Diana the Huntress

by Beaton, M. C.

  Mrs Carter shuddered slightly and raised a little white handkerchief to her nostrils. She did not want to have anything to do with this boorish vicar and his uncouth daughter. But, on the other hand, all the world knew of the splendid marriages of the elder Armitage sisters, and friendship between Ann and Diana would mean social advantages for Ann when she made her come-out the following April.

  ‘We should be delighted,’ she said, bestowing a wintry smile on Diana who was staring at the clock in an anguished way, as if willing the hands to go faster.

  ‘I am thinking of puffing Diana off at the next Season,’ said the vicar, ignoring Diana’s look of shock. ‘Husbands ain’t growing as thick around these parts as they used to.’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ said Mrs Carter, raising her thin eyebrows in disapproval as Miss Diana, forgetting her manners, crossed her legs. The vicar followed Mrs Carter’s gaze and kicked Diana under the tea table. Diana yelled ‘ouch!’ and glared defiantly at her father. The Reverend Charles Armitage sighed. Why was it that a girl like Diana could master the ‘don’ts’ of the hunting field so well – don’t allow your horses to kick a hound, don’t ride over a newly sown field, don’t let stock out of the fields – and yet not seem to be able to remember one single social law?

  ‘I think Berham county is not entirely bereft of eligible men,’ giggled Ann. ‘There is Lord Dantrey, of course.’

  ‘No one has seen the young lord yet,’ put in Mrs Chumley. ‘He has taken Osbadiston’s place.’

  ‘Poor Osbadiston,’ mourned the vicar, tears starting to his eyes. ‘Died in debt and did not even leave an heir. What a man he was. And what horseflesh he did have before the gambling brought him low. Who is this Dantrey fellow?’

  Mrs Carter gave a superior laugh. ‘I should have thought your married daughters would have put you to the wise. Lord Dantrey is reputed to be very rich and clever. He has been abroad much of his life and has only recently returned to this country. We are all anxious to make his acquaintance. The poor man must be dying of boredom. ’Tis said he sees no one.’

  Diana made a great effort. ‘Is this Lord Dantrey tall and dark?’ she asked.

  ‘I do not know,’ said Mrs Carter frostily. ‘Like many other hostesses of note in Berham county, I have sent him invitations but he has refused them all, albeit in a most courteous and civilized manner as befits his rank.’

  ‘I’ll send him a card,’ said the vicar. ‘He’s bound to see me ’cos I’m better connected to the peerage than anyone else hereabouts. Found good husbands for my other daughters. No harm in trying to catch the prize for Diana, heh!’

  Mrs Carter’s cold eyes took in Diana’s sulky expression and awkward movements and then she smiled as her gaze turned to rest on her daughter. There was no one in the whole of Berham county who could compete with Ann Carter.

  Under her china-doll exterior, Ann was thinking furiously. She did not like Diana. Nor, for that matter, did she like anyone of her own age and sex. But this Diana was related by her sisters’ marriage to a top section of the ton. If this ugly little John Bull of a prelate could lure the mysterious Lord Dantrey to his table, then Ann planned to be present when he called.

  She reached forward a little hand and squeezed Diana’s larger one with a pretty show of impulsive warmth. ‘Oh, do let us be friends, Miss Diana,’ she said. ‘I do so long for a friend.’

  Diana looked down at the pretty Ann with a sudden rush of affection. No other girl had ever volunteered to call Diana ‘friend’.

  ‘I should like that above all things,’ she said.

  And Diana smiled. A wide enchanting smile that lit up her face, turning that face, which only a moment before had been sulky and lowering, into a bewitching blaze of beauty.

  Had Mrs Carter not been reaching forward to take another slice of Madeira cake, had she seen the transformed Diana, her daughter’s proposal of friendship with Diana Armitage would have been quickly nipped in the bud. But, as it was, by the time she raised her eyes, the shadows of social embarrassment were once more clouding Diana’s face and she looked as if she could never, under any circumstances, be competition to the fair Ann.

  At last the visit was over. The wind had veered round to the west and by the time Mr Armitage and his daughter reached home, the rain was beginning to fall.

  ‘Papa,’ said Diana earnestly. ‘Before we go indoors, I beseech you to let me ride on the morrow. Squire Radford will not recognize me.’

  ‘He’s the only person that would,’ snorted the little vicar. ‘Jimmy Radford may be old, but his eyes are as sharp as a hawk’s. No, Diana. You’d best stay home and try to learn some pretty manners like that young Ann Carter. Husband hunting’s your sport from now on.’

  ‘I do not want to get married,’ said Diana passionately. ‘I will never get married.’

  But as she climbed the narrow stairs to her room, the words of the gypsy woman sounded in her ears.

  In a coffee house in Hopeminster, Jack Emberton put one booted foot up on the low stool opposite and addressed his friend, Peter Flanders.

  ‘On the subject of the ladies, Peter, I saw a deuced fine wench this day.’

  ‘Silver or brass?’ demanded Mr Flanders laconically.

  ‘Oh, silver, definitely. Sat up behind some spanking bays with a little vicar.’

  ‘Ah, that’d be one of the famous Armitage gels.’

  A silence fell between the friends. Jack Emberton was tall and broad-shouldered, with a head of black curls and bright blue eyes set in a square, handsome, tanned face. Peter Flanders was tall, but thin and bony, his thinness accentuated by a tightly buttoned black coat worn over tight pantaloons which ended in long, thin, tight boots. He had a long, thin, tight face to go with the rest of him. His brown hair was backcombed into a crest on top of his head.

  ‘Rich, ain’t they? The Armitages, that is,’ said Jack Emberton at last.

  ‘Reverend ain’t got a feather to fly with,’ replied Mr Flanders, ‘but his sons-in-law are all as rich as Golden Ball.’

  ‘The Miss Armitage I saw was a tall, strapping girl with glorious eyes.’

  ‘Diana Armitage,’ said Mr Flanders, looking wise. ‘Don’t like men. Well-known fact in Berham county.’

  There was another comfortable silence.

  ‘Perhaps I might try my luck in that direction,’ yawned Mr Emberton.

  Mr Flanders raised his eyebrows so high that they nearly vanished into his hair. ‘You, Jack, amarrying man!’

  ‘I did not say anything about marriage.’

  ‘Well, you can’t go gathering the rosebuds of vicars’ daughters.’

  ‘I wasn’t contemplating anything so sinful. I see a means whereby I might be able to pry some pocket money for myself out of the Armitage sons-in-law.’

  ‘Don’t tangle with them,’ said Mr Flanders. ‘It won’t fadge. Murmurs and whispers among the ton that it’s been tried before with no success. Powerful lot, the Armitage sons-in-law.’

  ‘I am already much enamoured of the fair Diana. Just how I like them. Spicy.’

  ‘Looks sulky to me. Vicar ain’t going to encourage the advances of a card sharp, anyways.’

  Jack Emberton half rose from his seat, his bulk menacing against the candlelight. ‘I mean gentleman of fortune,’ gabbled Mr Flanders.

  ‘Exactly, my friend, and don’t forget it. I have made a tidy bit at the tables of St James’s and I have a mind to rusticate. So I shall look about for some small estate to rent, as near the vicarage as possible. You will put it about that I am a man of means, Jack Emberton, gentleman, recently returned to this country and desirous of finding a bride. Now, is there anything else about the family I should know? Any way to ingratiate myself with the good vicar? Donate something to the church?’

  ‘Donate something to that precious hunt of his. Mr Armitage cares more for hounds than for souls. There’s gossip about that Miss Diana rides like the wind.’

  ‘An Amazon after mine own heart,’ grinned Jack Emberton.

 
; ‘I say, if you’re going to get up to anything scandalous, don’t drag me into it,’ said Mr Flanders nervously.

  ‘I mean, introducing you to the gentlemen with money to burn in St James’s is one thing, helping you to blackmail is another.’

  ‘Stop using that word,’ said Mr Emberton harshly. ‘You have benefited well from my gaming skills. Stick by me and you will profit – as you have profited before. We will set out in the morning to find me a suitable residence.’

  By morning the wind had veered around to the north-east, a perfect day for hunting, with low ragged clouds dragging over the bare winter fields.

  Diana sat miserably in her room, listening to the bustle below. She could not even bear to look out of the window.

  Gradually, the sounds faded as the hunt moved off. A gnawing boredom beset her. The best hunting weather they had had this age and here she was, cribbed, cabined and confined, and all because she had the ill luck to be born a woman.

  The squire would never have recognized her in man’s hunting dress. She sat up suddenly. The squire would not recognize her. She would join the hunt. Her father would not dare betray her in front of everyone. He would rant and rave at her afterwards. But if he caught that old dog fox that had been plaguing him for so long she was sure he would forgive her anything.

  She scrambled into her ‘disguise’, and then hesitated at the door of her bedroom. Usually on hunt days she made her escape before either Frederica or her mother was awake, hiding in the shadows of the stairs to make sure none of the servants was about. She whirled around and marched to the window, lifted the sash, climbed out and made her way nimbly down the ivy.

  Her mare, Blarney, nuzzled her and pawed the ground, as anxious as Diana to be off with the hunt.

  Diana judged they would start at Brook covert. And so she rode out, praying that the hunt would not prove to be miles away.

  The vicar had been delayed reaching the covert by the worries of the squire. Squire Radford had confessed himself amazed to find little Frederica confined to the house. She was turning dreamy and strange, he said severely, and should be at a ladies’ seminary, turning her mind to geography and the use of the globes instead of addling her brain with novels from the circulating library in Hopeminster. Fretting with impatience, the vicar ground out a promise to send Frederica back to school, although he saw no point in educating females. He had once thought it a good thing, but now he considered it a waste of time, since all the gentlemen seemed to prefer ladies with uninformed minds.

  They were approaching the wild, straggling place that was Brook covert when, out of the corner of his eye, the vicar saw his daughter Diana come riding up. Was ever a man so plagued!

  ‘Who is that young gentleman?’ asked the squire, turning his head and narrowing his eyes before the wind.

  ‘Friend of a friend,’ muttered the vicar angrily. ‘Pay no heed, Jimmy. We’ve work afoot.’

  He dismounted, shouting, ‘I feel in my bones the beast is in there.’

  Sure enough, hounds were barely in when the old dog fox broke at the far end and went away like a greyhound. The vicar came tearing out to the ‘holloa’, red in the face, and blowing the ‘gone-away’ note for all he was worth.

  Hounds were well away and going hard on the strong scent which comes with a north-east wind after a night of rain.

  The vicar was riding an Irish mare that day, Turpin by Uncle Charlie out of Kettle. It was the mare’s first hunt. All was well in the beginning, with Turpin flying over the flat ground. She took her first stone wall like a bird.

  ‘Yee-up!’ yelled the delighted vicar, waving his shovel hat. Behind him, on a great roan, came the little figure of the squire.

  Diana drew alongside, completely absorbed in the chase. They reached the higher moorland which rose gently above Hopeworth and they could catch glimpses of the fox racing along while hounds swooped up and over the slopes like gulls. The chase led the hunt far afield that day as they raced by Harham, Badger Bank, Buckstead Park, over Berham moors, past Banting to Windham, circling round to the far side of Hopeminster. And still the old fox ran like the wind.

  And then as black clouds built up to the west, as the light began to fail fast, the old fox simply disappeared. Hounds circled, baffled. It seemed impossible. It was not as if the fox had disappeared in brush and woodland. It had vanished in the middle of an open heath.

  Diana realized she was absolutely exhausted. A drop of sleet whipped against her cheek. The wind gave a great roar. The Reverend Charles Armitage cursed and ranted and raved so much that the squire feared he would do himself an injury.

  ‘Such language!’ exclaimed the little squire. ‘Our young friend over there will be shocked at such an exhibition.’

  ‘Ah, our young friend!’ hissed the vicar. Diana gave him one horrified look and galloped away as fast as her now tired and exhausted horse could carry her. More than anyone else did Diana know that her father was not quite sane on the hunting field.

  The vicar glared after the flying figure of his daughter.

  The squire edged his large horse close to that of the vicar. ‘Tell me, Charles,’ he said mildly. ‘How long have you been allowing poor Diana to masquerade as a man?’

  Diana rode off into the increasing force of the storm. At last she stopped and turned around. There was no sign of her father. There was no sign of anything. Sleet, great blinding sheets of it, roared across the heaving blackness of the countryside.

  Somehow, Diana knew the squire’s sharp gaze had penetrated her disguise. For all his gentle ways, Squire Radford could influence her father as no other person could. Her hunting days were over.

  She edged her horse slowly forward into the storm, not knowing where she was. Familiar landscapes were blotted out. It was imperative she should find warmth and shelter for her mare, Blarney. Her own comfort could wait.

  And then, through the driving sleet, she thought she saw a flicker of light and headed in that direction.

  TWO

  It was like some fairy light. At one moment it looked near and the next it seemed to have danced a mile away. Diana had dismounted and was leading her horse when she all but collided with a pair of tall iron gates.

  Sending up a prayer of thanks for her scarlet coat, that badge of the huntsman which easily enabled him to demand shelter for the night, Diana called out, ‘Gate, ho! Gate, I say!’ But only the wind howling in the branches above her head came as an answer. She tried the massive handle only to find that the gates were securely locked. She led her tired horse along the shelter of a high wall, looking for a way to get in. She had gone about a mile when she came to a part of the old mossy wall that had been broken. Taking the reins firmly in her hands she coaxed and patted Blarney, urging the mare over the pile of strewn boulders and into the dark blackness of a wooded estate. Praying that some roving gamekeeper would not take her for a poacher and shoot her, Diana stumbled through the woods until she arrived at a smooth stretch of long driveway.

  There again was the light, clearly seen now at the end of the drive.

  Soon she was able to pick out the bulk of a great house, a more solid black against the blackness of the night.

  It was only when she was raising her hand to the knocker that she felt a qualm of unease. Her appearance as a man had never really been put to the test. Certainly several of the farmers had hunted with her father, but they only actually saw her on the hunting field. She had made a point of disappearing as soon as the hunt was over.

  Blarney gave a soft whinny behind her.

  Pulling her curly brimmed beaver down over her eyes, Diana seized the knocker and gave three vigorous raps.

  There was a long silence broken only by the howling of the wind.

  Then just as she was reaching her hand up to the knocker again, the door swung open, revealing a tall man in a dressing gown holding a candle in a brass stick.

  For a long moment they surveyed each other in silence. The gentleman’s dressing gown was double breasted and mad
e of dark blue quilted silk. A fine cambric shirt showed at his neck and ruffles of fine cambric lace at his wrists. He had hair that was so fair it was almost white, tied at the back of his neck with a black silk ribbon. He had wide spaced eyes, an odd green and gold colour. His nose was aristocratic with flaring nostrils and his mouth was long and thin and rather cruel. Diana found she had to look up at him, something she hardly ever had to do, most of the population of the county being as short as her father.

  The gentleman’s eyes took in the sodden scarlet of Diana’s hunting coat and the mud of her breeches. He waited politely, and when Diana did not speak, he said, ‘Lost your way, young huntsman?’

  His voice was pleasant and mellow with a husky note in it, but a voice used to giving orders for all that.

  Diana gulped and nodded.

  ‘And you want stabling for your horse?’

  Diana nodded again.

  ‘You aren’t dumb by any chance?’

  Diana shook her head.

  ‘I do not usually trouble my servants at this hour since they are all very old but I will fetch Harry, one of the grooms.’

  He turned about, leaving Diana standing on the step. Her host’s idea of not troubling the servants seemed a complicated one. He rang the bell and the butler arrived, pulling on his coat. The butler was told to summon the page who was told to run round to the stables and fetch Harry.

  But it was the sight of the butler that made Diana’s heart somersault. She recognized the Osbadistons’ butler, Chalmers, he who had replaced the much-loved black butler before old Osbadiston’s death. This gentleman must be Lord Dantrey, although he was not at all young, thought Diana. Why, he must be all of thirty-five which was nearly middle-aged.

  ‘I think I will accompany our young friend to the stables,’ said Lord Dantrey when the groom arrived. The butler, Chalmers, produced a silk umbrella. Lord Dantrey languidly waved one white hand. The groom led the way, then Diana, and then Lord Dantrey, shielded from the rain by a tall footman holding the umbrella over his head, the footman having been summoned by the butler.