speech next week that’s to save us from the radicals.’
‘What are they likely to do?’ asked Amiss, unenthusiastic about another close encounter with wild-eyed activists.
‘They’ve been foiled so far, so I expect they’ll be trying to ambush us,’ said Phlegmatic Man.
‘Foiled how?’
‘Hawkins says some were found before daybreak with a sack of doped meat and were handed over to the police. And then he caught some others trying to lay a false scent and hounded them off the land and put lookouts around. But they’ll be back later, certain sure.’ He looked at Amiss. ‘You should have brought a stick. You might be needing it.’
His own stout piece of ash looked to have the potential to crack a skull. Amiss, who had forgotten to bring Pooley’s riding crop, determined to keep as close to him as possible. ‘Are you going by car?’
‘Yep. Me and Matthew here. Want a lift?’
‘Oh, yes, please.’
‘Come on then. I think his lordship’s ready to go.’
As the three of them clambered inside an aged Land Rover, the sound of a horn cut into the air, and with Lord Poulteney and his huntsman in the lead, following closely after the hounds, the mounted hunters began to move off at speed in the direction of some woodland on the far horizon.
‘I thought as much,’ said Phlegmatic Man. ‘There’s been a rumour all week about a fine vixen being seen there.’ He put his foot on the accelerator and headed down the drive ahead of the other cars. ‘We’ll catch them down at Tite Bottom, near Cooper’s Cope. Then, if the fox goes where I think she’ll go, we’ll have to continue on foot.’
They had covered perhaps five miles of a very circular pursuit when they caught sight of the hunt standing around aimlessly near a large wood. ‘Like I said,’ said Phlegmatic Man. ‘Now, listen.’
There was little sound for some time except of the cars drawing up behind them. Then there was suddenly an outbreak of activity on the part of the hounds, who had been running around in circles rather haphazardly. One hound emerged from the bulk of the pack and stood by itself, head up, sniffing.
‘That’s Rosie,’ said Phlegmatic Man. ‘You can always rely on her. Haven’t had a hound in her class since Rankin died in… oh…’ He pursed his lips and bent his head. ‘What do you say, Matthew? Was it ’sixty-eight when Rankin went to his reward?’
‘That’s about right, Dad. I was only a kid.’
‘Rosie,’ explained Phlegmatic Man to Amiss, ‘must be his great-granddaughter.’
At this moment Rosie emitted a bloodcurdling yowl, instantly picked up by a chorus from her fellows, and they all streaked into the outskirts of the wood at high speed, emerging only seconds later in hot pursuit of a blur of red fur. With a triumphant blast of a horn, something that sounded very like, ‘Yoirouseimmelads!’ followed by shouts of, ‘Yoiks, tally-ho!’ Poulteney and his throng set off in pursuit, and the cars all disgorged their passengers. Following closely behind his mentor, Amiss was in the vanguard climbing a stile and stomping across a field whose terrain was sufficiently rough and hilly to make him extremely grateful that it was dry underfoot. The trick, he realized after a while, was to conserve energy by keeping up a steady pace and putting on a turn of speed only when it was necessary to see which way the cavalry were heading. For, as Phlegmatic Man explained, ‘That vixen is leading them a merry dance and now she’s taking them nor’west they’re almost bound to do a circle and be up at Wreckett’s Brook no earlier than us.’
And there were, of course, for those in the know, short cuts through dense copses inaccessible to horses. Still, as Amiss saw in the distance the pink coats thundering across the fields and clearing some hedgerows, he felt an onrush of romantic regret that he would never be an equestrian hero. To have negotiated a slippery stile in wellies without falling over did not
‘What are they likely to do?’ asked Amiss, unenthusiastic about another close encounter with wild-eyed activists.
‘They’ve been foiled so far, so I expect they’ll be trying to ambush us,’ said Phlegmatic Man.
‘Foiled how?’
‘Hawkins says some were found before daybreak with a sack of doped meat and were handed over to the police. And then he caught some others trying to lay a false scent and hounded them off the land and put lookouts around. But they’ll be back later, certain sure.’ He looked at Amiss. ‘You should have brought a stick. You might be needing it.’
His own stout piece of ash looked to have the potential to crack a skull. Amiss, who had forgotten to bring Pooley’s riding crop, determined to keep as close to him as possible. ‘Are you going by car?’
‘Yep. Me and Matthew here. Want a lift?’
‘Oh, yes, please.’
‘Come on then. I think his lordship’s ready to go.’
As the three of them clambered inside an aged Land Rover, the sound of a horn cut into the air, and with Lord Poulteney and his huntsman in the lead, following closely after the hounds, the mounted hunters began to move off at speed in the direction of some woodland on the far horizon.
‘I thought as much,’ said Phlegmatic Man. ‘There’s been a rumour all week about a fine vixen being seen there.’ He put his foot on the accelerator and headed down the drive ahead of the other cars. ‘We’ll catch them down at Tite Bottom, near Cooper’s Cope. Then, if the fox goes where I think she’ll go, we’ll have to continue on foot.’
They had covered perhaps five miles of a very circular pursuit when they caught sight of the hunt standing around aimlessly near a large wood. ‘Like I said,’ said Phlegmatic Man. ‘Now, listen.’
There was little sound for some time except of the cars drawing up behind them. Then there was suddenly an outbreak of activity on the part of the hounds, who had been running around in circles rather haphazardly. One hound emerged from the bulk of the pack and stood by itself, head up, sniffing.
‘That’s Rosie,’ said Phlegmatic Man. ‘You can always rely on her. Haven’t had a hound in her class since Rankin died in… oh…’ He pursed his lips and bent his head. ‘What do you say, Matthew? Was it ’sixty-eight when Rankin went to his reward?’
‘That’s about right, Dad. I was only a kid.’
‘Rosie,’ explained Phlegmatic Man to Amiss, ‘must be his great-granddaughter.’
At this moment Rosie emitted a bloodcurdling yowl, instantly picked up by a chorus from her fellows, and they all streaked into the outskirts of the wood at high speed, emerging only seconds later in hot pursuit of a blur of red fur. With a triumphant blast of a horn, something that sounded very like, ‘Yoirouseimmelads!’ followed by shouts of, ‘Yoiks, tally-ho!’ Poulteney and his throng set off in pursuit, and the cars all disgorged their passengers. Following closely behind his mentor, Amiss was in the vanguard climbing a stile and stomping across a field whose terrain was sufficiently rough and hilly to make him extremely grateful that it was dry underfoot. The trick, he realized after a while, was to conserve energy by keeping up a steady pace and putting on a turn of speed only when it was necessary to see which way the cavalry were heading. For, as Phlegmatic Man explained, ‘That vixen is leading them a merry dance and now she’s taking them nor’west they’re almost bound to do a circle and be up at Wreckett’s Brook no earlier than us.’
And there were, of course, for those in the know, short cuts through dense copses inaccessible to horses. Still, as Amiss saw in the distance the pink coats thundering across the fields and clearing some hedgerows, he felt an onrush of romantic regret that he would never be an equestrian hero. To have negotiated a slippery stile in wellies without falling over did not
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