“The Lovey Chase? What’s that?” he asked suspiciously.
“Remember I told you, old fruit,” Monty said. “All the young men of the area compete in a steeplechase. Have to run around the course and jump over the fences, wearing a dashed ridiculous saddle. And the crowd places bets, just like a real horse race. I actually won a couple of years ago when I was just down from Eton and remarkably fit.”
“Before you went to seed at Oxford,” Bunty commented. “It’s awfully good fun, Badger. Nobody takes it seriously.”
“And it’s quite historic. Goes back to 1700, I believe—when there was a powerful Catholic family in the area and Catholics were not allowed by law to own horses. So they invented their own alternative horse race with their own sons.”
“Absolutely fascinating,” Mrs. Rathbone said. “Can’t wait to see it. I adore these old English traditions, don’t I, Reggie?”
“Is it only for the young bloods or can an old codger like me take part?” the colonel asked.
“Reggie, you are not going to make a fool of yourself stumbling over fences while wearing a saddle,” Mrs. Rathbone said.
“Well, I’m to be a contender,” Johnnie Protheroe said. “Don’t care if I have passed forty. How about you, Sechrest?” This was clearly thrown out as a challenge.
“Might just take you up on that,” Captain Sechrest said.
“So I thought you young men might want to go out and view the course, practice the jumps and all that,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said.
“Absolutely,” Darcy said. He looked at me. “I hope you plan to bet a large sum on me.”
“Are you fit enough to win?”
“I haven’t seen the competition yet.” He chuckled. “If we’re up against some strapping young farm lads, then I don’t know.”
“Oh, it’s only for the sons of good families,” Bunty said. “We don’t allow the riffraff to join in.”
“Bunty dear, do try to be a little more diplomatic in the way you put things,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said.
“I don’t see why you make such a fuss,” Bunty said, tossing her head. “It’s not as if there are any of the riffraff present, is it? And I think it’s jolly unfair that they don’t allow girls to compete. I was rather good at cross- country running at school.”
“Come and offer advice then, Bunty,” Darcy put an arm around her, then looked back at me. “Are you coming too? We’ll need a cheering section.”
“I thought I might spend some time with my mother and grandfather, if everyone is occupied elsewhere,” I said.
“Splendid idea, Georgiana,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said. “You’ve hardly had a chance to enjoy your own relatives. Those staying here are planning to play bridge this morning. Mrs. Sechrest can’t survive more than two days without a bridge game, can you, Sandra?” Mrs. Sechrest smiled prettily.
“I’m going with the guys,” Junior Wexler said, breaking away from his mother. “It’s boring seeing old things.”
“And I think I’ll come and join the cheering section,” Cherie Wexler said, her eyes on Darcy. “It might be fun. Are you coming, Ethel?”
“I’d rather sit in a warm motor than stand in the freezing cold,” Ethel Upthorpe said. “There might even be shops open if we go through a town.”
So I waited until the estate car had set off loaded to the gills with sightseers and the young Adonises had gone to their steeplechase training before I headed down the driveway to my mother’s cottage. My mother and Noel Coward were hard at work—at least, Noel was hard at work. My mother was lounging in peacock blue pajamas, a long ebony cigarette holder in her hand, nodding agreement occasionally as he tossed off another line. So Granddad and I decided to go for a walk before lunch.
“The inspector stopped by earlier this morning,” Granddad said. “It seems that they’ve arrested that Wild Sal person. Caught her going back to that hovel she lives in up on the moor last night. Said she put up a terrible fight, like a wild animal.”
I nodded. For some reason there was a lump in my throat and I couldn’t speak. She had almost certainly saved my life by warning me away from the bog. And I couldn’t help wondering what she had been like before and what it must be like to live apart and have absolutely nobody in the world. Perhaps I identified with her a little.
“And of course it makes sense, now that we think of it,” Granddad went on cheerfully. “She roams all over the moors, doesn’t she? And she’s clearly quite crackers. Probably didn’t even care who she was bumping off. Probably hears voices or something like that. They often do, don’t they? Well, at least the inspector can breathe easier now, and it won’t even go to trial. She’ll be sent off to an asylum, poor thing.”
We walked on, past the village shop, which was open again today and doing a good trade in newspapers and cigarettes, and past the pub, where a group of local people were standing gossiping, presumably about the arrest of Wild Sal. They looked up warily as we walked past.
“I’m glad it turned out to be a mad person,” Granddad said, “because I couldn’t for the life of me find any link between the people who had died and the way they were killed. It didn’t tie in with any case I’d ever worked on in my long years with the force.”
“You’re walking quite fast,” I said. “The country air is making you a lot better.”
“You’re right, it is,” he agreed.
“You should think of moving down here. Get a little cottage in a village like this.”
“Oh, no, ducks. Wouldn’t suit me at all,” he said. “I’m from the Smoke. Born and bred. I know where I belong.”
I looked at him with concern, realizing how much I loved him and relied on him. In fact, he was the only person in the world I could rely on—certainly not my flighty, self-centered mother, or even Darcy, who was never around for more than two minutes. Why would Granddad want to go back to London where the air was so bad for his chest and could lead to an early grave? I tried to dispel gloomy thoughts. He was here with me now and we were enjoying ourselves. That was all that mattered.
By the time we came back to the cottage there were wonderful smells coming from the kitchen and Mrs. Huggins’s head poked out. “I’ve some sausage rolls in the oven if you need a bite to eat before your meal,” she said. “The gentleman upstairs is particularly fond of my sausage rolls. He told me I was a dab hand with pastry, and of course he’s right. I’ve always had a way with pastry, ain’t I, Albert?”
“You have, my dear,” he said.
She smiled at him fondly.
Mummy and Mr. Coward came down to join us for wine and sausage rolls. Mummy had changed into a skirt and cashmere jumper, but Noel was still in his dressing gown.
“I made another of your favorites, Mr. Coward. A steak and kidney pie,” Mrs. Huggins said.
“Mrs. Huggins, you are an angel in disguise, sent from heaven to bring me happiness,” Noel said.
Mrs. Huggins blushed charmingly. I wondered whether she might have landed herself a permanent job as Mr. Coward’s cook and what Granddad would think of that.
“Noel, are you sure you’re not Irish?” Mummy said. “You are full of blarney.”
Noel reached for the decanter and poured himself a glass of red wine. “I speak from the heart, Claire.”
“Darling, you don’t have a heart. Everyone knows that.” Mummy reached forward to pour herself a large glass of red wine. The steak and kidney pie, served with cauliflower in a parsley sauce, was absolutely delicious, as was the jam roly-poly that followed.
“Good simple English cooking at its best,” my mother said. “How I long for this sometimes, when I am stuck with that rich German food.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Mr. Coward said. “There are times when one simply can’t face another schnitzel, or even another bite of caviar. Of course, it’s really the longing to go back to the security of the nursery, isn’t it?”
We finished the meal with coffee and nuts and dates around the fire.
“This really is most delightful,” Mummy said. “I shall be loath to leave and travel back to those big drafty rooms at Max’s house and all that entertaining and boring German parties.”
“You know, Claire, I really do believe you’re looking for an excuse to leave that brute,” Noel said.
“He’s not a brute.”
