Diana the Huntress (2 page)

‘You leave us stay and I’ll tell the little lady’s fortune,’ she whined.

‘Stand back!’ said the vicar, raising his whip.

Diana tried to tear her eyes away from the gypsy woman but found she could not.

‘Your lover will come soon, missie,’ cackled the gypsy. ‘He is tall and black and hunts the fox like yourself.’

The vicar’s brandishing of the whip became more threatening and the gypsy turned and fled.

‘A pox on those ’gyptians,’ grumbled the vicar.

‘And yet, I have heard it said, Papa, that they have the art to foretell the future,’ said Diana. ‘No one else knows I go foxhunting but yourself and John Summer. How did she know?’

‘Guessing,’ snorted the reverend. ‘And what’s this rubbish about a tall, black lover? She was probably thinking of one of their own kind. Black as pitch they are, what with the smoke from their fires and their detestation of washing.’

Diana felt sick with nerves and an odd growing feeling of excitement. She privately believed every word the gypsy woman had said. All the terrible business of having a Season and getting married
horrified
Diana, since trapping a husband meant giggling and being missish and wearing such uncomfortable
clothes. A
man
would never dream of wearing thin muslin on such a freezing day. But what if there was a gentleman waiting for her, someone who loved the chase as much as she did herself, and who would not be appalled by the fact that she hunted?

Diana passed the rest of the journey in a happy dream, and by the time they reached the Chumleys she was convinced that some huntsman was waiting to fall in love with her.

But the Chumleys had only two other guests and both of them were ladies, a Mrs Carter and her daughter, Ann.

The Chumleys were both small, round and placid. Mrs Carter was terrifyingly mondaine and had a long thin nose which seemed to have been expressly designed for looking down on lesser mortals. Her daughter, Ann, was a tiny porcelain shepherdess with blonde curls and wide blue eyes and little dimpled hands. Made clumsy and gauche by the cold looks of Mrs Carter, Diana upset her teacup and Ann gave a little cry of distress and shrank back from her, making Diana suddenly feel like some overgrown country yokel.

The Reverend Charles Armitage seemed delighted with the fairy-like Ann. It transpired that the Carters had just recently moved into the Hopeminster
neighbourhood
.

‘You must call on us,’ said the vicar to Mrs Carter. ‘My little Diana has been languishing for some female company with her sisters all being wed, ’cept Frederica who don’t count, being too young and bookish.’

He leered at Mrs Carter and leaned slightly towards her, exuding a strong smell of ammonia, damp dog, white brandy and musk.

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.