Mistress of the Hunt

by Amanda Scott

  “What is it, my lady? I had not believed you would wish to see the accounts before Monday morning.”

  “Never mind the accounts now,” Philippa responded tersely, giving herself a little shake to clear her mind. “I have more important business for you to attend to. I want signs clearly posted all around our land, tenant farms included, barring anyone from trespassing without permission from me.”

  The plump little man stared at her uncomprehendingly. “No-trespassing signs, my lady? Surely you can’t mean that.”

  “I do mean it, Mr. Weems. I have never in my life been more serious about anything. This property is no longer open to any hunter who chooses to ride his horse across it without regard for crop or garden. Why, I heard that only last year one of Mr. Assheton-Smith’s hunts ended in a front garden in Leicestershire, so I suppose we must be grateful that they have not ridden straight up our drive or even into the stone hall.”

  “My lady, at the risk of speaking above my place, I must venture to say that there is little risk of such a thing occurring. I believe, moreover, that you are being precipitate in ordering this land posted against trespassers. You will achieve little but to bring the wrath of your neighbors and tenants down upon your head. Why, a man of Tom Giles’s temperament, for example, won’t thank you for protecting his fields from the hunters.”

  “Well, he should thank me,” said Philippa flatly, “for now he can go about his business, which should be to get a good crop of winter wheat out of that north field, for one. Yes, and now I come to think of it, there is no reason why our dairy cattle must be kept in the barn eating expensive hay and grain when they might benefit from the excellent pasturing hereabouts. There can be no objection now, I expect, to putting them out to graze.”

  “But the hunters,” protested poor Mr. Weems, mopping his brow with a handkerchief yanked from his coat pocket for the purpose. “My lady, you cannot have thought of what this will mean. Every hunt in the shires crosses this land upon occasion.”

  “They must hunt in other directions,” said Philippa with a dismissive shrug. “There is sufficient open land in Leicestershire to make it unnecessary that they should wish always to cross the Whissendine, you know.” She drew herself up haughtily. “In any event, Mr. Weems, I have given you your orders. I hope I shall not find it necessary to repeat them.”

  “No, my lady,” said the bailiff morosely. “I’ll see to it, right enough. Not that it won’t be as much as my life is worth to speak to Giles or Sam Cudlipp,” he added, muttering.

  Philippa chose not to hear him, merely nodding dismissal, and when he had gone she sat back in her chair, pleased with her morning’s work. Now let Rochford prate of women and sofas. Let him still pretend that what she wanted was marriage with its resulting loss of independence. Whatever she had said to Weems about the hunts having all of Leicestershire in which to indulge their sport, the Wyvern must lose six foxes out of ten if they could not hunt across the Raynard-Wakefield estate. Thus would Rochford be punished, for he would be quickly brought to realize that he had underestimated her strength, and that although she might not wish to wed, her determination to ride with the hunt was as strong as ever.

  Later that afternoon, having had her fill of Jessalyn’s complaints of boredom, she invited that young lady to ride out with her, and having crossed several fields, soon came to the first posted notice.

  “Goodness,” said Jessalyn, “whatever is that, ma’am?”

  “That is to keep the hunters from trampling over our crops,” her stepmother replied matter-of-factly.

  Not being Leicestershire born and bred, Jessalyn accepted the explanation without comment, but at the supper table that evening, when she mentioned seeing the sign, Miss Pellerin was not so naive.

  “Mercy me, Philippa, tell me you have not done such an outlandish thing.”

  “Well, I have done it,” Philippa replied defensively. “I hope you will not say I had no right.”

  “As to that, I know only what you do yourself, that there was a court case in London and nearly another between Rutland and his cousin, but having the right is not the same as doing the right thing. There can be no good reason to make an enemy of Rochford, nor yet of any of your other neighbors.”

  “Well, I do not care for what Rochford or anyone else might think. They care only for their stupid prejudices and nothing at all for what is fair, so ’tis no more than they deserve, to be sure.”

  Such opposition served to make her wish the inevitable confrontation with his lordship would come quickly. But it was not Rochford whom Bickerstaff announced while Philippa was still in the breakfast parlor the next morning, but Mr. Thomas Assheton-Smith.

  “Goodness to mercy!” Philippa exclaimed.

  “He cannot know how little advanced is the hour,” said Miss Pellerin in a bemused tone, “for no gentleman would call before a lady has had proper time in which to break her fast.”

  “Well, I daresay he is not thinking of my well-being, but of his own,” Philippa said with a tight smile. “To be sure, I had not thought to see him here, but I do recall that the Quorn hunts this side of the county on Fridays.”

  With this vague utterance, she gathered the skirts of her jonquil linen frock and preceded Bickerstaff from the room. “Where have you put him?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “In the saloon, my lady. If I might venture to say so, ma’am, the gentleman is in a rare taking. You ought not, perhaps, to see him alone.”

  “No, indeed, that she shall not,” declared Miss Pellerin, bustling up behind them. “The very idea. He scarcely behaved in a polite fashion when we called at Quorndon Hall. I should not care to think what he may say now if you have vexed him, Philippa.”

  That she had indeed vexed Mr. Assheton-Smith was perfectly apparent the moment they laid eyes on the gentleman, for he was pacing back and forth across the elegant Aubusson carpet in the huge saloon, his large hands jammed into his coat pockets. At their entrance he whirled to face them, anger clearly etched on his thin face.

  “There you are!” he bellowed, jerking his right hand from its pocket in order to point an angry finger at Philippa. “By God, madam, if you were my wife, I should know how to deal with your treachery, damme if I wouldn’t.”

  “Treachery, sir?” Philippa widened her eyes. “There has been no treachery.”

  “Has there not, by God? Let me tell you, madam, that if there were but one fox in this county, that fox would learn by dawn tomorrow that your land has a safe earth to hide him, and then where should we be? I’ll tell you, damme if I won’t. We should be in the briars, madam, in the briars. Of all human pursuits, hunting is the best, and of all living things, a fox is the most valuable, but not if he is allowed to run wild and proliferate the countryside. Not then, madam, but that is what you will see here if you are permitted your foolishness. You’ve no right to post your damned signs, and we are under no obligation to acknowledge them, and so I have come to tell you to your face. A hunter has every right to chase the fox, wherever he runs, in order to keep him from making a pest of himself, and so I tell you and so I’ll tell anyone who asks me. Damme if I won’t.”

  “You must know that simply is not so,” Philippa said calmly. She had thought she would be afraid of him, but he was too loud, too blustering, too much out of control. She looked him straight in the eye without difficulty. “As Master of the Quorn, sir, it is your duty to be aware of changes in the laws that affect your hunt; therefore, you must know that the London court has, more than once, upheld the right of the landowner over the right of the hunt. If you cross my land, I shall prosecute. Do not think I won’t.”

  “Damme if I’ll let a chit dictate to me, madam. If you were a man, I should know how to bring you to your senses.”

  “Well, I am not a man, nor, I am most thankful to say, am I your wife, so you will have to give in as graciously as you can, Mr. Assheton-Smith. There are many acres in Leicestershire besides those under my control, so I daresay your hunt will not be much
disrupted. You are merely annoyed that I have dared to oppose you. That was not my intent when I posted my land, but I cannot say I am sorry for it, so if you have nothing more to say to the purpose, my butler will show you the door.”

  Assheton-Smith glared at her impotently for some seconds before, with a sound perilously near a growl, he allowed Bickerstaff to show him out.

  Philippa expelled a sigh of relief. “How I dislike that man!”

  “No doubt he is a very good master of hounds,” Miss Pellerin said temperately, “and you must admit, Philippa, you have given him cause for annoyance.”

  “Yes, but that is all, ma’am, for the Quorn truly don’t hunt over this land but maybe once or twice in a month. ’Tis unfortunate they rode here yesterday, for their normal run is to the west of Melton, you know. I daresay we shall hear from Lord Lonsdale next. The Cottesmore does ride this way rather often.”

  “Indeed, though they have all of Rutlandshire at their disposal, do they not?”

  Philippa grinned at her. “I shall remember that, ma’am.”

  She did receive a visit from Lord Lonsdale, and although he was more polite than Mr. Assheton-Smith, the visit was still an ordeal, for he was much annoyed with her. She was rid of him at last, however, and decided to escape any other confrontations, for the moment at least, by going for a ride.

  “May I go with you, ma’am?” Jessalyn called after her from the gallery railing when she saw Philippa crossing the stone hall and realized from her habit where she was going.

  Philippa hesitated on the brink of giving her permission, but she really wanted time to think, and Jessalyn’s unceasing prattle would make thought of any kind impossible. “Not today, my pet, but perhaps tomorrow after church you may ride to Wyvern Towers with Jake Pottersby to pay your respects to the Lady Lucinda.”

  Jessalyn agreed enthusiastically, well pleased by the compromise, and Philippa went on her way, determined to find solitude in the park behind the house. When she reached the stable, however, she was quickly brought to realize that she would find no peace in the immediate future. There seemed to be some sort of confrontation taking place between Jake Pottersby and a younger, brawnier man whom she recognized as one of her tenants.

  “Here now, what’s this?” Philippa demanded, striding up to the two as the younger man gave Pottersby a push.

  “Nay, lass,” said the groom hastily, “ ’tis naught of importance.”

  “Aye, ye’d say that, ye old puff guts,” snapped the younger man. He was built heavily in the torso, with thick shoulders and hamlike thighs, and he was dressed in homespun and a heavy woolen jacket that stretched tightly across his huge shoulders. “Yer fine mistress don’t know what she be a-doin’, but ye’ll defend ’er and tell ’er that whatsoever she wants be the goods, ’n all.”

  “Who are you?” asked Philippa, speaking more calmly. “I collect that something I’ve done has aroused your anger.”

  “Aye, wrap it up any ways ye want, me lady. Ye’ve beggared me and mine, is what ye’ve done.”

  “I’ve done what?”

  “How am I t’ feed my bairns wi’out an income, if ye please?”

  “Without an income? I thought you to be one of my tenants.”

  “Name of Thomas Giles, not that the same’ll be of interest t’ ye.”

  “But it is, Mr. Giles. You are indeed one of my tenants, then, are you not?”

  “One o’ Lord Wakefield’s tenants, I be, and the old baron were awake ter the time o’ day, which ye be not, I’m thinkin’.”

  “What on earth do you mean, Mr. Giles?” She looked helplessly at Pottersby. “Do you understand him, Jake?”

  “Eh, lass, but yon caper-wit be fidgetin’ hisself over nobbut t’ gelt, choose how. Happen it’ll be better nor like wi’ a tidy few o’ yer other folk. This ’un just be a mite more shutful wi’ ’is gab.”

  Noting Giles’s bewilderment, Philippa explained, “He says you are concerned only with the money—the damages you collect, I suppose—and that others may feel the same way, but that you are more outspoken. You would do better to have brought your concerns calmly to me, Mr. Giles, so that we might discuss them.”

  “Calmly, is it? Discuss? I’ll show you discuss.” Giles moved toward Philippa with enough menace in his expression to cause her to step quickly away from him.

  “Here, we’ll have nowt o’ that!” exclaimed Pottersby, leaping forward to clutch at one of Giles’s muscular arms. Knowing he was no match for the other, he took the precaution of shouting at the same time, “To me, lads, to me!”

  Instantly a number of stableboys and grooms appeared as though out of the woodwork, and Giles, seeing himself outnumbered, let his hands fall to his sides and glared at Philippa. “I’m not daft, m’lady. But never think I’ll keep me gab shut o’er this piece o’ work. I mean t’ speak t’ all the tenants, and we’ll see how ye like havin’ ’em all beatin’ their chests over yer foolishness.”

  “Mr. Giles,” Philippa said pacifically, “I am certain that you will make plenty of money if you will but put your effort into farming the land. This is excellent, fertile soil, you know, capable of producing many crops.”

  “Aye, and in the spring we’ll see to it proper,” he growled. “But ye be denyin’ us our best crop, ’n we won’t be a-standin’ fer it, ye’ll see.”

  He stepped forward again, and Philippa had all she could do not to scurry out of his way, but he passed her without moving his clenched hands from his sides and strode angrily from the stableyard.

  Jake Pottersby let out a long breath, and she turned to him with a twisted little smile on her face. “I’ve done it this time, haven’t I, Jake?”

  “Aye, choose how, lass. That Giles be fatched, ’e is and all, and what he mun be framin’ t’ do don’t bear thinkin’ on.”

  Philippa bit her lower lip. “Perhaps I did act hastily, Jake. I didn’t understand how much the tenants depend upon their damage suits, and though I cannot approve of such a practice, I see it has become a tradition with them.”

  “Aye, mistress, it has, ’n all.”

  Deciding not to ride out after all, she left him and returned slowly to the house, entering by the park front terrace and the saloon. Perhaps, she told herself, she had let her temper run away with her in her wish to punish the viscount. What had seemed an excellent idea at first now seemed to have taken on ramifications she had never anticipated.

  As she crossed the baroque saloon to the tall, pedimented doorway leading into the stone hall, there came a thunderous knocking on the front door and she saw Bickerstaff step across the hall to open it with more speed and less dignity than was his wont. Scarcely had he unlatched the door than it was thrust open from the outside and Viscount Rochford erupted into the hall.

  His entrance was less than graceful, for he was forced to make use of the cane he carried in order to limp into the hall, but once inside, he straightened, and when he saw Philippa in the doorway opposite, he raised the cane and pointed it at her at though he would pin her where she stood.

  “So there you are,” he said grimly. “Well, I’ve come to put a stop to this foolishness, so just you come here to me, madam.”

  —11—

  PHILIPPA’S FIRST EMOTION UPON SEEING Rochford was distress that he might have reinjured himself by riding the five miles between Wyvern Towers and Chase Charley, but his angry words and curt command put distress to flight. She stood where she was, having all she could do to control her own rising temper.

  Rochford shot a look at the hovering Bickerstaff. “Take yourself off, man. You’re not wanted here.”

  “How dare you?” demanded Philippa, finding her tongue at last and adding sharply, “Bickerstaff, you are to go nowhere. His lordship mistakes the matter. I am not at home to callers.”

  Bickerstaff glanced from her to the angry viscount, clearly undecided as to his proper course. No doubt he ought to obey his mistress and put the unwelcome visitor out the door. On the other hand, even with his injured ank
le and what bruises might remain about his person, the viscount was a force clearly to be reckoned with. At the moment he looked particularly formidable. Still, Bickerstaff did his best. Spreading his hands appealingly, he said, “My lord, perhaps it would be best—”

  Rochford turned slightly and flicked the butler a glance that halted the words in his throat and froze his hands in their movement through space. The flintlike gaze then shifted back to rest upon Philippa. “Tell him to leave,” he said, gritting the words through his teeth.

  His anger, having first chilled her to the marrow, now sent sparks shooting through her veins. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, meeting his look eye to eye with an icy one of her own.

  “You are behaving like a brigand, my lord,” she said tartly. “You have no right to roar your way into my house, waving your cane like a madman and bellowing orders at my servants. If you have something to say to me, be sure I will listen to you, but not here in the hall where you will be making a gift of your words to every passing servant. Come into the library, if you please. You may say what you like to me there.” She looked briefly at the butler. “Bring refreshment in fifteen minutes, Bickerstaff. His lordship will no doubt need something to cool his throat by then.”

  Having said her piece, she swept past the viscount, carrying the train of her riding habit over her arm. It was not until she was halfway through the common parlor that it occurred to her that he might have difficulty walking so far as the library. But when she paused to look over her shoulder, he was directly behind her, and although he was limping, he did not lean as heavily on the cane as he had when he entered the hall. She found herself wishing suddenly that he had left that cane in the hall, and the thought sent a small shiver of fear up her back.