Running Dogs

by William Hunt

“We’ll if we spot his lordship ‘avin’ a tommy riddle along the lane. H’ introduce yourself why not? But don’t shake hands till ’e cleans up with his silk handkerchief first John. Why such un-gentlemanly ways I could never suffer to see.”

  Lifted and humoured, Charlie and John departed the village green. And arm in arm, the two made cheerful progress along Severn banks to the old fish hut… without encountering a further soul.

  Happy Returns

  On the first Monday in September, the Hardcourt Hall household staff were placed on notice to expect the imminent arrival of Lord Arlingham and his son the ‘Honourable Rupert Valans’ at the conclusion of their summer vacation. Forewarned, all was in readiness for the homecoming.

  From the upper floor windows of Hardcourt Hall, a commanding view of the approaching lane was gained. It was here a little pantry boy had been stationed. His task… to sing out the moment the Valans’s conveyance was spotted.

  Later that morning, a distinctive coach and pair, with a white swan motif decorating its yellow doors was viewed bearing down on Hardcourt Hall. Without more ado, the pantry boy sprang from his vantage point and scampered downstairs to alert the head butler.

  Amidst urgent calls and clapping of hands, the staff hurriedly lined up atop the stone steps to greet the incoming residents. For a minute or two, all was silent expectation… and then the coach clattered through the gates of Hardcourt Hall. The Valans’s had returned to their ancestral home.

  But in truth, the tour had not gone so well. Rupert’s indifference to the scenic wonders of the Wye Valley and his disinterested manner in general gave his father some cause for concern.

  And so unmoved Rupert remained, until the moment when Gloucester Cathedral and the coronet spire of St Nicholas Church hove into view on the eastern skyline. At that moment, Rupert underwent a marvellous transformation.

  At the sight of these familiar landmarks, he began to demonstrate a lively animation which had been absent throughout the whole vacation.

  His Lordship took note and chided his son in mild exasperation,

  “Well, we have taken a fine view of England’s best borders, sir. And poor company you have been throughout. Yet suddenly there is a marked change in your behaviour, which for the life of me I cannot account for.”

  He frowned perplexedly, and thereafter became self-reproachful.

  “A thousand pities your mother is not here. Ah, yes indeed” … His father reflected regretfully. “Lady Caroline would know what ails you – for I’m dashed, if I do.”

  At the mention of his mother, Rupert was honour bound to respond. “Forgive me, Papa. I apologise if I appear to have lacked appreciation, but the holiday has been most beneficial to me, and for that I thank you. And if she were here today”… Rupert pointedly added. “Mama would find no fault in your conduct whatsoever.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Lord Arlingham coughed to hide his embarrassment- and for want of a diversion fished out his timepiece.

  “Hmm! Not very far to Gloucester now… And If I’m any judge, we should make Hardcourt Hall by noon.”

  “But it is good to be home once more,” Rupert brightly enthused.

  “That is all too obvious,” his father dryly remarked, replacing his timepiece back into his waistcoat pocket.

  On the whole His Lordship was relieved, yet puzzled as to Rupert’s transformation and wondered what had lifted his spirits. The forthcoming hunting season seemed an obvious candidate.

  “I daresay you are looking forward to the start of the hunt,” he ventured.

  Rupert nodded, “I am, sir.” His Lordship smiled encouragingly.

  “To partake the stirrup cup, and then onward to the chase. What!” Rupert made a tight-lipped smile and politely nodded.

  “The prospect has perked you up I’m sure.” His father nodded encouragingly.

  “Yes Papa,” Rupert agreed. “I’m sure it has”.

  “Ah but see!”- Lord Arlingham took in the view from the coach window.

  “Over Bridge nears. In a moment, we will be on Alney Island.”

  The Valans’s coach reached Over Bridge and duly crossed the west channel of the Severn parting onto the Alney Island causeway. A half mile ahead, the course of the Severn’s second channel flowed past Gloucester itself. And to mark its presence, an imposing turreted arched gateway stood guard over the old Westgate Bridge crossing.

  But although the summer trip had aroused no particular enthusiasm for Rupert, it had acquainted Lord Arlingham not only with the scenic charm of the Wye Valley but whilst enjoying the hospitality of his fellow Peers whose estates bordered the Wye, his attention was drawn to the on-going reclamation of marshland.

  The consensus of opinion of his hosts on the matter was unanimous: saving for a few odd parcels of poor quality common land; enclosure was all but complete and land holdings came at a premium. Marshland was a wasting asset to be put to use.

  At a society ball in Monmouth, His Lordship heard a gentleman persuasively put forward the case for land reclamation. Placing beyond all doubt the direction to proceed in this matter:

  “Once drained my lord, a profit is realised from the acreage, and into the bargain one rids oneself of the bally miasma of foul air rising from these infernal places on hot summer evenings.”

  Lord Arlingham listened intently, and thereafter became determined to follow suit at Hardcourt.

  After the formalities of the Valans’s homecoming had been attended to. His Lordship (mindful of the earlier advisement given him at Monmouth), took to his study and from the library shelf, withdrew an ink drawn map of Hardcourt estate.

  Yes indeed. It had been a long time since he’d had need of it. He noted the placement and location of fox hunting coverts he’d inscribed on the map when it was last used. And that was more than ten years ago.

  Examining the map once again, Lord Arlingham was considerably surprised by the extent of marshland that lay within the confines of the Hardcourt estate. ‘Moorend’ in particular caught his eye.

  “Oh! This will not do,” he shook his head reprovingly. “We cannot have land lying idle.”

  It was clear enough. Converted to pasture, the acreage would become tenable and further raise estate revenues. Without further delay His Lordship put quill to paper. Thereafter, a horseman was dispatched (post haste) to Gloucester Tolsey with a purposeful communiqué for the express attention of the ‘town clerk’.

  The following morning Richard Amos (as was customary) reported the outcome of the harvest returns to His Lordship. It seemed where the hay was concerned, the barns filled to overflowing. But overall in Gloucestershire, wheat yields had not done so well (contrary to previous expectations) and a shortfall was predicted the following year.

  “So, we retain our corn,” Lord Arlingham advised, “And bide our time until the price rises above six shillings a bushel. Then we release our supplies… But not before. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Now Richard Amos’s attention was drawn to a more pressing engagement. That afternoon, a surveyor from Gloucester was expected to come a calling on a matter of estate business. Richard Amos was instructed to rendezvous with the gentleman at Hardcourt stables and thereafter conduct him to Moorend.

  At the appointed time and place, a somewhat intrigued Richard Amos met with a smart officious man sporting a high hat and greatcoat. On the floor in front of him lay a paraphernalia of equipment.

  “You are my escort?” he enquired of Richard Amos.

  “You are the surveyor?” Richard Amos countered, “That I am… Help me with this.”

  Richard Amos stowed the surveyor’s leather case and pole bag with its measuring sticks and rods behind the seat of the gig prepared for the outing. And with his passenger comfortably seated, Richard Amos drove them off to the pre-planned destination.

  Arriving at Moorend, the surveyor bade Richard Amos join him in a walk along the Severn bank. From time to time the surveyor questioned his escort and occasionally pau
sed to make a few pencilled calculations in his notebook.

  During their return along Buttermilk Lane, the surveyor called a halt on several occasions and dismounted in order to thrust a rod into the wayside oozing sedge grass.

  Richard Amos curiosity finally got the better of him. “What’s this all about?” he wished to know.

  In a perfunctory manner, the surveyor outlined the purpose of the tasks he was performing. Richard Amos was taken aback.

  “The people hereabouts use the reed beds for thatching, and the withies to weave baskets,” the bailiff pointed out.

  “Then I suggest, they take the matter up with Hardcourt Hall,” came the terse reply. The bailiff frowned, but ventured no further with the conversation.

  The surveyor himself had been originally brought in to oversee the feasibility of a canal linking Gloucester to Hereford, and this diversionary secondment was greeted with great annoyance. But the demands of a Gloucestershire Peer of the Realm were paramount, and not to be denied.

  His investigations completed, the surveyor asked to be conveyed forthwith to Hardcourt Hall.

  “That didn’t take long?” observed Richard Amos.

  “It’s a simple enough task,” the surveyor replied. “Hardly worth my bothering really,” he added condescendingly.

  At Hardcourt Hall, the surveyor, with the help of a few sketches made on site, outlined the work needed to drain Moorend and the surrounding acreage.

  The plan was straightforward enough, but the work would take a month or so to complete. In the meantime the surveyor – upon his return to Gloucester – would immediately itemise the factors needed… men and materials etc. and (along with his fee) send the completed inventory onwards to Hardcourt Hall.

  But now time was pressing. By His Lordship’s leave, may he attend to the matter so far discussed? Lord Arlingham expressed his satisfaction with the progress made thus far, and the audience was concluded. The surveyor politely bowed and with barely concealed impatience… departed.

  Barely had the surveyor left the premises, when two riders in close company came trotting through the gates of Hardcourt Hall.

  “Ah! But do I see Squire Portlock and young Toby?” His Lordship remarked to his son.

  Rupert’s attention became intently focussed on the visitors. With his adolescent hopes rekindled, the sight of Toby was never more welcome than on this day.

  “I see Toby’s presence raises your spirits, yet further,” observed his father. “Long may this happy recovery continue say I.”

  In due course, the parties met up in the drawing room.

  “Good day to my lord,” the squire spoke heartily, as he and Lord Arlingham shook hands, “I trust the vacation went well?”

  “Capital Jonas,” replied His Lordship, “And Toby, how are you?”

  “I am well enough, my lord,” replied Toby. “My mother sends her best wishes on your safe return.”

  “Thank her most kindly; we are most gratified.” Then Lord Arlingham motioned to his son.

  “Well, I can tell you now, Toby… Your presence here has livened up Rupert no end.”

  Toby smiled respectfully, “I am always pleased to see my old friend.”

  “Perhaps I might walk outside with Toby awhile Papa,” suggested Rupert.

  “Why, yes of course,” His Lordship agreed. “I’m sure you both have much to discuss.” As the pair departed, Lord Arlingham and Squire Portlock, made themselves comfortable, and each partook a goblet of claret from a silver tray offered up by a servant.

  After the usual exchange of pleasantries, Squire Portlock spoke of his meeting with the Comte, and the subsequent currency transaction undertaken on receipt of Lord Arlingham’s letter of advisement. The successful conclusion of this mission was duly noted, and greatly appreciated by the host.

  “Your presence at that time was most gratifying, Jonas. I am much in your debt, sir.”

  Squire Portlock nodded in polite response, “Not at all, my lord. There is however, something I wish to say at this juncture.”

  After a brief hesitation, he adopted an apologetic air that bespoke the approach of a troubling matter. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but I happened to be at the Bell Hotel yesterday,” the squire recounted. “One of the travellers - an agent representing the Royal Porcelain Works at Worcester – was returning from Paris, at the conclusion of some business… By coincidence I recognized him as the man we’d dealt with when purchasing Rupert’s cavalryman. We fell into conversation and he told me of the happenings he’d witnessed whilst abroad.” Squire Portlock fell silent and politely awaited permission to proceed. “Ah but please continue, Jonas,” a fully engrossed Lord Arlingham bade the squire.

  “Well, my lord. On the day of the agents departure from Paris. The Parisian newspapers were denouncing a ‘declaration’ from Austria and Prussia, warning the French people to recognize King Louis as their Sovereign. The agent vividly described to me scenes of great anger unfolding on the streets of Paris…And he told me he was very glad to quit the place.”

  While Lord Arlingham sombrely contemplated these revelations. Squire Portlock came to the point of his anecdotal narrative.

  “Thereafter my lord, I took the liberty of discussing the matter with my good wife. And under the circumstances, it is with great regret that we have decided to withdraw Toby from the planned continental tour. May it please Your Lordship to accept our sincere apologies?” He concluded.

  To Squire Portlocks great surprise, Lord Arlingham was of the same mind and fully endorsed the sentiments expressed. “I quite understand, Jonas,” he responded with empathy. “In truth there was much talk of France, during our vacation. Things appear no better in that most Godless country, and under the circumstances it may be wise to cancel the Grand Tour altogether.”

  And so, the Grand Tour died. The uncertainty and procrastination that had dogged the summer months of 1791 were finally extinguished. The expectations and hopes of the much lauded cultural rite of passage across Europe for two sons of Gloucestershire… faded from view.

  Outside, the self-same conversation was taking place. “So, there we are. It’s all off old chum,” Toby announced his withdrawal to Rupert, who (from his father’s past utterances on the subject) already guessed this to be the final outcome. For a moment or so Rupert feigned concern-but his heartfelt thoughts were clearly elsewhere. He could delay no longer.

  “Oh! As I think of it,” Rupert spoke as one given to sudden remembrance, “Uh! The little matter of the poem, Toby.”

  In like manner, Toby played out the game and feigned puzzlement himself, until Rupert was finally forced to be more forthcoming.

  “You were to present my ode to the maid. At your suggestion as I recall.”

  “Oh that! Ah yes, so I did!” exclaimed Toby, as one so reminded.

  “And was it well received?” Rupert pressed eagerly, all disinterested pretence forgotten.

  Toby folded his arms and leaned across to his companion with an air of confidentiality.

  “Well, I am bound to say that the maid in question – Melody as I recall? Was most taken by your poetic offering? Quite bowled over actually.”

  Rupert was rapturous. “And she took the poem to her bosom?”

  Here, Toby adopted a rueful air. “Well, not as such.” And drawing the parchment from his jacket pocket, he handed it back to his crestfallen companion.

  “But am I spumed?” Rupert ruefully asked. Toby had a ready reply to hand.

  “Ah, but dear friend, put yourself in her place. Why she is smitten, flattered and deeply honoured by such attention, but dare not embark upon such familiarity with one so plainly beyond her station.”

  “She spoke of this?” Rupert was askance.

  “Indeed so,” came the glib response. After a moment’s hesitation, Rupert turned urgently to Toby in no small desperation with a request.

  “Can you not arrange a formal meeting?” He implored his friend.

  “So, I may to earnestly convey to he
r, that our differences will never be allowed to come between us.”

  Rupert added a rueful postscript. “It is so difficult to speak of the things I dearly wish to tell her… by way of a chance encounter along the lanes.”

  Toby heartily agreed, “Oh, that wouldn’t do at all… Too vulgar by far. Besides I hear the gleaning bell these days. The fields will be filled with village women picking up the corn seed for a good while yet”.

  “Then what is to be done?” Rupert plaintively implored his companion. Toby appeared to concentrate for a second or two, and then he smugly brightened.

  “Well, it’s a ticklish situation, but there is a way I think!”

  “Pray what can it be?” Rupert exclaimed, and listened intently as Toby outlined the plan of action. It was all a matter of timing. In a few short weeks, the hiring fair would take place on Rosamund’s Green.

  Toby assured Rupert that a meeting might be so arranged there. Why, the two of them could simply be strolling around the fairground, and under the guise of a chance encounter, pleasantries could be exchanged etc.

  Rupert however was disconcerted by this proposal.

  “But I have never been to the hire fair,” he declared. “Papa would deem it most improper that I be seen at such a place.”

  “Well, do make your mind up, Rupert,” Toby remarked acidly. “Just now nothing else mattered, and then moments later you are in full retreat.”

  Toby saw the moment had arrived to play his ace card. “It would appear the maid’s anxieties are all too readily confirmed I think.”

  “Oh! I would never betray her!” cried out the troubled suitor.

  Toby’s arguments were unassailable, and Rupert was convinced. Without further ado, he agreed that under the circumstances an outing to the fair was ‘by far and away’ the best opportunity to meet with Melody once again.

  Toby was jocund… “Was this not a fine time for the hunt to begin both in field and fair?” He excitedly enquired of his companion. What sport they would have and soon. For anon, the Hardcourt foxhounds opening meet would take place on the steps of Hardcourt Hall no less. And all comers of substance were cordially welcomed.