At the Tail of the Hounds: a novel

Front matter

h novel By MRS. EDWARD K E N N A R D sfl Author os • The Hunting Girl,' ' The Catch os the County,' •Sporting Tales,' ' The Sorrows of a Golfer's Wife,' Gfc., &c IN ONE VOLUME LONDON F. V. WHITE & CO 14 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C PRINTED BT KELLY'S DIRECTORIES, LIMITED, 182, 183 & 184, HIGH HOLBORN, W.C, AND KINGSTON-ON-TDAMEH. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. — Clean Out of It . . . i II. — The Maior Receives a Shock . 9 III. — Doing Stables 17 IV. — Breaking the Tenth Commandment 26 V. — In the Saddle Again . . -34 VI.— " The Woman " .... 42 VII. — An Encounter in the Field . . 49 VIII. — Scenting a Romance ... 59 IX. — Miss Peel's Secret .... 67 X. — A Woman's Revenge . . . 75 XL— A Trip to Town .... 83 XII. — Husband and Wife . . . 91 XIII. — "Nasty, Spiteful, Old Thing" . 99 XIV. — Gruffo Makes his Peace . . 106 XV. — Inspecting the Stud. . . • 113 XVI. — A Born Match-Maker . . . 122 XVII. — Maior Gruffoldi's Vanity is Wounded 129 XVIII. — At the Tail of the Hounds . 136 XIX. — Taking a Toss 143 XX. — Doing a Deal ....

CONTENTS. VI chap. PAGK XXI.— Strange Sensations . . • iS7 XXII.— Saltfish Distinguishes Himself 165 XXIII.— Two Large, Soft Eyes . .172 XXIV. — A Little Dinner Party . . 180 XXV.— Taking Offence . . . .187 XXVI.— "I was Greedy and Grasping" 195 XXVII.— A New Pleasure . . . .202 XXVIII. — Doing the Lady Bountiful . 210 XXIX. — The End of the Season . .217 XXX. — Joined in Holy Matrimony . 225 XXXI. — Victim of the Drink-Fiend . 232 XXXII. — Accident or Suicide ? . . 239 XXXIII. — Breaking the News . . . 247 XXXIV— "Silly Man" .... 255 XXXV. — Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder 261 XXXVI. — A Middle-aged Emotion . . 269 XXXVII. — Taken by Assault . . . 277 XXXVIIL— The Saint Shows Temper . 282 XXXIX. — A Slight Difference . . . 290 XL. — " We are Better Apart " . 298 XLI. — A Nasty " Crumpler " and its Result

Chapter I

clean out of it. Major Gruffoldi, or, " Gruffo," as he was familiarly called by the Harberry Hunt, was in a shocking bad temper. For some days past, a frost had threatened ; there was sharpness in the air, and every morning, early, a cold, grey mist hung over the wide pastures, which disappeared as the day advanced. For the last week, hounds had run like wild-fire. To-day, they had had the run of the season — a run destined to live for ever in the annals of the Chase. Finding in Bailby Covert, the fox, who was an old one, set his mask straight for the far-famed Shireland Vale, and after a ten-mile point was handsomely bowled over in the open. The pace throughout had been something extraor dinary, and Master, Hunt servants and Field were alike en thusiastic as to the merits of the run. And the Major had secured a bad start, taken a series of wrong turns in endeavouring to rejoin the flying pack, and, finally, gone an imperial crowner at a blind ditch.

He was dissatisfied with himself, dissatisfied with his horse, and dissatisfied with the world at large. To make matters worse, when he picked himself up, and with battered hat and aching frame drove his young bay mare relentlessly forward, in the vain hope of profiting by a check that never came, he discovered that the animal was hopelessly lame, and had evidently injured herself in her fall. With a muttered oath, he pulled her up to a stand-still, and looking round, strove to take in the exact bearings of the situation. Hounds had run right out of the Harberry into the Shireland country, and the Major had a nice little ride home before him, of at least nineteen miles. As ill-luck would have it, he had not another horse on this occasion. The excellence of the November sport had already begun to tell tales on a stud originally modest, and he could no longer afford the luxury of a second steed.

Bailby was far from being a favourite meet. The covert lay within a couple of miles of a large manufacturing town, and, as a rule, the foxes found there were of the twisty, stay-at-home order. The Major had therefore decided to ride a five-year-old mare, recently purchased, thinking that the small fences and moderate-sized ditches in the vicinity would probably suit a comparative novice in the art of jumping. But he reckoned without his host. Fortune is notoriously a fickle jade, and to-day she took it into her head to surprise even the oldest members of the Hunt. That the fox was a right game, good one, there could be no doubt, from the moment of his discovery. He scorned the shelter of the snug gorse, where he had lain over-night, and at the first whimper of the hounds made off at high speed for Billstone.

Baulked, however, on arrival there, by a party of roughs, accompanied by mongrels, without a second's hesitation he changed his course and pointed for the Shireland Vale. The autumn had been exceptionally mild. So open a season had rarely been known. Up till now, not a single severe frost had served to thin the hedgerows, and ditches were terrifically blind, being choked with long grass and edish. Never had so many disasters occurred in the records of the hunt. Every day, some good man and true bit the dust, and sad indeed was the tale of broken bones, dislocations and concussions. Already, many well-known and respected followers of the hunt were disabled, and either had to remain groaning at home, or else appeared on wheels, bound up with straps and in slings. But, to go back to our friend, the Major. linding his mare dead lame, he dismounted and care fully examined her fore-legs.

First, he picked up the near foot, then the off. " The devil ! " he ejaculated. " She has gone and stubbed herself in the frog. I'm out of luck, all round, to- CLEAN OUT OF IT. 3 day. What infernal nuisances these young animals are ! I was a fool to buy another, for they're always going wrong. Phew ! how stiff my unfortunate old neck is, too ! I had a very narrow escape of breaking it." And he stretched him self gingerly. " I'll give up hunting altogether, for what with the expense, the accidents to man and beast, and one thing and another, the game is really not worth the candle." The Major always said this, when he was more than usually put out. He was no longer exactly a young man. There were grey hairs in his short, well-trimmed beard, and the top of his head was slightly bald. He did not fall as lightly as in the olden days ; nevertheless, given a good start and a confidential steed, and there was no better man across country.

Even now, when hounds ran hard and mute, he could generally show a clean pair of heels to the rising generation. None of the youngsters could catch him on his " going " days. He was an accomplished horseman, and the fineness of his hands was often quoted as an example worthy of copy. He had wonderfully sharp, grey eyes, which seemed to see the most practicable way out of a field, the moment their owner landed into it; but, alas ! hunting is full of disappointments, and not even the keenest Nimrod can always be in the right. On the present occasion, the Major was hopelessly out of it, from start to finish. Hence his ill-humour. He quickly remounted, for experience had taught him the folly of allowing a lame horse to cool, and probably grow stiffer and stiffen So he turned the mare's face homewards, and jogged steadily on at a slow trot.

At first, Phryne went fairly well, but directly the excite ment had worn off, she became worse and worse. Our hero had the greatest difficulty in keeping her on her legs. He did not dare draw rein, the only chance of getting the poor thing back to her stable that evening being to keep her continually moving. Every time she set the injured foot to the ground, she was evidently in great pain, and it caused her to stumble in the most alarming manner. The roads were heavily darned with stones, and the Major tried keeping her on the grass at their sides, but they were terribly deep, owing to the recent rains, and at each step i* she almost tumbled on to her nose. Her rider growled and swore, by way of giving vent to his feelings. His language was not exactly pretty enough to record, and fortunately there was nobody at hand to hear it.

His keen, weather-beaten face took on an expression of the most intense disgust. He was thoroughly put out. " Deuce take it all," he exclaimed aloud. " I begin to question if I shall ever succeed in getting the damned brute home. She's as bad as bad can be." The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when Phryne gave a desperate stumble, worse than any of its prede cessors, and fell right down on her head and knees. For one agonising moment, her rider thought she was going to roll over on the top of him ; then, by some miracle, she threw out her near fore-leg, gave her head a convulsive jerk, and, with a tremendous flounder, managed to struggle into an upright position. After this, she stood stock still, trembling in every limb. A sigh of thankfulness for his escape broke from the Major. It was one thing coming to grief at a fence, in the ardour of the chase ; another, ingloriously meeting with serious injury whilst on the homeward way.

In the first case, one had some fun and excitement ; in the second, none. However, he had been spared further disaster, although perilously near to it ; and when he recovered from the alarm to his nerves, he once more dismounted, in order to ascertain if the mare had escaped as well as himself. Her knees and forehand were completely plastered with mud. With great concern, he passed his hand down her fore-legs, and to his pleasurable amazement, found that the skin was not broken. He had expected to find both knees badly scored. Things might have been worse, and he sought to console himself with that reflection. All the same, matters were serious enough. " Phew ! " he said to himself. " That was a close shave — too close by half to be pleasant. I wish I had her safely back in her stable. She's dead lame."

And he looked ruefully at Phryne, who presented a very different appearance from when she had gone forth, earlier in the day, in all the pride of her sleek beauty. He was still about four miles distant from home, and, as every minute's delay served only to increase the mare's lameness, CLEAN OUT OF IT. 5 he lost no time in remounting, and once more commenced the slow and weary jog. About a mile further on, however, Phryne stumbled again so badly, that there was nothing for it but to relieve the distressed creature of his weight. To continue to sit on her back had become positively unsafe. He therefore decided to lead her the remainder of the way. Slipping from the saddle, he threw the reins over his left arm, and trudged by the tired animal's side. Now, as every sporting man knows, a walk — no matter how short — in a pair of top-boots, is not by any means an agreeable or comfortable method of taking exercise.

Before many minutes had elapsed, the Major began to feel a growing tenderness about the region of the heel. Soon, he was well-nigh as dotty as his mare, and as for his temper — well ! the less said about that the better. He was natu rally choleric, although he flattered himself that he had his varying moods under complete control. But that is a weakness of many bachelors, who do not possess wives to tell them home truths. At length, Major Gruffoldi reached Crickley — the village where he resided. By this time, the afternoon was far advanced, and both he and his unfortunate steed were chilled to the bone. The pair hobbled painfully into the stable-yard, thankful to have reached a haven of rest at last. " Had a good day, sir ? " inquired the Major's stud groom, touching his cap. " No, an infernally bad one," responded his master.

Then " Gruffo's " sense of probity overcame his ill-humour, and he added, "Yes, they have had a splendid day, at least, so I believe, but I got a wretched start, and in trying to get on terms with hounds, came to hopeless grief and was clean out of the run. I never saw a yard of it, worse luck 1 " And he blew his nose sternly. " Indeed, sir. I am sorry to hear that. It ain't often that you're left behind," said Benson, trying to cast oil on the troubled waters. Gruffo smiled grimly. He was not insensible to flattery where his riding was concerned. He had no objection to being told that he was a very fine fellow to hounds. Benson had a great opinion of his employer's powers of equitation, and his subtle praise often served to soothe the Major's ruffled feelings. But to-day, he was too utterly cast down to be cheered by Benson's encomiums.

They fell flat. His thoughts were occupied by the injuries of the unlucky mare, and by speculations as to when she would come out again. "Phryne's dead lame, Benson," he said. "And I have a strong suspicion that besides having stubbed herself badly in the off foot, she is also suffering from a sprain to the shoulder. Foment her well with hot water, and then rub in some embrocation. She came a regular howler. The country about Bailby is so beastly trappy, and the ditches are confoundedly blind still." " They are, indeed," said Benson sympathetically. " I hopes as how you are not much hurt, sir? Never mind about the mare, she'll come round. It's you I'm thinking of. No bones broken, I trust ? " " No, I think not," growled the Major in reply. " I'm a bit shaken, but no doubt I shall be all right again by to morrow.

The ground seems harder than it used to, Benson," he added, with an attempt at pleasantry. Benson looked anxiously after the retreating figure of his master. He had been five-and-twenty years in Major Gruffoldi's service, and they understood each other's ways. He was a confidential and much esteemed servant. " Ah ! " he muttered sotto voce, " he's a good plucked one, he is. He never would say he was hurt, but neither he nor the mare looks very grand. They've had a nasty crumpler, that's easy to see. Come up, old woman ! " And with that, he conducted the limping Phryne into her box, and busied himself about the preparation of her gruel. A stableman at once proceeded to rub her down, and she was rendered as comfortable as her injuries permitted. Meantime the Major entered the house, and repaired to his study — a snug little room, smelling strongly of tobacco smoke.

He was wont to spend most of his time here when indoors. Years ago, when he first came to Crickley, as a dashing, young cavalry officer, the ladies of the neighbourhood had looked upon him with exceeding favour. He was regarded in the light of an eligible, and many were the invitations showered upon him to dine and sleep. But he had stood curiously proof against all female blandishments, until at last, when he was supposed to be approaching his CLEAN OUT OF IT. 7 fiftieth year, Midlandshire Society had come to consider him a regular old bachelor, of no use to any one. And if you are of no use to anyone — feminine — why ! of course you soon drop out. You can expect nothing else. Most people are mortified when the cold shoulder is shown them by the fair sex. The Major rejoiced with an exceeding thankful ness.

He asked for nothing more than to be left alone. His heart — if he possessed such an organ — was centred in hunting and horses. He prided himself on being absolutely impervious to women, for whom he secretly entertained a mild contempt. He shrugged his shoulders at their follies and frailties. In spite of his well-known indifference, the feminine portion of the community were, even now, occasionally piqued when they heard tales of the dainty little dinners, which the Major frequently gave to his masculine friends. They considered that it would have been only polite if he had had a ladies' dinner party now and again, but Major Gruffoldi apparently thought otherwise. Anyhow, he did not countenance such entertainments, and lived a solitary, self-absorbed life. As far as externals went, it con tented him.

It was only on days like to-day, when every thing went amiss out hunting, that he returned to his home in a villainous temper. Then, it was not hard to tell why he was so universally known by the sobriquet of " Gruffo." He had just got out of his leathers and pink coat, and was sitting down in his own particular arm-chair by the fireside, with the Times in his hand, when a ring came at the front door. It disturbed his equanimity, and, if the truth must be told, aroused a certain curiosity, for visitors were not frequent at his establishment so late in the after noon. He therefore rose, and putting his head cautiously out at the door, said to his man-servant, who came running hastily from the back premises — "Say, 'not at home,' Matthews." The valet, who was thoroughly accustomed to his master's idiosyncracies, gave a nod of comprehension.

A minute later, he entered the room bearing a note. " Waiting for an answer, please, sir," he said. The Major grunted in token of annoyance, and tore open the envelope. He read its contents and frowned. He was fatigued after his long ride, and stiff — very stiff. His bones ached, and he was not altogether sure whether he had not cracked a rib. The horse had rolled over his chest, and every time he took a deep breath, he felt a twinge of pain. He had looked forward to spending a quiet evening, attired in his warm, old dressing-gown and slippers. " What a confounded nuisance 1 " he muttered. _ " I was meditating having a warm bath after dinner and going early to bed. However, it can't be helped." He sat down at the writing-table, scribbled off a few lines, and handed them to Matthews, who stood by, the picture of interested respecta bility.

" Here, give this to the bearer," he said. " And let Cook know that I expect a gentleman to dinner. There is a pheasant in the larder, if I remember rightly — the last one of the lot I brought back from Lord Pennington's the other day. Tell her to let us have it after the joint, and mind she dresses it well with lard. There's nothing such bad eating, to my mind, as a tough old pheasant. And, Matthews " as the man was preparing to depart. " Yes, sir ? " said Matthews, in a voice of prompt attention. " Be sure and tell Mrs. Jackson to serve up some little rolls of bacon with the bird. She knows how I like them — not too much fried, and with the fat that remains in the pan poured over them." As may be inferred from the above, the Major was a bit of an epicure in his way. He was wont to aver that atten tion to details constituted all the difference between a good and a bad dinner.

His enemies said he was fussy about trifles. But where is the bachelor under fifty, who has not a few female detractors ? The mere fact of his bachelor hood is a standing insult.

Chapter II

the major receives a shock. The village of Crickley was finely situated in the very midst of the renowned Harberry Hunt. In olden days, the Lord of the Manor — Sir Reginald Lomer — had tried to elevate it into the importance of a smart hunting town. With that object in view, he had run up half a dozen semi detached villas with good stabling attached. But he lost the great bulk of his fortune in speculations on the Stock Exchange, and did not live to see his wish fulfilled. For some reason or other, Crickley never became fashionable as a hunting centre. People preferred to flock to the neighbouring town of Melford, which, although not nearly so handy for the kennels, possessed superior advantages in the way of a Club and society. Non-sporting ladies found it less dull than being buried in the country, and enjoyed the dining out and lively little gambling parties for which Melford was famed.

There was also a fair amount of flirtation to be done there, whereas Crickley boasted only its steady-going Major, whose attractions were on the wane. The consequence was that four, out of the six houses originally built by Sir Reginald, fell into the hands of affluent tradesmen. The other two stood side by side, facing the village green. Each contained eight rooms, a small plot of ornamental ground in front, and a long, narrow strip of kitchen garden in the rear. They further had sufficient stabling to accommodate seven horses. Years ago, when the Major first took to hunting, and spent all his long leave in the Shires, his mother, the Countess Gruffoldi, rented the dwelling which her son now occupied. Hers had been a somewhat romantic history. When a girl of eighteen, she had accompanied her father, Sir Reginald Lomer, to Italy.

It was after the baronet's reverses, and he had contracted a bad cough which necessitated his wintering abroad. Being a widower, he took his daughter with him for companionship. A young Italian nobleman promptly fell desperately in love with the fresh and pretty English maiden. He was dark, slim, and fascinating, and experienced no difficulty in gaining her unsophisticated affections. To cut a long story short, he proposed and was accepted. But, on his being referred to Sir Reginald, it transpired that his fortune was practically nil, although he had expectations of eventually succeeding to some fifteen hundred a year. The .Englishman firmly refused his consent, and the infatuated couple eloped. Some time afterwards the Major appeared on the scene, and Count Gruffoldi died of fever. The widow, who was still under twenty, returned with her infant to her native land.

She had already regretted the imprudent step she had taken, and in after years seldom spoke of her married experience. It was generally understood that she had not been happy, and that the Count's death was a merciful release as far as she was concerned. She lived very quietly, for she was poor almost to poverty, but shortly before her death she came into her husband's fortune, and thus was enabled to leave her son close upon two thousand a year. The Major, although born in Italy, and possessing an Italian father, was a thorough Britisher in every respect. He hated everything foreign to such an extent that he even went the length of declining to take up the title, and declared he would a thousand times rather be an English major in Her Majesty's army than a beggarly foreign count, wherein, no doubt, he showed much insular prejudice.

As a matter of fact, dearly as he loved his mother, he never could quite forgive her for marrying as she had done. He opined that she should have had more consideration for the Lomer blood than to adulterate its virtues by an alien mixture. He had a sovereign contempt for the paternal name — Gruffoldi — and would gladly have exchanged it, had not the doing so involved a vast amount of trouble. He had now resided at Crickley a great number of years, and during his stay there, from sundry causes, the adjoining house had never been tenanted. The present Sir Reginald Lomer, a nephew of the late man, was too poor to live in the ancestral home. It was let to a flourishing brewer from Birmingham, who expended a small fortune in keeping up the gardens, hot-houses, etc. The baronet spent his time chiefly abroad, only visiting Midlandshire periodically for the purpose of collecting rents and keeping an eye on the property.

The Major had always found him a pleasant man personally, but a hard landlord, in the sense that he either could not, or would not, lay out any money on his possessions. Gruffoldi was an excellent tenant. The place suited him, and he prefeired to spend a few pounds on repairs rather than fall out with the proprietor. In return, Sir Reginald had been in the habit of granting him sundry little indulgences. Each villa owned five loose boxes and two stalls. Both in winter and summer the Major was short of boxes, and it was an immense convenience being able to keep two or three of his animals in the neighbouring stable. He had now done so for so long, that he had almost ceased to contemplate the possibility of the place being let. The note received this evening was from no less a personage than Sir Reginald.

His landlord announced his arrival, and begged his tenant to be good enough to give him dinner, as he had various little matters which he desired to discuss. The Major devoutly wished he had volunteered his company on any other night, but he could not well refuse to accede to the request. So a little before seven o'clock he rose stiffly from his armchair, and descending to the cellar, fished out a couple of bottles of Heidsieck's Grand Monopole of a choice vintage, and one of very rare old port, worth two guineas a bottle. He only brought out the latter on special occasions, but, as he had a request to make to his landlord, he deemed it good policy to produce it. Besides, the generous wine would serve to warm his own bones, and make him forget the serious shaking he had so recently received.

He gave the champagne to his man to be put in ice, for he was most particular about the exact temperature of his liquor, and then, going upstairs, arrayed his person in a beautifully-glazed shirt, and a claret-coloured smoking suit. Thus adorned he looked a gentleman, every inch of him, although he could lay no absolute claim to good looks. The eyebrows were too shaggy, the features too marked, the mouth too wide and determined for a hero of romance. Nevertheless, it was a face of character and manliness, if not altogether one expressive of amiability. From living so long alone the Major had become a thorough old bachelor, and having only himself to think of was gradually sliding into little precise habits, which might almost be designated by the more serious appellation of selfishness. He had not the least idea that such was the case at this period of his career, but he was not singular there.

He had become firmly fixed in the sporting groove, in which hunting, horses, and hounds played the principal part. This groove was varied by comfort of the quiet, stay at-home order, and good living. Apart from these things, his tastes were simple, and his means were more than sufficient for his wants. Hence, many people believed him to be richer than he was in reality. The prospect of his being uprooted appeared very remote. As before stated, the ladies had pretty well given him up, and when that is the case, it speaks badly for a man. He had ceased to be interesting, and was no longer associated in their thoughts with matrimony. In addition to his sobriquet of " Gruffo," several of the more sprightly damsels had christened him " The Father of the Hunt." In truth, he was about its oldest member.

He was tenacious in his affections, and had never forsaken the Harberry country. He always said it was good enough for him. He possessed the further advantage of knowing every fence in it. Anyhow, he was a fixture, and the Harberry Hunt would not have seemed like the Harberry Hunt without its gallant, gruff old Major. He was one of its best-known features. Before long, wheels were audible on the gravel outside, and our hero straightened his back before the hearth, and stood in an attitude of expectation. A minute later the sitting-room door was thrown open, and Sir Reginald Lomer announced. Dinner was promptly served, and during the meal the two men carried on a desultory conversation. The forty-seven port was not without virtue, and by degrees it unloosed their tongues. From discussing the affairs of the neighbourhood at large, they took to discussing their more immediate ones.

" Gruffo " proffered his small request — re the drainage of his mansion, and was met with the usual plea of want of cash. The baronet talked vaguely about raising the rent, and so on, but eventually agreed to let it remain at its present figure, provided the Major undertook to execute all necessary repairs. This was settled, much to Sir Reginald's satisfaction, but, by way of gratitude, he threw a regular bomb-shell into the peaceful camp of his unsuspecting companion. He gave a dry cough and said : " That reminds me, my dear Gruffo, I have done rather a good piece of business recently, and one that will add to my income. Wish me joy." " I do, most heartily," responded the Major. " What is this successful business ? " " Well, you know how long the house next to yours has stood vacant ? I am sure you will be glad to hear that at last I have found a tenant for it, who wishes to take im mediate possession.