Diana the Huntress (15 page)

The squire was much alarmed at the vicar’s
appearance. His clothes hung on his normally tubby figure and his little shoe-button eyes were lustreless in his doughy face.

‘Someone’s singing,’ said the squire as the vicar fumbled with the latch of the door. ‘And I must say, Charles, there is a lovely smell coming from the kitchens.’

‘Aye,’ said the vicar dully. ‘I’ve known the smell to be the only good thing about it.’

The vicar ushered the squire into the dark hall. A huge box decorated with coloured ribbons stood on the floor. ‘What’s this?’ demanded the vicar as Sarah helped him off with his coat.

‘Box from Lady Sylvester for Miss Diana.’

‘Minerva, heh! Why hasn’t Diana opened it?’

‘Hasn’t had time, master,’ giggled Sarah. ‘Miss Diana’s been in the kitchen all afternoon, cooking dinner. Her has sent Mrs Hammer away for the day.’

‘Diana can’t cook,’ snorted the vicar.

‘Miss Diana was the one that did them cakes for the church party last year, sir,’ said Sarah. ‘They were very good.’

‘Cakes is one thing, meat’s another,’ growled the vicar. ‘Bring us some wine and tell Miss Diana that if she’s ruined the dinner not to hide in the kitchen, but come and confess before it’s too late to find something else to eat. I’m blessed if I know when I last felt hungry, Jimmy, but I would not want you to go to bed without your supper.’

The two men sat down by the fire in the vicarage parlour to fortify themselves with wine.

When a much-flushed Diana eventually summoned them to the dining table, they were prepared for the worst. The vicar thought it a bad sign that Diana was having the pudding served first, a country custom to take the sharp edge of the appetite away so that the guests would not be too hungry when it came to the main part of the meal.

Rose, Sarah and John Summer were delighted with Miss Diana’s rise in spirits and all had elected to wait at table.

The vicar cautiously tasted a mouthful of pudding and his eyebrows rose in surprise. From that moment he began to eat steadily and he almost had tears in his eyes when he savoured the roast mutton delicately flavoured with dried mint. Since the vicarage still boasted old-fashioned two-pronged forks, he ate his peas by shovelling them into his mouth with his knife.

All through the meal the squire kept up a flow of amusing anecdote about what had been going on in the village, knowing full well that neither Diana nor her father had taken much interest in anything since the funeral.

‘Ah, Diana,’ sighed the vicar, pushing himself back a little from the table to allow room for his comfortably extended stomach, ‘a girl who can cook like that belongs with the angels.’

‘Most excellent,’ said the squire, dabbing his mouth with his napkin, and then surreptitiously dabbing at the corners of his eyes, for he found it moving to see both father and daughter beginning to look like their normal selves.

‘Hey! You shall stay with us this night and take wine, Diana,’ said the vicar. ‘And bring that there box from Minerva in and let’s see what she has sent you.’

Diana went out into the hall and came back with John Summer and the odd-man carrying the box between them. She carefully removed the ribbon. It was so pretty that Diana thought she would send it to Frederica.

She opened the box and slowly lifted out a riding habit. It was of purple cloth frogged with gold. There was a dashing shako to go with it and a pair of riding boots. Underneath, at the very bottom, gleamed a shiny new side saddle.

‘There’s a letter with it,’ said Diana. ‘It’s addressed to you, Papa.’

The vicar took the letter and broke open the seal which bore the Comfrey arms.

He read the letter several times and then handed it silently to Squire Radford.

‘Dear Papa,’ Minerva had written. ‘I was much Distressed when Daphne told me that Diana had been
hunting dressed as a man
. Daphne also told me that Diana is Much Altered in Appearance through Grief. I think you will find it is known in the county that Diana
Hunts
. It must be forgotten as
quickly as possible
that she has been seen in men’s clothes. Although I know hunting is not a Ladylike Sport, it is better to have a modicum of scandal to oust a larger one. To this end, I am sending Diana this riding dress, together with a side saddle. I think it would benefit her spirits greatly to go out with the Hunt. It is not as if she can enjoy a Season this year with Mama so lately put to rest …’

The rest of the letter dealt mainly with gossip about the vicar’s grandsons.

‘Why not?’ said the squire. ‘I think Minerva has shown very good sense. There will be a few raised eyebrows. But provided Diana learns to behave in a feminine and graceful way in company, I see no harm in allowing her to join the hunt. I know you have not taken hounds out, Charles, due to respect for your wife. But poor Mrs Armitage would be distressed if she could see you both in such a miserable state.’

The squire had had a quick wrestle with his conscience before he said this. But he had decided it was surely better to have Diana the Huntress back, glowing and healthy, than the grim, gaunt Diana who had haunted the vicarage and the surrounding
countryside
for the past two months.

‘What is all this about, Papa?’ asked Diana.

‘Show her the letter, Jimmy,’ said the vicar.

Diana read the beginning of the letter over and over again. Then she fingered the fine material of the modish riding habit, a flush of excitement creeping up her thin cheeks. ‘The frost has gone, Papa,’ she said slowly. ‘It will be good hunting weather tomorrow.’

‘I promised …’ began the vicar and then looked like a sulky child.

‘Giving up your hunting, Charles, will not bring Mrs Armitage back,’ said the squire gently. ‘Your low spirits have affected your household and your parishioners. It is now time to go on living.’

The vicar rang the bell. ‘Send John Summer back in,’ he said to Sarah. When John entered the room, the
vicar said, ‘We ride out tomorrow, John. We’ll get that old fox yet.’

‘Right, sir,’ said John, beaming all over his face. ‘I’ll put the word about. Farmer Blake will want to come and that Mr Emberton over at the Wentwater place as well.’

‘Forget Mr Emberton for the moment, John,’ said the vicar.

Diana’s face lost some of its brightness.

But the vicar did not want any eligible man to see his daughter on the hunting field.

SEVEN

Lord Dantrey was driving along a country lane the following afternoon with Miss Ann Carter by his side. He wished she would not talk. When she did, he found himself becoming restless and bored. When she did not open her mouth, he was enchanted again by her fairy-like appearance. Also, when she was silent, he was able to indulge himself by comparing her favourably with the hoydenish and eccentric Miss Armitage. He did not consider the Carters very good
ton
. On the other hand, he had decided to settle down and get married. He had reached that dangerous state of mind where a gentleman is likely to propose marriage to a highly unsuitable female. The same disease often afflicts quite sensible ladies. The Titanias of this world do not need magic to make them fall in love with the nearest ass. The survival instinct demands that we rush to get married, often at the wrong time and to the wrong person.

Apart from any other reason, he quite simply wanted Miss Ann Carter in his bed. He had been very correct in his behaviour and had not even pressed her hand. What Miss Ann lacked in conversation she made up for in the art of dress. Although the day was very cold, she seemed content to wear the lightest of wraps, and had a way of leaning forward to tighten the ribbons of her shoe with an impatient little shake which allowed Lord Dantrey the delightful sight of two firm breasts, trembling against the silk of her bodice.

‘There is an assembly in Hopeminster on Saturday, my lord,’ said Ann, peeping up at him from the shadow of her bonnet. ‘I believe we are to be honoured with your presence.’

‘I do not know if my presence will add anything much to a country ball. But since a beauty such as yourself considers it a suitable affair to attend, who am I to hold back?’

Ann laughed and preened. But her laugh was silvery and her preening involved a great deal of tossing of her golden curls against the pink of her cheeks. Lord Dantrey chided himself for being overcritical. Ann would make him a charming wife. He could court her in the country thereby saving himself the rigours of a Season in town.

Then they heard the belling of hounds and the high winding note of a huntsman’s horn.

‘Coming this way,’ said Lord Dantrey, reining in his team.

His sharp ears told him that hounds were in full cry. With any luck, they would come crashing through the
hedge onto the road and Ann would squeak with fright and throw herself into his arms. As a matter of fact, Ann was sitting demurely beside him, waiting for an opportunity to do just that.

Hounds came thrusting through a gap in the hedge and streamed across the road, disappearing through a break in the wall on the other side.

‘When the first huntsman comes over the hedge, I will pretend to be frightened,’ thought Ann.

Magnificent in her new purple riding habit, Diana Armitage cleared the hedge. Ann let out a shrill cry and threw herself into Lord Dantrey’s arms. His hands did not leave the reins. He sat very still.

Annoyed, Ann sat up, her cheeks very flushed.

She had not seen Diana, but Lord Dantrey most certainly had. The riding habit fitted Diana like a glove and the dashing shako balanced neatly on her glossy curls. The other huntsmen, led by the vicar, were emerging through a gap in the hedge further up the road; obviously no one else had dared to make the same dramatic jump as Diana.

‘Miss Diana seems to be recovering from the shock of her mother’s death,’ said Lord Dantrey.

‘I have not seen her,’ said Ann crossly, straightening her bonnet. ‘I wished to call but Mama said …’ She bit her lip. Mama had actually said there was no use working up a friendship with the gauche Diana when that young lady was immersed in gloom in a country vicarage and would not be in London for the Season.

‘Diana the Huntress,’ smiled Lord Dantrey. ‘I must say, she looked magnificent.’

‘When?’ demanded Ann, an edge to her voice.

‘Just now. She was leading the hunt.’

‘How
terrible
,’ breathed Ann. ‘A woman
hunting
. She must be as coarse as Letty Lade.’

‘On the contrary, she may well set the fashion if she continues to look so modish,’ said Lord Dantrey.

Ann bristled like a little kitten. ‘Do not tell me you
approve
of ladies hunting, my lord!’

‘Not in the slightest. I do not know of any other lady of my acquaintance who could carry it off with the same air as Miss Diana.’

Ann pouted. She prided herself on her
horsemanship
. But she did not want to hunt. Perhaps she might have to, if only for a little. Lord Dantrey’s taste in females might prove to run to Amazons.

‘Faith, this is a gloomy place,’ complained Mr
Emberton
as he sat with his friend, Peter Flanders, in the cold library of the Wentwater mansion.

‘Then why do we stay?’ demanded Mr Flanders petulantly. ‘It’s not as if you show any interest in Miss Armitage. Your recent game of fleecing young Barnaby Jones has been profitable. But he’s cleaned out, and his father’s taken him off to London.’

‘I beat him fairly and squarely at hazard. I did not fleece him, as you so nastily put it.’

‘You’d never have thought of him if I hadn’t found out he was a rich merchant’s son with more money than sense,’ said Mr Flanders proudly.

‘Well, well. So be it. I have not given up Miss Armitage. I kept clear. First, because I feared she would
wed Dantrey after all. I mean, what the deuce was she doing talking to him in the middle of Hanover Square at that hour of the morning? Secondly, because of her mother’s death. Girls in mourning don’t come
a-courting
. But I have not forgotten her. She seems to be superstitious and believes in all that rubbish the Egyptians talk. That’s why I stopped to talk to that old beldame. I told her if she saw Miss Diana to read her palm and say I had not forgot her. The gypsy told Diana Armitage that a dark and handsome lover was to come into her life, and Miss Diana thinks that’s me,’ said Mr Emberton smugly.

‘There’s a ball on Saturday.’

‘A country hop. Pooh!’

‘A lot of the county notables are to be there. And there might be easier, fairer game for you.’

‘Who?’

‘A Miss Ann Carter.’ Mr Flanders kissed his fingers. ‘A diamond of the first water. Rich widowed mother guards the treasure. Bit of a dragon.’

‘Aha! Perhaps I might go to this dance after all. I do not suppose Miss Diana will go. She is still in mourning.’

‘Oh, she can go all right so long as she does not dance.’

Mr Emberton bit his thumb nail and sat for a few moments, buried in thought. ‘Will Dantrey be there?’

‘Don’t suppose he’d lower himself. Very high in the instep is Dantrey.’

‘I think perhaps I might pay a call on the vicarage,’ said Mr Emberton thoughtfully. ‘Someone over in
Hopeminster said Miss Diana was looking plain and ill. She might be even readier to fall into my arms.’

‘What if she told her father about the elopement?’

‘Then he would have been around here waving his horsewhip. Miss Diana has kept quiet about it.
Furthermore
, Dantrey don’t want to marry her. Stands to reason he must have withstood all sorts of pressures so everyone’s keeping quiet about everything.’

‘Don’t take me with you,’ said Mr Flanders. ‘Can’t stand vicars.’

Mr Emberton rode over to the vicarage in the dim light of late afternoon. Sarah answered the door since Rose was down in the village, buying ribbons.

She told Mr Emberton that everyone was out with the hunt and cast a languishing eye over his tall form.

‘But if you was to step into the parlour, sir,’ she said, ‘you could wait till they return. Shouldn’t be long now, I reckon.’

Mr Emberton looked appreciatively at Sarah’s rounded figure and promptly accepted the invitation. Soon he was settled in the vicarage parlour with a glass of the vicar’s best hock in his hand and his feet up on the fender. He was just wondering whether to ring the bell to summon Sarah and see if he could steal a kiss when he heard the hunt returning home.

He heard Sarah say something in the hall and the vicar’s voice, suddenly loud, ‘Damn and blast you, girl. I’m too tired to see anyone,’ and then the door opened and the vicar, followed by Diana, walked into the parlour.

‘You will excuse us,’ said the vicar, glaring at the
glass of hock in Mr Emberton’s hand. ‘We’ve had a hard ride and we must get cleaned. So if you don’t mind …’

‘I shall call another time,’ said Mr Emberton hastily. He looked at Diana who lowered her eyes and bit her lip in mortification. A pheasant had rocketed up, right at Blarney’s feet, causing the mare to rear and throw her. Diana had landed slap in a bog, face down. Her beautiful new habit was smeared with black mud and her hat was crushed. There was a streak of mud on her face. ‘I was wondering whether we could look forward to the pleasure of seeing Miss Diana at the ball on Saturday,’ said Mr Emberton.

‘We’re in mourning, or had you forgotten,’ snapped the vicar.

‘I thought Miss Diana could come for a little and watch the dancers,’ said Mr Emberton.

‘Well, think again,’ growled the vicar rudely.

‘It is very kind of you to call, Mr Emberton,’ said Diana hurriedly. ‘As you can see, we are not in a state to receive visitors.’ She threw a defiant look at her father. ‘Perhaps I may go to the ball after all.’

She moved towards Mr Emberton, her large eyes fixed on his face. She walked straight into the arm of an old-fashioned sofa and tumbled headlong onto it.

‘Clumsy sheep, that’s what you are,’ said the vicar nastily. He was in a bad mood for the village boys had dragged red herrings across the scent and so hounds had lost the fox.

‘I think I had better go,’ said Mr Emberton. ‘I hope to see you on Saturday.’

‘Oh, go on with you,’ said the vicar crossly. Mr Emberton helped Diana to her feet and smiled at her, affecting not to hear.

In the hall, he took his hat and his cane from a smiling Sarah, and, quickly looking around, he bent and kissed her on the cheek.

‘Lawks, sir!’ said Sarah with a giggle. ‘Master’s as cross as crabs. Better not let him catch you.’

‘Not me,’ grinned Mr Emberton, feeling his spirits restored. ‘See if you can get your mistress to go to the ball.’

‘And what do I get if I do?’ asked Sarah.

‘Another kiss.’

‘Pooh, kisses is ten a penny.’

‘Then I shall kiss you twelve times and that makes a shilling.’

Mr Emberton mounted his horse outside and
cantered
off, happily aware that the pretty maid was standing in the open doorway, watching him.

‘It would be much more conventional for me to appear at a ball, Papa,’ Diana Armitage was saying furiously as Mr Emberton rode away, ‘than to go hunting.’

But the vicar thought his bad day’s hunting had been a punishment from the Almighty for trying to enjoy himself so soon after his wife’s death. In his way he was as superstitious as Diana, and his God was more Greek than Christian, sending down thunderbolts of misery as punishment, and dispensing very little love and charity to the sinner.

Sarah appeared, looking flushed and still giggling.
Diana threw her a suspicious look, but the vicar brightened perceptibly.

‘Mr Emberton do be hoping hard that Miss Diana will be at the ball Saturday,’ said Sarah.

‘Well, she ain’t going, and were you about to give that fellow my best hock?’ said the vicar.

‘First thing came to hand, and Rose is down in the village,’ said Sarah pertly. ‘You said I was to be lady’s maid,’ she added in a wheedling tone, ‘but I don’t have much practice, and it would be fine to prettify miss for the ball. Not as if Miss Diana had to dance. And that semi-mourning gown Miss Annabelle sent is so very beautiful.’

She fluttered her eyelashes at the vicar who looked sheepishly at his daughter.

‘I suppose it couldn’t do no harm,’ said the vicar. ‘Squire and myself might take you along, Diana, and that’ll make it right and tight.’

The vicarage was very silent as Diana sat in front of the dressing table, preparing for the ball. She could not help but remember brighter, happier days when the house was full of noise and excitement with all the sisters gossiping and chattering as they prepared themselves for an evening in Hopeminster.

The closed door of her late mother’s room was foremost in her mind. It had been closed so often in former days, Mrs Armitage lying behind it in bed in a drugged sleep. It was hard to pass that room and know that its one-time occupant was lying in the churchyard. She wondered what her mother had really thought
about; what her worries and fears had been and whether any of them could have done anything to stop her treating herself with those awful medicines.

A full moon riding high in the sky sent sparks of light twinkling over the frost-covered garden. There was no wind and the tall candles on the dressing table burned bright and clear.

Diana’s gown was of grey silk trimmed with black ribbons. Dull red silk roses and black ribbons were threaded through in her hair. She felt she looked like a dowager, but Sarah was pleased with the effect. Her eyes were enormous in her thin face and Sarah thought the sombre colours made Diana look much more dramatic than any fashionable debutante pastel would have done.