Wildmere House is a favourite meet with the Bullshire, consequently there is always a large field out at that fixture, every class of sportsman being represented, both those who mean business and those who merely come to partake of the good cheer offered them, and afterwards, when hounds begin to run, retire into the background, unless, indeed, some handy highroad lies parallel to the chase, when they reappear, splashed with mud, and enthusiastic ad nauseam.
Most hospitable of entertainers is Colonel Talford, who occupies The House; and with[Pg 114] his pretty wife to assist him, there is little fear of any complaints being heard as to the quality or quantity of the breakfast. Equally certain is old Tom that a real straight-necked good-hearted fox is ready for him either in the Home Wood or Ravenshill Copse, for the Colonel makes it a rule with his keepers that there shall be foxes, and they know well that his rules are like the laws of the Medes and Persians—unalterable.
"No foxes, no keepers," is what he says; and if the quarry is not forthcoming, unless a very good reason can be given, go they have to.
He once came upon Velveteens in the act of burying a fox that he had trapped and knocked on the head—or, to be more accurate, Mrs. Talford, who was riding back from the Dairy Farm, saw the funeral going on, and told her husband. The man was a new keeper, who had been with him barely a month, and as a keeper was considered quite first-class. But there and then the Colonel[Pg 115] went out, had the fox dug up, and made the man take it over to Sir John Lappington, riding himself all the way behind him to see that he did it.
Through the main street of the village they went in procession, the men (for it was evening) turning out and hooting the unfortunate vulpecide; and when he had delivered his burden and apologised, the Colonel said: "Now you can go back and pack up your things; this is your last day in my service." His wages were paid that night, and in spite of all entreaties, the next day he left Colonel Talford and Bullshire for ever.
It is a lovely morning as Tom rides up with his beauties in front of the house, and, saluting the host and hostess, tosses off the glass of sparkling ale that is handed to him. There had been a catch of frost on the Monday, and folks learned in weather-lore had predicted a hard time; but nothing came of it, for a shower of rain on Tuesday night had utterly routed the destroyer of sport; and[Pg 116] on the Thursday at Wildmere it is as fine a hunting-day as one could wish—if anything perhaps a shade too warm.
"We must give them a few minutes, Sir John," says Mrs. Talford to the Master, who has just arrived. "The Melton train is late, and there are always a few who honour us on this occasion by trying to cut us all down."
"Certainly, Mrs. Talford," replies Lappington, smiling and taking out his watch. "We will give them a quarter of an hour; but you need not be so fearfully sarcastic about the Meltonians. I think it is generally the other way. If I remember rightly, I have seen a lady on a horse called Queen Bee who generally requires a great deal of cutting down, and I have heard it said that this same lady is impossible to beat."
"Nonsense, Sir John; you know that if I do manage to get over the country it is all the Queen's doing, not mine. She's a dear, is not she? But come in and have something; my husband wants to see you about drawing the[Pg 117] Copse first," rejoins Mrs. Talford, leading the way into the dining-room, and evidently pleased at the Master's flattery.
In a quarter of an hour, the Melton detachment having come up, the signal is given to move, and a long cavalcade trot off for Ravenshill. A minute or two later two horses are seen cantering across the grass to catch up the hounds; one carries Colonel Talford, and the other (the redoubtable Queen Bee) his wife.
As they come up and press forward to where Tom's white head is seen bobbing in the middle of the pack, men point her out, and you hear a whisper of "There she is, that's her—riding the same horse too; by Jove, old fellow, it's all very well to say 'only a woman,' but if you can beat her you'll do. Why, the last time we met here she cut us all down and hung us up to dry; only rode one horse all day. Dick Valpy had three out, and you know how he can ride; but I'm blessed if he didn't get nearly drowned in[Pg 118] the brook, while she sailed over it as if it was nothing. We'd been running for forty minutes then, but she can save her horse as well as ride, I can tell you."
Some who have not seen her express their doubts, and vow that "No woman ever beat them yet, and, by gad, sir, they never shall;" but they do not know Mrs. Talford or Queen Bee, and before the day is over they will tell another tale.
Yet you would never take her for a hard rider, though anyone at a glance can see she is a finished horsewoman. Nothing could possibly be quieter than her turn-out. A well-fitting, well-cut, rough cloth habit, rather short; a neat white silk handkerchief tied and folded round a high stand-up linen collar, just showing, like a man's scarf, where the habit is made with a step; a small black felt hat, of the kind known as a "billycock," covering her well-shaped head, the hair of which is gathered into a small knot behind; while in her hand she carries a hunting-crop, made of a holly[Pg 119] that she herself cut from the lawn in front of the house.
Her seat is easy yet firm, and very square on her saddle. Those small hands too, which look as if they could hurt no living thing, can hold and control a puller with wondrous power, a fact her horses seem to recognise directly she takes up the reins of her bridle, for they go so quietly under her hand that one is forced to wonder what it was that made them fret and tear in such a disagreeable way when Mrs. A—— or Lady B—— claimed them for their own, in the days before they found that they were "too much for them," and had to sell them to the Colonel at a discount.
With all this, as she, having ranged up alongside of the pack, pulls up Queen Bee into a trot, and pat............