Nobody followed me, they were all pounding after the field in the broad rides behind the house. I could look down on it here and, although field and followers were invisible under the close-set trees, I could hear the horn and presently a chorus of faint halloos.
I waited up there until after one o’clock, and my patience was rewarded. Just as I was thinking of surrendering to the pangs of hunger (I had been so excited that I had been unable to eat more than a spoonful or two of porridge for breakfast) there was a wild outcry from the far side of the brook and I saw the huntsman and one or two other riders burst through the gorse, jump the brook and pound up the slope directly toward me, led by about a dozen hounds in full cry.
Then I saw the fox, a brown, unhurried streak, daintily picking its way among the half-exposed roots of the gorse and heading, no doubt, for the shelter of Teasel Wood on the crest of the slope. He was invisible to his pursuers but I had him in view for several minutes and saw him turn right-handed to approach the trees at an oblique angle.
I marveled at his coolness and the deliberation he showed in threading his way through the obstacles that lay in his path. For a moment or two I forgot Diana and the hunt in a prayer that he would find sanctuary before hounds overtook him.
He made it with three hundred yards in hand and even tricked them into thinking he had headed directly up the slope, for they kept on until they had overrun his scent and reached the edge of the wood where I was standing. There they paused and ran aimlessly to and fro while the huntsman pounded up, his horse snorting with the effort of breasting the slope and glad enough to check while his rider glanced left and right, screwing up his nut-brown face in an effort to guess the likeliest line.
His sharp eye caught sight of me where I was standing against a tall pine.
“Did you see our fox, sonny?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, “he ran along under the hedge and went in there!” and I pointed in the opposite direction to that taken by the fugitive, indicating a stony track that wound along the edge of the wood toward the common proper.
He did not thank me, for which I was grateful, but simply shouted, “Left-handed, Charlie!” to a farmer on a huge gray, who had breasted the slope behind him. Then he bellowed some jargon to the hounds and cracked his whip, driving them around the left-hand curve of the wood and riding out of my line of vision.
Seeing him from below, a stream of riders who had negotiated the brook now bore off at a sharp angle, spurring to overtake him on the gentler slope of the hill.
I was so frightened by the effects of my lie that I did not dare to watch any longer but retreated into the wood and took up a position in some hazel bushes beside the broad cart track that cuts Teasel Wood into two equal halves.
Dismally I wondered what Diana would think of such unsporting behavior and I was almost sick with shame and fear when I heard them pounding back along the cart track, slowly at first, then more resolutely as a stray hound picked up fresh scent outside the wood and drew them on at a brisker pace.
I stayed hidden in my cover when the huntsman, cursing like a madman, thundered by, followed by the fanner on the gray and after him three or four more riders, including the Master, who was so tall that he had to lie flat on his horse’s mane to avoid low-hanging branches.
There was a fallen fir a few yards up the path and the huntsman jumped it, but all the others thought twice of setting their horses at the jagged cluster of broken branches and picked their way around near the small crater dug by the roots.
At last, after a dozen or so had gone by, along came Diana crouched low in the saddle and calling softly and persistently to her mount.
She was moving in long, easy strides and made straight for the fallen tree, adjusting her bunched reins as she went and shouting “Up, Glory, hup!” as the horse rose and cleared the highest branch by a good six inches. They made a perfect landing on the far side of the obstacle and I remained hidden in the hazel bush until the last of the field had cantered by, still shamed but for all that secretly pleased with myself, for my stratagem had at least enabled me to see Diana in action and Diana riding a fence that had scared all but the professional in the field.
The hunt went whooping away over the arable land in the direction of the sea and I stayed in the wood long enough to watch the stragglers toil across the gorse hill in twos and threes, their horses finding the plowland heavy going after the beaten rides of the estate thickets.
Last of all came Mr. Gayelorde-Sutton, his hat swinging on its guard, his reins, crop and string gloves tangled into a skein and held against his stomach by his wrists, while his fingers groped and groped for the lifeline of his mount’s breastplate. He was only moving at a shambling trot, and as his forlorn figure crossed the skyline I could not help wondering whether active participation in the hunt had been his idea or his wife’s. In spite of his money and cars, in spite of his undisputed sovereignty of Sennacharib, I felt sorry for him. I was always to feel sorry for him, for then and later he always had the air of an ungainly, unpopular child, bullied by a vain parent into entering a contest that could bring him nothing but bruises and humiliation.
Halfway along the brook path I came face to face with Drip and she recognized me at once.
“I thought you’d be riding, Jan!” she said and the warmth her greeting showed told me that she was predisposed in my favor and might prove a valuable ally. I pulled off my cap and admitted that I was not yet a good enough horseman to hunt but hoped to join the Pony club and become proficient in the near future.
“That’s a very sensible outlook, Jan,” she said. “Emerald thinks everybody has got as much confidence as she has, and because she’s a girl all the boys she knows try to outdo her and get into trouble of one sort and another. Are you walking back to Whinmouth or did you come over by car?”
I said I had cycled and wished I could think of some way to rid her of the impression that I was a member of the same social set as the rest of Diana’s contemporaries. I hated the thought of her finding out who I really was, where I lived, what I did for a living, and how impossible Mrs. Gayelorde-Sutton would consider me as a squire for her daughter, but I lacked the courage to make the necessary confession and see dismay creep into Drip’s lined face. Then she gave me something else to think about.
“I’m on my way to Miss Westcott’s, at Hawthorn Cottage by the crossroads,” she said. “She’s collected a parcel for me from the midday bus. I went into Whinmouth for it on Christmas Eve but it wasn’t ready. It’s Emerald’s Christmas present and I think it’s going to be a big surprise for her!” Drip smiled. “She’s a very difficult girl to buy for, you see, because she’s got everything a child could possibly need or want. If I tell you what it is you won’t repeat it to her and spoil it, will you?”
“Of course not!” I promised, and added that it was unlikely I should see Diana again before she went back to school for the Lent term.
“Then I’ll show you when we get to Hawthorn Cottage,” said Drip. “I think I’d like to know what someone her own age feels about it.”
We turned into the village street and walked up the gentle rise to the crossroads. On the way Drip talked ceaselessly about Diana and, although she told me little that I did not already know, she made it clear that she was as much Diana’s slave as I was, and a far more unselfish one to boot, for her livelihood depended on Diana’s progress and good behavior, and from what I had seen of the relationship of governess and pupil it was obvious that Diana dictated her own terms to this gentle, friendly soul.
I also gathered that Drip was terrified of Mrs. Gayelorde-Sutton.
“Her mamma is very keen to bring her on,” she explained plaintively, “but Mrs. Gayelorde-Sutton is away such a lot and nobody else has any kind of authority over her. I’m sure I haven’t and I know that her father hasn’t. She can coax him into promising anything, even when it runs contrary to her mamma’s wishes, and that sometimes makes trouble for all of us! It’s not that she’s naughty, mind you,
she’s the most lovable gel in the world when she wants to be, but she’s not afraid of anything or anyone, except perhaps her mamma, and when she’s down here she likes to run wild, you know, the way she did when she put you up on that pony and raced across the paddock into the yard. She needs somebody much stricter than me, I’m afraid, but I think I’d break my heart if I couldn’t watch her finish growing up, now that I’ve had her so long. You see, Jan, I’m a kind of auntie about six times removed, and I was her nanny before I was made governess.”
Drip had been talking half to herself as we went along but now, as we reached the gate of Hawthorn Cottage, she suddenly recollected herself and smiled.
“There now, I am a goose. As if you’d be interested in all this chatter! Just wait there and I’ll pop in and see if the present has come, I won’t be a moment.” She tripped up the path and disappeared into the cottage without knocking.
In less than a minute she was out again, carrying a large oblong carton that appeared to be heavier than she could comfortably manage. She set it down on a stone garden ornament and whipped off the lid in a flurry of pride and excitement.
“There!” she said. “What do you think of that?”
I gazed at the contents in wonder. The box was full of exquisitely bound books that fitted into a neat, backless bookshelf, the kind of shelf made to stand on a large bedside table. The edges of the pages and the lettering of the authors’ names and titles were picked out in gold and the bindings were of tooled Moroccan leather, with a silken bookmark hanging from each spine. I went down on my knees and examined the titles, a fanfare of all the titles I had already gathered into my own private box at the Mart, Robinson Crusoe, Treasure Island, Kidnapped, Tom Brown’s Schooldays, Huckleberry Finn, Silas Marner, The Mill on the Floss, Pilgrim’s Progress, Water Babies, Westward Ho!, Don Quixote, and half a dozen more; but these were more than just books, each was a work of art, exciting to look at and thrilling to handle.
“It’s an absolutely wonderful present, Miss Rodgers!” I exclaimed and saw that my unconcealed delight brought her intense pleasure, for she flushed and bit her lip, as though about to burst into tears.
“I … I’m so very glad you think so, Jan … I thought and thought and then, about a week or so ago, Diana happened to make a joke about how she used to plague me into reading one more chapter before I turned out the light. I picked all her favorites, you see, and strictly between ourselves, they’re my favorites too. I thought she’d have them for always and maybe remember me when she dipped into them, perhaps when she has children of her own and begins reading aloud to them.”
“Lorna Doone isn’t there,” I said suddenly. “She likes Lorna Doone, doesn’t she?”
“The case only held fourteen,” said Drip, so apologetically that I instantly regretted my comment, “besides, I … I just had to draw the line somewhere. They were rather expensive.”
I wondered how much the Gayelorde-Suttons paid her and how many weeks’ salary had been paid over the counter for this wonderful demonstration of affection. The thought, together with Drip’s eager expression, formed a lump in my throat, so that I could only blurt out once more that it was a marvelous birthday present and that Diana would be certain to value it above all her more spectacular possessions.
Drip was so delighted with this halting speech that she gave me an impulsive hug and said that I was a nice boy and must come to tea again during the holidays and hear another of her musical boxes, one that played “Lass of Richmond Hill.” Then, as she was replacing the lid of the box, she had an inspiration.
“Why don’t you buy her Lorna Doone?” she suggested. “You’re quite right, Lorna was always a great favorite with her, but of course, you must know that, mustn’t you? After all, you’re Jan, aren’t you?”
“It was Diana who christened me Jan,” I told her. “My proper name is John. I like Jan much better, though,” I hastened to add.
“Well, if you haven’t already got her a present it might be a good idea, don’t you think? I know they’ve got a copy in Beatty’s because I saw one. It won’t be exactly like these, of course, because these had to be specially ordered from Agnews’, in London, but it’s a very nice edition, in dark blue, for seven-and-six.”
I said it was a very good idea and thanked her for showing me the books. Then I said good-by and began to push my bike up the long hill. As always, whenever I had seen Diana, I had plenty to think about on the way home.
3.
Uncle Luke paid me ten shillings a week and I was expected to save half this sum for my clothes. There was nothing in my money box because Christmas had emptied it and New Year’s Day fell before another payday. I couldn’t ask Uncle Luke for an advance, for my money was always doled out by Aunt Thirza and I knew that she would ask me why I needed it so urgently. I hadn’t told either of them about Diana, sensing that they would raise a whole string of objections to my associating with a family like the Gayelorde-Suttons. Drip’s idea was a nuisance in some ways, because the raising of seven-and-sixpence occupied my thoughts all next day, and I wanted to devote my attention to the much more important problem of finding a job that Diana would consider a worthier occupation for a Jan Ridd than that of carting kitchen furniture and chamber pots around town on a handbarrow.
I had already given long and careful thought to this problem but as yet had not produced a solution, not even a temporary one. I even went so far as to borrow one of Uncle Luke’s nature notebooks and jot down a list of my possible qualifications. They were not impressive. I discovered that I was an inch and a half above average height, nearly a stone above average weight, could swim two lengths of the Brixton Baths breaststroke and one length backstroke, had written a composition on “A Day at Hampton Court” that had been included in the school magazine during my final term at school, and had since shown a mild aptitude for getting bargains in the slow bidding that opened the local auction sales.
There was, so far as I could see, nothing here to indicate that I would one day develop into the kind of man whom Diana Gayelorde-Sutton would admire and respect Physically she seemed to find me pleasing but I was aware that men who earned their living by physical accomplishments—lifeguards, gymnasts, athletes, and even policemen and professional boxers—seldom became the masters of large country estates, with a string of hunters and several expensive cars.
I finally decided to put the problem on one side until I had settled the more immediate one of finding seven and sixpence for the blue Lorna Doone and until I had had an opportunity of questioning Diana as to the type of occupation she would consider fitting for a future husband. It was necessary, I felt, to explore the ground very carefully before making a decision that might lead me into another blind alley.
I set these thoughts down now across an interval of more than twenty years and it may seem an exaggeration on my part to claim that, at the age of fifteen and two months, I was already planning my life along lines that led directly toward marriage and the overlordship of Sennacharib, with Diana as vice-regent, but I know that it was so. I realize now that the normal pursuits and dreams of a boy played but a small part in my development after the October miracles; I was now the victim of a twin obsession, the ownership of a country estate, and the sharing of that estate with Diana Gayelorde-Sutton. Everything I dreamed, and everything that I pursued, had to do with one or other of these ambitions. I was not as yet physically in love, for Diana was too remote and far too elevated in my imagination to encourage me to ponder the act of touching her hand, or breathing one word to her of my devotion, but I know now that her mere presence uplifted me and inspired me in a way that all the heroes of romantic fiction had been uplifted and inspired by their sweethearts and wives.
Perhaps my insatiable appetite for books had something to do with it, or perhaps my spirit, badly bruised by the recent death of my mother, responded to the spontaneous friendliness she had shown a gawky boy who had settled among strangers. It may have been either or both of these things that dr
ew me to her, or it may have been the fact that she represented, in a single attractive human being, all the good things of life, and all the comforts and security that spring from wealth and the manifestations of wealth.
I solved the present problem by an act of sheer desperation.
On the following day, when the last post had gone and I had abandoned hope of being able to take her a surprise parcel, I remembered that there were one or two articles of furniture in the Mart that had been put on one side to await the collection by the Council refuse van. They had been brought away from the last sale, where the auctioneer had included them in a final lot as too battered and broken to be itemized, and Uncle Luke loaded them onto his barrow in one of his absent-minded moods. When he saw their condition he flung them aside as items unlikely to coax coppers from the lowliest customer.
I went out and took a good look at them. There was a three-legged chair, a cabin trunk with its lid hanging on a single hinge, and a badly frayed wickerwork plant stand. All the pieces were there and I set to work on them by candlelight, for there was no electric point in the repair shop. We often restored furniture, so I had all the right tools and a gluepot.
In less than two hours I had completely repaired the chair, rehinged the lid of the trunk and replaited the frayed patches in the plant stand.
I estimated that we could now ask fifteen shilling for the three items and I carried them up to Aunt Thirza in the flat we occupied behind the Mart and told her that I had spent the evening working on them.
Aunt Thirza was a parsimonious soul and I knew that I could count on her commendation. She did not disappoint me. When I told her I was going to ask Uncle Luke to price the items at five shillings apiece she at once opened her purse and extracted three half crowns. “This’n to encourage ’ee in the belief that someone’ll buy everything, providing ’er’s furbished up to look praper,” she told me.
Diana Page 6
