Mrs. Fitz

by J. C. Snaith

  CHAPTER XVI

  HORSE AND HOUND

  In spite of the fact that Fitz had accepted Alexander O'Mulligan'sinvitation to witness "Burns's do with the 'Gunner'" at the NationalSporting Club that evening, he retrieved his motor from the garage inRegent Street, wherein Illyrian diplomacy had placed it, andimmediately after luncheon set out for the country with that other itemof his recovered property. He was accompanied by Coverdale. The ChiefConstable seemed to feel that the peace of our county could not endureif he spent another night in the metropolis. He was certainly able toreturn in the simple consciousness of having done his duty. Like a manand a brother he had stood by a fellow Englishman in the hour of hisneed.

  To one of primitive rural instincts, such as myself, London under eventhe most favourable conditions is apt to pall. During the reactionwhich followed the excitements of the previous night it filled me withloathing. But I owed it to an ingrained love of veracity that I shoulddrive to Bolton Street to offer consolation to my grandmother in thehour of her affliction. She is a charming old lady, and she knows theworld. She was unaffectedly glad to see me and immediately ordered afire to be lit in the guest-chamber, although "she really didn't knowthat I was in need of money." My explanation that it was spontaneousnatural affection which had led me to seek first-hand information onthe perennial subject of her bronchitis, merely provoked a display ofthe engaging scepticism that seems to flourish in the hearts of oldladies of considerable private means.

  At the first moment consistent with honour--to be precise, on thefollowing Monday at noon--I found myself on No. 2 platform at the GrandCentral. The guilt of my conscience was agreeably countered by thethrill of relief in my heart. I was going back to the Madam and MissLucinda. Less than three days ago long odds had been laid by anoverwrought fancy that I should never see them again. Howbeit, thefates, in their boundless leniency, had ordained that I should returnto tell the tale.

  Yet, if I must confess the truth, such havoc had been worked with thedelicately hung nervous system of "a married man, a father of a family,and a county member" that it would not have surprised me in the least,even now I had taken my ticket for Middleham, to find the hand of awell-dressed detective laid on my shoulder, or to find a revolver nextmy temple at the instance of some sombre alien. Still, these fearswere hardly worthy of the broad light of day or of the distinction ofmy escort. Not only was my relation by marriage returning with me, buthe had prevailed upon the amateur middle-weight champion of GreatBritain to accept Brasset's cordial invitation that he should satisfyhimself that the gentle art of chasing the fox was quite as wellunderstood by the Crackanthorpe Hounds as by the Galway Blazers.

  In the presence of Alexander O'Mulligan's epic breadth of manner it wasimpossible for a man to take pessimistic views of his destiny. If Ihad a suspicion of the skill of a Dickens or a Thackeray I should tryto give that "touch of the brogue" which flavoured the conversation ofthis paladin like a subtle condiment. Attached to our express in aloose box, in the care of a native of Kerry, was "an accomplishedlepper" up to fifteen stone, not merely the envy of the Blazers, but ofevery man, woman, and child in the kingdom of Ireland. If his pricewas not three hundred of the yellow boys, his owner cordially invitedanybody--_anybody_ to contradict him violently.

  Next to Alexander O'Mulligan's horse and his breadth of manner, hisclothes call for mention. Their cut and style must be pronounced as"sporting." In particular his waistcoat was a thing of beauty. It wasa canary of the purest dye, forming a really piquant, indeed aesthetic,contrast to the delicate tint of green in his eye. The presence inthat organ of that genial hue is thought by some to invite thepresumption of the worldly; but according to Joseph Jocelyn De VereVane-Anstruther, whose humble devotion to his hero was almost pathetic,it called for a very stout fellow indeed "to try it on" with theamateur middle-weight champion of Great Britain.

  Nevertheless, like every paladin of the great breed, AlexanderO'Mulligan was as gentle as he was brave. He had hardly set foot inDympsfield House, which he did somewhere about tea-time on the day ofhis arrival in our parish, before he captured the heart of MissLucinda. He straightway assumed the _role_ of a bear with the mostrealistic and thrilling completeness. Not only was his growl likedistant thunder in the mountains, but also he had the faculty ofrolling his eyes in a savage frenzy, and over and above everythingelse, a tendency to bite your legs upon little or no provocation. Itwas not until he had promised to marry her that she could be induced topart with him.

  The ruler of Dympsfield House returned from Doughty Bridge, Yorks,equally felicitous in her health and in her temper. We dined agreeably_tete-a-tete_ with the aid of Heidsieck cuvee 1889. I reported thatthe venerable inhabitant of Bolton Street, Mayfair, was supporting heraffliction with her accustomed grace and resignation; and duly receivedthe benediction of my parents-in-law, who in the opinion of theiryoungest daughter had never been in more vigorous health--which is nomore than one expects to hear of those who dedicate their lives tovirtue.

  I was in the act of paring an apple when Mrs. Arbuthnot said, with anair of detachment that was Vane-Anstruther of very good quality, "Bythe way, has anything been heard of that creature?"

  "Creature, my angel?" said I. If my tone conveyed anything it was thatthe world contained only one creature, and she at that moment wasbalancing a piece of preserved ginger on her fruit knife.

  "The circus woman."

  "Circus woman?" said I, blandly. Our glasses were half empty and Ifilled them up. "Somehow," said I, "this stuff does not seem equal tothe Bellinger that your father sends us at Christmas." Strictlyspeaking this was not altogether the case, but then truth has manyaspects, as the pagan philosophers have found occasion to observe.

  "Mrs. Fitz, you goose!"

  "She has come home, I believe," said I, with a casual air, which allthe same belonged to the region of finished diplomacy.

  "Come home!" The fount of my felicity indulged in a glower that canonly be described as truculent, but her flutelike tones had a littlepiping thrill that softened its effect considerably. "Come home! Doyou mean to say that Fitz has taken her back again?"

  "There is reason to believe he has done so."

  "What amazing creatures men are!"

  "Yes, _mon enfant_, we have the authority of Haeckel, that matterassumed a very remarkable guise when man evolved himself out of the mudand water."

  "Don't be trivial, Odo. To think she has dared to come home. If Iwere a man and my wife bolted with the chauffeur, I wonder if she woulddare to come home again?"

  "The hypothesis is unthinkable. Freedom and poetry and romance,translated into that overtaxed, down-trodden bondslave, the registeredand betrousered parliamentary voter!"

  The next morning the Crackanthorpe met at the Marl Pits. All the worldand his wife were there. The lawless mobs which are the curse oflatter-day fox-hunting are not quite so rampant in our country as theyare in that of more than one of our neighbours. Why this mercifuldispensation has been granted to us no man can explain. It may be thatwe have not a sufficient care for the "bubble reputation." But as ourreverend Vicar says, our immunity is one further proof, if such wereneeded, that the Providence which watches over the lowliest of God'screatures is essentially beneficent: certainly a very becoming frame ofmind for a humble-minded vicar in Christ who keeps ten horses in hisstables and hunts six days a week.

  Brasset in a velvet cap winding the horn of his fathers is a figure forrespect. Even the Nimrods of the old school, who feel that hiscourtesy and his care for the feelings of others are beneath thedignity of the chase, accord to his office a recognition which theywould be the last to grant to his merely human qualities. This morningthe noble Master was esquired by his distinguished guest. TheO'Mulligan of Castle Mulligan, pride of the Blazers, possessor of thestraightest left in the western hemisphere, was immediately presentedto the mistress of Dympsfield House.

  That lady, mounted so expensively, that her weakling of a husband wasdeserve
dly condemned to bestride a quadruped that Joseph Jocelyn DeVere Vane-Anstruther publicly stigmatised as "an insult to the 'unt,'"was instantly prepossessed, as her daughter had been, in favour of theamateur middle-weight champion. Certainly his blandishments were many.Grinning from ear to ear, revealing two regular and gleaming rows ofwhite teeth, his bearing had both grace and cordiality. His smile initself was enough to take the bone out of the ground, and he had allthe charming volubility of his nation. As for his aide-de-camp, he toodeserves mention. Having done very well at "snooker" the previous day,my relation by marriage was looking very pleasant and happy in the mostperfectly fitting coat that ever embellished the human form. He wasmounted on Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, the _piece de resistance_ of hisstable.

  We were accepting the hospitality of the Reverend, an agreeablefunction that was rendered necessary by the fact that his parsonage iswithin a mile of the tryst, when portentous toot-toots accompanied byprodigious gruntings assailed our ears.

  "I say, Jo," said Alexander O'Mulligan in an aside to his admiringcamp-follower, "here comes ould Fizzamagig."

  This elegant pseudonym veiled the identity of the most august of hersex. The famous fur coat and the bell-shaped topper converged upon theRectory gravel, at the instance of a worn-out dust distributor whosemanifold grunts and wheezes all too clearly proclaimed that it belongedto an early phase of the industry.

  It was the broad light of day, I was in the midst of friends andbrother sportsmen, but once again the chill of apprehension went downmy spine. For an instant I had a vision of pink satin. Mrs. Catesbyaccepted the glass of brown sherry and the piece of cake respectfullyproffered by the Church. But while she discoursed of parochialcommonplaces in that penetrating voice of hers, it was plain that heraugust head was occupied with affairs of state. Her grave grey eyetravelled to the middle of the lawn, where the noble Master was sharinga ham sandwich with Halcyon and Harmony; thence to the inadequatelymounted Member for the Uppingdon Division of Middleshire; thence to theMagnificent Youth and the heroic O'Mulligan. Finally in contemplativeausterity it rested upon the trim outline of the lady whose habit hadnot a fault, although there is reason to believe that in the eyes ofone it erred a little on the side of fashion, who with the aid of theParsoness and Laura Glendinning was engaged in putting the scheme ofthings in its appointed order.

  Once again I was undergoing the process of feeling profoundlyuncomfortable, when we were regaled with an incident so pregnant withdrama that a mere private emotion was swept away. An imperious visionin a scarlet coat, mounted on a noble and generous horse, came in atthe Parson's gate. She was accompanied by the son-in-law of Ferdinandthe Twelfth.

  "What ho, the military!" murmured Alexander O'Mulligan.

  To the sheer amazement of all, save three of his followers, the Masterof the Crackanthorpe was the first to greet Mrs. Fitz. A recentincident was fresh in the minds of all. It was pretty well understoodthat "the circus rider from Vienna" and her cavalier entered theRectory grounds without an invitation, for the Fitzwaren stock stoodlower than ever in the market. It was expected of our battered andtraduced chieftain that at least he should withhold officialrecognition from these lawless invaders. He was expected to vindicatehis office and maintain what was left of his dignity by lookingassiduously in another direction. But he did nothing of the sort.

  In the most heedless and tactless manner the noble Master proceeded toforfeit the sympathy, the esteem, and the confidence of those who hadhitherto dispensed those commodities so lavishly. It would be hard toconceive a more grievous affront to the feminine followers of theCrackanthorpe than was furnished by the Master's personal reception ofthe lady in the scarlet coat. The grave, yet cordial humility of hisbearing, admirably Christian in the light of too-recent history,received no interpretation in the terms of the higher altruism.

  "He will have to resign," breathed the august Mrs. Catesby in the earof the outraged Laura Glendinning.

  It was a relief to everybody when a move was made to the top cover.Without loss of time the question of questions was put. Was the famousticked fox at home? Was that almost mythical customer, whose legendwas revered in three countries, in his favourite earth?

  In a half-circle, each thinking his thoughts, and with a furtive eyefor his neighbour, we waited.

  A succession of silvery notes from the pack at last proclaimed theanswer to the question. As usual the father of cunning had set hismask for Langley Dumbles. One of the stiffest bits of country in theShires lay stretched out ahead. Two distinct and well-defined courseswere immediately presented to the field. The one was pregnant withgrief yet fragrant with glory. The other, if not the path of honour,was certainly more appropriate to the married man, the father of thefamily, and the county member, particularly if the wife of the memberhas a weakness for three-hundred-guinea hunters. There was also amiddle course for those who, while retaining some semblance ofambition, have learned to temper it with prudence, observation, andsagacity. It was to the middle course that nature had condemned oldDobbin Grey and his rider.

  Not for us the intemperate delights of the thruster. Crash through abullfinch went Alexander O'Mulligan, the pride of the Blazers. Almostin his pocket followed the lady in the scarlet coat. Almost in hersfollowed Mrs. Arbuthnot. Laura Glendinning and little Mrs. Josiah P.Perkins were obviously hardening their hearts for prodigious deeds ofgallantry. It was already clear as the sun at noon that if our old andsportsmanlike friend, whose jacket had the curious ticking, only keptto the line it generally pleased him to follow, some very jealousriding was about to be witnessed among the feminine followers of theCrackanthorpe Hounds.

  "My God, they call this 'untin'!" said Joseph Jocelyn De VereVane-Anstruther, who to his disgust had allowed himself, in thepreliminary scuffle for places, to be nonplussed by the unparalleledardour of these Amazons.

  One thing was obvious. Old Dobbin Grey and his rider were a little toonear the centre of the picture. Let us blush to relate it, but at theobsequious promptings of memory we moved down the hedgerow of that wideand heavy pasture, yea, even unto its uttermost left-hand corner wherea gate was known to lurk. But alas! Nemesis lurked also in thatcorner of the landscape. For we were doomed to discover that theeternal standby of the lover of the middle course, nay the indubitableemblem of it, the goodly handgate, had been removed of malice prepense,and in lieu thereof was a stiff and upstanding post and rails, freshlyplanted and painted newly!

  It was a great shock to the old horse. It was also a crisis in thelife of his rider. The rails looked terribly high and stout; we hadlost so much time already that every second was priceless if we were tosee hounds again. It was hard on the old horse, yet it really seemedthat there was only one thing to be done. However, before resolvecould be translated into action, other lovers of the middle course boredown upon us; no less a pair than Mrs. Catesby mounted upon Marian.

  "It was my intention not to speak to you again, Odo Arbuthnot," saidthe august rider of Marian, "but if you will give us a lead over thatpost and rails we will follow."

  "_Place aux dames_," said I, with ingrained gallantry. "Besides, youare quite as competent to break that top rail as we are."

  "Out hunting," said the high-minded votary of Diana, "you must behavelike a gentleman, even if at the Savoy----"

  With due encouragement the old horse really did very well indeed,hitting the top rail fore and aft it is true, describing in his descenta geometrical figure not unlike a parabola, but landing on his legs andgathering himself up quite respectably in the adjoining fifty acres ofridge and furrow. With a little pardonable condescension, I turnedround to look how Marian would behave with her resolute-mindedmistress. It is no disparagement to the Dobbin to say that Mrs.Catesby's chestnut is a cleverer beast than he ever was, also she hasyouth on her side; and she is taller by a hand. She grazed the railwith her hind legs, but her performance was quite good enough to begoing on with.

  Mrs. Catesby can ride as straight as anybody, but n
ow she is "A Motherof Seven" who writes to the _Times_ upon the subject of educationalreform, and she has taken to sitting upon committees--in more sensesthan one--she feels that she owes it to the mothers of the nation thatshe should set them an example in the matter of paying due respect totheir vertebrae. The negotiation of the post and rails had put us onexcellent terms with ourselves, if not with each other, and side byside we made short work of the fifty acres of ridge and furrow; poppedthrough a sequence of handgates and along a succession of lanes; andmade such a liberal use of the craft that we had painfully acquired inthe course of more seasons than we cared to remember, that in the endit was only by the mercy of Allah that we did not head the fox!

  The fortune of war had placed us in the first flight, but thecelebrated customer was still going so strong that we should have toshow cause if we were going to remain there.

  The noble Master was looking very anxious. Well he might, for betweenhim and his hounds was the lady in the scarlet coat. Mounted upon themost magnificent-looking bay horse I have ever seen she seemed fullyprepared to hunt the pack. And I grieve to relate that following hardupon her line, and as close as equine flesh and blood could contriveit, was Mrs. Arbuthnot on her three-hundred-guinea hunter.

  "Look at Mops," quoth a disgusted voice. "Clean off her rocker. Hopeto God there won't be a check, that's all!"

  Jodey soared by us, taking a fence in his stride.

  On the contrary, old Dobbin Grey was beginning devoutly to hope that acheck there would be. But, as game as a pebble, the old warriorstruggled on. It would never do for him to be cut out by Marian, andin that opinion his rider concurred. Luckily we found an easy place inthe fence, but all too soon a more formidable obstacle presenteditself. It was Langley Brook. Very bold jumping would be called forto save a wet jacket; and it is an open secret that, even in his prime,the Dobbin has always held that the only possible place for water is astable bucket.

  We decided to go round by the bridge. A perfectly legitimateresolution, I am free to maintain, for ardent followers of the middlecourse. Having arrived at this statesmanlike decision there was timeto look ahead. It was not without trepidation that we did so. Infront was a welter of ambitious first flighters. Yet, as always, theone to catch the eye was the lady in the scarlet coat. Utterlyheedless, she went at the Brook at its widest, the noble bay rose likea Centaur and landed in safety. Sticking ever to her, closer than asister, was Mrs. Arbuthnot. I shuddered and had a vision of a brokenback for the three-hundred-guinea hunter, and a ducking for its rider.Happily, if you are a member of the clan Vane-Anstruther, the morecritical the moment the cooler you are apt to be; also you are bornwith the priceless faculty of sitting still and keeping down yourhands. The three-hundred-guinea hunter floundered on to the oppositebank, threatened to fall back into the stream, by a Herculean effortrecovered itself and emerged on _terra firma_.

  It was with a heart devout with gratitude that I turned to the bridge.To my surprise, for as all my attention had been for the Brook I hadhad none to spare for the field as a whole, I found myself cheek byjowl with Jodey. In the hunting field I know no young man whom naturehas endowed so happily. His air of world-weariness is a cloak for ajustness of perception, which apparently without the expenditure of theleast exertion generally lands him there or thereabouts at the finish.

  "The silly blighters!--don't they see they have lost their fox?"

  This piece of criticism was hurled not merely at the Amazons, who hadalready negotiated the water, but also at the noble Master and hisattendant satellites who were in the act of following their example.

  "Reggie is quite right for once," said a voice from the near side,severe and magisterial in quality. "It is his duty to prevent, if hecan, his hounds being overridden by those unspeakable women. If Irenebelonged to me I should send her straight home to bed."

  "Ought to be smacked," said the sportsman on the off side, cordially."Anybody'd think she'd had no upbringin'!"

  Feeling in a sense responsible for the misbehaviour of my lawfulproperty, I "lay low and said nuffin." Indeed, there was preciouslittle to be said in defence of such conduct in the presence of thewhole field.

  On the strength of Jodey's pronouncement we crossed the bridge at ourleisure. As usual his wisdom hastened to justify itself. Reynard wastucked snugly under a haystack, doubtless with his pad to his nose. Hewas upon sacred earth, where, after a tremendous turn-up with Peter,the Crackanthorpe terrier, the Crackanthorpe hounds and theCrackanthorpe huntsman reluctantly left him.

  A halt was called; flasks and sandwiches were produced; and thehonourable company of the less enterprising, or the less fortunate,began to assemble in force without the precincts of the Manor Farmstackyard. Conversation grew rife; and at least one fragment thatpenetrated to my ears was pungent.

  "Look here, Mops," was its context, "when do you suppose you are goin'to give over playing the goat?"

  The rider of the three-hundred-guinea hunter was splashed with mud upto her green collar, her hair was coming down, her hat was anyhow, hercheeks were flame colour, and the sides of Malvolio were sobbing.

  "_Mon enfant_," I ventured sadly to observe, "it may be magnificent,but it is not the art of chasing the fox, even as it is practised inthe flying countries."

  The light of battle flamed in the eyes of the star of my destiny.

  "What nonsense you talk, Odo! Do you think that the circus woman----"

  "Sssh! She will hear you."

  "Hope she will!"

  "Fact is, Mops," said her admonisher in chief, "as I've always said,you are only fit for a _provincial_ pack."

  Having thus delivered himself Mrs. Arbuthnot's brother washed his handsof this "hard case" in the completest and most effectual manner. Heturned about and bestowed his best bow upon the circus rider fromVienna. The act was certainly irrational. The behaviour of the ladyin the scarlet coat was quite as much exposed to censure. To be sureher nationality was to be urged in her defence, but then, as the sorelytried Master confided to me in a pathetic aside, "she had been outquite often enough to learn the rules of the game."

  "You can't expect Crown Princesses, my dear fellow, to trouble aboutrules," said I. "They make their own."

  "Then I wish they would hunt hounds of their own and leave mine to me,"said the long-suffering one tragically. "It turns me dizzy every timeI see her among 'em. If Fitz had any sense of decency he would lookafter her."

  "Fitz is the slave of circumstance. Brasset, if you are a wise fellowand you are not above taking the advice of a friend, you will nevermarry the next in succession to an old-established and despoticmonarchy."

  "My God--no!" The voice of the noble Master vibrated with profoundemotion.

  In honour of this resolution we exchanged flasks.