Miranda now spots him too and in a voice every bit as powerful as her aunt's cries: "Halloa! Halloa! Gone away!" at the same time waving and pointing with a bit of Kleenex.
Guy, who must surely have had half an eye on her, immediately begins to force his way through a gap in the hedge, sounding his horn to bring the hounds, and everyone else, to him.
Now Martin appears. Bending low and running across the path of the departed fox he is busily spraying something from a tin. Nick produces a tin of his own and joins him.
Is there nothing they're not involved in? groans Bella. Her first instinct is to run and hide, but she quickly realises they would hardly recognise her dressed like this, even supposing they were to notice her at all, so high above them.
Now other people, who Bella does not know, appear on the margins of the field. Some have hunting horns which they proceed to toot, while others set up a cry of, "Yut, yut, c'mon, yut, yut," to try and call away the hounds. But Guy has iron control of his pack and nothing they can do will deflect him from his quarry. After only minimal confusion he leads the rest of the chase over the next hedge and away, the hounds running up and down, looking for gaps and holes through which they can scramble before disappearing after him. The last to jump but doing it in fine style is Bluebell on Percy. Then they are gone, two serried rows of equine and jodhpur'd bums bobbing away across the next meadow. The sabs, all on foot and miles from their vehicles, can only stand confounded as they disappear into the distance.
Miranda watches them out of sight, then turns Bucephalus aside. "That was well done," she says. "Come on."
"Where?"
"Nightingale Wood. He'll probably go to earth there."
"How do you know?"
"He's not much of a specimen. He won't have the stamina to go further."
They weave their way through the birch scrub and dead bracken that here clothe the side of the ridge, heading for the wintry blackness of the wood. So dark and forbidding does it appear, stretched out ahead of them, that to Bella as a child it was always the 'Wild Wood' from 'The Wind in the Willows.'
Just as they come under the first of the trees, Miranda stops.
"This is where I met the anti."
"Really? What happened?"
"It was November last year. We'd had a really good run but then we lost him, somewhere down below. I had a feeling he might have come up the ridge as I'd noticed he tended to be right-handed. In fact, I thought I recognised him. I was pretty sure we'd hunted him at least once before. Anyway, I'd already given up and started to come back down when there he was, right in front of me. I was just about to call up the others when this man suddenly explodes out of the undergrowth and attacks me."
"Attacked you!"
"Yes. He seemed quite beside himself with rage; a thin, broad-shouldered guy with a really short crew-cut. I don't remember much else about him, it all happened so quickly, but I do remember that. He started screaming something at me; I don't know what. He really seemed to have lost it, practically foaming at the mouth, and then he lunged for me. I thought he was going to pull me off."
"Goodness! Were you frightened?"
"I suppose so. I was pretty shaky afterwards. I feel shaky now, just thinking about it. Anyway, without really meaning to, I hit him."
"Hit him!"
"Yes, right across the face, with my crop. It was just a sort of reflex. It was horrid because blood started coming out. I must have hit him really quite hard. Anyway, it certainly made him let go and then of course Boo started playing up, although I suppose I can't blame him for that – Yes, it's you I'm talking about! – and I had to hang on for dear life. By the time I'd calmed him down the guy had gone. And so had Mr Todd, of course."
"Gosh, that's amazing," says Bella, filled with reluctant admiration. "I wish I'd been here to see it."
Miranda begins to ride on again, her swollen middle obliging her to duck rather awkwardly sideways under the low branches. "Fortunately, no-one did," she says. "He seemed to be all alone, so if he'd complained it would have been his word against mine. I was pretty worried for a while, though, I can tell you. It wouldn't have looked very good would it?"
"I can see it now," says Bella, indicating an imaginary headline. "'Female Hunt Master in vicious assault on sab.'"
"Exactly! It would have been awful." She turns the bay aside and listens intently. "I think I can hear them actually. Over there."
By the time they catch up with the others, having been obliged to dismount and walk the last few yards, they find that the fox has, indeed, gone to earth, in an old badger's sett. Rook and his men have already arrived and are busily blocking some of the entrances.
"What are they doing?" asks Bluebell, who has joined them.
"They're putting the terriers down," says Miranda. "With any luck he'll bolt and we'll get a clean kill. I don't care for digging out. I don't encourage it."
"Why not?"
Even as Miranda is about to answer, the fox suddenly reappears from beneath a bank of drifted leaves, choosing, by a dreadful mischance, the nearest exit to the milling hounds. In a trice one of them has hold of him, then another.
"Tear 'im and eat 'im," cries Guy and blows his horn.
There is a single, terrible scream, then a warmly rancid smell as the fox is ripped apart by the pack, the mutilated carcass disappearing in the melee. Guy wades in and fetches out a sinewy, fur-covered scrap, yellowish bone projecting from it. "Who's to be blooded?" He asks, and turning to Bluebell he reaches up to smear fresh gore on her horrified face.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
This is later, Best Beloved. About three weeks later, I suppose. Yes, because it was just after Uncle's birthday. Apart from being a total disaster, as you'll see, it was an absolutely filthy night, which didn't exactly help.
Noticing a glimmer of light in the otherwise darkened stables, Miranda throws a coat over her head and makes a waddling dash across the storm-battered yard. She finds Bluebell there alone, looking obscurely guilty. "Still here?" she says, surprised. "Are you waiting for the rain to stop?"
"Sort of," says Bluebell. "I . . . think there may be something wrong with Percy, actually."
"What sort of something?"
"I don't know really. He just seems odd."
Miranda comes in and examines the pony, leading him briefly around the yard. "What's the matter old chap, don't you like this weather? Hmm, he does seem a bit droopy, doesn't he? Dotty, get down! I told you to stay indoors."
"He's been like that since we came back," says Bluebell anxiously. "And when we came in he sort of stumbled, although it might just have been the wet. I couldn't decide whether to call you."
"I'm surprised you went out in this, it's been chucking it down. Come on old chap, back inside."
"It wasn't raining then, just blowing a lot. Do you think he's all right? I dried him off ever so carefully."
"I can't really see anything wrong," says Miranda, bending to check his hooves. "But it wouldn't do any harm to keep an eye on him." Suddenly she jumps back. "Hey, hey, easy now! That's not like you, Percy."
"You see? He's never normally like that. He's definitely odd, isn't he?"
Miranda nods thoughtfully. "Yes, he is. Perhaps I'd better come out and check him again in an hour or so. You'd better get on home; they'll be wondering where you've got to."
Bluebell shakes her head emphatically. "Oh no, I can't go until I know he's all right."
"Are you sure? It's awfully late."
"Yes, but it doesn't matter. I just want to know he's all right."
"Well in that case I'd better ring the Commander and have him tell your mother. Then you'd better sleep here. Would you like something to eat?"
"Only if I can have it out here."
*
"God, what a night!" cries Bella, struggling with her umbrella. "Come on, hurry up!"
Awkwardly clutching a bottle of champagne, Simon struggles with his keys. "Don't hassle me. This is a very complicated operation."
>
"Only because you're pissed."
He finally gets the door open and they tumble in out of the rain, followed by the usual torrent of cats.
"Ugh, keep away from my legs you disgusting creatures," complains Bella. "You're soaking!"
"Soon be a thing of the past, thank God," slurs Simon complacently.
"What will?"
"Soggy moggies. Any sort of moggies. No more fur-matted clothing, no more fleas hopping into your coffee, no more waking up to find a heap of them on your head, no more people looking funny at you in shops. Goodbye to all that."
"We'd have to take Sylvester."
"All right, maybe Sylvester." Simon heads unsteadily for the stairs. "Where was I anyway?" he demands. "I was expounding. I was expatiating. Ah yes. What I'm saying is . . ." He pauses to stab a wavering finger at nothing in particular. "What I'm saying is, blow Bradport; too much traffic, nowhere to park, sky-high rents and too many bloody Dunnocks. Out of town, that's the thing. One of those sheds on Egdon Park: lots of space, low overheads, releases capital for advertising. There's an empty place, used to be a fabric shop, next to Tesco. Could do very nicely."
"Very nishly, nexsht to Teshco," mimics Bella, laughing.
Simon, turns to look back at her and nearly falls, grabbing the stair-rail for support. "Are you taking the urine, Miss Hauteville? That's gross insubordination; you're fired."
"Is that from the day job or the night job? Mind the poo!"
"Seen it. Chairman and Managing Director of SOS Computers plc skilfully negotiates cat-shit on stairs."
Bella climbs behind him, mock-pushing him ahead of her. "It's only fifty thousand, you know, not fifty million. I don't think we'll be floating on the stock market just yet."
"Only a matter of time, my blossom. Only a matter of time. We're on our way, thanks to my future brother-in-law, may a thousand blessings fall upon his little head."
Staggering across their landing-cum-kitchen, Simon sets to work on the champagne bottle, fumbling awkwardly with the wire. "I see a great airy atrium, a great hairy hatrium, a full two storeys. Tinted glass, nice carpet, nice fittings – lots of chrome – all the best stuff on display. 'Welcome to the future', it would say. 'Welcome to this palace of twenty-first century technology. Come and browse; come and buy. You too can be part of it.' Why do they make these things so damned hard to undo?"
"Let me," offers Bella, attempting to take the bottle.
"No, no, man's job. And inside: rows of computers, all set up and running, so you can try 'em out. Very important that: hands-on stuff. Salesmen on hand to explain and demonstrate, then close the deal. All on commission of course. Printers too, software in racks, there'll be umpteen games out before long. Ought to be a kids' corner. It's kids'll want this stuff, mark my words. Kids buying; parents paying. Have to set everything low enough for 'em. How tall's a twelve-year-old? You should be taking notes on this. I want it all researched, typed up nicely and on my desk in the morning."
"Yes, Mr Sheldrake, sir."
"Then there'll be my office of course, on the first floor — the whole of it."
"Apart from the atrium."
"Apart from the atrium. Thick-pile carpets, original works of art on the walls, panoramic view of the harbour, dolly birds drifting about. Space. Lots of space. I crave space. Big man, big space. Glasses please."
"Glashes pleash," laughs Bella, grabbing a pair of tumblers. "And you can forget the dolly birds. Hey be careful, you're shaking it up!"
"Well? What do you think? Will it work or will it work?"
"Sounds good to me. All you have to do is convince Michael."
"Course it'll work. Can't fail. It's the future. Here we go!"
The cork flies out and ricochets around them, scattering cats. Much of the champagne fountains frothily over Bella.
"The glasses! In the glasses! You're wasting it!"
"Damn! Sorry." Fumbling open her blouse, Simon begins to lick her wet skin while making obscene, porcine noises. "Mmm, yummy! Champagne and Bella very good."
"You are disgusting, get off!" cries Bella delightedly. "Put it in the glasses!" "Hmm, I wonder what champagne and nipple tastes like? Quite piquant I should imagine."
Bella giggles and starts to help him. "Are you sure you can manage this? I don't want a floppy one." Suddenly she claps a hand to her mouth. "Oh my God."
"What?"
She takes hold of his shoulders and twists him round. "Look."
Four pairs of eyes, their expressions ranging from embarrassed to deeply hostile, stare at them from the darkened living room.
"Ahem," says someone, rather belatedly.
"What the hell are you lot doing here?" thunders Simon, instantly sober.
"We still have a key," Martin reminds him.
"That doesn't mean you can just let yourself in here without so much as a 'by your leave.' Get out!"
No-one moves.
"We know," says Jo.
"Know what?" demands Simon.
Bella has a pretty good idea, but for the moment her attention is focussed elsewhere. With the preternatural awareness of the adept she has sensed Simon's whole body stiffen and quiver, like a pointer at a shoot, while in Jacqui's hooded eyes she can clearly see the answering pain and reproach. It can't be very nice finding the man with whom you're infatuated drunkenly rooting for his brand-new fiancée's nipple. Well tough luck, she thinks. He's mine now, sunshine. He might still fancy you, but he belongs to me, so get lost! Not even bothering to turn away from them, she slowly re-buttons her blouse, giving everyone a chance to view her diamond and amethyst engagement ring. "Know what?" she asks, echoing Simon.
"That your name is Isabella Jane Hauteville," says Martin, "that Miranda Broadmayne is your sister and that you're both directors in Tenstone Estates and Tenstone Ball Clay and Mining Ltd, along with someone called Veronica Aubrey-Hole."
"In short," growls Jo, "you're a conniving, treacherous, capitalist cow."
"I beg your pardon!" cries Simon, stepping forward.
"You heard."
Martin gives Jo a cross look. "What we'd rather like to know," he says, "is why you're apparently campaigning against your own family."
"Because they're out to ruin the heath," says Bella, "and I'm not going to let them."
"But isn't that rather against your own interests? You stand to gain from this clay project as well, don't you?"
"I don't care about that."
"Why didn't you tell us?" asks Nick quietly. "Didn't you trust us?"
"Well I certainly never trusted her," growls Jo, "not from day one. More fool you that did. Stuck-up cow like her, working as a waitress? Very likely. What's her game? That's what I'd like to know. What did she expect to achieve by infiltrating our group?"
"I didn't infiltrate your stupid group," says Bella. "It was you that found us, remember? And what's my job got to do with it?"
"Bella, you don't have to put up with this," protests Simon "You don't owe them an explanation."
"Oh well, I can see they've bought you," sneers Jo. "Fifty thousand did she say? I expect you can buy a lot of loyalty for fifty thousand pounds." She turns to Bella. "You must be bloody loaded! The whole of Tenstones Village, half a dozen farms, the heath. You must be worth millions. Why are you living in this filthy dump?"
"Filthy . . . !" Simon is momentarily lost for words. "I'm not taking this! I'm not taking this from her! "
Bella restrains him by grabbing at his sleeve. "I only own a quarter of it," she says. "Anyway, it's five farms, actually."
"Only a quarter of it!" says Jo sarcastically. "Oh well, that's all right then; you're practically one of the fucking masses."
"Jo, that's enough!" snaps Martin, "We didn't come here to start a row. If you can't keep a cool head, you're no use to us. I mean it!"
"Why did you come here?" demands Simon.
"Jo insisted on a meeting," shrugs Martin. "Anyway, I've already heard what I wanted to hear."
"Which is?" says Jo.
/> "What I expected, frankly; that Bella's only concern is to save the Heath."
"You mean you believe her?" demands Jo incredulously.
"Yes. Why not? She's been a valuable member of the cell, and if it wasn't for her we wouldn't even have known about the threat to the heath. I can see that she's been in a very difficult position and it says a lot for her principles that she's prepared to stand up to her whole family." He turns to Bella. "I only wish you'd felt able to tell us, we might have been better able to help."
"But you'd surely never trust them now?" demands Jo, amazed.
"I don't see why not. It's more a question of whether they'd trust us. They obviously haven't up till now, or they'd have taken us into their confidence."
"And you can't blame Bella for wanting to protect her own flesh and blood," adds Nick. "I take it Veronica Aubrey-Hole is the aunt you were telling me about?"
Bella nods. "Yes." She wonders if it was Nick who gave the game away. Perhaps that's why he wouldn't make love to her at the party; she'd already said too much. Not that she cares any more, of course.
"But she's the enemy, for God's sake! " cries Jo. "Her sister is Master of the Tenstones Hunt! I'll bet she hunts as well."
"Do you hunt, Bella?" asks Martin.
"Of course not."
"There you are then. I might remind you that she was instrumental in helping us release several hundred mink. In fact, we couldn't have done it without her. She's hardly going to do that and then go hunting."
"She could still try and stop her!" cries Jo, incensed. "Hasn't she any influence over her own sister?"
"If I had any influence over her," Bella points out, "I wouldn't have to be campaigning to save the heath."
"I think we should go and leave these two alone," says Nick, standing up. "We've already messed up their evening. Sorry folks, bad timing." He gives a shy smile and nods pointedly at Bella's ring. "Congratulations, by the way. I'm very pleased for you both."
"Thanks," mutters Simon.
"Do you want this?" asks Martin, proffering the front-door key.
Isabella: A sort of romance Page 33