“Well, I may have a deal for you sooner than you expect,” said Ferguson. He put an arm around Roger’s shoulders. “I think you’re just the man to negotiate my next acquisition for me.”
“I am? I mean, whatever you need,” said Roger, beaming.
“The seller’s pretty stubborn,” said Ferguson, grinning at the Major. “I don’t think it’s just gonna be about the price with this one.” Roger beamed as if he was being put in charge of buying a small country and the Major was irritated by the both of them.
“I think Mr. Ferguson is hoping you can persuade me to sell him my guns,” said the Major. “I can assure you, Mr. Ferguson, you’ll have Roger’s full cooperation on that score.”
“What—oh, of course.” Roger blushed. “You’re the American buyer.”
“I sure hope to be,” said Ferguson. “Bring me home that deal, son, and I’ll make sure Crazy Norm puts you in charge of his entire deal team.”
The cricket bat resounded in the barrel again and in the cacophony of fleeing ducks, men all along the line dropped their conversations abruptly.
“Of course, I would be delighted to help you with anything you need,” said Roger, hovering as Ferguson struggled to stuff cartridges into his gun.
“Roger, get to your position,” said the Major in a terse whisper. “Talk later.”
“Oh, right, must bag another couple of ducks,” said Roger. The Major felt sure by his tone that he had failed to hit anything so far.
“Don’t forget to get a lead on them,” said the Major and his son nodded, looking momentarily grateful for the advice as he hurried away.
“Eager youngster,” said Ferguson. “Is he any kind of shot?”
“Bagged a prime bird on his first ever outing,” said the Major, mentally asking pardon of the long-dead woodpecker.
“My first shoot, I shot the guide in the butt,” said Ferguson. “Cost my dad a fortune to shut the guy up and he took out every dime on my hide. My aim got much better real quick after that.”
“Here they come,” said the Major, privately wondering whether further spanking might have kept the American from potting other people’s birds.
As the guns were raised and the squawking cloud of ducks wheeled in over the far trees, the Major caught sight of movement at the lower edge of his vision. Refocusing he saw, with horror, that small figures were emerging all along the woods and beginning to run, in stumbling fashion, across the field.
“Hold your fire, hold your fire!” shouted the Major. “Children on the field!” Ferguson pulled his trigger and blasted a duck from the sky. One or two other shots rang out and there were screams from the field as uniformed children ducked and zigzagged. A separate group of people, some carrying signs that could not be read at such a distance, came marching, in a flanking action, from the direction of the copse. Alice Pierce, in all her orange and green glory, dropped her sign, broke from the group and began shouting and waving her hands as she ran toward the children.
“Hold your fire!” bellowed the Major, dropping his own gun and moving to push up Ferguson’s gun barrel.
“What the hell!” said Ferguson, removing a large orange earplug. “Children on the field!” shouted the Major.
“Hold fire,” called Morris the gamekeeper. He sent his dogs racing along the hedge, which seemed to catch the attention of the shooting party better than the mass of crying and running children.
“What the devil is going on?” asked Dagenham, from his place in the line. “Morris, what on earth are they doing?” Morris gave a signal and the farmhands ran out and begun trying to corral the children like unruly sheep. The Major saw a beefy young man tackle a skinny boy to the ground in none too gentle a fashion. Alice Pierce gave a cry of rage and threw herself on the young man like a woolly boulder. There was a general cry of outrage from the adults on the field who began chasing the farm youths, jabbing about with their signs like pitchforks. The dogs barked and dodged, snapping at ankles until Morris’s piercing whistle called them away. The Major recognized the landlord from the pub, running closer to the hedge. He carried a sign that read “Don’t Destroy Us.” A woman the Major now recognized with horror as Grace, in a sensible coat and neat brown leather gloves, flapped at a young man with her sign, which read “Peace, Not Progress.” Hanging back by the pond, removed from the general melee, stood two figures who the Major was almost sure were the Vicar and Daisy. They did not carry signs and they seemed to be arguing with each other.
“Goddamnit, the protesters are rioting,” said Ferguson. “I’ll call the security people.” He fumbled in his pocket and stuck an earpiece in his ear.
“Morris, tell those people they’re trespassing,” cried Dagenham. “I want them all arrested.”
“Maybe we should just shoot them,” said a banker somewhere down the line. A chorus of approval followed and one or two men leveled their guns at the field.
“Steady there, gentlemen,” said Morris, walking the hedge.
“Too many idiots wanting to shut down our way of life these days!” shouted a loud voice. Someone fired both barrels of his shotgun into the air. There were screams from the field as farm workers and protesters ceased battling to throw themselves to the ground. The Major heard cheers and jeers from along the line of guns. The children continued to wander about, most of them crying. Thomas stood in the middle of the field. His continuous scream, like a siren, seemed to play havoc with the ducks’ central nervous systems and they flapped up and down the field in haphazard, spiky loops.
“Are you quite mad?” shouted the Major. He laid down his gun and began to cross the green ropes, waving his hands and grabbing by the arm men who had not uncocked their guns. “Put up your guns. Put up your guns.” He was dimly aware of Morris doing the same thing from the opposite side of the hedge.
“Watch who you’re shoving,” said Swithers. The Major understood that it was he who had fired into the air. He gave him a withering look of contempt and Swithers had the grace to look slightly ashamed and lower his gun.
“For God’s sake, man, there are women and children out there,” said the Major. “Stand down, everyone.”
“No one’s shooting at anybody,” said Roger with a faint derision designed to let everyone know he was not responsible for his father’s actions. “Only trying to put the wind up them a little bit. No need to be upset.”
“Morris, I want those trespassers arrested now,” said Dagenham, red in the face with anger and embarrassment. “Don’t just stand there waving, man, get it done.”
“Until these gentlemen put away their guns, I can’t hardly be calling the constable,” said Morris. He turned to the field and gave a piercing whistle that caused the farm workers to lift their heads from the dirt. “Come away, boys, leave them children alone now.”
“May I suggest a prompt retreat to the house,” said Ferguson, coming up to Lord Dagenham. “Cool tempers and so on.”
“I’ll be damned if I’ll be forced to retreat from my own land,” said Dagenham. “What the hell is Morris doing?” he added as the gamekeeper headed off to meet his men. The protesters sent up a feeble cheer and began to pick themselves up from the ground. The bankers gathered in a huddle, guns broken over their arms. There was a low murmur of discussion.
“If I may agree with Mr. Ferguson, returning to the house would not be a question of retreat,” said the Major. “Completely the moral high ground—keeping the peace and ensuring the safety of women and children and so on.”
“They killed our duckies,” came a wail from a child holding up a bloody carcass. The protesters abandoned their signs and set about trying to gather the children into a loose group. From the woods, the figure of their matron hurried into view, followed by a man who was quite possibly a bus driver.
“I really think your guests would be happier back at the house,” said the Major.
“He’s right,” said Ferguson.
“Oh, very well,” said Lord Dagenham. “Everybody down to the house, please. Breakfast is served.” The bankers trotted away, looking grateful for the excuse. The Major saw Roger was at the front of the departing crowd.
“Major Pettigrew, are you there?” came the distinct cry of Alice Pierce, who was resolutely advancing on the hedge waving a large and rather grubby white handkerchief. As she came closer the Major could see she was
