The Runaway (28 page)
Now, however, it seemed that Con was using her squeamishness against her, and Dana was opening her mouth to tell him so when her mother joined them. She was riding her own mare, a bay, rather boringly called Darkie, and tutted, wagging a reproving finger at them. ‘Really, you two, anyone listening to your conversation would assume you were both about five years old! You are supposed to be showing off that chesnut’s paces, young man, so you’d better leave Warrior and Darkie here to take the fences in their own time. Ah, off we go!’
It was a good run, for though it was a very cold morning the ground was not too hard, and as the sun came up, a great red ball inching its way slowly above the distant hills, Dana knew that this ride would be unforgettable, would be remembered for many years as one of the most enjoyable moments of her life. Warrior and Darkie were good stable companions, knowing each
other’s paces and never trying to push ahead or cram at fences. Because it was so early, a low mist hung over the meadows, and where the sun had not yet touched the frost still dusted the grass, giving the scenery a magical beauty through which the hunt thundered, seemingly indifferent.
Now and then, when the horses bunched to take a fence at the lowest point, Dana could see, well ahead of them, Con’s bright chestnut and the gleaming quarters of Beauty, the big black gelding which her father hoped to sell as a result of this morning’s hunt. The horse certainly showed to advantage, Dana told her mother as, practically knee to knee, they cleared the last straggling hedge which separated the McBrides’ cultivated acres from the beautiful wild downs, with their copses, streams and gentle hills. Here large areas of crisp brown bracken glowed gold in the light of the rising sun, and little rills reflected the blue of the sky. Warrior tossed his head and snorted, eager to lengthen his stride and overtake the horses ahead, but Darkie, who was twelve years old, kept a steady pace and Dana reined Warrior back so that she and Feena could continue to ride together. They had not yet found, for foxes would not have been popular on the McBrides’ well-tended acres, but here on the downs they stood a good chance of rousing a big dog fox, who would give them a good run for their money and, Dana hoped, go to earth as the hounds began to tire. The McBrides had never approved of blocking a fox’s earth, Donovan remarking that the sport was in the chase and not in seeing an innocent creature torn apart by hounds. ‘After all, if you kill a fox in country such as this, where they do no harm to our livestock, then what’ll
you hunt next time round?’ he was wont to remark; and since he was the largest landowner for many a mile his neighbours tolerated his views, though some, who kept poultry, must have silently disagreed.
The hunt reached a river and streamed over, knowing the water here to be shallow, the bed sanded. By now the sun was well up, gilding the water, the reeds and even the riders and their mounts. Warrior and Darkie slid down the bank and began to splash towards the opposite side and Dana, looking down into the water, watched its crystal clarity disappear as Warrior’s hooves sent up cloudbursts of sand.
Feena, following her daughter’s gaze, laughed. ‘I’ll be bound we’ve given the little fishes something to tell their mammies and daddies,’ she said gaily. ‘For weeks they’ve growed from little tiddlers to bigger ones wit’ nothin’ to disturb the clear water, and now there’s horses, sand and noise. Poor little t’ings … oh, look, there’s a water vole.’ She chuckled. ‘See him, Dee? He’s swimming for his life, headin’ for the reeds by the bank; do you think he believes we’re hunting him?’
Their horses scrambled up the slippery bank and needed no encouragement from their riders to quicken their pace as soon as they were on firm ground again. They were both experienced hunters and Dana knew that when Darkie – or Warrior for that matter – had had enough they would let their riders know by subtle means. A slowing of the pace, a drooping of the head, even an alteration in their length of stride, would tell Feena and herself that the time had come to ease off a little, perhaps even to turn for home. But now they were approaching woodland, beautiful even at this time of year, for this
was a broad-leaved copse whose foliage overhead had long gone, and a wind frost had delicately dusted every branch with white, making the scene before them so lovely that even hardened members of the hunt paused to stare before riding into the trees.
Shortly after this, hounds put up a feral cat. Black as pitch with big green eyes and long white claws, the cat fled through the trees, hounds close on his tail, until, realising his peril, he shot twenty foot up a beech tree, glaring defiance at the animals baying beneath him and causing Dana and Feena to laugh as the Master’s long whip cracked and the hounds, who had been barely six feet from the cat’s bushed out tail, yelped and whimpered, but did not seem unhappy to move away from the trunk of the tree. They probably knew that a feral cat could give a good and painful account of itself, even if they managed to kill it in the end, through sheer weight of numbers.
The hunt rode on. As they emerged from the trees the horses bunched whilst the hounds spread out, searching for a scent, and Con came over to them, grinning broadly. ‘So you’re still with us?’ he said, absently patting the neck of the big chestnut. ‘I thought you might fall by the wayside when we reached the river, ’cos I know how you hate getting your feet wet.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Dana said coldly. ‘You know very well I love the water. I supposed you’re referring to the time Warrior caught his foot on a stone in the river bed and pecked and I went in over his head.’ She glared at her old friend. ‘I was eight years old, and it’s a rotten thing to throw something I did as a little kid in my face.’
Con pulled off his hat and gave Dana and Feena a
mocking bow. ‘Sorry, ladies, that was ungentlemanly,’ he said. ‘You’re keeping up grand so you are. Did you see that wild cat? The size of him! I reckon he was as glad as I was when he shot up that tree. A cat like that goes for the eyes and nose; we’d have had Bella and Roy blinded if he’d not took off – the wild cat, I mean.’
Both women agreed that they too had been relieved when the cat took to the trees, but then there was a shout from the Master and hounds which had been desultorily sniffing in patches of bracken and around the roots of trees began to stream after Bella, who had once again proved her ability to find.
The run over the downs was always good and today was no exception. Fast and furious the hounds and the hunt streamed across the countryside, led by the little red feller, as Donovan McBride always called the fox. Through bogs, copses and rocky uplands sown with straggling birch trees, through patches of bramble and great clumps of gorse they streamed, and the two McBride women were not the first to give up the chase by a long chalk. Older neighbours who enjoyed the ride until their elderly mounts grew tired, or they themselves could no longer keep up, had gone before the river crossing; others had turned back before the incident with the feral cat. Now Dana and Feena, though with some reluctance, did not even try to skirt the bog through which several experienced members of the hunt were struggling. Both were bright-eyed and exhilarated from the excitement and the exercise, and as they made for a nearby lane which would take them more or less straight to Castletara, Feena leaned over and patted her daughter’s hot cheek. ‘We’ve done really well, so we have, to
keep up until now,’ she said gaily. ‘Daddy will be proud of us, for he knows where we left him. Con must have seen us moving towards the lane, for he said something to your daddy who turned and gave me a thumbs up sign. Now we’ll take it gently for Darkie’s sake, but even so I reckon we’ll be home in time to get everything ready for when the rest arrive.’
‘That suits me,’ Dana said thankfully. ‘I don’t think I’ve given Con any reason to gloat, do you? After all he’s a whole year older than me, and he’s hunted for at least two seasons more than I.’ She glanced sideways at her mother under her lashes. ‘You know the McCulloch girl? Was she still keeping up when we left?’ She tried to make it sound as though her mother’s answer did not matter, but guessed by Feena’s twinkling glance that she was well aware of the rivalry which existed between the two girls. They both attended the nearby Catholic girls’ school, first one leading the class, then the other, but recently Con had started to show an interest in Sinead McCulloch and more recently still the other girl had begun to show a reciprocal interest in him.
‘Sinead? But she doesn’t hunt; doesn’t even ride so far as I know,’ Feena said. ‘Oh, was she following? But the folk on foot turned back ages ago; didn’t you notice?’
‘Not really; we’ve been too busy keeping up ourselves to worry about anyone else,’ Dana said airily, though in truth she felt a surge of relief. Foot followers were welcome to join the members of the hunt at Castletara when the excitement was over but rarely did so, and Dana found herself hoping that her schoolfellow would have gone home long since. Hunting foxes was bad enough but hunting fellows even worse. She said as
much to her mother, causing Feena to gurgle with amusement.
‘You’re daft you are,’ she said affectionately. ‘If you don’t know that Con’s been fond of you ever since he came to live at Castletara then you’re not as clever as I thought you were. But darlin’, you and Sinead were good pals; Daddy used to say you lived in one another’s pockets during term time. A girl needs …’ She hesitated as though considering how best to put her thoughts into words. ‘A girl needs girlfriends; quite a different thing from boyfriends,’ she said at last. ‘I know you and Con are close, but you mustn’t miss out on girl talk because it’s important, a part of growing up. You and Sinead are both seventeen and very soon now you’ll begin to be interested in things like clothes and makeup. You’ll want to experiment with your hair – different styles, I mean – and with boyfriends too. I do beg of you not to let your friendly rivalry turn into something less pleasant, just because you both like Con.’
Dana turned to her mother, her eyes widening with surprise. ‘But Mam, just now you said Con had always been fond of me. If that’s so then surely he shouldn’t start being fond of Sinead as well?’
Feena laughed. ‘Con’s growing up just as you and Sinead are. I should like to think that you’ll make other friends – friends who are boys – because otherwise you have no comparisons and might make bad choices. The same goes for Con, of course. I know he’s taken you to the cinema and once or twice to local hops at the village hall, but if he kisses you they’ll be puppy kisses, because he’s experimenting just as you and Sinead are …’
Dana interrupted, feeling her cheeks flame. ‘Honestly,
Mother, what a thing to say! So far as I’m aware, nobody kisses anybody else; as if we would!’ And then, coming rapidly off her high horse, she added, ‘And if Con starts kissing Sinead, ’tis a punch on the snout he’ll get off me!’
Feena began to chuckle, then to laugh so heartily that she had to fish a handkerchief out of her jacket pocket. ‘What a wildcat I’ve given birth to!’ she said, mopping at her streaming eyes. ‘But have a think about what I’ve said, darling Dee. You and Sinead will only be at the high school for one more year, then you’ll have to think about what you want to do next. Oh, I know you say you want to come into partnership with Daddy, Johnny and myself – and Con, of course, if that’s what he wants – but in a year’s time, with a bit more experience under your belt, you may want to become a beautician, or a hairdresser, or – or …’
Dana giggled. ‘I don’t think I’d be very good at either of those, Mammy. No, there’s nothing I want to do more than continuing to help you and Daddy on the stud farm. You’ve made your name famous throughout Ireland; I intend to spread our fame to England as well. If you honestly think I’d swap that even for being Queen of England, you’re wrong.’
Feena flung up a hand in a gesture of defeat. ‘All right, all right, you know which path you want to tread and by the way you’ve reacted over Sinead, you’ll want to tread it with Con and nobody else.’ She looked quizzically across at her daughter, and then ahead to where the little lane they were following became flanked by steep banks. In the spring, Dana thought, this was where she would pick great bunches of primroses; in summer the tiny scarlet strawberries and in autumn the nuts from
the hazel trees whose branches almost met above the lane.
‘The horses have had it easy for the past twenty minutes or so, Mammy. Shall we trot?’
As Feena had foretold, they arrived at Castletara in good time to help with the making and serving of the enormous meal. The Aga was full of pies and pasties, baking potatoes and the big sausage rolls for which Feena was famous, but the hunt must have gone further than usual for time passed and no one returned until Con careered into the stable yard, almost colliding with Enda, who had started forward with the obvious intention of taking his horse. But Con did not seem to notice the girl; he slid down from his mount and shouted urgently for Declan, the McBrides’ head groom. Then he came running across to the back door, flinging it open and letting in a blast of icy air. He glanced quickly round the room, his eyes wide, then held out a hand to Feena, grasping her own tightly in his. ‘Auntie Fee, there’s been – there’s been a bit of an accident,’ he said. ‘Can you come? Bring a blanket.’ He whipped round on Dana. ‘Stay here!’ he commanded brusquely. ‘There’s nothing you can do; keep your nose out for once and don’t ask questions.’
Dana, who had begun to move towards him, fell back as though she had been slapped. But as the buzz of talk and conjecture rose from the helpers she caught hold of her mother’s arm. ‘What’s up, Mammy?’ she demanded anxiously. ‘Con said a blanket, not water or bandages … does that mean someone’s hurt real bad?’
‘I don’t know, but I do know Con wouldn’t have told you to stay in here if it wasn’t important,’ Feena said,
and Dana saw that her mother’s face was white as a sheet. ‘I’ll come back as soon as maybe; if someone’s hurt bad the men will be taking one of the stable doors off its hinges. Be a good girl now and do as you’re told.’
She hurried out of the room as she spoke, snatching up a blanket and running across the stable yard towards the arch which led out to the lane, and Dana followed her. Afterwards, long afterwards, she wished she had not done so, but wishing came too late. Four men were carrying a gate upon which lay her father, ominously still. Dana stared. There were his highly polished leather boots, now mud-splashed from the day’s adventure, there were his grey riding breeches, as familiar to her as the backs of her own hands, there his tweed jacket and beneath it his stiff white shirt, but all these things were splashed and mottled with blood and when she looked into his face, though she knew it must be he, there was not one feature remaining. It was just a mask of blood and other indescribable things, beneath which she could just see the terrible disfigurement which made her hope for one desperate agonising second that this was not her father, not the man who had ridden out so gaily that morning, eager to show off the black hunter. It must be another rider, another horse whose great iron-clad hooves had wreaked the terrible damage which she saw before her.