family I should know? Any way to ingratiate myself with the good vicar? Donate something to the church?’
‘Donate something to that precious hunt of his. Mr Armitage cares more for hounds than for souls. There’s gossip about that Miss Diana rides like the wind.’
‘An Amazon after mine own heart,’ grinned Jack Emberton.
‘I say, if you’re going to get up to anything scandalous, don’t drag me into it,’ said Mr Flanders nervously.
‘I mean, introducing you to the gentlemen with money to burn in St James’s is one thing, helping you to blackmail is another.’
‘Stop using that word,’ said Mr Emberton harshly. ‘You have benefited well from my gaming skills. Stick by me and you will profit – as you have profited before. We will set out in the morning to find me a suitable residence.’
By morning the wind had veered around to the north-east, a perfect day for hunting, with low ragged clouds dragging over the bare winter fields.
Diana sat miserably in her room, listening to the bustle below. She could not even bear to look out of the window.
Gradually, the sounds faded as the hunt moved off. A gnawing boredom beset her. The best hunting weather they had had this age and here she was, cribbed, cabined and confined, and all because she had the ill luck to be born a woman.
The squire would never have recognized her in man’s hunting dress. She sat up suddenly. The squire would not recognize her. She would join the hunt. Her father would not dare betray her in front of everyone. He would rant and rave at her afterwards. But if he caught that old dog fox that had been plaguing him for so long she was sure he would forgive her anything.
She scrambled into her ‘disguise’, and then hesitated at the door of her bedroom. Usually on hunt days she made her escape before either Frederica or her mother was awake, hiding in the shadows of the stairs to make sure none of the servants was about. She whirled around and marched to the window, lifted the sash, climbed out and made her way nimbly down the ivy.
Her mare, Blarney, nuzzled her and pawed the ground, as anxious as Diana to be off with the hunt.
Diana judged they would start at Brook covert. And so she rode out, praying that the hunt would not prove to be miles away.
The vicar had been delayed reaching the covert by the worries of the squire. Squire Radford had confessed himself amazed to find little Frederica confined to thehouse. She was turning dreamy and strange, he said severely, and should be at a ladies’ seminary, turning her mind to geography and the use of the globes instead of addling her brain with novels from the circulating library in Hopeminster. Fretting with impatience , the vicar ground out a promise to send Frederica back to school, although he saw no point in educating females. He had once thought it a good thing, but now he considered it a waste of time, since all the gentlemen seemed to prefer ladies with uninformed minds.
They were approaching the wild, straggling place that was Brook covert when, out of the corner of his eye, the vicar saw his daughter Diana come riding up. Was ever a man so plagued!
‘Who is that young gentleman?’ asked the squire, turning his head and narrowing his eyes before the wind.
‘Friend of a friend,’ muttered the vicar angrily. ‘Pay no heed, Jimmy. We’ve work afoot.’
He dismounted, shouting, ‘I feel in my bones the beast is in there.’
Sure enough, hounds were barely in when the old dog fox broke at the far end and went away like a greyhound. The vicar came tearing out to the ‘holloa’, red in the face, and blowing the ‘gone-away’ note for all he was worth.
Hounds were well away and going hard on the strong scent which comes with a north-east wind after a night of rain.
The vicar was riding an Irish mare that day, Turpinby Uncle Charlie out of Kettle. It was the mare’s first hunt. All was well in the beginning, with Turpin flying over the flat ground. She
‘Donate something to that precious hunt of his. Mr Armitage cares more for hounds than for souls. There’s gossip about that Miss Diana rides like the wind.’
‘An Amazon after mine own heart,’ grinned Jack Emberton.
‘I say, if you’re going to get up to anything scandalous, don’t drag me into it,’ said Mr Flanders nervously.
‘I mean, introducing you to the gentlemen with money to burn in St James’s is one thing, helping you to blackmail is another.’
‘Stop using that word,’ said Mr Emberton harshly. ‘You have benefited well from my gaming skills. Stick by me and you will profit – as you have profited before. We will set out in the morning to find me a suitable residence.’
By morning the wind had veered around to the north-east, a perfect day for hunting, with low ragged clouds dragging over the bare winter fields.
Diana sat miserably in her room, listening to the bustle below. She could not even bear to look out of the window.
Gradually, the sounds faded as the hunt moved off. A gnawing boredom beset her. The best hunting weather they had had this age and here she was, cribbed, cabined and confined, and all because she had the ill luck to be born a woman.
The squire would never have recognized her in man’s hunting dress. She sat up suddenly. The squire would not recognize her. She would join the hunt. Her father would not dare betray her in front of everyone. He would rant and rave at her afterwards. But if he caught that old dog fox that had been plaguing him for so long she was sure he would forgive her anything.
She scrambled into her ‘disguise’, and then hesitated at the door of her bedroom. Usually on hunt days she made her escape before either Frederica or her mother was awake, hiding in the shadows of the stairs to make sure none of the servants was about. She whirled around and marched to the window, lifted the sash, climbed out and made her way nimbly down the ivy.
Her mare, Blarney, nuzzled her and pawed the ground, as anxious as Diana to be off with the hunt.
Diana judged they would start at Brook covert. And so she rode out, praying that the hunt would not prove to be miles away.
The vicar had been delayed reaching the covert by the worries of the squire. Squire Radford had confessed himself amazed to find little Frederica confined to thehouse. She was turning dreamy and strange, he said severely, and should be at a ladies’ seminary, turning her mind to geography and the use of the globes instead of addling her brain with novels from the circulating library in Hopeminster. Fretting with impatience , the vicar ground out a promise to send Frederica back to school, although he saw no point in educating females. He had once thought it a good thing, but now he considered it a waste of time, since all the gentlemen seemed to prefer ladies with uninformed minds.
They were approaching the wild, straggling place that was Brook covert when, out of the corner of his eye, the vicar saw his daughter Diana come riding up. Was ever a man so plagued!
‘Who is that young gentleman?’ asked the squire, turning his head and narrowing his eyes before the wind.
‘Friend of a friend,’ muttered the vicar angrily. ‘Pay no heed, Jimmy. We’ve work afoot.’
He dismounted, shouting, ‘I feel in my bones the beast is in there.’
Sure enough, hounds were barely in when the old dog fox broke at the far end and went away like a greyhound. The vicar came tearing out to the ‘holloa’, red in the face, and blowing the ‘gone-away’ note for all he was worth.
Hounds were well away and going hard on the strong scent which comes with a north-east wind after a night of rain.
The vicar was riding an Irish mare that day, Turpinby Uncle Charlie out of Kettle. It was the mare’s first hunt. All was well in the beginning, with Turpin flying over the flat ground. She
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