Mister Darcy's Dogs

by Barbara Silkstone

  In less than thirty-minutes we arrived at the Barkley Estate. Huge horses with braided tails and carrying red-jacketed riders littered the field. The air fairly vibrated with energy. Dogs mingled near horses’ hooves. Toffs sipped from champagne flutes. Pretty ladies in riding clothes lingered in model-like poses.

  We found Darcy near the paddock. He held the reigns of a rather large chestnut-colored horse. He relinquished his mount to the groom and greeted us.

  Bingley spoke first. “I’ll take Jane to our mounts.” They walked off, eyes fastened on each other, tripped and laughed.

  “Follow me to the stables. I’ll introduce you to your horse. He took my elbow looking down on me with a benevolent smile. “No offense, but you seem somehow diminished. Did you… shrink during the night?”

  “My outfit is at the cleaners. I borrowed Jane’s.” I swear the man could read my mind.

  “That’s a relief. I thought perhaps yesterday’s events had taken their toll on you. You will be relieved to know your sisters are in good hands and seem repentant. They are to learn the fine art of giving a true English tea party later today. My Aunt Catherine de Bourgh brings out the repentance in all who fall into her realm.”

  I choked back a laugh. A day with Aunt Catherine would be the perfect punishment.

  “And Georgiana appears to have come to her senses. Wickham held some sort of Svengali hold on her. But once she realized what he is and that he used her in a most foul way, she wants nothing more to do with him.”

  A rather large horse with huge teeth stomped our way. I took a subtle step behind Darcy.

  “Where’d you go?” he looked over his shoulder.

  “I thought I saw someone I knew.”

  He continued, “As I was saying, my sister apologized with great sincerity. I can tell she feels badly for causing me such distress. Between us, I truly feared she’d been kidnapped. It was only once I knew your sisters were with her that I my terror was a bit relieved.”

  “My sisters would have been of no help in a true kidnapping.”

  He laughed a deep chuckle. “A true kidnapper would not possess the stamina to take and keep Lydia.”

  Again he had me laughing. His dry sense of humor was a pleasant surprise.

  He stopped for moment and looked directly into my eyes. “Why is it that women are attracted to bad men?”

  “Are you fearful Wickham will make yet a third attempt on Georgiana’s affections?”

  “Wickham is no longer a problem. My people have escorted him out of the country.”

  Crikey! Darcy has people! I thought of Wickham’s threat in the church.

  Caroline ran toward us. As she drew closer I wondered how she kept her head up with all the makeup plastered on her lifted cheeks. Two cameramen and a man with a fistful of tiny clip-on microphones used by newsreaders toddled behind her.

  “Will! You’re needed in the paddock immediately. Lord Barkley is insisting the cameras not be on the grounds during the actual hunt,” she said.

  “That was not our agreement. We want the full effect of the hunt from beginning to end with all the pageantry. I’ll go chat him up. I was about to introduce Lizzie to her horse. She’s been assigned to Violet. Would you take her to meet her horse?”

  Caroline glanced at me as if I had just appeared from out of nowhere. Her eyes inventoried my outfit and she smirked.

  “My pleasure,” she said as she squeezed Darcy’s arm and batted her eyelashes.

  Puh-leeze!

  He strode off in the opposite direction.

  Caroline turned on me with a gleam in her amber-colored eyes. “Follow me,” she said speaking to the air above my head. She swaggered onward, flicking her horsewhip. “We’ll have you saddled in no time.”

  I gulped.

  Chapter 19

  In trying to keep up with Caroline’s leggy strides I quickly developed a limp from the lumps of extra pant-leg fabric wadded in the top of my borrowed boots. The thick cloth pressed against my wellie-wounds causing me to reconsider this entire event. But the thought of the positive publicity and Darcy’s dark eyes caused me to put my best hobble forward.

  Caroline led me past a line of colorful tents sheltering both perfect and paunchy people sipping champagne and nattering, their flapping jaws reminding me of cows chewing cuds. They appeared to have lots to say. I wondered if any of it had any value or if it was merely the idle rich and their idle chatter.

  Could that be Mister Darcy’s dark secret? He was a member of the idle rich? It hardly seemed cloak-and-dagger. The man wore his financial statement on his sleeve despite being un-Google-able. Many prominent people employed Internet specialists to cleanse their names from the worldwide web. I could understand the fear of kidnappers and swindlers.

  As we approached the stable Caroline summoned a young blond boy. “We’ll need your assistance in preparing a horse for Miss Bennet.”

  I seethed at Miss. But I knew she would never refer to me as Doctor Bennet. I shuffled into the stable two steps behind her and forced a smile. She goose-stepped down the passage between the stalls. I followed, my gait more wounded duck than goose.

  Jane’s helmet slipped on my sweaty head and fell over my eyes. I poked at the front edge lifting it just in time to see a rustic plaque on the door of a stall.

  The sign had my assigned horse’s name Violet on it. A second glance, I saw that it had been misspelled as Violent. I smirked. The high and mighty Barkleys were spelling deficient.

  I stepped up to the stall gate, remembering what I’d read on the Internet last night about horsemanship. Fix the animal in the eye with a masterful gaze. I proceeded to do just that.

  The horse avoided eye contact until forced to meet my kindly regard. The animal lowered its nuzzle, its dark rolling eyes said Beware. The horse pulled back its huge horse lips exposing the biggest set of teeth I’d ever seen. And it wasn’t smiling.

  My knees shook and my palms grew wet. I could not let the animal know of my fear. “Hello Violet. You have a lovely name. I’m Lizzie.” My hand shook like the last leaf of autumn as I reached out to pet its nose, aiming high above its teeth.

  Violet stomped the ground, reared up, clobbering her front hooves on the stall door.

  I jumped back. Why would Darcy assign me such a horse? I could not fathom the intent behind his dastardly plan. Underneath his altered demeanor did he still harbor snob resentment?

  “That horse is not for riding! He’s for breeding,” the young man yelped. “I can’t let you take him out!”

  Relief flooded over me.

  Caroline whipped her whip. “Young man, you will do as you are told. Mister Darcy has requested this horse for this lady. Lord Barkley wills it to be so.”

  I caught Caroline swallowing a smile as I turned to him. “I’m to ride a horse called Violet.” But as I spoke the big brut let out a horse-scream smothering my words. I wasn’t sure he heard the name.

  The stable hand turned white, his eyes as large as ostrich eggs. “I’ve never saddled this one.”

  “Just help her mount. She’s an experienced horsewoman,” Caroline snapped.

  I inched away from the stall looking to the young man for help. “I was expecting a she-horse. An old mare, perhaps?” I said.

  Caroline smacked me on the back sending the helmet falling over my eyes again. “No wonder Darcy has taken a liking to you. You are so funny. Now hurry!”

  She nudged me toward the horse being bridled by the quivering boy. “I must get back to my camera crew. In case you haven’t thought of it, your debut on BBC – Society at Play may be just the ticket to build your little doctoring business.”

  I pushed the hat back on my head the better to see the animal. Not Caroline, the other animal. The horse remained the biggest four-legged creature in my history although I had seen an elephant in the London Zoo.

  “Are you sure this is the horse Darcy wishes for me?”

  Caroline flicked her whip against her boot. “He could not wish you a more thr
illing mount. Now remember to smile for the cameras. I shall make sure they are on you.”

  As I eased toward the animal, I happened to glance at the underbelly. This was clearly not a mare. And unless the horse fancied flowers, I doubted his name was Violet.

  As Caroline strutted away, the stable boy tied Violent Violet to a post and brought around a set of wooden steps. My knees knocked into each other and the butterflies in my tummy had turned into vultures.

  The hunting horn sounded. The thought that Derby and Squire, let alone Mister Darcy, were counting on me prodded me into the saddle, that and the stable boy’s hands on my derriere.

  I settled my right leg over the saddle, slipping as the cuff of the jacket sleeve slid between my grip and the leather. My feet dangled.

  The hounds began to howl and the horses clop, clopped as they left the paddock headed into the field. I panicked. I’d come this far by mounting the beast, I must follow through and not lag behind. Besides, I had no idea where they were headed and Derby and Squire needed me.

  “Please hurry and adjust the foot-thingies,” I said.

  The stable boy bent to his task and worked on the foot-thingies getting them up till they were in their highest position. As my feet slipped into the… the… stirrups, that’s what they are called, my life definitely passed before my eyes.

  My left foot slipped out of the stirrup and then my right followed. I gripped the reigns, which felt as useless as embroidery thread on a buffalo, not that I’d ever ridden one. I looked down and felt a wash of vertigo.

  My boots dangled free as I tried to find the pedals… no, the stirrups. I grabbed the front of the saddle with both hands and clung to the useless reigns. Take hold of yourself, Lizzie. You are a trained dog psychologist. You did not work for your degree to die under the hooves of a horse called Violet.

  I leaned down and whispered in Violet’s ear. “You are a very nice horse, indeed. And I am a very nice person. If you kill me they may send you away to horse-prison and take away your stud fees. Think how lonely you would be.”

  Violet’s ears moved back. Good. He was listening.

  “Shake your head if you understand me.”

  He shook his head and trotted from the stable at a nice easy cantor. I sat up straight apprehensive with the feeling of nothing but two thin pieces of leather to control a thousand pounds of muscle. I though it best to think of Violet as a rather large dog.

  My trusty mount and I joined the Barkley Hunt much to the astonishment of Caroline Bingley.

  And yours truly.

  Chapter 20

  Trotting out of the stables with a false sense of security, I could hear Caroline’s witchy voice over a loud speaker. She was introducing her viewers and the spectators to the history and sport of fox hunting.

  Violet was amazingly well-behaved. Either he liked me or the threat of no more girlfriends made him less hostile toward me. In any case, I held firmly to the pommel of the saddle, knuckles white, fingers numb.

  We left the stables at a stiff-legged trot. I bounced along on his back, barely able to keep my balance. We came through the fenced paddock and onto the starting field, a sizeable expanse of clearing about the size of football field. A bramble and thorn vine covered a low stonewall that ran along the side of the field and disappeared over a hill. Sunlight glinted off what appeared to be a creek just where the wall met the horizon.

  The field was littered with dozens of horses and riders and hounds. It was organized chaos.

  Lord Barkley trotted past as I leaned down to get a better grip on the edge of the saddle. The reins were useless and felt to be steering a car without the wheel. Barkley did a double-take and reined his horse. “I say, lass, what are you doing on Jack? He’s not to be with the other mounts!”

  “Jack?”

  “Jack the Ripper.” Lord Barkley shook his head. “He’s a kicker. A violent horse meant only for breeding. If you insist on riding him tie a red ribbon on his tail as a warning. Stay to the back of the pack and take this.” He handed me one of two riding crops he was carrying and trotted off.

  I started to throw the thing on the ground because I would never strike an animal. Then I thought about Caroline and decided to hold on to it. Maybe a lash across her bum might be in order at some point.

  At the sound of a hunting horn, Violet, better known as Jack, began cha-cha-ing sideways into the field of horses and hounds. No way was I about to dismount and tie a red warning ribbon on his tail. My father didn’t raise fools for daughters… unless you want to count Lydia… and Kitty… and Mary, forty-percent isn’t bad.

  Where were Derby and Squire? I hoped they were safe.

  Jack changed his dance to a rhumba. I hunched way over his neck and hung on, his mane in my nose. I breathed deeply in a vain effort to relax as I fought to locate the stirrups with Jane’s over-sized boots.

  Again, Caroline’s voice on the loudspeaker took on the tone of a professional newsreader with a touch of nails-on-the-slate electronic screech.

  My trusty mount brought his head up at the sound of Caroline and bumped his neck on my lip. I realized the cameras were directly on me. Taking every bit of willpower I had at my command, I sat erect, smiled at the cameras, and waited for Jack to bolt carrying me screaming over the countryside with no steering wheel.

  Caroline’s live broadcast would probably be seen on YouTube and expose my folly to the far corners of the earth. She droned on, “This is a drag hunt. It emphasizes the thrill of riding at high speed in a natural environment. At no time is a real fox involved. All foxhunts must comply with the Hunting Act of 2004, wherein the hounds are not used to hunt a live fox. The dogs have been trained to follow an artificial scent.”

  My trusty steed and I drew closer to the hyper horses, each one jockeying for position. Jack stomped the ground, turning round, seeming to seek a target for his rear hooves. I thought about dismounting but that might put me in his strike zone.

  The speakers crackled as Caroline continued her description of the hunt. “Should a live fox surface, the Huntmaster must immediately call off the dogs to comply with the law. The hounds must not be permitted to kill the fox.”

  An un-mounted huntsman herded the dogs to the center of the field where another huntsman poured what could only be the artificial sent of a fox or Caroline Bingley’s perfume.

  The hounds gathered round the scent deposit. It seemed each of the fifty or more dogs had its own technique for remembering the smell. Some sniffed and ran, some lingered over the blend of fox urine and blood. In any case, within minutes the hounds scattered like ants on a disturbed hill.

  Caroline’s voice rose over the baying hounds. “Now TALLY HO!”

  Jack seemed to know his way around and headed into the field. I slipped to the left, the saddle sliding under my thighs. I squeezed as hard as I could and managed to stay on. I could see Mister Darcy across the field. I would have waved at him but I dared not let go of the saddle edge.

  Two low-slung torsos trailed the pack of hounds. Derby and Squire were running their little legs off, probably confused as to the fuss, but joyous as to the romp. Unlucky horseshoes could be in their immediate future.

  I leaned into Jack’s neck and asked him to take me to join the mounted huntsman about to follow the hounds. He seemed to understand and changed from rhumba to a drum major’s strut. He pranced toward the group. Maybe I should add horse whispering to my curriculum vitae.

  The hounds scattered across the field before Jack the Ripper and I arrived at the outskirts of the thirty or so mounted huntsmen. The horses cantered behind the dogs at a careful distance and proceeded in single-file across the field following the low stonewall rife with thorn vines.

  I held him back as he was a kicker without a red ribbon on his tail. Jack waited impatiently while twenty or so steeds passed us. My pants caught the barbs on the stone wall, and for a moment I felt I might be plucked from Jack’s back. I weighed the advantages.

  The hunting horn blew rather close to
my ears. We were off! Jack leapt ahead of the other horses, and my heart nearly burst out of my chest. I hoped I wouldn’t faint. He kicked his rear legs in what could have been damaging blows had they connected. A stream of bloody-hells followed us as we careened around a bend in a road. How did we arrive on a muddy road? I must have closed my eyes. Not a bad idea.

  Where were the brakes? I pulled the reins but, dash-it, the strings were useless.

  Where, oh where, was Darcy?

  The sky darkened. Was it an ominous portent of things to come?

  Jack galloped toward a hedge. I hoped his will to live was as strong as mine. I closed my eyes and fell onto his neck. My thighs spasmed against the saddle. I clenched my jaw muscles as Jack rocketed into the air.

  Chapter 21

  We landed on the other side in one piece, actually smoothly, although my bum hurt and my jaws ached. I whispered, “Good boy, Jack.”

  He whinnied and slowed to a waltz.

  I turned at the sound of applause. It was the camera crew! And me wearing a scared-silly expression.

  Another hunting horn sounded and Lord Barkley and his jolly crew thundered to a stop behind me.

  “Make way!” Barkley yelled.

  I tugged on Jack’s reins. He looked back at me as if to say I beg your pardon.

  “He won’t move any faster. I think this is his favorite dance step.” I said.

  “Use your riding crop!” Barkley hissed as the horses piled up behind us.

  “I will not use a whip!” I said with what I hoped was a sufficient amount of indignation in my voice.

  But I did want to get out of the way and out of the limelight of the infernal camera crew. I leaned down and spoke softly into the horse’s ear. “Pretty please, Jack. I know of a nice little mare with big brown eyes.”

  Jack pumped his head up and down and stepped aside, letting the pack of horses pass in peace. If I were Jack I’d have been sorely tempted to kick their pompous braided tails.