the women who were
permitted to look on must subordinate their uncontrolled natures to the
business in hand.
All the arrangements necessary to make the machinery run without a
hitch, so that none of the full day's programme should be hurried,
meant a great deal of preliminary consultation and adjustment. Bunch,
the head-keeper, admirable in his capacity for generalling his little
army of beaters and for faithfully carrying out instructions, had no
initiative of his own, and the Squire had always relied upon Dick--and
relied on him much more than he knew--for arranging the plan of
campaign. This time he had had to do it alone, with much consequent
irritation to himself and bewilderment and head-scratching to honest,
velveteen-clad Bunch. And he had relied on Dick's coolness--also much
more than he knew--to get the guns posted expeditiously and with as
little friction of talk and enquiry as possible. To-day he would have
to rely on Humphrey to help him, and Humphrey was as yet untried in
this capacity. He was anxious and worried as he drove, sitting on the
high box-seat beside his coachman, and itching to handle his horses
himself as he always did except on shooting days, when he wanted to
save his hands. Usually he sat behind, but this morning he felt he
could not take his part in the talk and laughter that went on in the
body of the brake. He was not at all sure how the day would turn out.
There were several points at which a hitch might occur. Following a
light suggestion of Dick's, he had arranged to take High Beach Wood the
opposite way to that in which it had always been taken, and he was not
at all sure that Bunch had fully understood his testily given
instructions--or, indeed, that he fully understood them himself. Nor
was he quite certain of his guns, and he wanted to kill a respectable
head of game. The two local notabilities whom he had invited, old Mr.
Wilkinson, of Birfield, and Colonel Stacey, who lived in a villa in
Bathgate, and shot steadily through the season within a radius of forty
miles, he could rely on. Humphrey was a good shot, though not so good
as Dick. Sir Herbert Birkett was surprisingly good, for a Londoner, on
his day, but when it wasn't his day he was surprisingly bad, and didn't
even care enough about it to make the usual lamentations. George
Senhouse enjoyed it thoroughly, but never touched a feather.
Hammond-Watt and Bobby Trench he knew nothing whatever about, but it
was unlikely that either of them would turn out above the average. He
could only hope that they would not turn out very much worse. At any
rate, at the best, it was not a team that could be expected to create a
record in the Kencote preserves, and at the worst might bring disgrace
on them.
He could not help thinking of these things and worrying about them. If
Dick had been there he would have calmed those uneasy tremors. He
would have told him that the birds would show up well, even if the guns
didn't, that the experts were at least equal to the duffers and the
doubtfuls, putting everything in a hopeful light, not anticipating any
possible hitch, but quite ready to deal with it if it should come.
Dick never lost sight of the fact that they were out for a day's sport;
the Squire fussed and worried so about trifles that all such sense of
pleasure was apt to leave him. He had an uneasy, half-defined feeling
that his temperament caused him to err in this way, and it made him
want Dick, who could relieve him of the weight of small anxieties, all
the more. He was learning how much he had been wont to depend on his
son. One of the impulses of appeal and affection, which continually
shot across the stiff web of his obstinate determination, came to him
now, and if Dick could have appeared at that moment he would have
welcomed him with open arms, and given way in everything. But Dick was
away, he did not know where, and with a sigh he resigned himself to the
prospect of a day of anxiety.
They came to an open gate by the roadside and drove in through a strip
of wood until they came to an open space in front of a keeper's
cottage. It stood, backed by trees, facing a wide sloping meadow,
which was completely surrounded by a wood of oak and beech, intermixed
with spruce and some firs. The little group of loaders with their
masters' guns and cartridge-bags stood ready by the palings, the glossy
coated retrievers waved welcoming tails as the brake drove up, the
hoof-beats of the horses muffled on the thick grass. The beaters were
already in line at the other end of the wood, far out of sight, waiting
for Bunch's signal. There was nothing to do but place the guns and
prepare for the stream of pheasants which would presently begin to fly
over them. Except that neither Mr. Wilkinson nor Colonel Stacey had
yet arrived.
It was the first check to the prompt orderly proceedings of the day.
The Squire, taking his gun from the hands of an under-keeper and
filling the pockets of his wide shooting-jacket with cartridges, gave
vent to a forcible expression of irritation. "Now there we are, held
back at the very start!" he exclaimed. "'Pon my word, it's too bad of
those fellows. I told 'em eleven o'clock sharp, and they've shot here
dozens of times before and know the place as well as I do."
"It's only just five minutes to eleven," said Humphrey, and as he spoke
Mr. Wilkinson's dog-cart drove in from the wood, bringing himself and
Colonel Stacey, all ready for immediate business. Before eleven
o'clock struck from the cuckoo-clock in the keeper's kitchen the whole
party was walking down the meadow to line the borders of the wood and
do what execution they might.
Humphrey showed himself efficient in translating the Squire's
intentions as to the placing of the guns, from the notes he had jotted
down on a sheet of letter paper. He knew that inextricable confusion
would arise later if those notes were to be followed literally, but
trusted to be able to arrange things by word of mouth when the time
came, as most people were content to do.
So they stood and waited. From the keeper's cottage up the hill you
could have seen the eight little groups, standing expectantly on the
grass at a short distance from the wood, following the curve of its
line. Behind each stood a gaitered loader with another gun ready to
hand to his master. The women, in clothes not distinguishable in
colour from those of the men, stood with them; the dogs squatted by the
side of their masters or tugged at leashes held by the men. Blackbirds
popped in and out of the wood, and thrushes, but there were few sounds
of life. There was a hush of expectancy, and otherwise only the deep
winter stillness of nature, and the pale sun, and the wet odour of the
soil.