Ten Lords A-Leaping by Ruth Dudley Edwards Page A

compare with how it must feel to persuade a horse to jump a five-barred gate successfully. But, as Phlegmatic Man had promised, there was still plenty of action, and as they neared Wreckett’s Brook, slightly to his shame, Amiss found himself screaming various sounds of the ‘Yoiks!’ variety when the fox, hounds and riders suddenly appeared on their right and tore along in front of them. It was then, as they cleared a brook, that they met the promised ambush. As the fox and hounds disappeared across the countryside, the riders were surrounded by a melee of shouting, banner-waving, balaclavaed demonstrators.
    ‘Come on,’ said Phlegmatic Man, no longer phlegmatic. ‘Let’s go after them.’
    Obediently, if unenthusiastically, Amiss kept close as father and son ran to the brook, but by then a van had arrived from which leaped two dozen police. Within moments the horsemen were off again and those demonstrators that weren’t being strong-armed into the van were on the run. It was Amiss’s bad luck that as he gingerly followed across the stepping stones in the deep part of the brook, a youth fleeing from a truncheon-waving policeman came hurtling through a gap in the hedge, swerved to avoid Phlegmatic Man and crashed straight into Amiss, who fell flat on his back into the icy-cold water; neither demonstrator nor policeman seemed to halt in their tracks. As Amiss, bruised and shaken, miserably began to try to stand up, Phlegmatic Man returned and with the help of his stout stick pulled him to his feet.
    ‘Be off home with you, now,’ he said, waving aside Amiss’s thanks.
    ‘I thought I should go on.’
    ‘Don’t be daft. There’ll be another hunt along next week. If you catch your death of cold this week, you won’t be there to see it.’
    ‘How do I get back to the Hall? I’ve lost my bearings.’
    ‘Diagonally across those two fields and then left through Cold Bottom Wood and over that hill. You can’t miss it.’
    As Amiss stammered his gratitude. Phlegmatic Man touched his cap and took off again with surprising speed. Pausing only to empty water from his wellies and to take a long draught of whisky, Amiss set off for the most uncomfortable walk of his life, spurred on his way by shouts from the pursuers and pursued.
    When he got to the top of the hill, he paused for another swig and gazed back at the scene behind. To the far west he could see the mounted huntsmen disappearing over the horizon. Grimly marching behind one field away were Amiss’s erstwhile companions, and out of the field where the fracas had occurred was driving a procession of three black vans. Teeth chattering, wet through, walking towards the Hall as fast as he could in his clammy footgear, Amiss wondered what he was going to have to do to get a hot bath.
    As his hand went out to the antiquated bell pull, he heard the sound of a car racing up the drive. He turned round to see a small red sports car screeching to a halt. Out of it jumped a young woman who hailed him cheerily as she pulled a holdall out of the back.
    ‘Who is this wet person, Hooper?’ she demanded as the butler opened the door. ‘And what has been done to him?’
    ‘Now, Lady Jennifer,’ said Hooper in an indulgent tone. ‘That’s not very polite. This gentleman is Mr Robert Amiss who is a guest of his lordship. This is Lady Jennifer Bovington-Petty, sir. Now let me take your bag, my lady.’
    She tossed the bag to him, shook hands with Amiss and raised an eyebrow enquiringly.
    ‘Aggro at the brook. I got run into by a sab.’
    ‘Well, we’d better look after you or you’ll be staying longer than you expected. Hooper, get someone to run a bath for Mr Amiss, take some hot whisky to his room and… have you something to change into?’
    He nodded.
    ‘OK. That’s it, then. We’ll have some lunch in the library, Hooper. Say around one-fifteen.’
    ‘Lady Jennifer, you know you shouldn’t…’
    ‘Now don’t give me that, Hooper. The library’s the most