by Joan Smith
“You never mean water won’t burn!” he grinned.
“And set up a tarpaulin in case the rain breaks in earnest.”
He and Meg exchanged a snorting laugh, and he left. “You might want to pick a few mushrooms, miss,” she said to conciliate me after her husband had left. “I’m sure you’ll know which are safe to eat. Hubbard brought along a frying pan, so he can fry us up a batch.”
“I didn’t see any meadow mushrooms,” I said. “They are perfectly safe.”
“There’s campies growing hereabouts.”
“I expect you mean agaricus campestris, but it is very similar to the amanita, which is highly poisonous; we shan’t risk it.” She did not appear to know, and I did not inform her, that the agaricus campestris was, in fact, the meadow mushroom. I had not seen any, but no doubt Hubbard had.
“I can tell ‘em apart right enough.”
“I refuse to eat toadstools,” Mrs. Irvine said grandly.
She found a fallen branch and, using it as a cane, hobbled to where Hubbard was building his fire. The rain did not increase, and the ground beneath the tall trees was dry. We filled our hands with watercress and went after her. Meg made darting trips to the fireside carrying assorted roots and leaves, which she assured us were entirely edible; in fact quite tasty. On her last trip her lifted skirt was heavy with mushrooms.
We had come out to rough it, and I insisted that Victoria and I have a part in feeding the fire and preparing tea. I was not at all confident in the edibility of the meatless ragout Meg was stirring up in a pot over the fire, but I was determined those questionable mushrooms would not pass Victoria’s lips. When I saw Meg about to cut some of them into the ragout, I stopped her.
“Cook those separately, just in case. I don’t advise you to eat them either, Meg. Mushrooms can be very dangerous.”
“Not if you know what you’re about,” she sniffed. Her manner was unpleasantly saucy when Hubbard was nearby. She sliced the mushrooms into a frying pan with a spoonful of butter.
“They smell awfully good,” Victoria said, sniffing the air.
I ignored her hint. “Let us wash out our eating vessels. They’ll be filthy after falling in the bog.”
We took them to the stream and swished them around to remove the muddy water. Of course, we had nothing to dry them with, but time would take care of that. Meg was about to pour the water on the tea when we got back.
“Are you sure that water had come to the boil?” I asked sharply, to show I was still in charge.
“It’s just a-bubbling and a-hopping, miss,” she assured me, and emptied it on the leaves.
“Damme if that rain isn’t worsening,” Mrs. Irvine said, pulling her pelisse about her.
As she spoke heavy drops began to plop from the trees. They fell with a hiss on the fire but did not quite extinguish it. Hubbard busied himself making a roof for the fire with assorted lids and logs.
“The fire needs air to burn,” I told him.
“Aye, but she don’t need water, do she? I’m leaving a draft for the air to seep in.”
Wan tongues of orange continued to lick up through the charred logs and branches. Unappetizing chunks of root and unidentified leaves floated in our soup. The liquid was a mud brown color. Those mushrooms smelled better by the minute. I got the carving knife, wiped it on my skirt, hacked large pieces off a loaf of bread, and buttered them. Mrs. Irvine limped forward and grabbed one from my fingers. She wolfed it down as if she hadn’t seen food in a week. I spread the watercress on the others and made them into sandwiches. They bore very little resemblance to the dainty sandwiches served in polite saloons, but I was looking forward with lively impatience to eating them.
“The fire’s going out, Hubbard,” his wife announced in portentous accents.
“Is the soup ready?”
She pulled out a piece of root, vaguely carrot-like in shape, but brownish in color, and tried it. “It’s still tough,” she replied.
“If you can get your teeth around it, we’d best eat it before she’s cold.”
The rain was falling faster now, wetting our hats and shoulders. There was more smoke than heat from the meager fire. The smoke kept the winged insects at bay, so we removed our veils. The picture before me fell into dreadfully sharp focus. I could see the grime on Victoria’s face and gown. Beneath her sodden skirt, her lovely slippers were utterly destroyed. What would Marndale think when I brought her home in such a state? My mind wandered often to Marndale as I endured the vicissitudes of that wretched morning. My memories and thoughts for the future were of a piece with the present.
Mrs. Irvine, supported by the makeshift cane, stood as near the fire as the smoke allowed to dry her gown. Her face was pinched in pain. The Hubbards, who were so rough they wouldn’t mind being caught in a war or a hurricane, were grinning fiendishly.
“How is your ankle, Mrs. Irvine?” I asked.
“It hurts, but you need not call off the expedition on my account. On horseback I can carry on.”
“This is absurd. We’ll just eat a bite and go back home.”
A shiver convulsed Victoria, and she said, “That might be best. I fear these damp clothes might cause Mrs. Irvine a chill.” It was Victoria I was more worried about. Mrs. Irvine’s life at sea had inured her to hardship.
“We haven’t even built our raft yet, let alone try her on the pond,” Hubbard objected.
I turned to him. “Is the horse blanket—”
“Sopping wet,” he answered cheerfully.
“Do you know of a cave nearby where we might eat our lunch?”
“Would I of made a fire in the open if I knew of a handy cave? There’s none hereabouts. Ladle out the soup, Meg.”
The Hubbards began their repast with a plate of steaming mushrooms, which they ate with the watercress sandwiches. While they enjoyed this treat, the rest of us sipped at the revolting soup. The leaves, though foul and bitter-tasting, were at least chewable. The roots defied us all, so we settled for tea and bread, with bits of the greenery adding color but very little taste. When there was as much rain as tea in our cups, I announced it was time to leave.
“Nay, it would be best to wait till the rain lets up,” Hubbard said. “She won’t last long. Why pelt onwards when the sun will be shining in no time? A little ways forward there’s denser cover under the oaks and elms. Not a drop will come through to soak us. I’ll just squelch the fire,” he said, considering it settled.
“What fire?” Meg asked, but when he poured what remained of the water on it there was a fresh blast of smoke and ashes and some sizzling sound.
I didn’t argue with him. He knew what he was about, and I did not. That was the sum and total of it. I could see Mrs. Irvine was tired. We all were. Our damp clothing clung to our backs, warning of possible chills to follow. A rest in a drier spot till the sun came out seemed a good idea. Belle was brought forward, and Mrs. Irvine was assisted aboard with much huffing and puffing by Hubbard and myself. While this was going forth, Meg and Victoria gathered up our utensils and loaded them into their bag. The bag was hung over the mount, and we forged ahead. The horse moved at an awkward gait, but I blamed it on the uneven ground and her heavy load.
As the omniscient Hubbard had prophesied, a dry place was near at hand. The low-hanging branches made it ineligible for a fire, but for a resting spot it was ideal. We propped Mrs. Irvine against a tree, I volunteered my pelisse to cover her, and she said, “Wake me when it’s over,” just before she closed her eyes with a luxurious sigh.
“I’m going to shoot me a brace of hare for dinner,” Hubbard announced. He tossed his head in Meg’s direction, and she hopped to his side like a dutiful wife. “Your papa won’t mind, Lady Victoria?”
“Much you’d care if he did!” Meg snickered. He glared. She pulled in her chin and fell silent.
“You have my permission, Hubbard. You have been very helpful. I shall tell Papa you are an excellent guide,” Lady Victoria replied.
He blushed wit
h pleasure and I with shame. Were it not for Hubbard, we would have been in even worse straits than we were. Soon the woods reverberated with shots. No doubt every bullet brought the life of an unwitting hare to an end. The shots disturbed Mrs. Irvine at first, but as the Hubbards moved farther away the sounds became fainter, till at last they were mere echoes.
The young regain their strength with such ease. Soon Lady Victoria said, “What shall we do now, Jennie? Shall we walk through the woods a little and explore? You can describe and name all the wildflowers for me.” She didn’t mention my knowing anything about birds or wildlife.
My legs complained mightily when I stood up on them. A sting on my heel warned me of an incipient blister, but this was my opportunity to redeem myself, and I was happy enough to strike out. “Will we be able to find our way back?” she asked.
“That’s what a compass is for.” I drew out my compass and explained its workings to her. It was a pleasant walk. I do know something about flowers even if you might not think it. I also explained to Victoria how one could judge the direction from the moss growing on the north side of the trees. We found mushrooms and pulled them apart to reveal the spores resting on the gills of the caps.
“They look like pepper,” she said.
“They are like a plant’s seeds. New mushrooms grow from these spores. A mushroom is an interesting thing, a parasite. It grows on dead vegetable matter. It springs up into showy prominence overnight, which is why parvenus are called mushrooms.”
The sky cleared as we made a leisurely stroll, stopping often to examine some piece of nature. An echo of Hubbard’s gun still occasionally rent the air. After an hour or so Victoria said, “I haven’t heard Hubbard shooting for a while now. Perhaps we ought to go back.”
“Yes, it is getting late, and we don’t want to be wandering in the woods after dark. We’ll go back and build a fire. And tomorrow we’ll go on to the pond and build our raft.”
We turned and began to retrace our steps. All the forest looked very much alike—trees and undergrowth. There was no stream to use as a landmark.
“Didn’t we pass this way five minutes ago?” Victoria asked after awhile.
“All the trees look alike.”
“I’m sure we passed this very spot. There, you see the picked flowers, where you were telling me about the stamens and pistils. Perhaps you ought to consult your compass, Jennie.”
“Yes, this will be a good time for a practical lesson. We came northeast, so we must return southwest. This way,” I said, setting off in the opposite direction to which we had been traveling. I was happy she had suggested the compass.
We proceeded swiftly now, with no stopping to examine nature. “We’re here again!” Victoria exclaimed after another ten minutes. Sure enough, there were the wilted and disassembled wild flowers at our feet.
“This compass must not be working. The moss on the trees appears to be on the south side instead of the north. We’ll follow the moss on the trees.” I was beginning to feel a tremble of apprehension, though of course I did not let her see it.
After another ten minutes Jennie said, “There is moss on both sides of these trees, Jennie. What can account for it?”
“This must be a particularly damp spot.”
“But how are we to know north from south?” she asked. Her eyes were large, and her face pale with anxiety.
“Now you must not panic,” I said in a strained voice. “We’ll shout for Hubbard. As we spent so long walking in circles, we cannot be far from Mrs. Irvine. He would be back by now.” I raised my hands to my lips and shouted “Halloo!” four or five times. No answering call came to us but only the dead echo of my own shout.
“We are lost!” Victoria exclaimed, and burst into tears.
“Nonsense. I’ll just give this compass a tap. The needle is probably sticking in the dampness.” I tapped it and took the needle’s word that our new direction was southwest. Victoria decided she felt safer holding onto my hand, which slowed our progress. It hardly mattered, as we were soon back at the dismembered wild flowers.
“We’ll tie a ribbon on a tree every so often to alert us that we have passed that way before,” I decided.
“Oh, you are so clever! I would never have thought of that.”
I blushed at her praise. I felt like an utter incompetent as I ripped strips from my petticoat. Marking the trees had the effect of keeping us from going in circles, but alas, it did not lead us to our camp. It was growing dark under the spreading canopy of leaves. It was not the shadowy darkness of a cloudy sky but the denser darkness of the falling sun.
“We’ll never get home!” Victoria said, her lower lip trembling.
“What nonsense!” I laughed gaily. “Your papa would eventually send out a search party if we failed to show up.”
“Yes, but would they find us if it was nighttime?”
“We’d build a fire to show the way.”
“I hope your flint box is dry.”
I hadn’t the heart to tell her I didn’t have one. Before we were both reduced to tears there was a bellow in the distance. “Are you there, ladies?” It was Hubbard’s raucous voice, and I was never so happy to hear a sound in my life. Celestial choirs of angels were nothing to the music of his uncouth bellow. I called back, and soon he came stampeding through the bush like a mad elephant. “Are you lost?” he grinned.
“Lost?” I laughed, as though I hadn’t a notion what he was talking about. “Certainly not. We were just on our way back. How was the hunting, Hubbard?”
He was easily diverted to boast of his plunder. A brace of hare, three partridges, and a badger, which he told me Meg made into a dandy stew. I heartily wished she had made it at our camp, for I was ravenous for some hot food. We followed Hubbard for ten or fifteen minutes and eventually came out into the clearing where the others awaited us.
Mrs. Irvine was quiet, which alerted me to danger. She ought to have been ripping up at me for being away so long. “Let me have a look at that ankle,” I said, lifting her skirt. It had puffed up like an adder. An angry red hue showed through her silk stocking.
“You’ve sprained this. Shall I rip a strip from my petticoat and bandage it up?”
“I’ll sacrifice mine. It serves me right for being fool enough to come along on this outing.”
I let her do it, as I wasn’t eager to reveal the condition of my own petticoat to Hubbard. She lifted her skirt and found the seam to get the rip started. She tore a strip six inches wide from it, and I bandaged her ankle. “I’m afraid we must cut this expedition short, Victoria,” I said, with an air of reluctance. “This ankle requires a doctor’s attention.”
Victoria bore up uncommonly well to her disappointment. “Oh, yes, we must not take any chances,” she agreed eagerly.
“Bring the mount here for Mrs. Irvine, Hubbard,” I called, and he went to fetch the horse from where it was tethered, chewing the grass.
My heart fell to my feet when I noticed the poor animal was limping. “Oh dear! She’s lamed,” I said weakly.
A groan issued from Mrs. Irvine. “We’ll never get home!”
“Aye, she’s pulled a tendon. She might be able to hobble home herself, but she can’t bear such a weight as Mrs. Irvine. No matter if we don’t get home tonight,” Hubbard said cheerfully. “The air’s dried up. We have a bag full of flesh and fowl. The old malkin won’t die of a little sprain, and a night under the open sky will be a rare treat, eh Miss Robsjohn?”
“Charming,” I said, pinning him with a cold eye.
Chapter Fourteen
“Meg, pluck the partridges whilst I make us a fire,” Hubbard ordered.
I went to help Mrs. Irvine, and under my breath I hissed, “I’ll soon trim his wings. He is the sort of upstart who thirsts for authority.”
“It takes one to know one,” she shot back. Pain and discomfort were wearing her nerves thin.
Hubbard continued on in his upstart way. “I’ll build our blaze alongside of where we had the fire
at noon. Not the exact spot, for we dowsed it with water. Do you think you can handle things here till I get back, Miss Robsjohn? Now don’t go wandering off, for I’m too busy to set off in search of you again.”
I turned my steeliest schoolteacher’s gaze on him. “You overreach your authority, Hubbard. You will do as I say, and I do not wish to have any birds plucked or cleaned in my presence.” There was a deal more I wished to say to that creature. I wished to countermand every order he had given, but a fire did seem an excellent idea, and we could not build one here with the leaves practically touching our heads, nor could we walk far with a lame lady and mare.
He glanced warily at Lady Victoria. Seeing she did not support his rebellion, he reverted to the demeanor of a proper servant. “What do you suggest then, miss?” he asked.
“I suggest you build a fire and have a cup of tea before you return to Wycherly for assistance. There will be no need to bother Lord Marndale,” I added hastily. “He is entertaining guests this evening. Just bring us a fresh mount for Mrs. Irvine and perhaps some food that we can eat as we walk home. Some fruit or buns.”
“What about this here lame mount?” he asked. The mount whinnied piteously.
“I’ll bandage Belle’s ankle. She can make it home as long as she doesn’t have to carry a load.”
Afraid to take out his ill-humor on me, Hubbard said roughly to his wife, “What are you waiting for then? Gather up some twigs. I’ll go fetch fresh water for the tea.”
“I was just going to do that, Hubbard,” she said meekly, and darted off.
After the Hubbards left I busied myself with Belle’s ankle. Bandaging it required the entire remains of my petticoat, so I removed that article and set about tearing it into strips. Belle’s ankle felt hot and was slightly swollen. I wet the bandages at the stream in hopes that the drying cotton would cool the sprain. Victoria helped me apply the bindings.
Now that our deliverance was in progress, I turned my fears to the future. What would Marndale say when he heard from Victoria—and worse, Hubbard—of this disastrous trip? To gauge Victoria’s attitude, I said, “Well, I daresay this little outing was different from what you thought, eh Victoria?”
